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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, July 17, 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, July 17, 1841" ***

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VOL. 1.


       *       *       *       *       *


As we hope, gentle public, to pass many happy hours in your society, we
think it right that you should know something of our character and
intentions. Our title, at a first glance, may have misled you into a
belief that we have no other intention than the amusement of a thoughtless
crowd, and the collection of pence. We have a higher object. Few of the
admirers of our prototype, merry Master PUNCH, have looked upon his
vagaries but as the practical outpourings of a rude and boisterous mirth.
We have considered him as a teacher of no mean pretensions, and have,
therefore, adopted him as the sponsor for our weekly sheet of pleasant
instruction. When we have seen him parading in the glories of his motley,
flourishing his baton (like our friend Jullien at Drury-lane) in time with
his own unrivalled discord, by which he seeks to win the attention and
admiration of the crowd, what visions of graver puppetry have passed
before our eyes! Golden circlets, with their adornments of coloured and
lustrous gems, have bound the brow of infamy as well as that of honour--a
mockery to both; as though virtue required a reward beyond the fulfilment
of its own high purposes, or that infamy could be cheated into the
forgetfulness of its vileness by the weight around its temples! Gilded
coaches have glided before us, in which sat men who thought the buzz and
shouts of crowds a guerdon for the toils, the anxieties, and, too often,
the peculations of a life. Our ears have rung with the noisy frothiness of
those who have bought their fellow-men as beasts in the market-place, and
found their reward in the sycophancy of a degraded constituency, or the
patronage of a venal ministry--no matter of what creed, for party
_must_ destroy patriotism.

The noble in his robes and coronet--the beadle in his gaudy livery of
scarlet, and purple, and gold--the dignitary in the fulness of his
pomp--the demagogue in the triumph of his hollowness--these and other
visual and oral cheats by which mankind are cajoled, have passed in review
before us, conjured up by the magic wand of PUNCH.

How we envy his philosophy, when SHALLA-BA-LA, that demon with the bell,
besets him at every turn, almost teasing the sap out of him! The moment
that his tormentor quits the scene, PUNCH seems to forget the existence of
his annoyance, and, carolling the mellifluous numbers of _Jim Crow_,
or some other strain of equal beauty, makes the most of the present,
regardless of the past or future; and when SHALLA-BA-LA renews his
persecutions, PUNCH boldly faces his enemy, and ultimately becomes the
victor. All have a SHALLA-BA-LA in some shape or other; but few, how few,
the philosophy of PUNCH!

We are afraid our prototype is no favourite with the ladies. PUNCH is (and
we reluctantly admit the fact) a Malthusian in principle, and somewhat of
a domestic tyrant; for his conduct is at times harsh and ungentlemanly to
Mrs. P.

  "Eve of a land that still is Paradise,
  Italian beauty!"

But as we never look for perfection in human nature, it is too much to
expect it in wood. We wish it to be understood that we repudiate such
principles and conduct. We have a Judy of our own, and a little
Punchininny that commits innumerable improprieties; but we fearlessly aver
that we never threw him out of window, nor belaboured the lady with a
stick--even of the size allowed by law.

There is one portion of the drama we wish was omitted, for it always
saddens us--we allude to the prison scene. PUNCH, it is true, sings in
durance, but we hear the ring of the bars mingling with the song. We are
advocates for the _correction_ of offenders; but how many generous
and kindly beings are there pining within the walls of a prison, whose
only crimes are poverty and misfortune! They, too, sing and laugh, and
appear jocund, but the _heart_ can ever hear the ring of the bars.

We never looked upon a lark in a cage, and heard him trilling out his
music as he sprang upwards to the roof of his prison, but we felt sickened
with the sight and sound, as contrasting, in our thought, the free
minstrel of the morning, bounding as it were into the blue caverns of the
heavens, with the bird to whom the world was circumscribed. May the time
soon arrive, when every prison shall be a palace of the mind--when we
shall seek to instruct and cease to punish. PUNCH has already advocated
education by example. Look at his dog Toby! The instinct of the brute has
almost germinated into reason. Man _has_ reason, why not give him

We now come to the last great lesson of our motley teacher--the gallows!
that accursed tree which has its _root_ in injuries. How clearly
PUNCH exposes the fallacy of that dreadful law which authorises the
destruction of life! PUNCH sometimes destroys the hangman: and why not?
Where is the divine injunction against the shedder of man's blood to rest?
None _can_ answer! To us there is but ONE disposer of life. At other
times PUNCH hangs the devil: this is as it should be. Destroy the
principle of evil by increasing the means of cultivating the good, and the
gallows will then become as much a wonder as it is now a jest.

We shall always play PUNCH, for we consider it best to be merry and wise--

  "And laugh at all things, for we wish to know,
  What, after all, are all things but a show!"--_Byron._

As on the stage of PUNCH'S theatre, many characters appear to fill up the
interstices of the more important story, so our pages will be interspersed
with trifles that have no other object than the moment's approbation--an
end which will never be sought for at the expense of others, beyond the
evanescent smile of a harmless satire.

       *       *       *       *       *


There is a report of the stoppage of one of the most respectable
_hard-bake_ houses in the metropolis. The firm had been speculating
considerably in "Prince Albert's Rock," and this is said to have been the
rock they have ultimately split upon. The boys will be the greatest
sufferers. One of them had stripped hia jacket of all its buttons as a
deposit on some _tom-trot_, which the house had promised to supply on
the following day; and we regret to say, there are whispers of other
transactions of a similar character.

Money has been abundant all day, and we saw a half-crown piece and some
halfpence lying absolutely idle in the hands of an individual, who, if he
had only chosen to walk with it into the market, might have produced a
very alarming effect on some minor description of securities. Cherries
were taken very freely at twopence a pound, and Spanish (liquorice) at a
shade lower than yesterday. There has been a most disgusting glut of
tallow all the week, which has had an alarming effect on dips, and thrown
a still further gloom upon rushlights.

The late discussions on the timber duties have brought the match market
into a very unsettled state, and Congreve lights seem destined to undergo
a still further depression. This state of things was rendered worse
towards the close of the day, by a large holder of the last-named article
unexpectedly throwing an immense quantity into the market, which went off

       *       *       *       *       *


Many of our readers must be aware, that in pantomimic pieces, the usual
mode of making the audience acquainted with anything that cannot be
clearly explained by dumb-show, is to exhibit a linen scroll, on which is
painted, in large letters, the sentence necessary to be known. It so
happened that a number of these scrolls had Been thrown aside after one of
the grand spectacles at Astley's Amphitheatre, and remained amongst other
lumber in the property-room, until the late destructive fire which
occurred there. On that night, the wife of one of the stage-assistants--a
woman of portly dimensions--was aroused from her bed by the alarm of fire,
and in her confusion, being unable to find her proper habiliments, laid
hold of one of these scrolls, and wrapping it around her, hastily rushed
into the street, and presented to the astonished spectators an extensive
back view, with the words, "BOMBARD THE CITADEL," inscribed in legible
characters upon her singular drapery.


Hume is so annoyed at his late defeat at Leeds, that he vows he will never
make use of the word Tory again as long as he lives. Indeed, he proposes
to expunge the term from the English language, and to substitute that
which is applied to, his own party. In writing to a friend, that "after
the inflammatory character of the oratory of the Carlton Club, it is quite
supererogatory for me to state (it being notorious) that all conciliatory
measures will be rendered nugatory," he thus expressed himself:--"After
the inflamma_whig_ character of the ora_whig_ of the nominees of
the Carlton Club, it is quite supereroga_whig_ for me to state (it
being no_whig_ous) that all concilia_whig_ measures will be
rendered nuga_whig_."


A correspondent to one of the daily papers has remarked, that there is an
almost total absence of swallows this summer in England. Had the writer
been present at some of the election dinners lately, he must have
confessed that a greater number of active swallows has rarely been
observed congregated in any one year.


My dear PUNCH,--Seeing in the "Court Circular" of the Morning Herald an
account of a General Goblet as one of the guests of her Majesty, I beg to
state, that till I saw that announcement, I was not aware of any other
_general gobble it_ than myself at the Palace.

Yours, truly,    MELBOURN

       *       *       *       *       *


DEAR PUNCH,--I was much amused the other day, on taking my seat in the
Birmingham Railway train, to observe a sentimental-looking young
gentleman, who was sitting opposite to me, deliberately draw from his
travelling-bag three volumes of what appeared to me a new novel of the
full regulation size, and with intense interest commence the first volume
at the title-page. At the same instant the last bell rang, and away
started our train, whizz, bang, like a flash of lightning through a
butter-firkin. I endeavoured to catch a glimpse of some familiar places as
we passed, but the attempt was altogether useless. Harrow-on-the-Hill, as
we shot by it, seemed to be driving pell-mell up to town, followed by
Boxmoor, Tring, and Aylesbury--I missed Wolverton and Weedon while taking
a pinch of snuff--lost Rugby and Coventry before I had done sneezing, and
I had scarcely time to say, "God bless us," till I found we had reached
Birmingham. Whereupon I began to calculate the trifling progress my
reading companion could have made in his book during our rapid journey,
and to devise plans for the gratification of persons similarly situated as
my fellow-traveller. "Why," thought I, "should literature alone lag in the
age of steam? Is there no way by which a man could be made to swallow
Scott or bolt Bulwer, in as short a time as it now takes him to read an
auction bill?" Suddenly a happy thought struck me: it was to write a
novel, in which only the actual spirit of the narration should be
retained, rejecting all expletives, flourishes, and ornamental figures of
speech; to be terse and abrupt in style--use monosyllables always in
preference to polysyllables--and to eschew all heroes and heroines whose
names contain more than four letters. Full of this idea, on my returning
home in the evening, I sat to my desk, and before I retired to rest, had
written a novel of three neat, portable volumes; which, I assert, any lady
or gentlemen, who has had the advantage of a liberal education, may get
through with tolerable ease, in the time occupied by the railroad train
running from London to Birmingham.

