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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, November 27, 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, November 27, 1841" ***

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VOL. 1.


       *       *       *       *       *



[Illustration: W]Whilst Mr. Muff follows the beadle from the funking-room
to the Council Chamber, he scarcely knows whether he is walking upon his
head or his heels; if anything, he believes that he is adopting the former
mode of locomotion; nor does he recover a sense of his true position until
he finds himself seated at one end of a square table, the other three
sides whereof are occupied by the same number of gentlemen of grave and
austere bearing, with all the candles in the room apparently endeavouring
to imitate that species of eccentric dance which he has only seen the
gas-lamps attempt occasionally as he has returned home from his harmonic
society. The table before him is invitingly spread with pharmacopoeias,
books of prescriptions, trays of drugs, and half-dead plants; and upon
these subjects, for an hour and a half, he is compelled to answer

We will not follow his examination: nobody was ever able to see the least
joke in it; and therefore it is unfitted for our columns. We can but state
that after having been puzzled, bullied, "caught," quibbled with, and
abused, for the above space of time, his good genius prevails, and he is
told he may retire. Oh! the pleasure with which he re-enters the
funking-room--that nice, long, pleasant room, with its cheerful fireplace
and good substantial book-cases, and valuable books, and excellent
old-fashioned furniture; and the capital tea which the worshipful company
allows him--never was meal so exquisitely relished. He has passed the
Hall! won't he have a flare-up to-night!--that's all.

As soon as all the candidates have passed, their certificates are given
them, upon payment of various sovereigns, and they are let out. The first
great rush takes place to the "retail establishment" over the way, where
all their friends are assembled--Messrs. Jones, Rapp, Manhug, &c. A pot of
"Hospital Medoc" is consumed by each of the thirsty candidates, and off
they go, jumping Jim Crow down Union-street, and swaggering along the
pavement six abreast, as they sing several extempore variations of their
own upon a glee which details divers peculiarities in the economy of
certain small pigs, pleasantly enlivened by grunts and whistles, and the
occasional asseveration of the singers that their paternal parent was a
man of less than ordinary stature. This insensibly changes into "Willy
brewed a Peck of Malt," and finally settles down into "Nix my Dolly,"
appropriately danced and chorussed, until a policeman, who has no music in
his soul, stops their harmony, but threatens to take them into charge if
they do not bring their promenade concert to a close.

Arrived at their lodgings, the party throw off all restraint. The table is
soon covered with beer, spirits, screws, hot water, and pipes; and the
company take off their coats, unbutton their stocks, and proceed to
conviviality. Mr. Muff, who is in the chair, sings the first song, which
informs his friends that the glasses sparkle on the board and the wine is
ruby bright, in allusion to the pewter-pots and half-and half. Having
finished, Mr. Muff calls upon Mr. Jones, who sings a ballad, not
altogether perhaps of the same class you would hear at an evening party in
Belgrave-square, but still of infinite humour, which is applauded upon the
table to a degree that flirps all the beer out of the pots, with which Mr.
Rapp draws portraits and humorous conceits upon the table with his finger.
Mr. Manhug is then called upon, and sings


  Oh; A was an Artery, fill'd with injection;
  And B was a Brick, never caught at dissection.
  C were some Chemicals--lithium and borax;
  And D was a Diaphragm, flooring the thorax.

  _Chorus (taken in short-hand with minute accuracy)._
        Fol de rol lol,
        Tol de rol lay,
    Fol de rol, tol de rol, tol de rol, lay.

  E was an Embryo in a glass case;
  And F a Foramen, that pierced the skull's base.
  G was a Grinder, who sharpen'd the fools;
  And H means the Half-and-half drunk at the schools.
        Fol de rol lol, &c.

  I was some Iodine, made of sea-weed;
  J was a Jolly Cock, not used to read.
  K was some Kreosote, much over-rated;
  And L were the Lies which about it were stated.
        Fol de rol lol, &c.

  M was a muscle--cold, flabby, and red;
  And N was a Nerve, like a bit of white thread.
  O was some Opium, a fool chose to take;
  And P were the Pins used to keep him awake.
        Fol de rol lol, &c.

  Q were the Quacks, who cure stammer and squint,
  R was a Raw from a burn, wrapp'd in lint.
  S was a Scalpel, to eat bread and cheese;
  And T was a Tourniquet, vessels to squeeze.
        Fol de rol lol, &c.

  U was the Unciform bone of the wrist.
  V was the Vein which a blunt lancet miss'd.
  W was Wax, from a syringe that flow'd.
  X, the Xaminers, who may be blow'd!
        Fol de rol lol, &c.

  Y stands for You all, with best wishes sincere;
  And Z for the Zanies who never touch beer.
  So we've got to the end, not forgetting a letter;
  And those who don't like it may grind up a better.
        Fol de rol lol, &c.

This song is vociferously cheered, except by Mr. Rapp, who during its
execution has been engaged in making an elaborate piece of basket-work out
of wooden pipe-lights, which having arranged to his satisfaction, he sends
scudding at the chairman's head. The harmony proceeds, and with it the
desire to assist in it, until they all sing different airs at once; and
the lodger above, who has vainly endeavoured to get to sleep for the last
three hours, gives up the attempt as hopeless, when he hears Mr. Manhug
called upon for the sixth time to do the cat and dog, saw the bit of wood,
imitate Macready, sing his own version of "Lur-li-e-ty," and accompany it
with his elbows on the table.

