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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, December 4, 1841
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, December 4, 1841" ***

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 1.



FOR THE WEEK ENDING DECEMBER 4, 1841.

       *       *       *       *       *


OFFICIAL REPORT OF THE FIRE AT THE TOWER.

The document with this title, that has got into the newspapers, has been
dressed up for the public eye. We have obtained the original _draft_, and
beg to administer it to our readers _neat_, in the precise language it was
written in.

THE OFFICIAL REPORT.

MR. SNOOKS says, that it being his turn to be on watch on the night of
Saturday, October 30th, he went to his duty as usual, and having turned
into his box, slept until he was amazed by shouts and the rolling of
wheels in all directions. The upper door of his box being open, he looked
out of it, and his head struck violently against something hard, upon
which he attempted to open the lower door of his box, when he found he
could not. Thinking there was something wrong, he became very active in
raising an alarm, but could obtain no attention; and he has since found
that in the hurry of moving property from different parts of the building,
his box had been closely barricaded; and he, consequently, was compelled
to remain in it until the following morning. He says, however, that
everything was quite safe in the middle of the day when he took his
great-coat to his box, and trimmed his lantern ready for the evening.

MRS. SNOOKS, wife of the above witness, corroborates the account of her
husband, so far as trimming the lanthern in the daytime is concerned, and
also as to his being encased in his box until the morning. She had no
anxiety about him, because she had been distinctly told that the fire did
not break out until past ten, and her husband she knew was sure to be snug
in his box by that time.

JOHN JONES, a publican, says, at about nine o'clock on Saturday, the 30th
of October, he saw a light in the Tower, which flickered very much like a
candle, as if somebody was continually blowing one out and blowing it in
again. He observed this for about half an hour, when it began to look as
if several gas-lights were in the room and some one was turning the gas on
and off very rapidly. After this he went to bed, and was disturbed shortly
before midnight by hearing that the Tower was in flames.

SERGEANT FIPS, of the Scotch Fusileer (Qy. _Few sillier_) Guards, was at a
public-house on Tower-hill, when, happening to go to the door, he observed
a large quantity of thick smoke issuing from one of the windows of the
Tower. Knowing that Major Elrington, the deputy governor, was fond of a
cigar, he thought nothing of the circumstance of the smoke, and was
surprised in about half an hour to see flames issuing from the building.

GEORGE SNIVEL saw the fire bursting from the Tower on Saturday night, and
being greatly frightened he ran home to his mother as soon as possible.
His mother called him a fool, and said it was the gas-works.

THOMAS POPKINS rents a back attic at Rotherhithe; he had been peeling an
onion on the 30th of October, and went to the window for the purpose of
throwing out the external coat of the vegetable mentioned in the beginning
of his testimony, when he saw a large fire burning somewhere, with some
violence. Not thinking it could be the Tower, he went to bed after eating
the onion--which has been already twice alluded to in the course of his
evidence.

MR. SWIFT, of the Jewel-office, says, that he saw the Tower burning at the
distance of about three acres from where the jewels are kept, when his
first thought was to save the regalia. For this purpose he rushed to the
scene of the conflagration and desired everybody who would obey him, to
leave what they were about and follow him to that part of the Tower set
apart for the jewels. Several firemen were induced to quit the pumps, and
having prevailed on a large body of soldiers, he led them and a vast
miscellaneous mob to the apartments where the crown, &c., were deposited.
After a considerable quantity of squeezing, screaming, cursing, and
swearing, it was discovered that the key was missing, when the jewel-room
was carried by storm, and the jewels safely lodged in some other part of
the building. When witness returned to the fire, it was quite out, and the
armoury totally demolished.

The whole of the official report is in the same satisfactory strain, but
we do not feel ourselves justified in printing any more of it.

       *       *       *       *       *


A CON-CERTED CON.

"When is the helm of a ship like a certain English composer?"--said the
double bass to the trombone in the orchestra of Covent Garden Theatre,
while resting themselves the other evening between the acts of Norma.--The
trombone wished he might be _blowed_ if he could tell.--"When it is
_A-lee_" quoth the bass--rosining his bow with extraordinary delight at
his own conceit.

       *       *       *       *       *


RECONCILING A DIFFERENCE.

Two literary partisans were lately contending with considerable warmth,
for the superiority of Tait's or Blackwood's Magazine--till from words
they fell to blows, and decided the dispute by the _argumentum ad
hominem_.--Doctor Maginn, hearing of the circumstance, observed to a
friend, that however the pugnacious gentleman's opinions might differ with
respect to _Tait_ and _Blackwood_, it was evident they were content to
decide them by a _Frazer_ (_fray sir_).

       *       *       *       *       *


OUR WEATHERCOCK.

The state of the weather, at all times an object of intense interest and
general conversation amongst Englishmen, has latterly engaged much of our
attention; and the observations which we have made on the extraordinary
changes which have taken place in the weathercock during the last week
warrant us in saying "there must be something in the wind." It has been
remarked that Mr. Macready's _Hamlet_ and Mr. Dubourg's chimneys have not
_drawn_ well of late. A smart breeze sprung up between Mr. and Mrs. Smith,
of Brixton, on last Monday afternoon, which increased during the night,
and ended in a perfect storm. Sir Peter Laurie on the same evening retired
to bed rather misty, and was exceedingly foggy all the following morning.
At the Lord Mayor's dinner the _glass_ was observed to rise and fall
several times in a most remarkable manner, and at last settled at "heavy
wet." A flock of gulls were seen hovering near Crockford's on Tuesday, and
on that morning the milkman who goes the Russell-square walk was observed
to blow the tips of his fingers at the areas of numerous houses.
Applications for food were made by some starving paupers to the Relieving
Officers of different workhouses, but the hearts of those worthy
individuals were found to be completely frozen. Notwithstanding the
severity of the weather, the nose of the beadle of St. Clement Danes has
been seen for nearly the last fortnight in full blossom. A heavy fall of
blankets took place on Wednesday, and the fleecy covering still lies on
several beds in and near the metropolis. Expecting frost to set in, Sir
Robert Peel has been busily employed on his _sliding scale_; in fact,
affairs are becoming very slippery in the Cabinet, and Sir James Graham is
already preparing to trim his sail to the next change of wind.
Watercresses, we understand, are likely to be scarce; there is a brisk
demand for "bosom friends" amongst unmarried ladies; and it is feared that
the intense cold which prevails at nights will drive some unprovided young
men into the _union_.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE BANE AND ANTIDOTE.

We are requested to state that the insane person who lately attempted to
obtain an entrance into Buckingham Palace was not the Finsbury renegade,
Mr. Wakley. We are somewhat surprised that the rumour should have obtained
circulation, as the unfortunate man is described as being of respectable
appearance.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE CORSAIR.

A POEM TO BE READ ON RAILROADS.

  The sky was dark--the sea was rough;
  The Corsair's heart was brave and tough;
  The wind was high--the waves were steep;
  The moon was veil'd--the ocean deep;
  The foam against the vessel dash'd:
  The Corsair overboard was wash'd.
  A rope in vain was thrown to save--
  The brine is now the Corsair's grave!

As it is expected that the jogging and jerking, or the sudden passing
through tunnels, may in some degree interfere with the perusal of this
poem, we give it with the abbreviations, as it is likely to be read with
the drawbacks alluded to.

Wherever there is a dash--it is supposed there will be a jolt of the
vehicle.

CORSAIR-POEM.

  --sky--dark--sea--rough;
  --Corsair--brave--tough;
  --wind--high--waves steep;
  --moon--veil'd--oce--deep;
  --foam--gainst--vess--dash'd;
  --Corsair--board--wash'd.
  --rope--vain--to save,
  --brine--Cors--grave.

       *       *       *       *       *


"STUPID AS A 'POST.'"

The _Morning Post_ has made another blunder. Lord Abinger, it seems, is
too Conservative to resign.  After all the editorial boasting about
"exclusive information," "official intelligence," &c. it is very evident
that the "_Morning Twaddler_" must not be looked upon as a direction
_post_.

       *       *       *       *       *


We learn that a drama of startling interest, founded upon a recent event
of singular horror, is in active preparation at the Victoria Theatre. It
is to be entitled "_Cavanagh the Culprit; or, the Irish Saveloyard_." The
interest of the drama will be immensely strengthened by the introduction
of the genuine knife with which the fatal ham was cut. Real saveloys will
also be eaten by the Fasting Phenomenon before the audience.

       *       *       *       *       *


"Never saw such _stirring_ times," as the spoon said to the saucepan.

       *       *       *       *       *



THE "PUFF PAPERS."

[Illustration]


CHAPTER I.

Having expressed the great gratification I should enjoy at being permitted
to become a member of so agreeable a society, I was formally presented by
the chairman with a capacious meerschaum, richly mounted in silver, and
dark with honoured age, filled with choice tobacco, which he informed me
was the initiatory pipe to be smoked by every neophyte on his admission
amongst the "Puffs." I shall not attempt to describe with what profound
respect I received that venerable tube into my hands--how gently I applied
the blazing match to its fragrant contents--how affectionately I placed
the amber mouth-piece between my lips, and propelled the thick wreaths of
smoke in circling eddies to the ceiling:--to dilate upon all this might
savour of an egotistical desire to exalt my own merits--a species of
_puffing_ I mortally abhor. Suffice it to say, that when I had smoked the
pipe of peace, I was heartily congratulated by the chairman and the
company generally upon the manner in which I had acquitted myself, and I
was declared without a dissentient voice a duly-elected member of the
"Puffs."