I will not dilate on the many advantages which this description of writing
possesses over all others. Lamplighters, commercial bagmen, omnibus-cads,
tavern-waiters, and general postmen, may "read as they run." Fiddlers at
the theatres, during the rests in a piece of music, may also benefit by my
invention; for which, if the following specimen meet your approbation, I
shall instantly apply for a patent.




"Brief let me be."

LONDON: Printed and Published for the Author.



Clare Grey--Sweet girl--Bloom and blushes, roses, lilies, dew-drops,
&c.--Tom Lee--Young, gay, but poor--Loved Clare madly--Clare loved Tom
ditto--Clare's pa' rich, old, cross, cruel, &c.--Smelt a rat--D----d Tom,
and swore at Clare--Tears, sighs, locks, bolts, and bars--Love's
schemes--_Billet-doux_ from Tom, conveyed to Clare in a dish of peas,
crammed with vows, love, despair, hope--Answer (pencil and curl-paper),
slipped through key-hole--Full of hope, despair, love, vows--Tom
serenades--Bad cold--Rather hoarse--White kerchief from
garret-window--"'Tis Clare! 'tis Clare!"--Garden-wall, six feet high--Love
is rash--Scale the wall--Great house-dog at home--Pins Tom by the
calf--Old Hunk's roused--Fire! thieves! guns, swords, and rushlights--Tom
caught--Murder, burglary--Station-house, gaol, justice--Fudge!--Pretty
mess--Heigho!--'Oh! 'tis love,' &c.--Sweet Clare Grey!--Seven pages of
sentiment--Lame leg, light purse, heavy heart--Pshaw!--Never mind--



"Adieu, my native land," &c.--D.I.O.--"We part to meet again"--Death or
glory--Red coat--Laurels and rupees in view--Vows of constancy, eternal
truth, &c--Tom swells the brine with tears--Clare wipes her eyes in
cambric--Alas! alack! oh! ah!--Fond hearts, doomed to part--Cruel
fate!--Ten pages, poetry, romance, &c. &c.--Tom in battle--Cut, slash,
dash--Sabres, rifles--Round and grape in showers--Hot
work--Charge!--Whizz--Bang!--Flat as a Flounder--Never say
die--Peace--Sweet sound--Scars, wounds, wooden leg, one arm, and one
eye--Half-pay--Home--Huzza!--Swift gales--Post-horses--Love, hope, and
Clare Grey--

[Illustration: "I'D BE A BUTTERFLY," &c.]


"Here we are!"--At home once more--Old friends and old faces--Must be
changed--Nobody knows him--Church bells ringing--Inquire
cause--(?)--Wedding--Clare Grey to Job Snooks, the old pawnbroker--Brain
whirls--Eyes start from sockets--Devils and hell--Clare Grey, the fond,
constant, Clare, a jilt?--Can't be--No go--Stump up to church--Too
true--Clare just made Mrs. Snooks--Madness!! rage!!! death!!!!--Tom's
crutch at work--Snooks floored--Bridesman settled--Parson bolts--Clerk
mizzles--Salts and shrieks--Clare in a swoon--Pa' in a funk--Tragedy
speech--Love! vengeance! and damnation!--Half an ounce of laudanum--Quick
speech--Tom unshackles his wooden pin--Dies like a hero--Clare pines in
secret--Hops the twig, and goes to glory in white muslin--Poor Tom and
Clare! they now lie side by side, beneath

[Illustration:  "A WEEPING WILL-OH!"]

       *       *       *       *       *


We have been favoured with the following announcement from Mr. Hood, which
we recommend to the earnest attention of our subscribers:--


Begs to acquaint the dull and witless, that he has established a class for
the acquirement of an elegant and ready style of punning, on the pure
Joe-millerian principle. The very worst hands are improved in six short
and mirthful lessons. As a specimen of his capability, he begs to subjoin
two conundrums by Colonel Sibthorpe.


"The following is a specimen of my punning _before_ taking six
lessons of Mr. T. Hood:--

"Q. Why is a fresh-plucked carnation like a certain _cold_ with which
children are affected?

"A. Because it's _a new pink off_ (an hooping-cough).

"This is a specimen of my punning _after_ taking six lessons of Mr.
T. Hood:--

"Q. Why is the difference between pardoning and thinking no more of an
injury the same as that between a selfish and a generous man?

"A. Because the one is _for-getting_ and the other

N.B. Gentlemen who live by their wits, and diners-out in particular, will
find Mr. T. Hood's system of incalculable service.

Mr. H. has just completed a large assortment of jokes, which will be
suitable for all occurrences of the table, whether dinner or tea. He has
also a few second-hand _bon mots_ which he can offer a bargain.


       *       *       *       *       *


There hath been long wanting a full and perfect Synopsis of Voting, it
being a science which hath become exceedingly complicated. It is
necessary, therefore, to the full development of the art, that it be
brought into such an exposition, as that it may be seen in a glance what
are the modes of bribing and influencing in Elections. The briber, by this
means, will be able to arrange his polling-books according to the
different categories, and the bribed to see in what class he shall most
advantageously place himself.

It is true that there be able and eloquent writers greatly experienced in
this noble science, but none have yet been able so to express it as to
bring it (as we hope to have done) within the range of the certain
sciences. Henceforward, we trust it will form a part of the public
education, and not be subject tot he barbarous modes pursued by illogical
though earnest and zealous disciples; and that the great and glorious
Constitution that has done so much to bring it to perfection, will, in its
turn, be sustained and matured by the exercise of what is really in itself
so ancient and beautiful a practice.


1st. He that hath NOT A VOTE AND VOTETH; which may be considered,
  1st. As to his CLAIM, which is divisible into
    1. He that voteth for dead men.
    2. He that voteth for empty tenements.
    3. He that voteth for many men.
    4. He that voteth for men in the country, and the like.
  2nd. As to his MOTIVE, which is divisible into
    1. Because he hath a bet that he will vote.
    2. Because he loveth a lark.
    3. Because he LOVETH HIS COUNTRY.
       [Here also may be applied all the predicates under the subjects

2nd. He that hath A VOTE AND VOTETH NOT; which is divisible into
  1st. He that is PREVENTED from voting, which is divisible into
    1. He who is upset by a bribed coachman.
    2. He who is incited into an assault, that he may be put
        into the cage.
    3. He who is driven by a drunken coachman many miles the wrong way.
    4. He who is hocussed.
    5. He who is sent into the country for a holiday, and the like.
  2nd. He that FORFEITETH his vote, which is divisible into
    1. He who is too great a philosopher to care for his country.
    2. He who has not been solicited.
    3. He who drinketh so that he cannot go to the poll.
    4. He who is too drunk to speak at the poll.
    5. He who through over-zeal getteth his head broken.
    6. He who stayeth to finish the bottle, and is too late,
        and the like.

3rd. He that hath A VOTE AND VOTETH; which is divisible into
  1st. He that voteth INTENTIONALLY, which is divisible into
    1st. He that voteth CORRUPTLY, which is divisible into
      1st. He that is BRIBED, which is divisible into
        1st. He that is bribed DIRECTLY, which is divisible into
          1st. He that receiveth MONEY, which may be considered as
            1. He that pretendeth the money is due to him.
            2. He that pretendeth it is lent.
            3. He who receiveth it as alms.
            4. He who receiveth it as the price of a venerated
                tobacco-pipe, a piece of Irish bacon, and the like.
          2nd. He that seeketh PLACE, which may be considered as
            1. He who asketh for a high situation, as a judgeship in
                Botany Bay, or a bishopric in Sierra Leone, and the like.
            2. He who asketh for a low situation, as a ticket-porter,
                curate, and the like.
            3. He who asketh for any situation he can get, as Secretary
                to the Admiralty, policeman, revising barrister, turnkey,
                chaplain, mail-coach guard, and the like.
          3rd. He that taketh DRINK, which may be considered as
            1. He that voteth for Walker's Gooseberry, or Elector's
                Sparkling Champagne.
            2. For sloe-juice, or Elector's fine old crusted Port.
            3. He who voteth for Brett's British Brandy, or Elector's
                real French Cognac.
            4. He who voteth for quassia, molasses, copperas, _coculus
                Indicus_, Spanish juice, or Elector's Extra Double Stout.
        2nd. He that is bribed INDIRECTLY, as
          1. He who is promised a government contract for wax, wafers,
              or the like.
          2. He who getteth a contract, for paupers' clothing, building
              unions, and the like.
          3. He who furnisheth the barouches-and-four for the independent
              40s. freeholders.
          4. He who is presented with cigars, snuffs, meerschaum-pipes,
              haunches of venison, Stilton-cheeses, fresh pork,
              pine-apples, early peas, and the like.
      2nd. He that is INTIMIDATED, as
        1. By his landlord, who soliciteth back rent, or giveth him notice
            to quit.
        2. By his patron, who sayeth they of the opposite politics cannot
            be trusted.
        3. By his master, who sayeth he keepeth no viper of an opposite
            opinion in his employ.
        4. By his wife, who will have her own way in hysterics.
        5. By his intended bride, who talketh of men of spirit and
            Gretna Green.
        6. By a rich customer, who sendeth back his goods, and biddeth
            him be d--d.
      3rd. He that is VOLUNTARILY CORRUPT, which may be considered as
        1. He who voteth from the hope that his party will provide him
            a place.
        2. He who voteth to please one who can leave him a legacy.
        3. He who voteth to get into genteel society.
        4. He who voteth according as he hath taken the odds.
        5. He who, being a schoolmaster, voteth for the candidate with a
            large family.
        6. He who voteth in hopes posterity may think him a patriot.
    2nd. He that voteth CONSCIENTIOUSLY, which is divisible into
      1st. He that voteth according to HUMBUG, which is divisible into
        1st. He that is POLITICALLY humbugged, which is divisible into
          1st. He has SOME BRAINS, as
            1. He who believeth taxes will be taken off.
            2. He who believeth wages will be raised.
            3. He who thinketh trade will be increased.
            4. He who studieth political economy.
            5. He who readeth newspapers, reviews, and magazines, and
                listeneth to lectures, and the like.
          2nd. He that has NO BRAINS, as
            1. He who voteth to support "the glorious Constitution," and
                maintain "the envy of surrounding nations."
            2. He who believeth the less the taxation the greater the
            3. He who attendeth the Crown and Anchor meetings,
                and the like.
        2nd. He that is MORALLY humbugged, as
          1. He who thinketh the Millennium and the Rads will come in
          2. He who thinketh that the Whigs are patriots.
          3. That the Tories love the poor.
          4. That the member troubleth himself solely for the good of his
          5. That the unions are popular with the paupers, and the like.
        3rd. He that is DOMESTICALLY humbugged, as
          1. He who voteth because the candidate's ribbons suit his wife's
          2. Because his wife was addressed as his daughter by the
          3. Because his wife had the candidate's carriage to make calls
              in, and the like.
          4. Because his daughter was presented with a set of the Prince
              Albert Quadrilles.
          5. Because the candidate promised to stand godfather to his last
              infant, and the like.
      2nd. He that voteth according to PRINCIPLE, which is divisible into
        1st. He whose principles are HEREDITARY, as
          1. He who voteth on one side because his father always voted
              on the same.
          2. Because the "Wrong-heads" and the like had always sat for
              the county.
          3. Because he hath kindred with an ancient political hero, such
              as Jack Cade, Hampden, the Pretender, &c., and so must
              maintain his principle.
          4. Because his mother quartereth the Arms of the candidate, and
              the like.
        2nd. He whose principles are CONVENTIONAL, as
          1. He who voteth because the candidate keepeth a pack of hounds.
          2. Because he was once insulted by a scoundrel of the same name
              as the opposite candidate.
          3. Because the candidate is of a noble family.
          4. Because the candidate laid the first brick of Zion Chapel,
              and the like.
          5. Because he knoweth the candidate's cousin.
          6. Because the candidate directed to him--"Esq."
        3rd. He whose principles are PHILOSOPHICAL, which may be
              considered as
          1st. He that is IMPARTIAL, as
            1. He that voteth on both sides.
            2. Because he tossed up with himself.
            3. He who loveth the majority and therefore voteth for him who
                hath most votes.
            4. Because he is asked to vote one way, and so voteth the
                other, to show that he is not influenced.
            5. Because he hateth the multitude, and so voteth against the
                popular candidate.
          2nd. He that is INDEPENDENT, as
            1. He who cannot be trusted.
            2. He who taketh money from one side, and voteth on the other.
            3. He who is not worth bribing.
            4. He who voteth against his own opinion, because his letter
                was not answered.
            5. He who, being promised a place last election, was deceived,
                and the like.
  2nd. He that voteth ACCIDENTALLY, which is divisible into
    1st. He that voteth through the BLUNDERS OF HIMSELF, which may be
          considered as
      1. He who is drunk, and forgetteth who gave him the bribe.
      2. He who goeth to the wrong agent, who leadeth him astray.
      3. He who is confused and giveth the wrong name.
      4. He who is bashful, and assenteth to any name suggested.
      5. He who promiseth both parties, and voteth for all the candidates,
          and the like.
    2nd. He that voteth through the BLUNDERS OF OTHERS, which may be
          considered as
      1. He who is mistaken for his servant when he is canvassed, and so
          incensed into voting the opposite way.
      2. He who is attempted to be bribed before many people, and so
          outraged into honesty.
      3. He who hath too much court paid by the canvasser to his wife, and
          so, out of jealousy, voteth for the opposite candidate.
      4. He who is called down from dinner to be canvassed, and being
          enraged thereat, voteth against his conviction.
      5. He who bringeth the fourth seat in a hackney-coach to him who
          keepeth a carriage and the like.