The first symptom of approaching cerebral excitement from the action of
liquid stimulants is perceived in Mr. Muff himself, who tries to cut some
cold meat with the snuffers. Mr. Simpson also, a new man, who is looking
very pale, rather overcome with the effects of his elementary screw in a
first essay to perpetrate a pipe, petitions for the window to be let down,
that the smoke, which you might divide with a knife, may escape more
readily. This proposition is unanimously negatived, until Mr. Jones, who
is tilting his chair back, produces the desired effect by overbalancing
himself in the middle of a comic medley, and causing a compound,
comminuted, and irreducible fracture of three panes of glass by tumbling
through them. Hereat, the harmony experiencing a temporary check, and all
the half-and half having disappeared, Mr. Muff finds there is no great
probability of getting any more, as the servant who attends upon the seven
different lodgers has long since retired to rest in the turn-down bedstead
of the back kitchen. An adjournment is therefore determined upon; and,
collecting their hats and coats as they best may, the whole party tumble
out into the streets at two o'clock in the morning.

"Whiz-z-z-z-z-t!" shouts Mr. Manhug, as they emerge into the cool air, in
accents which only Wieland could excel; "there goes a cat!" Upon the
information a volley of hats follow the scared animal, none of which go
within ten yards of it, except Mr. Rapp's, who, taking a bold aim, flings
his own gossamer down the area, over the railings, as the cat jumps
between them on to the water-butt, which is always her first leap in a
hurried retreat. Whereupon Mr. Rapp goes and rings the house-bell, that
the domestics may return his property; but not receiving an answer, and
being assured of the absence of a policeman, he pulls the handle out as
far as it will come, breaks it off, and puts it in his pocket. After this
they run about the streets, indulging in the usual buoyant recreations
that innocent and happy minds so situated delight to follow, and are
eventually separated by their flight from the police, from the safe plan
they have adopted of all running different ways when pursued, to bother
the crushers. What this leads to we shall probably hear next week, when
they are once more _réunis_ in the dissecting-room to recount their

       *       *       *       *       *

It is said that the Duke of Wellington declined the invitation to the Lord
Mayor's civic dinner in the following laconic speech:--"Pray remember the
9th November, 1830."--"Ah!" said Sir Peter Laurie, on hearing the Duke's
reply, "I remember it. They said that the people intended on that day to
set fire to Guildhall, and meant to roast the Mayor and Board of
Aldermen."--"On the old system, I suppose, of every man cooking his own
goose," observed Hobler drily.

       *       *       *       *       *




I cannot recollect the precise day, but it was some time in the month of
November 1839, that I took one of my usual rambles without design or
destination. I detest a premeditated route--I always grow tired at the
first mile; but with a free course, either in town or country, I can
saunter about for hours, and feel no other fatigue but what a tumbler of
toddy and a pipe can remove. It was this disposition that made me
acquainted with the fraternity of the "Puffs." I would premise, gentle
reader, that as in my peregrinations I turn down any green lane or dark
alley that may excite my admiration or my curiosity--hurry through
glittering saloons or crowded streets--pause at the cottage door or shop
window, as it best suits my humour, so, in my intercourse with you, I
shall digress, speculate, compress, and dilate, as my fancy or my
convenience wills it. This is a blunt acknowledgment of my intentions; but
as travellers are never sociable till they have cast aside the formalities
of compliment, I wished to start with you at the first stage as an old
acquaintance. The course is not usual, and, therefore, I adopt it; and it
was by thus stepping out of a common street into a common hostel that I
became possessed of the _matériel_ of those papers, which I trust will
hereafter tend to cheat many into a momentary forgetfulness of some care.
I have no other ambition; there are philosophers enough to mystify or
enlighten the world without my "nose of Turk and Tartar's lips" being
thrust into the cauldron, whose

    --"Charms of powerful trouble,
  Like a hell-broth, boil and bubble."

I had buttoned myself snugly in my Petersham (may the tailor who invented
_that_ garment "sleep well" whenever he "wears the churchyard livery,
grass-green turned up with brown!") The snow--the beautiful snow--fell
pure and noiselessly on the dirty pavement. Ragged, blue-faced urchins
were scrambling the pearly particles together, and, with all the joyous
recklessness of healthier childhood, carrying on a war less fatal but more
glorious than many that have made countless widows and orphans, and,
_perhaps, one_ hero. Little round doll-like things, in lace and ribbons,
were thumping second-door windows with their tiny hands, and crowing with
ecstasy at the sight of the flaky shower. "Baked-tater" cans and
"roasted-apple" saucepan lids were sputtering and frizzing in impotent
rage as they waged puny war with the congealed element. Hackney
charioteers sat on their boxes warped and whitened; whilst those strange
amalgams of past and _never-to-come_ fashions--the clerks of
London--hurried about with the horrid consciousness of exposing their
costliest garments to the "pelting of the pitiless storm." Evening stole
on. A London twilight has nothing of the pale grey comfort that is
diffused by that gradual change from day to night which I have experienced
when seated by the hearth or the open window of a rural home. There it
seems like the very happiness of nature--a pause between the burning
passions of meridian day and the dark, sorrowing loneliness of night; but
in London on it comes, or rather down it comes, like the mystic medium in
a pantomime--it is a thing that you will not gaze on for long; and you
rush instinctively from daylight to candle-light. I stopped in front of an
old-fashioned public-house, and soon (being a connoisseur in these
matters) satisfied myself that if comfort were the desideratum, "The heart
that was humble might hope for it here." I shook the snow from my
"Petersham," and seeing the word "parlour" painted in white letters on a
black door, bent my steps towards it. I was on the point of opening the
door, when a slim young man, with a remarkable small quantity of hair,
stopped my onward coarse by gurgling rather than ejaculating--for the
sentence seemed a continuous word--


"Why not?" said I."