The business of the night, which my entrance had interrupted, was now
resumed; and the chairman, whom I shall call Arden, striking his hammer
upon a small mahogany box which was placed before him on the table,
requested silence. Before I permit him to speak, I must give my readers a
pen-and-ink sketch of his person. He was rather tall and erect in his
person--his head was finely formed--and he had a quick grey eye, which
would have given an unpleasant sharpness to his features, had it not been
softened by the benevolent smile which played around his mouth. In his
attire he was somewhat formal, and he affected an antiquated style in the
fashion of his dress. When he spoke, his words fell with measured
precision from his lips; but the mellow tone of his voice, and a certain
courteous _empressement_ in his manner, at once interested me in his
favour; and I set him down in my mind as a gentleman of the old English
school. How far I was right in my conjecture my readers will hereafter
have an opportunity of determining.

"Our new member," said the chairman, turning towards me, "should now be
informed that we have amongst us some individuals who possess a taste for
literary pursuits."

"A very small taste," whispered a droll-looking 'Puff,' with a
particularly florid nose, who was sitting on my right hand, and who
appeared to be watching all the evening for opportunities of letting off
his jokes, which were always applauded longest and loudest by himself. My
comical neighbour's name, I afterwards learned, was Bayles; he was the
licensed jester of the club; he had been a punster from his youth; and it
was his chief boast that he had joked himself into the best society and
out of the largest fortune of any individual in the three kingdoms.

This incorrigible wag having broken the thread of the chairman's speech, I
shall only add the substance of it. It was, that the literary members of
the "Puffs" had agreed to contribute from time to time articles in prose
and verse; tales, legends, and sketches of life and manners--all which
contributions were deposited in the mahogany box on the table; and from
this literary fund a paper was extracted by the chairman on one of the
nights of meeting in each week, and read by him aloud to the club.

These manuscripts, I need scarcely say, will form the series of THE PUFF
PAPERS, which, for the special information of the thousands of the fair
sex who will peruse them, are like the best black teas, strongly
recommended for their fine _curling leaf_.

The first paper drawn by the chairman was an Irish Tale; which, after a
humorous protest by Mr. Bayles against the introduction of foreign
extremities, was ordered to be read.

The candles being snuffed, and the chairman's spectacles adjusted to the
proper focus, he commenced as follows:--

THE GIANT'S STAIRS.

A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND.

"Don't be for quitting us so airly, Felix, _ma bouchal_, it's a taring
night without, and you're better sitting there opposite that fire than
facing this unmarciful storm," said Tim Carthy, drawing his stool closer
to the turf-piled hearth, and addressing himself to a young man who
occupied a seat in the chimney nook, whose quick bright eye and somewhat
humorous curl of the corner of the mouth indicated his character pretty
accurately, and left no doubt that he was one of those who would laugh
their laugh out, if the _ould boy_ stood at the door. The reply to Tim's
proposal was a jerk of Felix's great-coat on his left shoulder, and a sly
glance at the earthen mug which he held, as he gradually bent it from its
upright position, until it was evident that the process of absorption had
been rapidly acting on its contents. Tim, who understood the freemasonry
of the manoeuvre, removed all the latent scruples of Felix by
adding--"There's more of that stuff--where you know; and by the crook of
St. Patrick we'll have another drop of it to comfort us this blessed
night. Whisht! do you hear how the wind comes sweeping over the hills? God
help the poor souls at say!"

"Wissha amen!" replied Tim's wife, dropping her knitting, and devoutly
making the sign of the cross upon her forehead.

A silence of a few moments ensued; during which, each person present
offered up a secret prayer for the safety of those who might at that
moment be exposed to the fury of the warring elements.

I should here inform my readers that the cottage of Tim Carthy was
situated in the deep valley which runs inland from the strand at
Monkstown, a pretty little bathing village, that forms an interesting
object on the banks of the romantic Lee, near the "beautiful city" of
Cork.

"I never heard such a jearful storm since the night Mahoon, the ould
giant, who lives in the cave under the _Giants Stairs_, sunk the three
West Ingee-men that lay at anchor near the rocks," observed Mrs. Carthy.

"It's Felix can tell us, if he plazes, a quare story about that same
Mahoon," added Tim, addressing himself to the young man.

"You're right there, anyhow, Tim," replied Felix; "and as my pipe is just
out, I'll give you the whole truth of the story as if I was after kissing
the book upon it.

"You must know, then, it was one fine morning near Midsummer, about five
years ago, that I got up very airly to go down to the beach and launch my
boat, for I meant to try my luck at fishing for conger eels under the
Giant's Stairs. I wasn't long pulling to the spot, and I soon had my lines
baited and thrown out; but not so much as a bite did I get to keep up my
spirits all that blessed morning, till I was fairly kilt with fatigue and
disappointment. Well, I was thinking of returning home again, when all at
once I felt something mortial heavy upon one of my lines. At first I
thought it was a big conger, but then I knew that no fish would hang so
dead upon my hand, so I hauled in with fear and thrembling, for I was
afeard every minnit my line or my hook would break, and at last I got my
prize to the top of the water, and then safe upon the gunnel of the
boat;--and what do you think it was?"

"In troth, Felix, sorra one of us knows."

"Well, then, it was nothing else but a little dirty black oak box, hooped
round with iron, and covered with say-weed and barnacles, as if it had
lain a long time in the water. 'Oh, ho!' says myself, 'it's in rale good
luck I am this beautiful morning. Phew! as sure as turf, 'tis full of
goold, or silver, or dollars, the box is.' For, by dad, it was so heavy
intirely I could scarcely move it, and it sunk my little boat a'most to
the water's edge; so I pulled back for bare life to the shore, and ran the
boat into a lonesome little creek in the rocks. There I managed somehow to
heave out the little box upon dry land, and, finding a handy lump of a
stone, I wasn't long smashing the iron fastenings, and lifting up the lid.
I looked in, and saw a weeshy ould weasened fellow sitting in it, with his
legs gothered up under him like a tailor. He was dressed in a green coat,
all covered with goold lace, a red scarlet waistcoat down to his hips, and
a little three-cornered cocked hat upon the top of his head, with a cock's
feather sticking out of it as smart as you plase.

"'Good morrow to you, Felix Donovan,' says the small chap, taking off his
hat to me, as polite as a dancing-masther.

"'Musha! then the tip top of the morning to you,' says I, 'it's ashamed of
yourself you ought to be, for putting me to such a dale of throuble.'

"'Don't mention it, Felix,' says he, 'I'll be proud to do as much for you
another time. But why don't you open the box, and let me out? 'tis many a
long day I have been shut up here in this could dark place.' All the time
I was only holding the lid partly open.

"'Thank you kindly, my tight fellow,' says myself, quite 'cute; 'maybe you
think I don't know you, but plase God you'll not stir a peg out of where
you are until you pay me for my throuble.'

"'Millia murdher!' says the little chap. 'What could a poor crather like
me have in the world? Haven't I been shut up here without bite or sup?'
and then he began howling and bating his head agin the side of the box,
and making most pitiful moans. But I wasn't to be deceived by his thricks,
so I put down the lid of the box and began to hammer away at it, when he
roared out,--

"'Tare an' agers! Felix Donovan, sure you won't be so cruel as to shut me
up again? Open the box, man, till I spake to you.'

"'Well, what do you want now'!' savs I, lifting up the lid the laste taste
in life.

"'I'll tell you what, Felix, I'll give you twenty goolden guineas if
you'll let me out.'

"'Soft was your horn, my little fellow; your offer don't shoot.'

"'I'll give you fifty.

"'No.'

"'A hundred.'

"'T won't do. If you were to offer me all the money in the Cork bank I
wouldn't take it.'

"'What the diaoul will you take then?' says the little ould chap,
reddening like a turkey-cock in the gills with anger.

"'I'll tell you,' says I, making answer; 'I'll take the three best gifts
that you can bestow.'"

(_To be continued._)

       *       *       *       *       *


Why is a butcher like a language master?--Because he is a _retailer of
tongues_.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE KNATCHBULL TESTIMONIAL.

A meeting, unequalled in numbers and respectability, was held during the
past week at the sign of "_The Conservative Cauliflower_," Duck-lane,
Westminster, for the purpose of presenting an address, and anything else,
that the meeting might decide upon, to Sir Edward Knatchbull, for his
patriotic opposition to 'pikes.

Mr. ADAM BELL, the well-known literary dustman, was unanimously called to
the Chair. The learned gentleman immediately responded to the call, and
having gracefully removed his fan tail with one hand and his pipe with the
other, bowed to the assembled multitude, and deposited himself in the seat
of honour. As there was no hammer in the room, the inventive genius of the
learned chairman, suggested the substitution of his bell, and having
agitated its clapper three times, and shouted "_Orger_" with stentorian
emphasis, he proceeded to address the meeting:--