       *       *       *       *       *


Have any of PUNCH'S readers ever met one of the above _genus_--or
rather, have they not? They must; for the race is imbued with the most
persevering _hic et ubique_ powers. Like the old mole, these
Truepennies "work i' th' dark:" at the Theatres, the Opera, the Coal Hole,
the Cider Cellars, and the whole of the Grecian, Roman, British, Cambrian,
Eagle, Lion, Apollo, Domestic, Foreign, Zoological, and Mythological
Saloons, they "most do congregate." Once set your eyes upon them, once
become acquainted with their habits and manners, and then mistake them if
you can. They are themselves, alone: like the London dustmen, the Nemarket
jockeys, the peripatetic venders, or buyers of "old clo'," or the Albert
continuations at _one pound one_, they appear to be _made to
measure for the same_. We must now describe them (to speak
theatrically) with decorations, scenes, and properties! The entirely new
dresses of a theatre are like the habiliments of the professional singer,
i.e. neither one nor the other ever _were entirely new_, and never
will be allowed to grow entirely old. The double-milled Saxony of these
worthies is generally _very_ blue or _very_ brown; the cut
whereof sets a man of a contemplative turn of mind wondering at what
precise date those tails were worn, and vainly speculating on the
probabilities of their being fearfully indigestible, as that alone could
to long have kept them from Time's remorseless maw. The collars are always
velvet, and always greasy. There is a slight ostentation manifested in the
seams, the stitches whereof are so apparent as to induce the beholders to
believe they must have been the handiwork of some cherished friend, whose
labours ought not to be entombed beneath the superstructure. The
buttons!--oh, for a pen of steam to write upon those buttons! They,
indeed, are the aristocracy--the yellow turbans, the sun, moon, and stars
of the woollen system! They have nothing in common with the coat--they are
_on it_, and that's all--they have no further communion--they decline
the button-holes, and eschew all right to labour for their living--they
announce themselves as "the last new fashion"--they sparkle for a week,
retire to their silver paper, make way for the new comers, and, years
after, like the Sleeping Beauty, rush to life in all their pristine
splendour, and find (save in the treble-gilt aodication and their own
accession) the coat, the immortal coat, unchanged! The waistcoat is of a
material known only to themselves--a sort of nightmare illusion of velvet,
covered with a slight tracery of refined mortar, curiously picked out and
guarded with a nondescript collection of the very greenest green pellets
of hyson-bloom gunpowder tea. The buttons (things of use in this garment)
describe the figure and proportions of a large turbot. They consist of two
rows (leaving imagination to fill up a lapse of the absent), commencing,
to all appearance, at the _small of the back_, and reaching down even
to the hem of the garment, which is invariably a double-breasted one, made
upon the good old dining-out principle of leaving plenty of room in the
victualling department. To complete the catalogue of raiment, the
untalkaboutables have so little right to the name of drab, that it would
cause a controversy on the point. Perhaps nothing in life can more
exquisitely illustrate the Desdemona feeling of divided duty, than the
portion of manufactured calf-skin appropriated to the peripatetic purposes
of these gentry; they are, in point of fact, invariably that description
of mud-markers known in the purlieus of Liecester-square, and at
all denominations of "boots"--great, little, red, and yellow--as
eight-and-sixpenny Bluchers. But the afore-mentioned drabs are strapped
down with such pertinacity as to leave the observer in extreme doubt
whether the Prussian hero of that name is their legitimate sponsor, or the
glorious Wellington of our own sea-girt isle. Indeed, it has been rumoured
that (as there never was a _pair_ of either of the illustrious
heroes) these gentlemen, for the sake of consistency, invariably
perambulate in _one of each_. We scarcely know whether it be so or
not--we merely relate what we have heard; but we incline to the _two
Bluchers_, _because_ of the _eight-and-six_. The only
additional expense likely to add any emolument to the _tanner's_
interest (we mean no pun) is the immense extent of sixpenny straps
generally worn. These are described by a friend of ours as belonging to
the great class of _coaxers_; and their exertions in bringing (as a
nautical man would say) the trowsers _to bear_ at all, is worthy of
notice. There is a legend extant (a veritable legend, which emanated from
one of the fraternity who had been engaged three weeks at her Majesty's
theatre, as one of twenty in an unknown chorus, the chief peculiarity of
the affair being the close approximation of some of his principal foreign
words to "Tol de rol," and "Fal the ral ra"), in which it was asserted,
that from a violent quarrel with a person in the grass-bleached line, the
body corporate determined to avoid any unnecessary use of that commodity.
In the way of wristbands, the malice of the above void is beautifully
nullified, inasmuch as the most prosperous linen-draper could never wish
to have less linen on hand. As we are describing the _genus_ in
_black_ and _white_, we may as well state at once, _those_
are the colours generally casing the throats from whence their sweet
sounds issue; these _ties_ are garnished with union pins, whose
strong _mosaic tendency_ would, in the Catholic days of Spain (had
they been residents), have consigned them to the lowest dungeons of the
Inquisition, and favoured them with an exit from this breathing world,
amid all the uncomfortable pomp of an _auto-da-fe_.

It is a fact on record, that no one of the body ever had a cold in his
head; and this peculiarity, we presume, exempts them from carrying
pocket-handkerchiefs, a superfluity we never witnessed in their hands,
though they indulge in snuff-boxes which assume the miniture form of
French plum-cases, richly embossed, with something round the edges about
as much in proportion to _the box_ as _eighteen insides_ are to
a small tax-cart. This testimonial is generally (as the engraved
inscription purports) given by "several gentlemen" (who are,
unfortunately, in these instances, always anonymous--which circumstance,
as they are invariably described as "admirers of talent," is much to be
regretted, and, we trust, will soon be rectified). We believe, like the
immortal Jack Falstaff, they were each born at four o'clock of the
morning, with a bald head, and something of a round belly; certain it is,
they are universally thin in the hair, and exhibit strong manifestation of

The further marks of identity consist in a ring very variously chased, and
the infallible insignia of a tuning-fork: without this no professional
singer does or can exist. The thing has been tried, and found a failure.
Its uses are remarkable and various: like the "death's-head and
cross-bones" of the pirates, or the wand, globe, and beard of the
conjuror, it is their sure and unvarying sign. We have in our mind's eye
one of the species even now--we see him coquetting with the fork,
compressing it with gentle fondness, and then (that all senses may be
called into requisition) resting it against his eye-tooth to catch the
proper tone. Should this be the prelude to his own professional
performance, we see it returned, with a look of profound wisdom, to the
right-hand depository of the nondescript and imaginary velvet
double-breaster--we follow his eyes, till, with peculiar fascination, they
fix upon the far-off cornice of the most distant corner of the
smoke-embued apartment--we perceive the extension of the dexter hand
employed in innocent dalliance with the well-sucked peel of a quarter of
an orange, whilst the left is employed with the links of what would be a
watch-guard, _if_ the professional singer _had a watch_. We hear
the three distinct hems--oblivion for a moment seizes us--the glasses
jingle--two auctioneers' hammers astonish the mahogany--several dirty
hands are brought in violent and noisy contact--we are near a friend of
the vocalist--our glass of gin-and-water (literally warm without) empties
itself over our lower extremities, instigated thereto by the gymnastic
performances of the said zealous friend--and with an exclamation that,
were Mawworn present, would cost us a shilling, we find the professional
singer has concluded, and is half stooping to the applause, and half
lifting his diligently-stirred grog, gulping down the "creature comfort"
with infinite satisfaction.