"Yes-Sir,--Tues'y night--Puffs-meets-on-Tues'y," and then addressing a
young girl in the bar, delivered an order for "One-rum-one-bran'y-one
gin-no-whisky-all-'ot," which I afterwards found to signify one glass of
each of the liqueurs.

I was about to remonstrate against the exclusiveness of the "Puffs," when
recollecting the proverbial obduracy of waiters, I contented myself with
buttoning my coat. My annoyance was not diminished by hearing the hearty
burst of merriment called forth by some jocular member of this _terra
incognita_, but rendered still more distressing by the appearance of the
landlord, who emerged from the room, his eyes streaming with those tears
that nature sheds over an expiring laugh.

"You have a merry party _concealed_ there, Master Host," said I.

"Ye-ye-s-Sir, very," replied he, and tittered again, as though he were
galvanizing his defunct merriment.

"Quite exclusive?"

"Quite, Sir, un-unless you are introduced--Oh dear!" and having mixed a
small tumbler of toddy, he disappeared into that inner region of smoke
from which I was separated by the black door endorsed "_Parlour_."

I had determined to seek elsewhere for a more social party, when the
thumping of tables and gingle of glasses induced me to abide the issue.
After a momentary pause, a firm and not unmusical voice was heard, pealing
forth the words of a song which I had written when a boy, and had procured
insertion for in a country newspaper. At the conclusion the thumping was
repeated, and the waiter having given another of his _stenographical_
orders, I could not resist desiring him to inform the vocal gentleman that
I craved a few words with him.

"Yes-Sir--don't-think-'ll come--'cos he-'s-in-a-corner."

"Perhaps you will try the experiment," said I.

"Certainly-Sir-two-gins-please-ma'am." And having been supplied with the
required beverage, he also made his _exit in fumo_.

In a few minutes a man of about fifty made his appearance; his face
indicated the absence of vulgarity, though a few purply tints delicately
hinted that he had assisted at many an orgie of the rosy offspring of
Jupiter and Semele. His dark vestments and white cravat induced me to set
him down as a "professional gentleman"--nor was I far wrong in my
conjecture. As I shall have, I trust, frequent occasion to speak of him, I
will for the sake of convenience, designate him Mr. Bonus.

I briefly stated my reason for disturbing him--that as he had honoured my
muse by forming so intimate an acquaintance with her, I was anxious to
trespass on his politeness to introduce me into that room which had now
become a sort of "Blue-beard blue-chamber" to my thirsty curiosity. Having
handed him my card, he readily complied, and in another minute I was an
inhabitant of an elysium of sociality and tobacco-smoke.

"Faugh!" cries Aunt Charlotte Amelia, whilst pretty little Cousin Emmeline
turns up her round hazel eyes and ejaculates, "Tobacco-smoke! horrid!"

Ladies! you treat with scorn that which God hath given as a blessing! It
has never been your lot to thread the streets of mighty London, when the
first springs of her untiring commerce are set in motion. Long, dear aunt,
before thy venerable nose peeps from beneath the quilted coverlid to scent
an atmosphere made odorous by cosmetics--long, dear Emmeline, ere those
bright orbs that one day will fire the hearts of thousands are unclosed,
the artizan has blessed his sleeping children, and closed the door upon
his household gods. The murky fog, the drizzling shower, welcome him back
to toil. Labour runs before him, and with ready hand unlocks the doors of
dreary cellars or towering and chilly edifices; mind hath not yet
promulgated or received the noble doctrine that toil is dignity; and you,
yes, even you, dear, gentle hearts! would feel the artizan a slave, if
some clever limner showed you the toiling wretch sooted or japanned. Would
you then rob him of one means of happiness? No--not even of his pipe!
Ladies, you tread on carpets or on marble floors--I will tell you where my
foot has been. I have walked where the air was circumscribed--where man
was manacled by space, for no other crimes but those of poverty and
misfortune. I've seen the broken merchant seated round a hearth that had
not one endearment--they looked about for faces that were wont to smile
upon them, and they saw but mirrors of their own sad lineaments--some
laughed in mockery of their sorrows, as though they thought that mirth
would come for asking; others, grown brutal by being caged, made up in
noise what they lacked in peace. How comfortless they seemed! The only
solace that the eye could trace was the odious herb, tobacco!