"Wedgetable wendors and purweyors of promiscus poulte-ry, it isn't often
that a cheer is taken in this room for no other than harmonic meetings or
club-nights, and it is, therefore, with oncommon pride that I feels myself
in my present proud persition. (_Werry good! and Hear, hear!_) You are all
pretty well aware of my familiar acquaintance with the nobs of this here
great nation. (_We is! and cheers._) For some years I've had the honour to
collect for Mr. Dark, night and day, I may say; and in my mind the werry
best standard of a real gentleman is his dust-hole. (_Hear, hear! and He's
vide avake!_) You're hailed," continued the eloquent Adam, "you're hailed
by a sarvant in a dimity jacket; you pulls up alongside of the curb; you
collars your basket, and with your shovel in your mawley, makes a cast
into the hairy; one glance at the dust conwinces you vether you're to have
sixpence or a swig of lamen-table beer. (_It does! and cheers._) A man as
sifteses his dust is a disgrace to humanity! (_Immense cheering, which was
rendered more exhilarating by the introduction of Dirk's dangle-dangles,
otherwise bells._) But you'll say, Vot is this here to do with Sir Eddard?
I'll tell you. It has been my werry great happiness to clear out Sir
Eddard, and werry well I was paid for doing it. The Tories knows what
_jobs_ is, and pays according-_ly_. (_Here the Meeting gave the
Conservative Costermonger fire._) The 'pinion I then formed of Sir Eddard
has jist been werrified, for hasn't he comed forrard to oppose them
rascally taxes on commercial industry and Fairlop-fair--on enterprising
higgling and 'twelve in a tax-cart?' need I say I alludes to them blessed
'pikes? (_Long and continued cheers._) Sir Eddard is fully aware that the
'pike-men didn't make the dirt that makes the road, and werry justly
refuses to fork out tuppence-ha'penny! It's werry true Sir Eddard says
that the t'other taxes must be paid, as what's to pay the ministers? But
it's highly unreasonable that 'pike-men is to be put alongside of Prime
Ministers, wedgetable wendors, and purveyors of promiscus polte-ry! Had
that great man succeeded in bilking the toll, what a thing it would ha'
been for us! Gatter is but 3d. a pot, and that's the price of a reasonable
'pike-ticket. That wenerable and wenerated liquor as bears the cognominum
of 'Old Tom' is come-atable for the walley of them werry browns. But Sir
Eddard has failed in his bould endeavour--the 'pikes has it! (_Shame!_)
It's for us to reward him. I therefore proposes that a collection of
turnpike tickets is made, and then elegantly mounted, framed and
glaziered, and presented to the Right Honourable Barrownight." (_Immense
applause._)

Mr. ALEC BILL JONES, the celebrated early-tater and spring-ingen dealer,
seconded the proposition, at the same time suggesting that "Old
'pike-tickets would do as well as new 'uns; and everybody know'd that
second-hand tumpike-tickets warn't werry waluable, so the thing could be
done handsome and reasonable."

A collection was immediately commenced in the room, and in a few minutes
the subscription included the whole of the Metropolitan trusts, together
with three Waterloo-bridge tickets, which the donor stated "could ony be
'ad for axing for."

A deputation was then formed for the purpose of presenting this unique
testimonial when completed to Sir Edward Knatchbull.

It is rumoured that the lessees of the gates in the neighbourhood of the
Metropolis are trying to get up a counter meeting. We have written to Mr.
Levy on the subject.

       *       *       *       *       *


MUSICAL NEWS (NOOSE).

We perceive from a foreign paper that a criminal who has been imprisoned
for a considerable period at Presburg has acquired a complete mastery over
the violin. It has been announced that he will shortly make an appearance
in public. Doubtless, his performance will be _a solo on one string_.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE PHYSIOLOGY OF THE LONDON MEDICAL STUDENT.

10.--THE TERMINATION OF THE HALL EXAMINATION.

[Illustration: T]The morning after the carousal reported in our last
chapter, the parties thereat assisting are dispersed in various parts of
London. Did a modern Asmodeus take a spectator to any elevated point from
which he could overlook the Great Metropolis of Mr. Grant and England just
at this period, when Aurora has not long called the sun, who rises as
surlily as if he had got out of bed the wrong way, he would see Mr. Rapp
ruminating upon things in general whilst seated on some cabbages in Covent
Garden Market; Mr. Jones taking refreshment with a lamplighter and two
cabmen at a promenade coffee-stand near Charing Cross, to whom he is
giving a lecture upon the action of veratria in paralysis, jumbled somehow
or other with frequent asseverations that he shall at all times be happy
to see the aforesaid lamplighter and two cabmen at the hospital or his own
lodgings; Mr. Manhug, with a pocket-handkerchief tied round his head, not
clearly understanding what has become of his latch-key, but rather
imagining that he threw it into a lamp instead of the short pipe which
still remains in the pocket of his pea-jacket, and, moreover, finding
himself close to London Bridge, is taking a gratuitous doze in the cabin
of the Boulogne steam-boat, which he ascertains does not start until eight
o'clock; whilst Mr. Simpson, the new man, with the usual destiny of such
green productions--thirsty, nauseated, and "coming round"--is safely taken
care of in one of the small private unfurnished apartments which are let
by the night on exceedingly moderate terms (an introduction by a policeman
of known respectability being all the reference that is required) in the
immediate neighbourhood of the Bow-street Police-office. Where Mr. Muff
is--it is impossible to form the least idea; he may probably speak for
himself.

The reader will now please to shift the time and place to two o'clock P.M.
in the dissecting-room, which is full of students, comprising three we
have just spoken of, except Mr. Simpson. A message has been received that
the anatomical teacher is unavoidably detained at an important case in
private practice, and cannot meet his class to day. Hereupon there is much
rejoicing amongst the pupils, who gather in a large semicircle round the
fireplace, and devise various amusing methods of passing the time. Some
are for subscribing to buy a set of four-corners, to be played in the
museum when the teachers are not there, and kept out of sight in an old
coffin when they are not wanted. Others vote for getting up sixpenny
sweepstakes, and raffling for them with dice--the winner of each to stand
a pot out of his gains, and add to the goodly array of empty pewters which
already grace the mantelpiece in bright order, with the exception of two
irregulars, one of which Mr. Rapp has squeezed flat to show the power of
his hand; and in the bottom of the other Mr. Manhug has bored a foramen
with a red-hot poker in a laudable attempt to warm the heavy that it
contained. Two or three think they had better adjourn to the nearest slate
table and play a grand pool; and some more vote for tapping the
preparations in the museum, and making the porter of the dissecting-room
intoxicated with the grog manufactured from the proof spirit. The various
arguments are, however, cut short by the entrance of Mr. Muff, who rushes
into the room, followed by Mr. Simpson, and throwing off his macintosh
cape, pitches a large fluttering mass of feathers into the middle of the
circle.

"Halloo, Muff! how are you, my bean--what's up?" is the general
exclamation.

"Oh, here's a lark!" is all Mr. Muff's reply.

"Lark!" cries Mr. Rapp; "you're drunk, Muff--you don't mean to call that a
lark!"

"It's a beautiful patriarchal old hen," returns Mr. Muff, "that I bottled
as she was meandering down the mews; and now I vote we have her for lunch.
Who's game to kill her?"

Various plans are immediately suggested, including cutting her head off,
poisoning her with morphia, or shooting her with a little cannon Mr Rapp
has got in his locker; but at last the majority decide upon hanging her. A
gibbet is speedily prepared, simply consisting of a thigh-bone laid across
two high stools; a piece of whip cord is then noosed round the victim's
neck; and she is launched into eternity, as the newspapers say--Mr. Manhug
attending to pull her legs.

"Depend upon it that's a humane death," remarks Mr. Jones. "I never tried
to strangle a fowl but once, and then I twisted its neck bang off. I know
a capital plan to finish cats though."

"Throw it off--put it up--let's have it," exclaim the circle.

"Well, then; you must get their necks in a slip knot and pull them up to a
key-hole. They can't hurt you, you know, because you are the other side
the door.

"Oh, capital--quite a wrinkle," observes Mr. Muff. "But how do you catch
them first?"

"Put a hamper outside the leads with some valerian in it, and a bit of
cord tied to the lid. If you keep watch, you may bag half-a-dozen in no
time; and strange cats are fair game for everybody,--only some of them are
rum 'uns to bite."

At this moment, a new Scotch pupil, who is lulling himself into the belief
that he is studying anatomy from some sheep's eyes by himself in the
Museum, enters the dissecting-room, and mildly asks the porter "what a
heart is worth?"

"I don't know, sir," shouts Mr. Rapp; "it depends entirely upon what's
trumps;" whereupon the new Scotch pupil retires to his study as if he was
shot, followed by several pieces of cinders and tobacco-pipe,

During the preceding conversation, Mr. Muff cuts down the victim with a
scalpel; and, finding that life has departed, commences to pluck it, and
perform the usual post-mortem abdominal examinations attendant upon such
occasions. Mr. Rapp undertakes to manufacture an extempore spit, from the
rather dilapidated umbrella of the new Scotch pupil, which he has
heedlessly left in the dissecting-room. This being completed, with the
assistance of some wire from the ribs of an old skeleton that had hung in
a corner of the room ever since it was built, the hen is put down to
roast, presenting the most extraordinary specimen of trussing upon record.
Mr. Jones undertakes to buy some butter at a shop behind the hospital; and
Mr. Manhug, not being able to procure any flour, gets some starch from the
cabinet of the lecturer on Materia Medica, and powders it in a mortar
which he borrows from the laboratory.

"To revert to cats," observes Mr. Manhug, as he sets himself before the
fire to superintend the cooking; "it strikes me we could contrive no end
to fun if we each agreed to bring some here one day in carpet-bags. We
could drive in plenty of dogs, and cocks, and hens, out of the back
streets, and then let them all loose together in the dissecting-room."

"With a sprinkling of rats and ferrets," adds Mr. Rapp. "I know a man who
can let us have as many as we want. The skrimmage would be immense, only I
shouldn't much care to stay and see it."

"Oh that's nothing," replies Mr. Muff. "Of course, we must get on the roof
and look at it through the skylights. You may depend upon it, it would be
the finest card we ever played."

How gratifying to every philanthropist must be these proofs of the
elasticity of mind peculiar to a Medical Student! Surrounded by scenes of
the most impressive and deplorable nature--in constant association with
death and contact with disease--his noble spirit, in the ardour of his
search after professional information, still retains its buoyancy and
freshness; and he wreaths with roses the hours which he passes in the
dissecting-room, although the world in general looks upon it as a rather
unlikely locality for those flowers to shed their perfume over!