       *       *       *       *       *

--There goes the hammer again! (Rubins has a sinecure compared to that fat
man). "A glee, gents!--a glee!"--Ah! there they are--three coats--three
collars--Heaven knows how many buttons!--three bald heads, three stout
stomachs, three mouths, stuffed with three tuning-forks, nodding and
conferring with a degree of mystery worthy of three Guy Faux."--What is
the subject?

  "_Hail_ smi_lig_ _b_orn."

That's a good guess! By the way, the vulgar notion of singing
_ensemble_ is totally exploded by these gentry--each professional
singer, as a professional singer, sings his very loudest, in _justice to
himself_; if his brethren want physical power, that's no fault of
_his_, _he don't_. Professional singers indulge in small
portions of classic lore: among the necessary acquirements is, "Non
nobis," &c. &c.; that is, they consider they ought to know the airs. The
words are generally delivered as follows:--_Don--dobis--do--by--de_.
A clear enunciation is not much cultivated among the clever in this line.

In addition to the few particulars above, it may be as well to mention,
they treat all tavern-waiters with great respect, which is more
Christian-like, as the said waiters never return the same--sit anywhere,
just to accommodate--eat everything, to prove they have no squeamish
partialities--know to a toothful what a bottom of brandy _should
be_--the exact quantity they may drink, free gratis, and the most
likely victim to _drop upon_ for any further nourishment they may
require. Their acquirements in the musical world are rendered clear, by
the important information that "Harry Phillips knows what he's
about"--"Weber was up to a thing or two." A _baritone_ ain't the sort
of thing for tenor music: and when _they_ sung with some man (nobody
ever heard of), they showed him the difference, and wouldn't mind--"A
cigar?" "Thank you, sir!--seldom smoke--put it in my
pocket--(_aside_) that makes a dozen! Your good health, sir!--don't
dislike cold, though I generally take it warm--didn't mean that as a hint,
but, since you _have ordered it_, I'll give you a toast--Here's--THE


       *       *       *       *       *



  Bards of old have sung the vine
  Such a theme shall ne'er be mine;
  Weaker strains to me belong,
  Pæans sung to thee, Souchong!
  What though I may never sip
  Rubies from my tea-cup's lip;
  Do not milky pearls combine
  In this steaming cup of mine?
  What though round my youthful brow
  I ne'er twine the myrtle's bough?
  For such wreaths my soul ne'er grieves.
  Whilst I own my Twankay's leaves.
  Though for me no altar burns,
  Kettles boil and bubble--urns
  In each fane, where I adore--
  What should mortal ask for more!
  I for Pidding, Bacchus fly,
  Howqua shall my cup supply;
  I'll ne'er ask for amphoræ,
  Whilst my tea-pot yields me tea.
  Then, perchance, above my grave,
  Blooming Hyson sprigs may wave;
  And some stately sugar-cane,
  There may spring to life again:
  Bright-eyed maidens then may meet,
  To quaff the herb and suck the sweet.

       *       *       *       *       *



DEAR SIR,--I was a-sitting the other evening at the door of my kennel,
thinking of the dog-days and smoking my pipe (blessings on you, master,
for teaching me that art!), when one of your prospectuses was put into my
paw by a spaniel that lives as pet-dog in a nobleman's family. Lawk, sir!
what misfortunes can have befallen you, that you are obleeged to turn

I remember the poor devil as used to supply us with _dialect_--what a
face he had! It was like a mouth-organ turned edgeways; and he looked as
hollow as the big drum, but warn't half so round and noisy. You can't have
dwindled down to that, sure_ly_! I couldn't bear to see your hump and
_pars pendula_ (that's dog Latin) shrunk up like dried almonds, and
titivated out in msty-fusty toggery--I'm sure I couldn't! The very thought
of it is like a pound weight at the end of my tail.

I whined like any thing, calling to my missus--for you must know that I've
married as handsome a Scotch terrier as you ever see. "Vixen," says I,
"here's the poor old governor up at last--I knew that Police Act would
drive him to something desperate."

"Why he hasn't hung himself in earnest, and summoned you on his inquest!"
exclaimed Mrs. T.

"Worse nor that," says I; "he's turned author, and in course is stewed up
in some wery elevated apartment during this blessed season of the year,
when all nature is wagging with delight, and the fairs is on, and the
police don't want nothing to do to warm 'em, and consequentially sees no
harm in a muster of infantry in bye-streets. It's very hawful."

Vixen sighed and scratched her ear with her right leg, so I know'd she'd
something in her head, for she always does that when anything tickles her.
"Toby," says she, "go and see the old gentleman; perhaps it might comfort
him to larrup you a little."

"Very well," says I, "I'll be off at once; so put me by a bone or two for
supper, should any come out while I'm gone; and if you can get the puppies
to sleep before I return, I shall be so much obleeged to you." Saying
which, I toddled off for Wellington-street. I had just got to the
coach-stand at Hyde Park Corner, when who should I see labelled as a
waterman but the one-eyed chap we once had as a orchestra--he as could
only play "Jim Crow" and the "Soldier Tired." Thinks I, I may as well pass
the compliment of the day with him; so I creeps under the hackney-coach he
was standing alongside on, intending to surprise him; but just as I was
about to pop out he ran off the stand to un-nosebag a cab-horse. Whilst I
was waiting for him to come back, I hears the off-side horse in the
wehicle make the following remark:--

OFF-SIDE HORSE--(_twisting his tail about like anything_)--Curse the

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--You may say that. I've had one fellow tickling me this

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--Ours is a horrid profession! Phew! the sun actually
penetrates my vertebra.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Werterbee! What's that?

OFF-SIDE HORSE--(_impatiently_).--The spine, my friend (_whish!

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Ah! it is a shameful thing to _dock_ us as they
does. If the marrow in one's backbone should melt, it would be sartin to
run out at the tip of one's tail. I say, how's your _feed?_

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--Very indifferent--the chaff predominates--(_munch_)
not _bene_ by any means.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Beany! Lord bless your ignorance! I should be satisfied
if they'd only make it _oaty_ now and then. How long have you been in
the hackney line?

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I have occupied my present degraded position about two
years. Little thought my poor mama, when I was foaled, that I should ever
come to this.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Ah! it ain't very respectable, is it?--especially since
the cabs and busses have druv over our heads. What was you put to?--you
look as if you had been well brought up.

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--My mama was own sister to _Lottery_, but
unfortunately married a horse much below her in pedigree. I was the
produce of that union. At five years old I entered the army under Ensign

NEAR-SIDE HORSE--Bless me, how odd! I was bought at Horncastle, to serve
in the dragoons; but the wetternary man found out I'd a splint, and
wouldn't have me! I say, ain't that stout woman with a fat family looking
at us?

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I'm afraid she is. People of her grade in society are
always partial to a dilatory shillingworth.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE--Ay, and always lives up Snow-hill, or Ludgate-hill, or
Mutton-hill, or a _hill_ somewhere.


NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--She's ahailing us! I wonder whether she's narvous? I'll
let out with my hind leg a bit--(_kick_)--O Lord! the rheumatiz!

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--Pray don't. I abjure subterfuges; they are unworthy of a

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Thoroughbred? I like that! Haven't you just acknowledged
that you were a cocktail? Thank God! she's moving on. Hallo! there's old
Readypenny!--a willanous Tory.

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I beg to remark that my principles are Conservative.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--And I beg to remark that mine isn't. I sarved Readypenny
out at Westminster 'lection the other day. He got into our coach to go to
the poll, and I wouldn't draw an inch. I warn't agoing to take up a
plumper for Rous.

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I declare the obese female returns.

WOMAN.--Coach! Hallo! Coach!

WATERMAN.--Here you is, ma'am. Kuck! kuck! kuck!--Come along!--(_Pulling
the coach and horses_).

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--O heavens! I am too stiff to move, and this brute will
pull my head off.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Keep it on one side, and you spiles his purchase.

WATERMAN--Come up, you old brute!

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--Old brute! What evidence of a low mind!--[_The stout
woman and fat family ascend the steps of the coach_].

COACH.--O law! oh, law! Week! week! O law!--O law! Week! week!

NEAR-SIDE HORSE--Do you hear how the poor old thing's a sufferin'?--She
must feel it a good deal to have her squabs sat on by everybody as can pay
for her. She was built by Pearce, of Long-acre, for the Duchess of
Dorsetshire. I wonder her perch don't break--she has been crazy a long

WATERMAN.--Snow-hill--opposite the Saracen's Head.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--I know'd it!

COACHMAN.--Kuck! kuck!

WHIP.--Whack! whack!

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--Pull away, my dear fellow; a little extra exertion may
save us from flagellation.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Well, I'm pulling, ain't I?

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I don't like to dispute your word;
but--(_whack_)--Oh! that was an abrasion on my shoulder.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--A _raw_ you mean. Who's not pulling now, I should
like to know!

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I couldn't help hopping then; you know what a
_grease_ I have in my hind leg.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Well, haven't I a splint and a corn, and ain't one of my
fore fetlocks got a formoses, and my hind legs the stringhalt?

WOMAN.--Stop! stop!

COACHMAN.--Whoo up!--d--n you!

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--There goes my last masticator!

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--And I'm blow'd if he hasn't jerked my head so that he's
given me a crick in the neck; but never mind; if she does get out here, we
shall save the hill.

WOMAN.--Three doors higher up.