I have climbed the dark and narrow stairway that led to a modern Helicon;
there I have seen the gentle creature that loved nature for her
beauty--beauty that was to him apparent, although he sat hemmed in by bare
and tattered walls; yet there he had seen bright fountains sparkle and the
earth robe herself with life, and where the cunning spider spread her
filmy toils above his head, he has seen a world of light, a galaxy of
wonders. The din of wheels and the harsh discordant cries of busy life
have died within his ear, and the tiny voices of choral birds have hymned
him into peace; or the lettered eloquence of dread sages has become sound
again, and he has communed in the grove and temple, as they of older time
did in the eternal cities, with those whose names are immortal--and there
I have seen the humble pipe! the sole evidence of luxury or enjoyment;
when his daily task was suspended, it can never end, for he must weave and
weave the fibres of his brain into the clue that leads him to the means of
sustaining life.

I have wandered through lanes and fields when the autumn was on and the
world golden, and my journey has ended at a yeoman's door. My welcome has
been a hand-grasp, that needed bones and muscles to bear it
unflinchingly--my fare the homeliest, but the sweetest; and when the meal
was ended, how has the night wore on and then away over a cup of brown
October--the last autumn's legacy--and, forgive me, Emmeline, a pipe of
tobacco! Glorious herb! that hath oft-times stayed the progress of sorrow
and contagion; a king once consigned thee to the devil, but many a humble,
honest heart hath hailed thee as a blessing from the Creator.

I was introduced by my new acquaintance without much ceremony, and was
pleased to see that little was expected. "We meet here thrice a week,"
said Bonus, "just to wile away an hour or two after the worry and fatigue
of business. Most of us have been acquainted with each other since
boyhood--and we have some curious characters amongst us; and should you
wish to enrol your name, you have only to prove your qualification for
this (holding up his pipe), and we shall be happy to recognise you as a

       *       *       *       *       *


SIR PETER LAURIE having observed a notice in one of the journals that the
superior planets, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, are now to be seen every
evening in the west, despatched a messenger to them with an invitation to
the late Polish Ball, sagely remarking that "three such stars must prove
an attraction." Upon Sir Peter mentioning the circumstance to Hobler, the
latter cunningly advised Alderman Figaro (in order to prevent accidents)
to solicit them to come by water, and accordingly Sir Peter's carriage was
in waiting for the fiery stranger at the

[Illustration: TOWER STARES.]

       *       *       *       *       *


The borough of Limerick at present enjoys the singular advantage of having
two civic heads to the city. The new _mare_, Martin Honan, Esq., after
being duly elected, civilly requested the old _mare_, C. S. Vereker, Esq.,
to turn out; to which he as civilly replied that he would see him blessed
first, and as he was himself the only genuine and original donkey, he was
resolved not to yield his place at the corporate manger to the new animal.
Thus matters remain at present--the old _Mare_ resolutely refusing to take
his head out of the halter until he is compelled to do so.

       *       *       *       *       *


_By the Author of the "Great Metropolis."_

It is a remarkable fact that, in spite of the recent Act, there are no
less than three hundred sweeps who still continue to cry "sweep," in the
very teeth of the legislative measure alluded to. I have been in the habit
of meeting many of these sweeps at the house I use for my breakfast; and
in the course of conversation with them, I have generally found that they
know they are breaking the law in calling out "sweep," but they do not
raise the cry for the mere purpose of law-breaking. I am sure it would be
found on inquiry that it is only with the view of getting business that
they call out at all; and this shows the impolicy of making a law which is
not enforced; for they all know that it is very seldom acted upon.

The same argument will apply to the punishment of death; and my friend
Jack Ketch, whom I meet at the Frog and Frying-pan, tells me that he has
hanged a great many who never expected it. If I were to be asked to make
all the laws for this country, I certainly should manage things in a very
different manner; and I am glad to say that I have legal authority on my
side, for the lad who opens the door at Mr. Adolphus's chambers--with whom
I am on terms of the closest intimacy--thinks as I do upon every great
question of legal and constitutional policy. But this is "neither here nor
there," as my publisher told me when I asked him for the profits of my
last book, and I shall therefore drop the subject.

In speaking of eminent publishers, I must not forget to mention Mr.
Catnach, to whom I owe a debt of gratitude for having been the first to
introduce me to the literary career I have since so successfully followed.
I believe I was the first who carried into effect Mr. Catnach's admirable
idea of having the last dying speeches all struck off on the night before
an execution, so as to get them into the hands of the public as early as
possible. It was, moreover, my own suggestion to stereotype one speech, to
be used on all occasions; and I also must claim the merit of having
recommended the fixing a man's head at the top of the document as "a
portrait of the murderer." Catnach and I have always been on the best of
terms, but he is naturally rather angry that I have not always published
with him, which he thinks--and many others tell me the same thing--I
always should have done. At all events, Catnach has not much right to
complain, for he has on two occasions wholly repainted his shop-shutters
from effusions of mine; and I know that he has greatly extended his toy
and marble business through the profits of a poetical version of the fate
of Fauntleroy, which was very popular in its day, and which I wrote for