"By the way, Muff, where did you get to last night after we all cut?"
inquires Mr. Rapp.

"Why, that's what I am rather anxious to find out myself," replies Mr.
Muff; "but I think I can collect tolerably good reminiscences of my
travels."

"Tell us all about it then," cry three or four.

"With pleasure--only let's have in a little more beer; for the heat of the
fire in cooking produces rather too rapid an evaporation of fluids from
the surface of the body."

"Oh, blow your physiology!" says Rapp. "You mean to say you've got a hot
copper--so have I. Send for the precious balm, and then fire away."

And accordingly, when the beer arrives, Mr. Muff proceeds with the recital
of his wanderings.

       *       *       *       *       *

LOVE AND HYMEN.

  Cupid (that charming little _garcon_),
    When free, is am'rous, brisk, and gay;
  But when he's noos'd by Hymen's parson,
    Snores like _Glenelg_, or flies away.

       *       *       *       *       *


OUR CITY ARTICLE.

An alarming forgery of Mendicity Society's tickets has been discovered in
Red Lion Square, and has caused much conversation at the doors of most of
the gin palaces. Our readers are probably aware what these tickets are,
though, being a particular class of security, there is not a great deal
publicly done in them. They are issued to certain subscribers, who pay a
guinea per year towards housing a Secretary and some other officers in a
moderate-sized house, in the kitchen of which certain soup is prepared,
which is partaken of by a number of persons called the Board, who are said
to taste it and see that it is good; and if there is any left, which may
occasionally happen, the poor are allowed to finish it. This valuable
privilege is secured by tickets; and these tickets are found to be forged
to a very large amount--some say indeed to the amount of 14,000 basins. It
is not usual to pay off these soup tickets, but a sort of interest can be
had upon them by standing just over the railings of the house in Red Lion
Square, when the Secretary's dinner is being cooked or served up, and a
certain amount of savoury steam is then put into circulation. The house
has been besieged all day with "innocent holders," who, on giving their
tickets in, cannot get them back again. The genuine tickets are known by
the stamp, which is a soup plate _rampant_, and a spoon _argent_,--the
latter being the emblem of the subscribers.

A great deal is said of a new company, whose object is to take advantage
of a well-known fact in chemistry. It is known that diamonds can be
resolved into charcoal, as well as that charcoal can be ultimately reduced
to air; and a company is to be founded with the view of simply _reversing
the process_. Instead of getting air from diamonds, their object will be
to get diamonds from air; and in fact the chief promoters of it have
generally drawn from that source the greater part of their capital. The
whole sum for shares need not be paid up at once; but the Directors will
be satisfied in the first instance with 10 per cent. on the whole sum to
be raised from the adventurers. It is intended to declare a dividend at
the earliest possible period, which will be directly the first diamond has
been made by the new process.

       *       *       *       *       *


CON. BY SIBTHORP AND STULTZ.

Why are batteries and soldiers like the hands and feet of
tailors?--Because the former make breaches (_breeches_), and the latter
pass through them.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE ROMANCE OF A TEACUP.

SIP THE THIRD. GOS-SIP.

  That hour devoted to thy vesper "service"--
    Dulcet exhilaration! glorious tea!--
  I deem my happiest. Howsoe'er I swerve, as
    To mind or morals, elsewhere, over thee
  I am a perfect creature, quite impervious
    To care, or tribulation, or _ennui_--
  In fact, I do agnize to thee an utter
  Devotion even to the bread and butter.

  The homely kettle hissing on the bar--
    (Urns I detest, irrelevant pomposities)--
  The world beyond the window-blinds, as far
    As I can thrust it--this defines what "cosset" is--
  What woe that rhyme such scene of bliss must mar!
    But rhyme, alas! is one of my atrocities;
  In common with those bards who have the scratch
  Of writing, and are all right with Catnach.

  "How Nancy Sniggles was the village pride,--
    How Will, her sweetheart, went to be a sailor;
  How much at parting Nancy Sniggles cried,--
    And how she snubb'd her funny friend the tailor;
  How William boldly fought and bravely died;
    How Nancy Sniggles felt her senses fail her--"
  Then comes a sad _dénouement_--now-a-days
  It is not virtue dominant that pays.

  Such tales, in this, the post-octavo age,
    Our novelists incontinently tells us--
  Tales, wherein lovely heroines engage
    With highwaymen, good-looking rogues but callous,
  Who go on swimmingly till the last page,
    And then take poison to escape the gallows--
  Tales, whose original refinement teaches
  The pride of eloquence in--dying speeches!

  What an apotheosis have we here!
    What equal laws th' awards of fame dispose!
  Capture a fort--assassinate a peer--
    Alike be chronicled in startling prose--
  Alike be dramatised--(how near
    Is clever crime to virtue!)--at Tussaud's
  Be grouped with all the criminals at large,
  From burglar Sheppard unto fiend Laffarge!

  The women are best judges after all!
    And Sheridan was right, and Plagi-ary;
  To their decision all things mundane fall,
    From court to counting-house; from square to dairy;
  From caps to chemistry; from tract to shawl,
    And then these female verdicts never vary!
  In fact, on lap-dogs, lovers, buhl, and boddices,
  There are no critics like these mortal goddesses!

  To please such readers, authors make it answer
    To trace a pedigree to the creation
  Of some old Saxon peer; a monstrous grandsire,
    Whose battles tell, in print, to admiration--
  But I, unfortunate, have never once a
    Mysterious hint of any great relation;
  I know whether Shem or Japhet--right sir--
  Was my progenitor--nor care a kreutzer.

  For, though there's matter for regret in losing
    An opportune occasion to record
  The feats in gambling, duelling, seducing--
    Conventional acquirements of a lord--
  Still I have stories startling and amusing,
    Which I can tell and vouch, upon my word.
  To anybody who desires to hear 'em--
  But don't be nervous, pray,--you needn't fear 'em.

  But what of my poor Hy-son all this while?
    She saved the gardener by a timely kiss.
  Few husbands are there proof against a smile,
    And Te-pott's rage endured no more than this.
  Ah, reader! gentle, moral, free from guile,
    Think you she did so _very_ much amiss?
  She was not love-sick for the fellow quite--
  She merely _thought_ of him--from morn till night!

  A state of mind how much by parents dreaded!
    (By those outrageous parents, English mammas,
  Who scarcely own their daughters till they're wedded)--
    How postulant of patent Chubbs and Bramahs!
  And eyes--the safest locks when locks are needed!--
    And Abigails, and homilies, and grammars;
  And other antidotes for "detrimentals"--
  _Id est_, fine gentlemen unblest with rentals.

  But this could not stop here; nor did it stop--
    For both were anxious for--an explanation.
  And in the harem's grating was a gap,
    Whence Hy-son peep'd in modest hesitation;
  While on his spade the gardener would prop
    Himself, and issue looks of adoration;
  Until it happen'd, like a lucky rhyme,
  Each for the other look'd at the same time.

  Then fell the gardener upon his knees,
    And kiss'd his hand in manner most devout--
  So Hy-son couldn't find the heart to tease
    The poor dear man by being in a pout;--
  Besides, she might go walk among the trees,
    And not a word of scandal be made out.
  She thought a--very--little more upon it,
  Then smiled to Sou-chong,--and put on her bonnet.

       *       *       *       *       *

PUNCH AND THE SWISS GIANTESS!

SHERIFFS' COURT.--WEDNESDAY.

BONBON _versus_ PUNCH.

    [This important cause came on for trial on Wednesday last. That it
    has not been reported in the morning papers is doubtless to be
    attributed to the most reckless bribery on the part of the
    plaintiff. He has, no doubt, sought to hush up his infamy; the
    defendant has no such contemptible cowardice. Hence a special
    reporter was engaged for PUNCH. The trial is given here, firstly,
    for the beautiful illustration it affords of the philosophy of the
    English law of _crim. con._; and secondly on a principle--for
    PUNCH has principles--laid down by the defendant in his course of
    public life, to show himself to the world the man he really is. In
    pursuit of this moral and philosophical object, should the
    waywardness of his genius ever induce PUNCH to cut a throat, pick
    a pocket, or, as a Middlesex magistrate (for PUNCH has been upon
    the bench many a year), to offer for sale a tempting lot of
    liberty to any competent captive,--should PUNCH rob as a vulgar
    Old Bailey delinquent, or genteelly swindle as an Aldermanic
    share-holder,--in each and every of these cases there will, _on
    discovery_, be the fullest report of the same in PUNCH'S own
    paper, PUNCH being deeply impressed with the belief that an
    exhibition of the weaknesses of a great man is highly beneficial
    to public philosophy and public morals. PUNCH now retires in
    favour of his "own" reporter.]

As early as six o'clock in the morning, the neighbourhood of the court
presented a most lively and bustling aspect. Carriages continued to arrive
from the west-end; and we recognised scores of ladies whose names are
familiar to the readers of the _Court Journal_ and _Morning Post_. Several
noblemen, amateurs of the subject, arrived on horseback. By eight o'clock
the four sides of Red Lion-square were, if we may be allowed the metaphor,
a mass of living heads. We owe a debt of gratitude to Mr. Davis, the
respected and conscientious officer for the Sheriff of Middlesex; that
gentleman, in the kindest spirit of hospitality, allowing us six inches of
his door-step when the crowd was at its greatest pressure. Several inmates
of Mr. Davis's delightful mansion had a charming view of the scene from
the top windows, where we observed bars of the most picturesque and _moyen
age_ description. At ten minutes to nine, Mr. Charles Phillips, counsel
for the plaintiff, arrived in Lamb's Conduit-passage, and was loudly
cheered. On the appearance of Mr. Adolphus, counsel for the defendant, a
few miscreants in human shape essayed groans and hisses; they were,
however, speedily put down by the New Police.