COACHMAN.--Chuck! chuck!

WHIP.--Whack! whack!

COACHMAN.--Come up, you varmint!

OFF-SIDE HORSE--Varmint! and to me! the nephew of the great Lottery! O
Pegasus! what shall I come to next!

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Alamode beef, may be, or perhaps pork sassages!

       *       *       *       *       *

The old woman was so long in that house where she stopped, that I was
obleeged to toddle home, for my wife has a rather unpleasant way of taking
me by the scruff of my neck if I ain't pretty regular in my hours.

Yours, werry obediently, TOBY.

       *       *       *       *       *


Communicated exclusively to this Journal by MASTER JONES, whose services
we have succeeded in retaining, though opposed by the enlightened manager
of a metropolitan theatre, whose anxiety to advance the interest of the
drama is only equalled by his ignorance of the means.

       *       *       *       *       *

Since the dissolution of Parliament, Lord Melbourne has confined himself
entirely to _stews_.

Stalls have been fitted up in the Royal nursery for the reception of two
Alderney cows, preparatory to the weaning of the infant Princess; which
delicate duty Mrs. Lilly commences on Monday next.

Sir Robert Peel has been seen several times this week in close
consultation with the chief cook. Has he been offered the

Mr. Moreton Dyer, "_the amateur turner_," has been a frequent visitor
at the palace of late. Palmerston, it is whispered, has been receiving
lessons in the art. We are surprised to hear this, for we always
considered his lordship a Talleyrand in _turning_.

       *       *       *       *       *



  By winter's chill the fragrant flower is nipp'd,
    To be new-clothed with brighter tints in spring;
  The blasted tree of verdant leaves is stripp'd,
    A fresher foliage on each branch to bring;

  The aërial songster moults his plumerie,
    To vie in sleekness with each feather'd brother:
  A twelvemonth's wear hath ta'en thy nap from thee,
    My seedy coat!--When shall I get another?

NOTE.--Confiding tailors are entreated to send their addresses, pre-paid,
to PUNCH'S office.

P.S.--None need apply who _refuse_ three years' acceptances. If the
bills be made _renewable_, by agreement, "continuations" will be
taken in any quantity.--FITZROY FIPS.

       *       *       *       *       *



(_Enter_ PUNCH.)



  "Wheel about and turn about,
    And do jes so;
  Ebery time I turn about,
    I jump Jim Crow."

MANAGER.--Hollo, Mr. Punch! your voice is rather husky to-day.

PUNCH.--Yes, yes; I've been making myself as hoarse as a hog, bawling to
the free and independent electors of Grogswill all the morning. They have
done me the honour to elect me as their representative in Parliament. I'm
an M.P. now.

MANAGER.--An M.P.! Gammon, Mr. Punch.

THE DOG TOBY.--Bow, wow, wow, wough, wough!

PUNCH.--Fact, upon my honour. I'm at this moment an unit in the collective
stupidity of the nation.

DOG TOBY.--R-r-r-r-r-r--wough--wough!

PUNCH.--Kick that dog, somebody. Hang the cur, did he never see a
legislator before, that he barks at me so?

MANAGER.--A legislator, Mr. Punch? with that wooden head of yours! Ho! ho!
ho! ho!

PUNCH.--My dear sir, I can assure you that wood is the material generally
used in the manufacture of political puppets. There will be more
blockheads than mine in St. Stephen's, I can tell you. And as for oratory,
why I flatter my whiskers I'll astonish them in that line.

MANAGER.--But on what principles did you get into Parliament, Mr. Punch?

PUNCH.--I'd have you know, sir, I'm above having any principles but those
that put money in my pocket.

MANAGER.--I mean on what interest did you start?

PUNCH.--On self-interest, sir. The only great, patriotic, and noble
feeling that a public man can entertain.

MANAGER.--Pardon me, Mr. Punch; I wish to know whether you have come in as
a Whig or a Tory?

PUNCH.--As a Tory, decidedly, sir. I despise the base, rascally, paltry,
beggarly, contemptible Whigs. I detest their policy, and--

THE DOG TOBY.--Bow, wow, wough, wough!

MANAGER.--Hollo! Mr. Punch, what are you saying? I understood you were
always a staunch Whig, and a supporter of the present Government.

PUNCH.--So I was, sir. I supported the Whigs as long as they supported
themselves; but now that the old house is coming down about their ears, I
turn my back on them in virtuous indignation, and take my seat in the
opposition 'bus.

MANAGER.---But where is your patriotism, Mr. Punch?

PUNCH.--Where every politician's is, sir--in my breeches' pocket.

MANAGER.--And your consistency, Mr. Punch?

PUNCH.--What a green chap you are, after all. A public man's consistency!
It's only a popular delusion, sir. I'll tell you what's consistency, sir.
When one gentleman's _in_ and won't come _out_, and when another
gentleman's _out_ and can't get _in_, and when both gentlemen
persevere in their determination--that's consistency.

MANAGER.--I understand; but still I think it is the duty of every public
man to----


  "Wheel about and turn about,
    And do jes so;
  Ebery time he turn about,
    He jumps Jim Crow."

MANAGER.--Then it is your opinion that the prospects of the Whigs are not
very flattering?

PUNCH.--'Tis all up with them, as the young lady remarked when Mr. Green
and his friends left Wauxhall in the balloon; they haven't a chance. The
election returns are against them everywhere. England deserts
them--Ireland fails them--Scotland alone sticks with national attachment
to their backs, like a--

THE DOG TOBY.--Bow, wow, wow, wough!

MANAGER.--Of course, then, the Tories will take office--?

PUNCH.--I rayther suspect they will. Have they not been licking their
chops for ten years outside the Treasury door, while the sneaking Whigs
were helping themselves to all the fat tit-bits within? Have they not
growled and snarled all the while, and proved by their barking that they
were the fittest guardians of the country? Have they not wept over the
decay of our ancient and venerable constitution--? And have they not
promised and vowed, the moment they got into office, that they would--Send
round the hat.

MANAGER.--Very good, Mr. Punch; but I should like to know what the Tories
mean to do about the corn-laws? Will they give the people cheap food?

PUNCH.--No, but they'll give them cheap drink. They'll throw open the
Thames for the use of the temperance societies.

MANAGER.--But if we don't have cheap corn, our trade must be destroyed,
our factories will be closed, and our mills left idle.

PUNCH.--There you're wrong. Our tread-mills will be in constant work; and,
though our factories should be empty, our prisons will be quite full.

MANAGER.--That's all very well, Mr. Punch; but the people will grumble a
_leetle_ if you starve them.

PUNCH.--Ay, hang them, so they will; the populace have no idea of being
grateful for benefits. Talk of starvation! Pooh!--I've studied political
economy in a workhouse, and I know what it means. They've got a fine plan
in those workhouses for feeding the poor devils. They do it on the
homoeopathic system, by administering to them oatmeal porridge in
infinitessimal doses; but some of the paupers have such proud stomachs
that they object to the diet, and actually die through spite and villany.
Oh! 'tis a dreadful world for ingratitude! But never mind--Send round the

MANAGER.--What is the meaning of the sliding scale, Mr. Punch?

PUNCH.--It means--when a man has got nothing for breakfast, he may slide
his breakfast into his lunch; then, if he has got nothing for lunch, he
may slide that into his dinner; and if he labours under the same
difficulties with respect to the dinner, he may slide all three meals into
his supper.

MANAGER.--But if the man has got no supper?

PUNCH.--Then let him wish he may get it.

MANAGER.--Oh! that's your sliding scale?

PUNCH.--Yes; and a very ingenious invention it is for the suppression of
victuals. R-r-r-roo-to-tooit-tooit! Send round the hat.

MANAGER.--At this rate, Mr. Punch, I suppose you would not be favourable
to free trade?

PUNCH.--Certainly not, sir. Free trade is one of your new-fangled notions
that mean nothing but free plunder. I'll illustrate my position. I'm a boy
in a school, with a bag of apples, which, being the only apples on my
form, I naturally sell at a penny a-piece, and so look forward to pulling
in a considerable quantity of browns, when a boy from another form, with a
bigger bag of apples, comes and sells his at three for a penny, which, of
course, knocks up my trade.

MANAGER.--But it benefits the community, Mr. Punch.

PUNCH.--D--n the community! I know of no community but PUNCH and Co. I'm
for centralization--and individualization--every man for himself, and
PUNCH for us all! Only let me catch any rascal bringing his apples to my
form, and see how I'll cobb him. So now--send round the hat--and three
cheers for


       *       *       *       *       *


No. 1.

  O Reveal, thou fay-like stranger,
    Why this lonely path you seek;
  Every step is fraught with danger
    Unto one so fair and meek.
  Where are they that _should_ protect thee
    In this darkling hour of doubt?
  Love _could_ never thus neglect thee!--
    _Does your mother know you're out?_

  Why so pensive, Peri-maiden?
    Pearly tears bedim thine eyes!
  Sure thine heart is overladen,
    When each breath is fraught with sighs.
  Say, hath care life's heaven clouded,
    Which hope's stars were wont to spangle?
  What hath all thy gladness shrouded?--
    _Has your mother sold her mangle?_

       *       *       *       *       *


We are requested to state, by the Marquis of W----, that, for the
convenience of the public, he has put down one of his carriages, and given
orders to Pearce, of Long-acre, for the construction of an easy and elegant

       *       *       *       *       *



    CANVASSING. What a love of a child
    THE DEPUTATION. If you think me worthy
    THE SUCCESSFUL CANDIDATE. Constituents--rascals
    THE HUSTINGS. Don't mention it I beg
    THE PUBLIC DINNER. The proudest moment of my life]

       *       *       *       *       *


PUNCH begs most solemnly to assure his friends and the artists in general,
that should the violent cold with which he has been from time immemorial
afflicted, and which, although it has caused his voice to appear like an
infant Lablache screaming through horse-hair and thistles, yet has not
very materially affected him otherwise--should it not deprive him of
existence--please Gog and Magog, he will, next season, visit every
exhibition of modern art as soon as the pictures are hung; and further,
that he will most unequivocally be down with his _coup de baton_ upon
every unfortunate nob requiring his peculiar attention.