I have never until lately had much to do with Pitts, of Seven Dials; but I
have found him an intelligent tradesman, and a very spirited publisher. He
undertook to get out in five days a new edition of the celebrated
pennyworth of poetry, known some time back, and still occasionally met
with, as the "Three Yards of Popular Songs," which were all selected by
me, and for which I chose every one of the vignettes that were prefixed to
them. I have had extensive dealings both with Pitts and Catnach; and in
comparing the two men, I should say one was the Napoleon of literature,
the other the Mrs. Fry. Catnach is all for dying speeches and executions,
while Pitts is peculiarly partial to poetry. Pitts, for instance, has
printed thousands of "My Pretty Jane," while Catnach had the execution of
Frost all in type for many months before his trial. It is true that Frost
never was hanged, but Blakesley was; and the public, to whom the document
was issued when the latter event occurred, had nothing to do but to bear
in mind the difference of the names, and the account would do as well for
one as for the other. Catnach has been blamed for this; but it will not be
expected that _I_ shall censure any one for the grossest literary

       *       *       *       *       *


The success of the Polish Ball has induced some humane individuals to
propose that a similar festival should take place for the relief of the
distressed Spitalfields weavers. We like the notion of a charitable
quadrille--or a benevolent waltz; and it delights us to see a
philanthropic design _set on foot_, through the medium of a gallopade. A
dance which has for its object the putting of bread in the mouths of our
fellow-creatures, may be truly called

[Illustration: A-BUN-DANCE.]

       *       *       *       *       *



[Illustration: D]Doctors Spurzheim and Gall have acquired immense renown
for their ingenious and plausible system of phrenology. These eminent
philosophers have by a novel and wonderful process divided that which is
indivisible, and parcelled out the human mind into several small lots,
which they call "_organs_," numbering and labelling them like the drawers
or bottles in a chemist's shop; so that, should any individual acquainted
with the science of phrenology chance to get into what is vulgarly termed
"a row," and being withal of a meek and lamb like disposition, which
prompts him rather to trust to his heels than to his fists, he has only to
excite his organ of _combativeness_ by scratching vigorously behind his
ear, and he will forthwith become bold as a lion, valiant as a
game-cock--in short, a very lad of _whacks_, ready to fight the devil if
he dared him. In like manner, a constant irritation of the organ of
_veneration_ on the top of his head will make him an accomplished
courtier, and imbue him with a profound respect for stars and coronets.
Now if it be possible--and that it is, no one will now attempt to deny--to
divide the brain into distinct faculties, why may not the stomach, which,
it has been admitted by the Lord Mayor and the Board of Aldermen, is a far
nobler organ than the brain,--why may it not also possess several
faculties? As we know that a particular part of the brain is appropriated
for the faculty of _time_, another for that of _wit_, and so on, is it not
reasonable to suppose that there is a certain portion of the stomach
appropriated to the faculty of _roast beef_, another for that of _devilled
kidney_ and so forth?

It may be said that the stomach is a single organ, and therefore incapable
of performing more than one function. As well might it be asserted that it
was a steam-engine, with a single furnace consuming Whitehaven, Scotch, or
Newcastle coals indiscriminately. The fact is, the stomach is not a single
organ, but in reality a congeries of organs, each receiving its own proper
kind of aliment, and developing itself by outward bumps and prominences,
which indicate with amazing accuracy the existence of the particular
faculty to which it has been assigned.

It is upon these facts that I have founded my system of Stomachology; and
contemplating what has been done, what is doing, and what is likely to be
done, in the analogous science of phrenology, I do not despair of seeing
the human body mapped out, and marked all over with faculties, feelings,
propensities, and powers, like a tattooed New Zealander. The study of
anatomy will then be entirely superseded, and the scientific world would
be guided, as the fashionable world is now, entirely by externals.

The circumstances which led me to the discovery of this important
constitution of the stomach were partly accidental, and partly owing to my
own intuitive sagacity. I had long observed that Judy, "my soul's far
dearer part," entertained a decided partiality for a leg of pork and
pease-pudding--to which _I_ have a positive dislike. On extending my
observations, I found that different individuals were characterised by
different tastes in food, and that one man liked mint sauce with his roast
lamb, while others detested it. I discovered also that in most persons
there is a predominance of some particular organ over the surrounding
ones, in which case a corresponding external protuberance may be looked
for, which indicates the gastronomic character of the individual. This
rule, however, is not absolute, as the prominence of one faculty may be
modified by the influence of another; thus the faculty of _ham_ may be
modified by that of _roast veal_, or the desire to indulge in a sentiment
for an _omelette_ may be counteracted by a propensity for a _fricandeau_,
or by the regulating power of a _Strasbourg pie_. The activity of the
_omelette_ emotion is here not abated; the result to which it would lead,
is merely modified.

It would be tedious to detail the successive steps of my inquiries, until
I had at last ascertained distinctly that the power of the eating
faculties is, _cæteris paribus_, in proportion to the size of those
compartments in the stomach by which they are manifested. I propose at a
future time to explain my system more fully, and shall conclude my present
lecture by giving a list of the organs into which I have classified the
stomach, according to my most careful observations.


    1.--Bread (_French rolls_).
    2.--Water (_doubtful_).
    3.--Beef (_including rump-steaks_).
    4.--Mutton (_legs thereof_).
    5.--Veal (_stuffed fillet of the same_).
    6.--Bacon (_including pork-chops and sausages_).