We entered the court at nine o'clock. The galleries were crowded with
rank, beauty, and fashion. Conflicting odours of lavender, musk, and _Eau
de Cologne_ emanated from ladies on the bench, most of whom were furnished
with opera-glasses, sandwich-boxes, and species of flasks, vulgarly known
as pocket-pistols. In all our experience we never recollect such a thrill
as that shot through the court, when the crier of the same called out--

BONBON _v_. PUNCH!

Mr. SMITH (a young yet rising barrister with green spectacles) with
delicate primness opened the case. A considerable pause, when--

Mr. CHARLES PHILLIPS, having successfully struggled with his feelings,
rose to address the court for the plaintiff. The learned gentleman said it
had been his hard condition as a barrister to see a great deal of human
wickedness; but the case which, most reluctantly, he approached that day,
made him utterly despair of the heart of man. He felt ashamed of his two
legs, knowing that the defendant in this case was a biped. He had a horror
of the mysterious iniquities of human nature--seeing that the defendant
was a man, a housekeeper, and, what in this case trebled his infamy, a
husband and a father. Gracious Heaven! when he reflected--but no; he would
confine himself to a simple statement of facts. That simplicity would tell
with a double-knock on the hearts of a susceptible jury. The afflicted,
the agonised plaintiff was a public man. He was, until lately, the happy
possessor of a spotless wife and an inimitable spring-van. It was was a
union assented to by reason, smiled on by prudence. Mr. Bonbon was the
envied owner of a perambulating exhibition: he counted among his riches a
Spotted Boy, a New Zealand Cannibal, and a Madagascar Cow. The crowning
rose was, however, to be gathered, and he plucked, and (as he fondly
thought) made his own for ever, the Swiss Giantess! Mr. Bonbon had wealth
in his van--the lady had wealth in herself; hence it was, in every
respect, what the world would denominate an equal match.

The learned counsel said he would call witnesses to prove the blissful
atmosphere in which the parties lived, until the defendant, like a
domestic upas-tree, tainted and polluted it. That van was another Eden,
until PUNCH, the serpent, entered. The lady was a native of
Switzerland--yes, of Switzerland. Oh, that he (the learned gentleman)
could follow her to her early home!--that he could paint her with the
first blush and dawn of innocence, tinting her virgin cheek as the morning
sun tinted the unsullied snows of her native Jungfrau!--that he could lead
the gentlemen of the jury to that Swiss cottage where the gentle Félicité
(such was the lady's name) lisped her early prayer--that he could show
them the mountains that had echoed with her songs (since made so very
popular by Madame Stockhausen)--that he could conjure up in that court the
goats whose lacteal fluid was wont to yield to the pressure of her virgin
fingers--the kids that gambolled and made holiday about her--the birds
that whistled in her path--the streams that flowed at her feet--the
avalanches, with their majestic thunder, that fell about her. Would he
could subpoena such witnesses! then would the jury feel, what his poor
words could never make them feel--the loss of his injured client. On one
hand would be seen the simple Swiss maiden--a violet among the rocks--a
mountain dove--an inland pearl--a rainbow of the glaciers--a creature pure
as her snows, but not as cold; and on the other the fallen wife--a
monument of shame! This was a commercial country; and the jury would learn
with additional horror that it was in the sweet confidence of a commercial
transaction that the defendant obtained access to his interesting victim.
Yes, gentlemen, (said Mr. P.,) it was under the base, the heartless, the
dastardly excuse of business, that the plaintiff poured his venom in the
ear of a too confiding woman. He had violated the sacred bonds of human
society--the noblest ties that hold the human heart--the sweetest tendrils
that twine about human affections. This should be shown to the jury.
Letters from the plaintiff would be read, in which his heart--or rather
that ace of spades he carried in his breast and called his heart--would be
laid bare in open court. But the gentlemen of the jury would teach a
terrible lesson that day. They would show that the socialist should not
guide his accursed bark into the tranquil seas of domestic comfort, and
anchor it upon the very hearthstone of conjugal felicity. No--as the
gentlemen of the jury were husbands and fathers, as they were fathers and
not husbands, as they were neither one nor the other, but hoped to be
both--they would that day hurl such a thunderbolt at the pocket of the
defendant--they would so thrice-gild the incurable ulcers of the
plaintiff, that all the household gods of the United Empire would hymn
them to their mighty rest, and Hymen himself keep continual carnival at
their amaranthine hearths. "Gentlemen of the jury (said the learned
counsel in conclusion), I leave you with a broken heart in your hands! A
broken heart, gentlemen! Creation's masterpiece, flawed cracked, SHIVERED
TO BITS! See how the blood flows from it--mark where its strings are cut
and cut--its delicate fibres violated--its primitive aroma evaporated to
all the winds of heaven. Make that heart your own, gentlemen, and say at
how many pounds you value the demoniac damage. And oh, may your verdict
still entitle you to the blissful confidence of that divine, purpureal
sex, the fairest floral specimens of which I see before me! May their
unfolding fragrance make sweet your daily bread; and when you die, from
the tears of conjugal love, may thyme and sweet marjoram spring and
blossom above your graves!"

Here the emotion of the court was unparalleled in the memory of the oldest
attorney. Showers of tears fell from the gallery, so that there was a
sudden demand for umbrellas.

The learned counsel sat down, and, having wiped his eyes, ate a sandwich.

There were other letters, but we have selected the least glowing. Mr.
Charles Phillips then called his witnesses.

Peter Snooks examined: Was employed by plaintiff; recollected defendant
coming to the van to propose a speculation, in which Madame Bonbon was to
play with him. Defendant came very often when plaintiff was out. Once
caught Madame Bonbon on defendant's knee. Once heard Madame Bonbon say,
"Bless your darling nose!" Was sure it was defendant's nose. Was shocked
at her levity, but consented to go for gin--Madame found the money. Had a
glass myself, and drank their healths. Plaintiff never beat his wife; he
couldn't: they were of very uneven habits; she was seven feet four,
plaintiff was four feet seven.

Cross-examined by Mr. Adolphus: Plaintiff was dreadfully afflicted at
infidelity of his wife: had become quite desperate--never sober since; was
never sober before. On first night of the news plaintiff was quite
delirious; took six plates of alamode beef, and two pots of porter.

Sarah Pillowcase examined: Was chambermaid at the Tinder-box and Flint,
New Cut; had known defendant since she was a child--also knew plaintiff's
wife. They came together on the 1st of April, about twelve at night.
Understood they had been in a private box at the Victoria with an order.
They had twelve dozen of oysters for supper, and eight Welch-rabbits: the
lady found the money. Thought, of course, they were married, or would
rather have died than have served them. They made a hearty breakfast: the
lady found the money.

Cross-examined by Mr. Adolphus: Would swear to the lady, as she had once
paid a shilling to see her.

(Here it was intimated by the learned judge that ladies might leave the
court if they chose; it was evident, however, that no lady heard such
intimation, as no lady stirred.)

Cross-examination continued: Yes, would swear it. Knew the obligation of
an oath, and would swear it.

This ended the case for the plaintiff.

Mr. ADOLPHUS addressed the court for the defendant. He had not the golden
tongue--no, he was not blessed with the oratory of his learned friend. He
would therefore confine himself to the common sense view of the question.
He was not talking to Arcadian shepherds (he was very happy to see his own
butcher in the jury-box), but to men of business. If there had been any
arts practised, it was on the side of the plaintiff's wife. His client had
visited the plaintiff out of pure compassion. The plaintiff's show was a
failing concern; his client, with a benevolence which had marked his long
career, wished to give him the benefit of his own attractions, joined to
those of the woman. Well, the plaintiff knew the value of money, and
therefore left his wife and the defendant to arrange the affair between
them. "Gentlemen of the jury," continued the learned counsel, "it must
appear to you, that on the part of the plaintiff this is not an affair of
the heart, but a matter of the breeches' pocket. He leaves his wife--a
fascinating, versatile creature--with my client, I confess it, an
acknowledged man of gallantry. Well, the result is--what was to be
expected. My learned friend has dwelt, with his accustomed eloquence, on
his client's broken heart. I will not speak of his heart; but I must say
that the man who, bereaved of the partner of his bosom, can still eat six
plates of alamode beef, must have a most excellent stomach. Gentlemen,
beware of giving heavy damages in this case, or otherwise you will
unconsciously be the promoters of great immorality. This is no paradox,
gentlemen; for I am credibly informed that if the man succeed in getting
large damages, he will immediately take his wife home to his bosom and his
van, and instead of exhibiting her, as he has hitherto done, for one
penny, he will, on the strength of the notoriety of this trial, and as a
man knowing the curiosity of society, immediately advance that penny to
threepence. You will, therefore, consider your verdict, gentlemen, and
give such moderate damages as will entirely mend the plaintiff's broken
heart."

The jury, without retiring from the box, returned a verdict of "Damages
One Farthing!"

       *       *       *       *       *

We are credibly informed--though the evidence was not adduced in
court--that Monsieur Bonbon first suspected his dishonour from his wife's
hair papers. She had most negligently curled her tresses in the soft paper
epistles of her _innamorato_.

       *       *       *       *       *


PUNCH'S PENCILLINGS.--No. XXI.

[Illustration: CUPID OUT OF PLACE.

_From a Sketch made in "THE PALMERSTON GALLERY."_]

       *       *       *       *       *


THE FETES FOR THE POLISH--AND FATE OF THE BRITISH POOR.

"Charity begins at home," says, or rather said, an admirable old proverb;
but alack! the adage, or the times, or both, are out of joint--the
wholesome maxim has lost its force--and homes for Charity must now be far
as the _Poles_ asunder, ere the benign influence of the weeping goddess
can fall upon its wretched supplicants.