That he independently rejects the principles upon which these matters are
generally conducted, he trusts this will be taken as an assurance: should
the handsomest likeness-taker gratuitously offer to paint PUNCH'S portrait
in any of the most favourite and fashionable styles, from the purest
production of the general mourning school--and all performed by
scissars--to the exquisitely gay works of the President of the Royal
Academy, even though his Presidentship offer to do the nose with real
carmine, and throw Judy and the little one into the back-ground, PUNCH
would not give him a single eulogistic syllable unmerited. A word to the
landscape and other perpetrators: none of your little bits for PUNCH--none
of your insinuating cabinet gems--no Art-_ful_ Union system of doing
things--Hopkins to praise for one reason, Popkins to censure for
another--and as PUNCH has been poking his nose into numberless unseen
corners, and, notwithstanding its indisputable dimensions, has managed to
screen it from observation, he has thereby smelt out several pretty little
affairs, which shall in due time be exhibited and explained in front of
his proscenium, for special amusement. In the mean time, to prove that
PUNCH is tolerably well up in this line of pseudo-criticism, he has
prepared the following description of the private view of either the Royal
Academy or the Suffolk-street Gallery, or the British Institution, for
1842, for the lovers of this very light style of reading; and to make it
as truly applicable to the various specimens of art forming the collection
or collections alluded to, he has done it after the peculiar manner
practised by the talented conductor of a journal purporting to be
exclusively set apart to that effort. To illustrate with what strict
attention to the nature of the subject chosen, and what an intimate
knowledge of technicalities the writer above alluded to displays, and with
what consummate skill he blends those peculiarities, the reader will have
the kindness to attach the criticism to either of the works (hereunder
catalogued) most agreeably to his fancy. It will be, moreover, shown that
this is a thoroughly impartial way of performing the operation of soft


  Portrait of the miscreant who          \
  attempted to assassinate Mr. Macreath.  |
                    VALENTINE VERMILION.  |
  Portrait of His Majesty the             | The head is extremely
  King of Hanover.                        | well painted, and the light
                            BY THE SAME.  | and shade distributed with
                                          | the artist's usual judgement.
  Portrait of the boy who got into        |
  Buckingham Palace.                      |
                        GEOFFERY GLAZEM.  |       OR THUS:
  Portrait of Lord John Russell.          |
                            BY THE SAME.  | An admirable likeness of
                                          \ the original, and executed
  Portrait of W. Grumbletone, Esq.,       / with that breadth and clearness
  in the character of Joseph Surface.     | so apparent in this clever
                          PETER PALETTE.  | painter's works.
  Portrait of Sir Robert Peel.            |
                            BY THE SAME.  |       OR THUS:
  Portrait of the Empress of Russia.      |
                          VANDYKE BROWN.  | A well-drawn and brilliantly
                                          | painted portrait, calculated
  Portrait of the infant Princess.        | to sustain the fame already
                            BY THE SAME.  | gained by this our favourite
                                          | painter.
  Portrait of Mary Mumblegums,            |
  aged 170 years.                         |
                            BY THE SAME. /


  The Death of Abel.                     \
                        MICHAEL McGUELP.  |
  Dead Game.                              |
                    THOMAS TICKLEPENCIL.  |
  Vesuvius in Eruption.                   | This picture is well arranged,
                   CHARLES CARMINE, R.A.  | and coloured with much truth
                                          | to nature; the chiaro-scuro
  Portraits of Mrs. Punch and Child.      | is admirably managed.
                              R.W. BUSS.  |
  Cattle returning from the Watering      |       OR THUS:
  Place.                                  \
                             R. BOLLOCK.  /
                                          | This is one of the cleverest
  "We won't go home till Morning."        | productions in the Exhibition;
                    M. WATERFORD, R.H.S.  | there is a transparency in the
                                          | shadows equal to Rembrandt.
  The infant Cupid sleeping.              |
                                R. DADD.  |
  Portrait of Lord Palmerston.            |
                           A.L.L. UPTON.  |
  Coast Scene: Smugglers on the look      |
  out.                                    |
                              H. PARKER.  |
  Portrait of Captain Rous, M.P.          |
                                J. WOOD.  |

Should the friends of any of the artists deem the praise a little too
oily, they can easily add such a tag as the following:--"In our humble
judgment, a little more delicacy of handling would not be altogether out
of place;" or, "Beautiful as the work under notice decidedly is, we
recollect to have received perhaps as much gratification in viewing
previous productions by the same."


This artist is, we much fear, on the decline; we no longer see the vigour
of handling and smartness of conception formerly apparent in his works:
or, "A little stricter attention to drawing, as well as composition, would
render this artist's works more recommendatory."


Either of the following, taken conjointly or separately: "A perfect daub,
possessing not one single quality necessary to create even the slightest
interest--a disgrace to the Exhibition--who allowed such a wretched
production to disgrace these walls?--woefully out of drawing, and as badly
coloured," and such like.

       *       *       *       *       *



  Well, lawks-a-day! things seem going on uncommon queer,
  For they say that the Tories are bowling out the Whigs almost everywhere;
  And the blazing red of my beadle's coat is turning to pink through fear,
  Lest I should find myself and staff out of Office some time about the
          end of the year.
  I've done nothing so long but stand under the magnificent portico
  Of Somerset House, that I don't know what I should do if I was for to go!
  What the electors are at, I can't make out, upon my soul,
  For it's a law of natur' that the _whig_ should be atop of
          the _poll_.
  I've had a snug berth of it here for some time, and don't want to cut
          the connexion;
  But they _do_ say the Whigs must go out, because they've NO OTHER
  What they mean by that, I _don't_ know, for ain't they been
  That is, they've been canvassing, and spouting, and pledging, and
          ginning, and beering.
  Hasn't Crawford and Pattison, Lyall, Masterman, Wood, and Lord John
  For ever so long been keeping the Great Metropolis in one alarming
  Ain't the two _first_ retired into private life--(that's the genteel
          for being rejected)?
  And what's more, the _last_ four, strange to say, have all been elected.
  Then Finsbury Tom and Mr. Wakley, as wears his hair all over his
          coat collar,
  Hav'n't they frightened Mr. Tooke, who once said he could beat them
  Then at Lambeth, ain't Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Cabbell been both on 'em
  By Mr. D'Eyncourt and Mr. Hawes, who makes soap yellow and mottled!
  And hasn't Sir Benjamin Hall, and the gallant Commodore Napier,
  Made such a cabal with Cabbell and Hamilton as would make any chap queer?
  Whilst Sankey, who was backed by a _Cleave_-r for Marrowbone
          looks cranky,
  Acos the electors, like lisping babbies, cried out "_No Sankee?_"
  Then South'ark has sent Alderman Humphrey and Mr. B. Wood,
  Who has promised, that if ever a member of parliament did his duty--he
  Then for the Tower Hamlets, Robinson, Hutchinson, and Thompson, find
          that they're in the wrong box,
  For the electors, though turned to Clay, still gallantly followed
          the Fox;
  Whilst Westminster's chosen Rous--not Rouse of the Eagle--tho' I once
          seed a
  Picture where there was a great big bird, very like a _goose_, along
          with a Leda.
  And hasn't Sir Robert Peel and Mr. A'Court been down to Tamworth to be
  They ought to get an act of parliament to save them such fatigue, for
          its always--ditto repeated.
  Whilst at Leeds, Beckett and Aldam have put Lord Jocelyn into a
          considerable fume,
  Who finds it no go, though he's added up the poll-books several times
          with the calculating boy, Joe Hume.
  So if there's been _no other election_, I should like to find out
  What all the late squibbing and fibbing, placarding, and blackguarding,
          losing and winning, beering and ginning, and every other _et
          cetera_, has been about!

       *       *       *       *       *


  Black bottles at Brighton,
    To darken your fame;
  Black Sundays at Hounslow,
    To add to your shame.
  Black balls at the club,
    Show Lord Hill's growing duller:
  He should change your command
    To the _guards_ of that colour.

       *       *       *       *       *



English--it has been remarked a thousand and odd times--is one of the few
languages which is unaccompanied with gesticulation. Your veritable
Englishman, in his discourse, is as chary as your genuine Frenchman is
prodigal, of action. The one speaks like an oracle, the other like a

Mr. Brown narrates the death of a poor widower from starvation, with his
hands fast locked in his breeches' pocket, and his features as calm as a
horse-pond. M. le Brun tells of the _debut_ of the new _danseuse_, with
several kisses on the tips of his fingers, a variety of taps on the left
side of his satin waistcoat, and his head engulfed between his two
shoulders, like a cock-boat in a trough of the sea.

The cause of this natural diversity is not very apparent. The deficiency
of gesture on our parts may be a necessary result of that prudence which
is so marked a feature of the English character. Mr. Brown, perhaps,
objects to using two means to attain his end when one is sufficient, and
consequently looks upon all gesticulation during conversation as a wicked
waste of physical labour, which that most sublime and congenial science of
Pol. Econ. has shown him to be the source of all wealth. To indulge in
pantomime is, therefore, in his eyes, the same as throwing so much money
in the dirt--a crime which he regards as second in depravity only to that
of having none to throw. Napoleon said, many years back, we were a nation
of shopkeepers; and time seems to have increased, rather than diminished,
our devotion to the ledger. Gold has become our sole standard of
excellence. We measure a man's respectability by his banker's account, and
mete out to the pauper the same punishment as the felon. Our very nobility
is a nobility of the breeches' pocket; and the highest personage in the
realm--her most gracious Majesty--the most gracious Majesty of
500,000l. per annum! Nor is this to be wondered at. To a martial
people like the Romans, it was perfectly natural that animal courage
should be thought to constitute heroic virtue: to a commercial people like
ourselves, it is equally natural that a man's worthiness should be
computed by what he is worth. We fear it is this commercial spirit, which,
for the reason before assigned, is opposed to the introduction of
pantomime among us; and it is therefore to this spirit that we would
appeal, in our endeavours to supply a deficiency which we cannot but look
upon as a national misfortune and disgrace. It makes us appear as a
cold-blooded race of people, which we assuredly are not; for, after all
our wants are satisfied, what nation can make such heroic sacrifices for
the benefit of their fellow creatures as our own? A change, however, is
coming over us: a few pantomimic signs have already made their appearance
amongst us. It is true that they are at present chiefly confined to that
class upon whose manners politeness places little or no
restraint--barbarians, who act as nature, rather than as the book of
etiquette dictates, (and among whom, for that very reason, such a change
would naturally first begin to show itself:) yet do we trust, by pointing
out to the more refined portion of the "British public," the advantage
that must necessarily accrue from the general cultivation of the art of
pantomime, by proving to them its vast superiority over the comparatively
tedious operations of speech, and exhibiting its capacity of conveying a
far greater quantity of thought in a considerably less space of time, and
that with a saving of one-half the muscular exertion--a point so perfectly
consonant with the present prevailing desire for cheap and rapid
communication--that we say we hope to be able not only to bring the higher
classes to look upon it no longer as a vulgar and extravagant mode of
expression, but actually to introduce and cherish it among them as the
most polite and useful of all accomplishments.