    19.--Gruyère Cheese.
    20.--French Wines.
    21.--Italian Salads.
    22.-- ----

Of the last organ I have not been able to discover the function; it is
probably miscellaneous, and disposes of all that is not included in the

       *       *       *       *       *


(_By the Reporter of the Court Journal._)

Yesterday Paddy Green, Esq. gave a grand _déjeuner à la fourchette_ to a
distinguished party of friends, at his house in Vere-street. Amongst the
guests we noticed Charles Mears, J.M., Mister Jim Connell, Bill Paul, Deaf
Burke, Esq., Jerry Donovan, M.P.R., Herr Von Joel, &c. &c. Mister Jim
Connell and Jerry Donovan went the "_odd man_" who should stand glasses
round. The favourite game of _shove-halfpenny_ was kept up till a late
hour, when the party broke up highly delighted.

A great party mustered on Friday last, in the New Cut, to hear Mr.
Briggles chant a new song, written on the occasion of the birth of the
young Prince. He was accompanied by his friend Mr. Handel Purcell Mozart
Muggins on the drum and mouth-organ, who afterwards went round with his

On Friday the lady of Paddy Green paid a morning call to Clare Market, at
the celebrated tripe shop; she purchased two slices of canine comestibles
which she carried home on a skewer.

Mrs. Paddy Green on Wednesday visited Mrs. Joel, to take tea. She indulged
in two crumpets and a dash of rum in the congou. It is confidently
reported that on Wednesday next Mrs. Joel will pay a visit to Mrs. G. at
her residence in Vere-street, to supper; after which Mr. Paddy Green will
leave for his _seat_ in Maiden-lane.

Jeremiah Donovan, it is stated, is negotiating for the three-pair back
room in Surrey, late the residence of Charles Mears, J.M.

       *       *       *       *       *



    1st Body of
    General Postmen--Timothy Sneak, to Broad-street bell and bag,
                        vice Jabez Broadfoot, who retires into the
                        chandlery line.
        "            Horatio Squint to Lincoln's-Inn bell and bag,
                        vice Timothy Sneak.
        "            Felix Armstrong to Bedford-square bell and bag,
                       vice Horatio Squint.
        "            Josiah Claypole (from the body of letter-sorters)
                       to Tottenham-Court-road bell and bag, vice
                       Felix Armstrong. N.B. This deserving young man
                       is indebted to his promotion for detecting a
                       brother letter-sorter appropriating the contents
                       of a penny letter to his own uses, at the
                       precise time that the said Josiah Claypole had
                       his eye on it, for reasons best known to himself.
                       The twopenny-postmen are highly incensed at
                       this unheard-of and unprecedented passing them
                       over; and great fears are entertained of their

       *       *       *       *       *


"Pa," said an interesting little Polyglot, down in the West, with his
French Rudiments before him, "why should one egg be sufficient for a dozen
men's breakfasts?"--"Can't say, child."--"Because _un oeuf_--is as good as
a feast."--"Stop that boy's grub, mother, and save it at once; he's too
clever to live much longer."

       *       *       *       *       *


    _To the bashful, the hesitating, and the ignorant, the following
    hints may prove useful_.

If you call on the "loved one," and observe that she blushes when you
approach, give her hand a gentle squeeze, and if she returns it, consider
it "all right"--get the parents out of the room, sit down on the sofa
beside the "must adorable of her sex"--talk of the joys of wedded life. If
she appears pleased, rise, seem excited, and at once ask her to say the
important, the life-or-death-deciding, the suicide-or-happiness-settling
question. If she pulls out her cambric, be assured you are accepted. Call
her "My darling Fanny!"--"My own dear creature!"--and a few such-like
names, and this completes the scene. Ask her to name the day, and fancy
yourself already in Heaven.

A good plan is to call on the "object of your affections" in the
forenoon--propose a walk--mamma consents, in the hope you will declare
your intentions. Wander through the green fields--talk of "love in a
cottage,"--"requited attachment"--and "rural felicity." If a child happens
to pass, of course intimate your fondness for the dear little
creatures--this will be a splendid hit. If the coast is clear, down you
must fall on your knee, right or left (there is no rule as to this), and
swear never to rise until she agrees to take you "for better and for
worse." If, however, the grass is wet, and you have white ducks on, or if
your unmentionables are tightly made--of course you must pursue another
plan--say, vow you will blow your brains out, or swallow arsenic, or drown
yourself, if she won't say "yes."

If you are at a ball, and your charmer is there, captivating all around
her, get her into a corner, and "pop the question." Some delay until after
supper, but "delays are dangerous"--Round-hand copy.

A young lady's "tears," when accepting you, mean "I am too happy to
speak." The dumb show of staring into each other's faces, squeezing
fingers, and sighing, originated, we have reason to believe, with the
ancient Romans. It is much practised now-a-days--as saving breath, and
being more lover-like than talking.

We could give many more valuable hints, but Punch has something better to
do than to teach ninnies the art of amorifying.

       *       *       *       *       *



  Now harems being very lonely places,
    Hemm'd in with bolts and bars on every side,
  The fifty-two who shared Te-pott's embraces
    Were glad to see a stranger, though a bride--
  And so received her with their gentlest graces,
    And questions--though the questions are implied,
  For ladies, from Great Britain to the Tropics,
  Are very orthodox in their choice of topics.