In private life the neglect of a domestic hearth for the vainglorious
squandering abroad of the means that could and ought to render that the
chief seat of comfort and independence, calls down upon the thoughtless
and heartless squanderer and abuser of his means the just indignation and
merited contempt of every thinking and properly constituted mind. The
"Charity" that does not begin at home is the worst species of
unjustifiable prodigality, and the first step to the absolute ruin of the
"nearest and dearest" for the sake of the profligate and abandoned. And no
sophistry can justify the apparent liberality that deprives others of
their just and urgent dues.

It may be and is most noble to feed the widow and to clothe the orphan;
but where is the beneficence of the deed if the wife and children of the
ostentatious donor--the victims of the performance of such acts--are left
themselves to endure misery and privations, from which his inadequate
means cannot exempt the stranger and the giver's own household!

The sparrow who unwittingly rears the cuckoo's spurious offspring, tending
with care the ultimate destroyer of its own young, does so in perfect
ignorance of the results about to follow the misplaced affection. The
cravings of the interloper are satisfied to the detriment of its own
offspring; and when the full-fledged recipient of its misplaced bounty no
longer needs its aid, the thankless stranger wings its way on its far-off
course, selfishly careless of the fostering bird that brought it into
life; and this may be looked upon as one of the results generally
attendant upon a blind forgetfulness of _where_ our first endeavours for
the amelioration of the wants of others should be made.

It has ever been the crying sin of the vastly sympathetic to weep for the
miseries of the distant, and blink at the wretchedness their eyes--if not
their hearts--must ache to see. Their charity must have its proper stage,
their sentiments the proper objects,--and their imaginations the
undisturbed right to revel in the supposititious grievances of the far-off
wretched and oppressed. The poor black man! the tortured slave! the
benighted infidel! the debased image of his maker! the sunken bondsman!
These terms must be the "Open sesame" for the breasts from whence spring
bibles, bribes, blankets, glass beads, pocket-combs, tracts, teachers,
missions, and missionaries. Oppression is what they would put down; but
then the oppression must be of "foreign manufacture." Your English,
genuine home-made article, though as superior in strength and endurance as
our own canvas is to the finest fold of gauze-like cambric, is in their
opinion a thing not worth a thought. A half oppressed Caffre is an object
of ten thousand times more sympathy than a wholly oppressed Englishman; a
half-starved Pole the more fitting recipient of the same proportion of
actual bounty to a wholly starving peasant of our own land of law and
liberty.

Let one-tenth the disgusting details so nobly exposed in the _Times_
newspaper, as to the frightful state of some of our legalised poor law
inquisitions, appear as extracts from the columns of a _foreign_ journal,
stating such treatment to exist amongst a foreign population, and mark the
result. Why, the town would teem with meetings and the papers with
speeches. Royal, noble, and honourable chairmen and vice chairmen would
launch out their just anathemas against the heartless despots whose realms
were disgraced by such atrocities. Think, think of the aged poor torn from
their kindred, caged in a prison, refused all aid within, debarred from
every hope without,--think of the flesh, the very flesh, rotting by slow
degrees, and then in putrid masses falling from their wretched bones:
think, we say, on this--then give what name you can, save murder, to their
quickly succeeding death.

Fancy children--children that should be in their prime--so caged and fed
that the result is disease in its most loathsome form, and with all its
most appalling consequences! No hope! no flight! The yet untainted, as it
were, chained to the spot, with mute despair watching the slow infection,
and with breaking hearts awaiting the hour--the moment--when it _must_
reach to them!

We say, think of these things--not as if they were the doings in England,
and therefore legalised matters of course--but think of them as the arts
of some despot in a far-off colony, and oh, how all hearts would burn--all
tongues curse and call for vengeance on the abetors of such atrocities!

The supporters of the rights of man would indeed pour forth their eloquent
denunciations against the oppressors of the absent. The poetry of passion
would be exhausted to depict the frightful state of the crimeless and
venerable victim of tyranny, bowing his grey hairs with sorrow to the
grave; while the wailing of the helpless innocents _different indeed in
colour_, but in heart and spirit like ourselves, being sprung from the one
great source, would echo throughout the land, and find responses in every
bosom not lost to the kindly feelings of good-will towards its fellows!
Had the would-be esteemed philanthropists but these "_foreign cues_ for
passion," they would indeed

          "Drown the stage with tears,
  And cleave the general ear with horrid speech;
  Make mad the guilty, and appal the free;
  Confound the ignorant; and amaze, indeed,
  The very faculties of eyes and ears."

But, alas! there is no such motive; these most destitute of Destitution's
children are simply fellow-countrymen and fellow-Christians. Sons of the
same soil, and worshippers of the same God, they need no good works in the
way of proselyzation to save them from eternal perdition; consequently
they receive no help to keep them from temporal torture.

To convince themselves that these remarks are neither unwarrantably
severe, nor in the slightest degree overcharged, let our readers not only
refer to the revolting doings chronicled in the _Times_, but let them find
the further illustration of this _foreign penchant_ in the recent doings
at the magnificently-attended ball given in behalf of the _Polish
Refugees_, and consequently commanding the support of the humane,
enlightened, and charitable English; and then let them cast their eyes
over the cold shoulder turned towards a proposition for the _same_ act of
charity being consummated for the relief of the poverty-stricken and
starving families of the destitute and deserving artisans now literally
starving under their very eyes, located no farther off than in the
wretched locality of Spitalfields! An opinion--and doubtless an honest
one--is given by the Lord Mayor, that any attempt to relieve _their
wants_, in the way found so efficacious for _the Polish Refugees_, would
be madness, inasmuch as it would, _as heretofore_, prove an absolute
failure. Reader, is there anything of the cuckoo and the sparrow in the
above assertion? Is it not true? And if it is so, is it not a more than
crying evil? Is it not a most vile blot upon our laws--a most beastly
libel upon our creed and our country? Is no relief ever to be given to the
immediate objects who should be the persons benefited by our bounty? Are
those who, in the prosperity proceeding from their unceasing and ill-paid
toil, added their quota to the succour of others, now that poverty has
fallen on them, to be left the sport of fortune and the slaves of
suffering? Do good, we say, in God's name, to all, if good can be done to
all. But do not rob the lamb of its natural due--its mother's
nourishment--to waste it on an alien. There is no spirit of illiberality
in these remarks; they are put forward to advocate the rights of our own
destitute countrymen--to claim for them a share of the lavish
commiseration bestowed on others--to call attention to the desolation of
_their_ hearths--the wreck of their comforts--the awful condition of their
starving and dependent families--and to give the really charitable an
opportunity of reserving some of their kindnesses for home consumption.
Let this be their _just_ object, and not one among the relieved would
withhold his mite from their suffering fellows in other climes. But in
Heaven's name, let the adage root itself once more in every Englishman's
"heart of hearts," and once more let "Charity begin at home!"

       *       *       *       *       *


THE FIRE AT THE ADELPHI THEATRE.

Yates was nearly treating the enlightened British public with an antidote
to "the vast receptacle of 8,000 tons of water," by setting fire to the
saloon chimney. Great as the consternation of the audience was in the
front, it was far exceeded by the alarm of the actors behind the curtain,
for they are so sensible of the manager's daring genius, that they
concluded he had set fire to the house in order to convert "the space
usually devoted to _illusion_ into the area of reality." The great Mr.
Freeborn actually rushed out of the theatre without his rouge. Little Paul
drank off a glass of neat water. Mr. John Sanders was met at the end of
Maiden Lane, with his legs thrust into the sleeves of his coat, and the
rest of his body encased in the upper part of a property dragon; whilst
little round Wilkinson was vainly endeavouring to squeeze himself into a
wooden waterspout. Had he succeeded he might have applied for the reward
offered by the Royal Society for a method of

[Illustration:  SQUARING THE CIRCLE.]

       *       *       *       *       *


THE CRIMES OF EATING.

[Illustration: S]Sir Robert Peel and her Majesty's Ministers have, we
learn, taken a hint in criminal jurisprudence from his Worship the Mayor
of Reading, and are now preparing a bill for Parliament, which they trust
will be the means of checking the alarming desire for food which has begun
to spread amongst the poorer classes of society. The crime of eating has
latterly been indulged in to such an immoderate extent by the operatives
of Yorkshire and the other manufacturing districts, that we do not wonder
at our sagacious Premier adopting strong measures to suppress the
unnatural and increasing appetites of the people.

Taking up the sound judicial views of the great functionary above alluded
to, who committed Bernard Cavanagh, the fasting man, to prison for
smelling at a saveloy and a slice of ham, Sir Robert has laid down a
graduated--we mean a _sliding--scale_ of penalties for the crime of
eating, proportioning, with the most delicate skill, the exact amount of
the punishment to the enormity of the offence. By his profound wisdom he
has discovered that the great increase of crime in these countries is
entirely attributable to over-feeding the multitude. Like the worthy Mr.
Bumble, in "Oliver Twist," he protests "it is meat and not madness" that
ails the people. He can even trace the origin of every felony to the
particular kind of food in which the felon has indulged. He detects
incipient incendiarism in eggs and fried bacon--homicide in an Irish
stew--robbery and house-breaking in a basin of mutton-broth--and an
aggravated assault in a pork sausage. Upon this noble and statesmanlike
theory Sir Robert has based a bill which, when it becomes the law of the
land, will, we feel assured, tend effectually to keep the rebellious
stomachs of the people in a state of wholesome depletion. And as we now
punish those offenders who break the Queen's peace, we shall, in like
manner, then inflict the law upon the hungry scoundrels who dare to break
the Queen's Fast.