But in order to exhibit the capacities of this noble art in all their
comprehensive excellence, it is requisite that we should, in the first
place, say a few words on language in general.

It is commonly supposed that there are but two kinds of language among
men--the written and the spoken: whereas it follows, from the very nature
of language itself, that there must necessarily be as many modes of
conveying our impressions to our fellow-creatures, as there are senses or
modes of receiving impressions in them. Accordingly, there are five senses
and five languages; to wit, the audible, the visible, the olfactory, the
gustatory, and the sensitive. To the two first belong speech and
literature. As illustrations of the third, or olfactory language, may be
cited the presentation of a pinch of Prince's Mixture to a stranger, or a
bottle of "Bouquet du Roi" to a fair acquaintance; both of which are but
forms of expressing to them nasally our respect. The nose, however, is an
organ but little cultivated in man, and the language which appeals to it
is, therefore, in a very imperfect state; not so the gustatory, or that
which addresses itself to the palate. This, indeed, may be said to be
imbibed with our mother's milk. What words can speak affection to the
child like elecampane--what language assures us of the remembrance of an
absent friend like a brace of wood-cocks? Then who does not comprehend the
eloquence of dinners? A rump steak, and bottle of old port, are not these
to all guests the very emblems of esteem--and turtle, venison, and
champagne, the unmistakeable types of respect? If the citizens of a
particular town be desirous of expressing their profound admiration of the
genius of a popular author, how can the sentiment be conveyed so fitly as
in a public dinner? or if a candidate be anxious to convince the "free and
independent electors" of a certain borough of his disinterested regard for
the commonweal, what more persuasive language could he adopt than the
general distribution of unlimited beer? Of the sensitive, or fifth and
last species of language, innumerable instances might be quoted. All
understand the difference in meaning between cuffs and caresses--between
being shaken heartily by the hand and kicked rapidly down stairs. Who,
however ignorant, could look upon the latter as a compliment? or what fair
maiden, however simple, would require a master to teach her how to
construe a gentle compression of her fingers at parting, or a tender
pressure of her toe under the dinner table?

Such is an imperfect sketch of the five languages appertaining to man.
There is, however, one other--that which forms the subject of the present
article--Pantomime, and which may be considered as the natural form of the
visible language--literature being taken as the artificial. This is the
most primitive as well as most comprehensive, of all. It is the earliest,
as it is the most intuitive--the smiles and frowns of the mother being the
first signs understood by the infant. Indeed, if we consider for a moment
that all existence is but a Pantomime, of which Time is the harlequin,
changing to-day into yesterday, summer into winter, youth into old age,
and life into death, and we but the clowns who bear the kicks and buffets
of the scene, we cannot fail to desire the general cultivation of an art
which constitutes the very essence of existence itself. "Speech," says
Talleyrand, that profound political pantomimist, "was given to
_conceal_ our thoughts;" and truly this is the chief use to which it
is applied. We are continually clamouring for acts in lieu of words. Let
but the art of Pantomime become universal, and this grand desideratum must
be obtained. Then we shall find that candidates, instead of being able, as
now, to become legislators by simply professing to be patriots, will be
placed in the awkward predicament of having first to _act_ as such;
and that the clergy, in lieu of taking a tenth part of the produce for the
mere preaching of Christianity, will be obliged to sacrifice at least a
portion to charitable purposes, and _practise_ it.

Indeed, we are thoroughly convinced, that when the manifold advantages of
this beautiful art shall be generally known, it cannot fail of becoming
the principle of universal communication. Nor do we despair of ultimately
finding the elegant Lord A. avowing his love for the beautiful Miss B., by
gently closing one of his eyes, and the fair lady tenderly expressing that
doubt and incredulity which are the invariable concomitants of "Love's
young dream," by a gentle indication with the dexter hand over the
sinister shoulder.


       *       *       *       *       *


An action was recently brought in the Court of Queen's Bench against Mr.
Walter, to recover a sum of money expended by a person named Clark, in
wine, spirits, malt liquors, and other refreshments, during a contest for
the representation of the borough of Southwark. One of the witnesses, who
it appears was chairman of Mr. Walter's committee, swore that _every
thing the committee had to eat or drink went through him._ By a
remarkable coincidence, the counsel for the plaintiff in this tippling
case was _Mr. Lush._

       *       *       *       *       *



Cum notis variorum.

"Excise Court.--An information was laid against Mr. Killpack, for selling
spirituous liquor. Mr. James (the counsel for the defendant) stated that
there was a club held there, of which Mr. Keeley, the actor, was
treasurer, and many others of the theatrical profession were members, and
that they had a store of brandy, whiskey, and other spirits. Fined £5 in
each case."--_Observer_

[ILLUSTRATION: Best British Brandy not Permitted]


  Assist, ye jocal nine[1], inspire my soul!
  (Waiter! a go of Brett's best alcohol,
  A light, and one of Killpack's mild Havannahs).
  Fire me! again I say, while loud hosannas
  I sing of what we were--of what we _now_ are.
      Wildly let me rave,
      To imprecate the knave
  Whose curious _information_ turned our porter sour,
  Bottled our stout, doing it (ruthless cub!)
  Knocking our snug, unlicensed club;
  Changing, despite our _belle esprit_, at one fell _swop_,
  Into a legal coffee-crib, our contraband cook-shop!


      Then little Bob arose,
      And doff'd his clothes,
  Exclaiming, "Momus! Stuff!
  I've played him long enough,"
  And, as the public seems inclined to sack us,
  Behold me ready _dressed_ to play young Bacchus.
    He said[2] his legs the barrel span,
    And thus the Covent Garden god began;--
  "GENTLEMEN,--I am--ahem--!--I beg your pardon,
  But, ahem! as first low com. of Common Garden--
  No, I don't mean that, I mean to say,
  That if we were--ahem!--to pay
  So much per quarter for our quarterns, [Cries of 'Hear!']
  Import our own champagne and ginger-beer;
  In short, _small_ duty pay on all we sup--
  Ahem!--you understand--I give it up."
      The speech was ended,
      And Bob descended.
  The club was formed. A spicy club it was--
  Especially on Saturdays; because
  They dined extr'ordinary cheap at five o'clock:
  When there were met members of the Dram. A. Soc.
  Those of the sock and buskin, artists, court gazetteers--
  Odd fellows all--_odder_ than all their club compeers.
  Some were sub-editors, others reporters,
  And more _illuminati_, joke-importers.
      The club was heterogen'ous
      By strangers seen as
  A refuge for destitute _bons mots_--
  _Dépôt_ for leaden jokes and pewter pots;
  Repertory for gin and _jeux d'esprit_,
  Literary pound for vagrant rapartee;
  Second-hand shop for left-off witticisms;
  Gall'ry for Tomkins and Pitt-icisms;[3]
  Foundling hospital for every bastard pun;
  In short, a manufactory for all sorts of fun!
  *             *             *             *
  Arouse my muse! such pleasing themes to quit,
      Hear me while I say
      "_Donnez-moi du frenzy, s'il vous plait!_"[4]
  Give me a most tremendous fit
  Of indignation, a wild volcanic ebullition,
      Or deep anathema,
      Fatal as J--d's bah!
  To hurl excisemen downward to perdition.
  May genial gin no more delight _their_ throttles--
  _Their_ casks grow leaky, bottomless _their_ bottles;
  May smugglers _run_, and they ne'er make a seizure;
  May _they_--I'll curse them further at my leisure.
      But for our club,
      "Ay, there's the rub."
  "We mourn it dead in its father's halls:"[5]--
  The sporting prints are cut down from the walls;
      No stuffing there,
      Not even in a chair;
  The spirits are all _ex_(or)_cised_,
  The coffee-cups capsized,
  The coffee _fine_-d, the snuff all taken,
  The mild Havannahs are by lights forsaken:
  The utter ruin of the club's achieven--
  Our very chess-boards are ex-_chequered_ even.
  "Where is our club?" X--sighs,[6] and with a stare
  Like to another echo, answers "Where?"

    [1] "Ye jocal nine," a happy modification of "Ye vocal nine."
        The nine here so classically invocated are manifestly nine
        of the members of the late club, consisting of, 1. Mr. D--s
        J--d. 2. The subject of the engraving, treasurer and
        store-keeper. 3. Mr. G--e S--h, sub-ed. J---- B----. 4. Mr.
        B--d, Mem. Dram. Author's Society. 5. C--s S--y, ditto. 6.
        Mr. C--e. 7. Mr. C--s, T--s, late of the firm of T--s and
        P--t. 8. Mr. J--e A--n, Mem. Soc. British Artists. 9, and
        lastly, "though not least," the author of "You loved me not
        in happier days."

    [2] "He said."--Deeply imbued with the style of the most polished
        of the classics, our author will be found to exhibit in some
        passages an imitation of it which might be considered
        pedantic, for ourselves, we admire the severe style. The
        literal rendering of the '_dixit_' of the ancient epicists,
        strikes us as being eitremely forcible here.--PUNCH.

    [3] A play-bill reminiscence, viz. "The scenery by Messrs. Tomkins
        and Pitt."--THE AUTHORS OF "BUT, HOWEVER."