  They ask'd her, who was married? who was dead?
    What were the newest things in silks and ivories?
  And had Y--Y--, who had eloped with Z--,
    Been yet forgiven? and _had_ she seen his liveries?
  And weren't they something between grey and red?
    And hadn't Z's papa refused to give her his?
  So Hy-son told them everything she knew
  And all was very well a day or two.

  But, when the Multifarious forsook
    Bo-hea, Pe-koe, and Wiry-leaf'd Gun-pow-der,
  To revel in the lip and sunny look
    Of the young stranger; spite of all they'd vow'd her,
  The ladies each with jealous anger shook,
    And rail'd against the simple maid aloud--Ah!
  This woman's pride is a fine thing to tell us of--
  But a small matter serves her to be jealous of.

  One said she was indecorously florid--
    One thought "she only squinted, nothing more--"
  A third, convulsively pronounced her "horrid "--
    While Bo-hea, who was _low_ (at four-and-four),
  Glanced from her fingers up at Hy-son's forehead,
    Who, inkling such a tendency before,
  Cared for no rival's nails--but paid--I own,
  Particular attention to her own.

  Well, this was bad enough; but worse than this
    Were the attentions of our ancient hero,
  Whose frequent vow, and frequenter caress,
    Unwelcome were for any one to hear, who
  Had charms for better pleasure than a kiss
    From feeble dotard ten degrees from zero.
  So, as one does when circumstances harass one,
  Hy-son began to draw up a comparison.

  "Was ever maiden so abused as I am?
    Teazed into such a marriage--then to be
  Dosed with my husband twenty times _per diem_,
    With _repetetur haustus_ after tea!
  And, if he should die, what can I get by him?
    A jointure's nothing among fifty-three!
  I'm meek enough--but this I can _not_ bear--
  I wish: I wish:--I wish a girl might swear!"

  In such a mood, she--(stop! I'll mend my pen;
    For now all our preliminaries _are_ done,
  And I am come unto the crisis, when
    Her fate depends on a kind reader's pardon)--
  Wandering forth beyond the ladies' ken,
    She thought she spied a male face in the garden--
  She hasten'd thither--she was not mistaken,
  For sure enough, a man was there a-raking.

  A man complete he was who own'd the visage,
    A man of thirty-three, or may-be longer--
  So young, she could not well distinguish his age--
    So old, she knew he had one day been younger.
  Now thirty-three, although a very nice age,
    Is not so nice as twenty, twenty-one, or
  So; but of lovers when a lady's caught one,
  She seldom stops to stipulate what sort o' one.

  Now, the first moment Hy-son saw the gardener--
    A gardener, by his tools and dress she knew--
  She felt her bosom round her heart in a--
    A--just as if her heart was breaking through;
  And so she blush'd, and hoped that he would pardon her
    Intruding on his grounds--"so nice they grew!--
  Such roses! what a pink!--and then that peony;
  Might she die if she ever look'd to see any!"

  The gardener offer'd her a budding rose:
    She took it with a smile, and colour'd high;
  While, as she gave its fragrance to her nose,
    He took the opportunity to sigh.
  And Hy-son's cheek blush'd like the daylight's close!
    She glanced around to see that none were nigh,
  Then sigh'd again and thought, "Although a peasant,
  His manners are refined, and really pleasant."

  They stood each looking in the other's eyes,
    Till Hy-son dropp'd her gaze, and then--good lack
  Love is a cunning chapman: smiles, and sighs.
    And tears, the choicest treasures in his pack!
  Still barters he such baubles for the prize,
    Which all regret when lost, yet can't get back--
  The heart--a useful matter in a bosom--
  Though some folks won't believe it till they lose 'em.

  Love can say much, yet not a word be spoken.
    Straight, as a wasp careering staid to sip
  The dewy rose she held, the gardener's token,
    He, seizing on her hand, with hasty grip,
  The stem sway'd earthward with its blossom, broken.
    The gardener raised her hand unto his lip,
  And kiss'd it--when a rough voice, hoarse with halloas,
  Cried, "Harkye' fellow! I'll permit no followers!"

       *       *       *       *       *


  The lists were made--the trumpet's blast
    Rang pealing through the air.
  My 'squire made lace and rivet fast
    And brought my tried _destrerre_.
  I rode where sat fair Isidore
    Inez Mathilde Borghese;
  From spur to crest she scann'd me o'er,
    Then said "He's not the cheese!"

  O, Mary mother! how burn'd my cheek!
    I proudly rode away;
  And vow'd "Woe's his I who dares to break
    A lance with me to-day!"
  I won the prize! (Revenge is sweet,
     I thought me of a _ruse_;)
  I laid it at her rival's feet,
    And thus I cook'd her goose.

       *       *       *       *       *


What difference is there between a farrier and Dr. Locock?--Because the
one is a  _horse-shoer_, and the other is _a-cow-shoer_. (accoucheur).

Why is the Prince of Wales Duke of Cornwall?--Because he is a _minor_.

"Bar that," as the Sheriff's Officer said to his first-floor window.