We have been enabled, through a private source, to obtain the following
authentic copy of Sir Robert's scale of the offences under the intended
Act, with the penalty attached to each, viz.:

    For penny rolls or busters         Imprisonment not exceeding a
                                         week.

    For bread of any kind, with        Imprisonment for a month.
      cheese or butter

    For saveloys, German sausages,     One month's imprisonment, with
      and Black puddings                 hard labour.

    For a slice of ham, bacon, or      Imprisonment for three months,
      meat of any kind                   and exercise on the treadmill.

    For a hearty dinner on beef and    Transportation for seven years.
      pudding

    For do. with a pot of home-brewed  Transportation for life.
      ale.

As these offences apply only to those who have no right to eat, the
wealthy and respectable portion of society need be under no apprehension
that they will be exposed to any inconvenience by the operation of the new
law.

       *       *       *       *       *


NOBODY CARES AND*

WELLINGTON has justified his claim to the _sobriquet_ of 'the iron Duke'
by the manner in which he treated the deputation from Paisley. His Grace
excused himself from listening to the tale of misery which several
gentlemen had travelled 500 miles to narrate to him, on the plea that he
was not a Minister of the Crown. Yet we have a right to presume that the
Queen prorogued Parliament upon his Grace's recommendation, so if he be
not one of Peel's Cabinet what is he? We suppose

[Illustration: * NOBODY NOSE.]

       *       *       *       *       *


HINTS HOW TO ENJOY AN OMNIBUS.

1. On getting in, care neither for toes or knees of the passengers; but
drive your way up to the top, steadying yourself by the shoulders, chests,
or even faces of those seated.

2. Seat yourself with a jerk, pushing against one neighbour, and thrusting
your elbow into the side of the other. You will thus get plenty of room.

3. If possible, enter with a stick or umbrella, pointed at full length; so
that any sudden move of the "bus" may thrust it into some one's stomach.
It will make you feared.

4. When seated, occupy, if possible, the room of two, and revenge the
treatment you have received on entering, by throwing every opposition in
the way of a new-comer, especially if it be a woman with a child in her
arms. It is a good plan to rest firmly on your umbrella, with your arms at
right angles.

5. Open or shut windows as it suits you; men with colds, or women with
toothaches, have no business in omnibuses. If they don't like it, they can
get out; no one _forces_ them to ride.

6. Young bucks may stare any decent woman out of countenance, put their
legs up along the seats, and if going out to dinner, wipe the mud off
their boots on the seats. They are only plush.

7. If middle-aged gentlemen are musical or political, they can dislocate a
tune in something between a bark and a grumble, or endeavour to provoke an
argument by declaring very loudly that Lord R---- or the Duke "is a
thorough scoundrel," according to their opinion of public affairs.  If
this don't take, they can keep up a perpetual squabble with the conductor,
which will show they think themselves of some importance.

8. Ladies wishing to be agreeable can bring lap dogs, large paper parcels,
and children, to whom an omnibus is a ship, though you wish you were out
of their reach.

9. Conductors should particularly aim to take up laundresses returning
with a large family washing, bakers and butchers in their working jackets,
and, if a wet day, should be particular not to pull up to the pathway.

10. For want of space, the following brevities must suffice:--Never say
where you wish to stop until after you have passed the place, and then
pull them up with a sudden jerk.  Keep your money in your
waistcoat-pocket, and button your under and upper coat completely, and
never attempt to get at it until the door is opened, and then let it be
nothing under a five-shilling piece. Never ask any one to speak to the
conductor for you, but hit or poke him with your umbrella or stick, or rap
his hand as it rests on the door. He puts it there on purpose. Always stop
the wrong omnibus, and ask if the Paddington goes to Walworth, and the
Kennington to Whitechapel: you are not obliged to read all the rigmarole
they paint on the outside. Finally, consider an omnibus as a carriage, a
bed, a public-house, a place of amusement, or a boxing-ring, where you may
ride, sleep, smoke, chaff, or quarrel, as it may suit you.

       *       *       *       *       *


PETER THE GREAT (FOOL?)

The following colloquy occurred between a candidate for suicidal fame and
the City's Peter Laureate:--

"So, sir, you tried to hang yourself, did you?"

"In course I did, or I should not have put my head in the noose."

"You had no business to do so."

"I did it for my pleasure, not for business."

"I'll let you see, sir, you shan't do it either for fun or earnest."

"Are you a Tory, Sir Peter?"

"A Tory, sir! No, sir; I'm a magistrate."

"Ah, that's why you interfere; you must be a low Rad, or you wouldn't
prevent a man from

[Illustration: DOING WHAT HE LIKES WITH HIS HONE."]

       *       *       *       *       *


THE WISE MAN OF THE EAST.

SIR PETER LAURIE begs Punch to inform him, which of Arabia's Children is
alluded to in Moore's beautiful ballad,

  "Farewell to thee, Araby's daughter."

He presumes it is Miss Elizabeth, commonly called _Bess-Arabia_.

       *       *       *       *       *


SONGS OF THE SEEDY.--No. VII.

    I love the night with its mantle dark,
      That hangs like a cloak on the face of the sky;
    Oh what to me is the song of the lark?
      Give me the owl; and I'll tell you why.
    It is that at night I can walk abroad,
      Which I may not do in the garish day,
    Without being met in the streets, and bored
      By some cursed dun, that I cannot pay.
                No! no! night let it ever be:
  The owl! the owl! the owl! is the bird for me!

    Then tempt me not with thy soft guitar,
      And thy voice like the sound of a silver bell,
    To take a stroll, where the cold ones are
      Who in lanes, not of trees but of fetters[1], dwell.
    But wait until night upsets its ink
      On the earth, on the sea, and all over the sky,
    And then I'll go to the wide world's brink
      With the girl I love, without feeling shy.
                Oh, then, may it night for ever be!
  The owl! the owl! the owl! is the bird for me!

    But you turn aside! Ah! did you know,
      What by searching the office you'd plainly see,
    That I'm hunted down, like a (Richard) Roe,
      You'd not thus avert your eyes from me.
    Oh never did giant look after Thumb
      (When the latter was keeping out of the way)
    With a more tremendous fee-fo-fum
      Than I'm pursued by a dread _fi-fa_.
    Too-whit! too-whit! is the owl's sad song!
      A writ! a writ! a writ! when mid the throng,
    Is ringing in my ears the whole day long.
                Ah me! night let it be:
  The owl! the stately owl! is the bird--yes, the bird for me!

    [1] Fetter-lane is clearly alluded to by the poet. It is believed
        to be the bailiffs' quarter.

       *       *       *       *       *


POPISH RED-DRESS.

The _Examiner_ states that there is no such fabric as scarlet cloth made
in Ireland. If this be true, the Lady of Babylon, who is said to reside in
that country, and to be addicted to scarlet clothing, must be in a very
destitute condition.

       *       *       *       *       *


A SPOON CASE.

A well-dressed individual has lately been visiting the lodging-house
keepers of the metropolis. He engages lodgings--but being, as he says,
just arrived from a long journey, he begs to have dinner before he returns
to the Coach-Office for his luggage. This request being usually complied
with, the new lodger, while the table is being laid, watches his
opportunity and bolts with the silver spoons. Sir Peter Laurie says, that
since this practice of filching the spoons has commenced, he does not feel
himself safe in his own house. He only hopes the thief may be brought
before him, and he promises to give him his _dessert_, by committing him
without

[Illustration: STANDING UPON CEREMONY.]

       *       *       *       *       *


A DAB FOR LAURIE.

SIR PETER LAURIE, on a recent visit to Billingsgate for the purpose of
making what he calls a _pisciatery_ tour, was much astonished at the
vigorous performance of various of the real "live fish," some of which, as
he sagely remarked, appeared to be perfect "Dabs" at jumping, and no doubt
legitimate descendants from some particularly

[Illustration: MERRY OLD SOLE.]

       *       *       *       *       *


SIBTHORPS CORNER.

If old Nick were to lose his tail, where should he go to supply the
deficiency?--To a gin-palace, because there they _re-tail_ bad spirits.

Mr. G., who has a very ugly wife, named Euphemia, was asked lately why his
spouse was the image of himself--and, to his great annoyance, discovered
that it was because she was his _Effie-G_[2].

    [2] I could make better than the above myself. E.G.--In what way
        should Her Majesty stand upon a Bill in Parliament so as to
        quash it?--By putting her _V-toe_ (_veto_) on it.--PRINTER'S
        DEVIL.

I floored Ben-beau D'Israeli the other day with the following:--"Ben,"
said I, "if I were going to buy a violin, what method should I take to get
it cheap?" Benjie looked rather more foolish than usual, and gave it up.
"Why, you ninny," I replied, "I should buy an ounce of castor-oil, and
then I would get a phial in (_violin_)." I think I had him there.

Why is a female of the canine species suckling her whelps like a
philosophic principle?--Because she is a dogma (_dog-ma_).

What part of a horse's foot is like an irate governor?--The pastern
(_pa-stern_).

Why is the march of a funeral procession like a turnpike?--Because it is a
toll-gait (_toll-gate_).

Who is the greatest literary _star_?--The _poet-aster_.

Why is an Israelite named William Solomons similar to a great public
festival?--Because he is a Jubilee (_Jew-Billy_).

Why are polished manners like a pea-jacket?--Because they are address (_a
dress_).

Why are swallows like a leap head-over-heels?--Because they are a summer
set (_a somerset_).

       *       *       *       *       *


CUTTING IT RATHER SHORT.