    [4] "Donnez-moi," &c.--The classics of all countries are aptly
        drawn upon by the universal erudition of our bard. A fine
        parody this upon the exclamation of Belmontel's starving
        author: "La Gloire--donnez-moi do pain!"--FENWICK DE

    [5] "They mourn it dead," &c.--A pretty, but perhaps too literal
        allusion to a popular song--J. RODWELL.

    [6] "X--sighs."--Who "X" may happen to be we have not the remotest
        idea. But who would not forgive a little mystification for
        so brilliant a pun?--THE GHOST OF PUNCH'S THEATRE.

       *       *       *       *       *


We are requested by Mr. Hume to state, that being relieved from his
parliamentary duties, he intends opening a day-school in the neighbourhood
of the House of Commons, for the instruction of members only, in the
principles of the illustrious Cocker; and to remedy in some measure his
own absence from the Finance Committees, he is now engaged in preparing a
Parliamentary Ready-reckoner. We heartily wish him success.

       *       *       *       *       *


"In the event of the Tories coming into power, it is intended to confer
the place of Postmaster-General upon Lord Clanwilliam. It would be
difficult to select an individual more _peculiarly_ fitted for the
situation than his lordship, whose _love of letters_ is notorious in
the Carlton Club."--_Extract from an Intercepted Letter._

       *       *       *       *       *


It is currently reported at the Conservative Clubs, that if their party
should come into power, Sir Robert Peel will endeavour to conciliate the
Whigs, and to form a coalition with their former opponents. We have no
doubt the cautious baronet sees the necessity of the step, and would feel
grateful for support from any quarter; but we much doubt the
practicability of the measure. It would indeed he a strange sight to see
Lord Johnny and Sir Bobby, the two great leaders of the opposition
engines, with their followers, meeting amicably on the floor of the House
of Commons. In our opinion, an infernal crash and smash would be the
result of these


       *       *       *       *       *


The "star system" has added another victim to the many already sacrificed
to its rapacity and injustice. Mr. Phelps, an actor whose personation of
_Macduff_, the _Hunchback, Jaques_, &c., would have procured for
him in former times no mean position, has been compelled to secede from
the Haymarket Theatre from a justifiable feeling of disgust at the
continual sacrifices he was required to make for the aggrandisement of one
to whom he may not possibly ascribe any superiority of genius. The part
assigned to Mr. Phelps (_Friar Lawrence_) requires an actor of
considerable powers, and under the old _régime_ would have
deteriorated nothing from Mr. Phelps' position; but we can understand the
motives which influenced its rejection, and whilst we deprecate the
practice of actors refusing parts on every caprice, we consider Mr.
Phelps' opposition to this ruinous system of "starring" as commendable and
manly. The real cause of the decline of the drama is the upholding of this
system. The "stars" are paid so enormously, and cost so much to maintain
them in their false position, that the manager cannot afford (supposing
the disposition to exist) to pay the working portion of his company
salaries commensurate with their usefulness, or compatible with the
appearance they are expected to maintain out of the theatre; whilst
opportunities of testing their powers as actors, or of improving any
favourable impression they may have made upon the public, is denied to
them, from the fear that the influence of the greater, because more
fortunate actor, may be diminished thereby. These facts are now so well
known, that men of education are deterred from making the stage a
profession, and consequently the scarcity of rising actors is referable to
this cause.

The poverty of our present dramatic literature may also be attributable to
this absurd and destructive system. The "star" must be considered alone in
the construction of the drama; or if the piece be not actually made to
measure, the actor, _par excellence_, must be the arbiter of the
author's creation. Writers are thus deterred from making experiments in
the higher order of dramatic writing, for should their subject admit of
this individual display, its rejection by the "star" would render the
labour of months valueless, and the dramatist, driven from the path of
fame, degenerates into a literary drudge, receiving for his wearying
labour a lesser remuneration than would be otherwise awarded him, from the
pecuniary monopoly of the "star."

It is this system which has begotten the present indifference to the
stage. The public had formerly _many_ favourites, because all had an
opportunity of contending for their favour--now they have only Mr. A. or
Mrs. B., who must ultimately weary the public, be their talent what it
may, as the sweetest note would pall upon the ear, were it continually
sounded, although, when harmonised with others, it should constitute the
charm of the melody.

We have made these remarks divested of any personal consideration. We
quarrel only with the system that we believe to be unjust and injurious to
an art which we reverence.

       *       *       *       *       *

VAUXHALL.--Vauxhall! region of Punch, both liquid and corporeal!--Elysium
of illumination lamps!--Paradise of Simpson!--we have been permitted once
again to breathe your oily atmosphere, to partake of an imaginary repast
of impalpable ham and invisible chicken--to join in the eruption of
exclamations at thy pyrotechnic glories--to swallow thy mysterious arrack

[Illustration: PUNCH A LA ROMAINE.]

We have seen Jullien, the elegant, pantomimic Jullien, exhibit his
six-inch wristbands and exquisitely dressed head--we have roved again amid
those bowers where, with Araminta Smith, years ago,

  "We met the daylight after seven hours' sitting."

But we were not happy. There was a something that told us it was not
Vauxhall: the G R's were V R's--the cocked hats were round hats--the
fiddlers were foreigners--the Rotunda was Astley's--the night was
moon-shiny--and there was not--our pen weeps whilst we trace the mournful
fact--there was not "Simpson" to exclaim, "Welcome to the royal property!"
Urbane M.A.C., wouldst that thou hadst been a Mussulman, then wouldst thou
doubtlessly be gliding about amid an Eden of Houris, uttering to the verge
of time the hospitable sentence which has rendered thy name
immortal--Peace to thy manes!

STRAND.--The enterprising managers of this elegant little theatre have
produced another mythological drama, called "The Frolics of the Fairies;
or, the Rose, Shamrock, and Thistle," from the pen of Leman Rede, who is,
without doubt, the first of this class of writers. The indisposition of
Mr. Hall was stated to be the cause of the delay in the production of this
piece; out, from the appearance of the bills, we are led to infer that it
arose from the _indisposition_ of Mrs. Waylett to shine in the same
hemisphere with that little brilliant, Mrs. Keeley, and "a gem of the
first water" she proved herself to be on Wednesday night. It would be
useless to enter into the detail of the plot of an ephemeron, that depends
more upon its quips and cranks than dramatic construction for its success.
It abounds in merry conceits, which that merriest of--dare we call her
mere woman?--little Mrs. Bob rendered as pointed as a Whitechapel needle
of the finest temper. The appointments and arrangements of the stage
reflect the highest credit on the management, and the industry which can
labour to surmount the difficulties which we know to exist in the
production of anything like scenic effect in the Strand Theatre, deserve
the encouragement which we were gratified to see bestowed upon this little
Temple of Momus.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Olympic Theatre has obtained an extension of its licence from the Lord
Chamberlain, and will shortly open with a company selected from Ducrow's
late establishment; but whether the _peds_ are _bi_ or _quadru_,
rumour sayeth not.


MESSRS. FUDGE and VAMP beg to inform novelists and writers of tales in
general, that they supply _dénouements_ to unfinished stories, on the
most reasonable terms. They have just completed a large stock of
catastrophes, to which they respectfully solicit attention.


Discovery of the real murderers, and respite of the accused.

Ditto very superior, with return of the supposed victim.

Ditto, ditto, extra superfine, with punishment of vice and reward of


Mollification of flinty-hearted fathers and union of lovers, &c. &c. &c.


Fictitious bankruptcy of the hero, and sudden reinstatement of fortune.

Ditto, ditto, with exposure of false friends.

Non-recognition of son by father, ultimate discovery of former by latter.

Ditto, ditto, very fine, "with convenient cordial," and true gentlemen,
illustrated by an old _debauchee_.

N.B.--On hand, a very choice assortment of interesting parricides,
strongly recommended for Surrey use.

       *       *       *       *       *


    Young Kean's a bad cigar--because
    The more he's puff'd, the worse he draws.

A new farce, entitled "My Friend the Captain," is to be produced tonight,
at the Haymarket Theatre.

MR. HAMMOND will take a benefit at the English Opera House, on Monday
next. We are happy to see that this very deserving actor's professional
brethren are coming forward to lend him that assistance which he has
always been ready to afford to others.


  Thou sweet, to whom all bend the knee,
  No wonder men run after thee;
  There's something in a name, perhaps,
  For _Honey's_ often good for _chaps_.

A MR. GRAHAM has appeared at the Surrey. He is reported to be a very
chaste and clever actor. If so, he certainly will not suit the taste of
Mr. Davidge's patrons. How they have tolerated Wilson, Leffler, and Miss
Romer so long, we are utterly at a loss to divine. It must be, that "music
hath charms."

We are authorised to state that Rouse of the Eagle Tavern is not the Rous
who was lately returned for Westminster.


_Berthelda_.--Sanguine, you have killed your _mother_!!!

_Fruitwoman_.--Any apples, oranges, biscuits, ginger-beer!

(_Curtain falls_.)

       *       *       *       *       *


We give the following list of qualifications for a member of parliament
for Westminster, as a logical curiosity, extracted from a handbill very
liberally distributed by Captain Rons's party, during the late contest:--

1st. Because "he is _brother to the Earl_ of Stradbroke."

2nd. Because "his _family_ have always been hearty Conservatives."

3rd. Because "they have been established in _Suffolk_ from the time
of the _Heptarchy_."

4th. Because "he entered the navy in 1808."

5th. Because "he _brought home Lord Aylmer_ in the Pique, in 1835."

6th. Because "he ran the Pique aground in the Straits of Belleisle."

7th. Because "after beating there for eleven hours, he got her off again."

8th. Because "he brought her into Portsmouth without a rudder or forefoot,
lower-masts all sprung, and leaking at the rate of two feet per hour!"
ergo, he is the fittest man for the representative of Westminster.--Q.E.D.


LORD LONDONDERRY, in a letter to Colonel Fitzroy, begs of the gallant
member to "go the whole hog." This is natural advice from a _thorough
bore_ like his lordship.

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, July 17, 1841" ***

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