The unexpected adjournment of the Court of Queen's Bench, by Lord Denman,
on last Thursday, has filled the bar with consternation.--"What is to
become of our clients?" said Fitzroy Kelly.--"And of our fees?" added the
Solicitor General.--"I feel deeply for my clients," sighed Serjeant
Bompas.--"We all compassionate them, brother," observed Wilde.--In short,
one and all declare it was a most arbitrary and unprecedented curtailment
of their little _term_--and, to say the least of it,

[Illustration: A MOST DISTRESSING BLOW.]

       *       *       *       *       *


NATIONAL DISTRESS.

The Tee-totallers say that the majority of the people are victims to
Bacchus. In the present hard times they are more likely to be victims to

[Illustration: JUG O' NOUGHT--(JUGGERNAUT.)]

       *       *       *       *       *


SONGS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL.--No. 12.

  Away! away! ye hopes which stray
    Like jeering spectres from the tomb!
  Ye cannot light the coming night,
    And shall not mock its gathering gloom;
  Though dark the cloud shall form my shroud--
    Though danger league with racking doubt--
  Away! away! _ye_ shall not stay
    When all my joys are "up the spout!"

  I little knew when first ye threw
    Your bright'ning beams on coming hours,
  That time would see me turn from thee,
    And fly your sweet delusive powers.
  Now, nerved to woe, no more I'll know
    How hope deferr'd makes mortal sick;
  The gathering storm may whelm my form,
    But I will suffer "like a brick!"

       *       *       *       *       *


LAURIE'S RAILLERY.

When Sir Peter Laurie had taken his seat the other morning in that Temple
of Momus, the Guildhall Justice Room, he was thus addressed by Payne, the
clerk--"I see, Sir Peter, an advertisement in the _Times_, announcing the
sale of shares in the railroad from Paris to ROUEN; would you advise me to
invest a little loose cash in that speculation?" "Certainly not," replied
the Knight, "nor in any other railway,--depend upon it, they all lead to
the same terminus, RUIN." Payne, having exclaimed that this was the best
thing he had ever heard, was presented by our own Alderman with a
shilling, accompanied with a request that he would get his hair cropped to
the magisterial standard.

       *       *       *       *       *


A MEETING OF OLD ACQUAINTANCES.

At the sale of the library of the late Theodore Hook, a curious copy of
"The Complete Jester" was knocked down to "our own" Colonel. Delighted
with his prize, he ran home, intending to lay in a fresh stock of _bons
mots_; but what was his amazement on finding that all the jokes contained
in the volume were those with which he has been in the habit of
entertaining the public these last forty years! Sibby declares that the
sight of so many old friends actually brought the tears into his eyes.

       *       *       *       *       *


PUNCH'S THEATRE.

LOVE EXTEMPORE.

As the hero of a romantic play is obliged to possess all the cardinal
virtues and all the intellectual accomplishments, so the hero of a farce
is bound to be a fool. One of the greatest, and at the same time one of
the best fools it has been our pleasure to be introduced to for some time
is _Mr. Titus Livingstone_, in the new farce of "Love Extempore."

_Mr. Titus Livingstone_ possesses an excellent heart, a good fortune, and
an uncommon stock of modesty. His intellects are, however, far from
brilliant; indeed, but for one trait in his character he would pass for an
idiot,--he has had the good sense never as yet to fall in love! In fact,
the farce is founded upon that identical incident of his life which
occasioned him to suppose that he had taken the tender passion extempore.

Some sort of villany seems absolutely necessary to every species of play.
To continue the parallel we commenced with between tragedy and farce, we
observe that in the former he is usually such a person as _Spinola_, in
"Nina Sforza," whilst a farce-villain turns out to be in most instances an
intriguing widow, a lawyer, or a mischievous young lady. The rogue in
"Love Extempore" is _Mrs. Courtnay_, a widow, who, with the assistance of
_Sir Harry Nugent_, contrives a plot by which the hitherto insensible
_Livingstone_ shall fall a victim to love and her friend _Prudence
Oldstock_; with whose mother and sister the widow and her co-intriguant
are staying on a visit.

The moment fatal to Livingstone's virgin heart and unrestrained liberty
arrives. He calls to pay a morning visit, and instantly the deep design is
put into execution. _Sir Harry_ begins by a most extravagant puff
preliminary of the talents, accomplishments, virtues, beauty, disposition,
endowments, and graces belonging to the enchanting _Prudence_. He and the
widow exhibit her drawings,--_Livingstone_ is in raptures, or pretends to
be (for he is not an ill-bred man). What a piercing expression flashes
from those studies of eyes (in chalk)! what an artistical grouping of
legs! what a Saracen's-head-upon-Snow-hill-like ferocity frowns from that
Indian chief!

At this juncture the captivating artist is herself introduced. _Mr.
Livingstone's_ modesty strikes him into a heap of confusion. "He sighs and
looks, and looks and sighs again,"--he does not know "what to say, or how
to say it; so that the trembling bachelor may become a wise and good
lover." He stutters and hems in the utmost distress; to increase which,
all his tormentors turn up the stage, leaving him to entertain the lady
alone. The sketches naturally suggest a topic, and, plunging _in medias
res_ at once, he vehemently praises her legs! The lady is astonished, and
the mamma alarmed; but having explained that the allusion was to the
drawings, he is afterwards punished for the blunder by being threatened
with a song. Though at a loss to find out what he has done to deserve such
an infliction, he submits; for he is very sleepy, and sinks into a chair
in an attitude of supposed attention, but really in a posture best adapted
for a nap. When the song is ended the applause of course comes in; this
awakens _Livingstone_ in a fright; he starts, and throws down a harp in
his fall.

After this _contretemps_, the villany of the widow and her ally takes a
different turn. In a love affair there are generally two parties; and
_Miss Prudence_ has got to be persuaded that _she_ is in love. This it is
not difficult to accomplish, she being no more overburdened with
penetration than the gentleman they are so kind as to say she is in love
with. So far all goes on well: for she is soon convinced that she is
enamoured to the last extremity.

_Livingstone_ having a sort of glimmering that the danger so long averted
at length impends over him--that he is falling into the trap of love, with
every chance of the fall continuing down to the bottomless pit of
matrimony, determines to avert the catastrophe by flight. The pair of
villains, however, set up a cry of "Stop thief," and he is brought back.
_Sir Harry_ appeals to his feelings. Good gracious! is he so base, so
dishonourable, so heartless, to rob an innocent, unsuspecting, and
accomplished girl of her heart, and then wickedly desert her! Oh, no! In
short, having already persuaded the poor man that he is in love, _Sir
Harry_ convinces him that he would also be a deceiver; and _Livingstone_
would have returned like a lamb to the slaughter but for a new incident.

He has an uncle who is engaged in a law-suit with some of _Mrs.
Courtnay's_ family. To bring this litigation to an amicable end it has
been proposed that _Livingstone_ should marry the widow's sister. Here is
a discovery! So, the deep widow has been unwittingly plotting against her
own sister! Things must be altered; and so they are, in no time, for she
persuades the easy hero that _Nugent_ is in love with _Prudence_ himself;
but, finding she adores her new lover, has magnanimously given up his
claims in his favour. This has the desired effect, for _Livingstone_ will
have no such noble sacrifice made on his account. He seeks _Sir Harry_;
who, discovering the double design of the profound widow, talks as
immensely magnanimous as they do in classic dramas. In short, both play at
Romans till the end of the piece; the hero and heroine being at last fully
persuaded that they have each really fallen in "Love Extempore!"

This idea of persuading two persons into the bonds of love--of having all
the courting done at second-hand, is admirably worked out. _Livingstone_
is a well-drawn character; so well, so naturally painted, that he hardly
deserves to be the hero of a farce. Although exceedingly soft, he is a
well-bred fool--though somewhat fat (for the actor is Mr. David Rees); he
is not altogether inelegant. The gentleman who does the theatrical
metaphysics in the _Morning Herald_ has described him as a capital
specimen of "physical obesity and moral teunity,"[3]--which we quote to
save ourselves trouble, for the force of description can no further go.
_Prudence_ is also inimitable--a march-of-intellect young lady without
brains, who knows the names of the five large rivers in America, and how
many bones there are in the gills of a turbot. In Miss P. Horton's hands
her mechanical acquirements were done ample justice to. The cold unmeaning
love scene was rendered mainly by her acting

[Illustration: A N-ICE SITUATION.]

    [3] _Sic_, actually, in the dramatic article of that paper,
        Wednesday, 24th ult.

In fine, the farce is altogether a leaven of the best material most
cleverly worked up.

       *       *       *       *       *


A PERFECT VACUUM PROVED.

MR. HALSE, the gentleman who has during the last week been lecturing upon
Animal Magnetism, having stated that one of his patients, while under the
magnetic influence, could "see her own inside," the Marquis of
Londonderry, anxious to test the truth of the assertion, requested the
lecturer to operate upon him, and being thrown into the Mesmeric sleep,
looked into the inside of his own head, and declared he could see nothing
in it.

       *       *       *       *       *


A CON BY O'CONNER.

Why ought the Children of a Thief to be burnt?--Because _their Pa steals_
(they're pastiles).

       *       *       *       *       *





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large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the use of
public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Keep it legal -  Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for
ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just because
we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States,
that the work is also in the public domain for users in other countries.
Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we
can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of any specific book is
allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Doctrine Publishing
ISYS search  means it can be used in any manner anywhere in the world.
Copyright infringement liability can be quite severe.

About ISYS® Search Software
Established in 1988, ISYS Search Software is a global supplier of enterprise
search solutions for business and government.  The company's award-winning
software suite offers a broad range of search, navigation and discovery
solutions for desktop search, intranet search, SharePoint search and embedded
search applications.  ISYS has been deployed by thousands of organizations
operating in a variety of industries, including government, legal, law
enforcement, financial services, healthcare and recruitment.



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