       *       *       *       *       *


In a manuscript life of _Jemmy Twitcher_--the work will shortly appear
under the philosophical auspices of SIR LYTTON BULWER--we find a curious
circumstance, curiously paralleled by a recent political event. _Jemmy_
had managed to pass himself off as a shrewd, cunning, but withal very
honest sort of fellow; he was, nevertheless, in heart and soul, a
housebreaker of the first order. One night, _Jemmy_ quitted his
respectable abode, and, furnished with dark lantern, pistol, crowbar, and
crape, joined half-a-dozen neophyte burglars--his pupils and his victims.
The hostelry chosen for attack was "The Spaniards." The host and his
servants were, however, on the alert; and, after a smart struggle in the
passage, the housebreakers were worsted; two or three of them being
killed, and the others--save and except the cautious _Jemmy_, who had only
directed the movement from without--being fast in the clutches of the
constables. _Jemmy_, flinging away his crape and his crowbar, ran home to
his house--he was then living somewhere in Petty France--went to bed, and
the next morning appeared as snug and as respectable as ever to his
neighbours. Vehement was his disgust at the knaves killed and caught in
the attack on "The Spaniards;" and though there were not wanting bold
speakers, who averred that _Twitcher_ was at the bottom of the burglary,
nevertheless, his grave look, and the character he had contrived to piece
together for honest dealing, secured him from conviction.

_Jemmy Twitcher_ was what the world calls a warm fellow. He had gold in
his chest, silver tankards on his board, pictures on his walls; and more,
he had a fine family of promising _Twitchers_. One night, greatly to his
horror at the iniquity of man, miscreants surrounded his dwelling and
fired bullets at his children. The villains were apprehended; and the hair
of _Jemmy_--who had evidently forgotten all about the affair at "The
Spaniards"--stood on end, as the conspiracy of the villains was revealed,
as it was shown how, in anticipation of a wicked success, they had shared
among them, not only his gold and his tankards, but the money and plate of
all his honest neighbours. _Jemmy_, still forgetful of "The Spaniards"
cried aloud for justice and the gibbet!

Have we not here the late revolution in Spain--the QUENISSET
conspiracy--and in the prime mover of the first, and the intended victim
of the second rascality, KING LOUIS-PHILIPPE, the JEMMY TWITCHER OF THE

The commission recently appointed in France for the examination of the
Communists and Equalised Operatives, taken in connexion with the recent
bloodshed under French royal authority, is another of the ten thousand
illustrations of the peculiar morality of crowned heads. Here is a sawyer,
a cabinet-maker, a cobbler, and such sort, all food for the guillotine for
attempting to do no more than has been most treacherously perpetrated by
the present King of the French and the ex-Queen of Spain. How is it that
LOUIS-PHILIPPE feels no touch of sympathy for that pusillanimous
scoundrel--_Just_? He is naturally his veritable double; but then _Just_
is only a carpenter, LOUIS-PHILIPPE is King of the French!

The reader has only to read Madrid for Paris--has only to consider the
sawyer Quenisset (the poor tool, trapped by _Just_), the murdered Don
Leon, or any other of the gallant foolish victims of the French monarchy
in the late atrocity in Spain, to see the moral identity of the scoundrel
carpenter and the rascal king. We quote from the report:--

    _Quénisset_ (alias DON LEON) examined.--"_Just_ said to
    me, pointing to the body of officers, 'You must fire _into the
    midst of those_;' I then drew the pistol from under my shirt,
    and discharged it with my left hand _in the direction I was

O'DONNELL, LEON, ORA, BORIA, FULGOSIO, drew their pistols at the order of
LOUIS-PHILIPPE and CHRISTINA, and merely fired in the direction they were

    "Where was this society (the Ouvriers Egalitaires)
    held?"--"Generally at the house of Colombier, keeper of a
    wine-shop, Rue Traversière."

    "What formed the subject of discourse in these meetings, when you
    were there?"--"_Different crimes_. They talked of _overthrowing
    the throne, assassinating the agents of the government--shedding
    blood, in fact_!"

For the Rue Traversière we have only to read the Rue de Courcelles--for
Colombier the wine seller, CHRISTINA ex-Queen of Spain. As for the subject
of discourse at her Majesty's hotel, events have bloodily proved that it
was the overthrow of a throne--the murder of the constituted authorities
of Spain--and, in the comprehensive meaning of Quénisset--"shedding blood,
in fact!" At the wine-shop meetings the French conspirator tells us that
there was "an old man, a locksmith," who would read revolutionary themes,
and "electrify the souls of the young men about him!" The locksmith of the
Rue de Courcelles was the crafty, sanguinary policy of the monarch of the
barricades. We now come to MADAME COLOMBIER, _alias_ QUEEN CHRISTINA.--

    "Do you know whether your comrades had many cartridges?"--"I do
    not know exactly what the quantity was, but I heard a man say,
    and, Madame Colombier _also boasted to another woman, that they
    had worked very hard, and for some time past, at making

Madame COLOMBIER, however, must cede in energy and boldness to the
reckless devilry of the Spanish ex-Queen; for the cartridges manufactured
by the wine-seller's wife were not to be discharged into the bed-room of
her own infant daughters! They were certain not to shed the blood of her
own children. Now the cartridges of the Rue de Courcelles were made for
any service.

One more extract from the confessions of QUENISSET (_alias_ DON LEON):--

    "At the corner of the Rue Traversière I saw Just, Auguste, and
    several other young men, whom I had seen in the morning receiving
    cartridges. Upon my asking whether the attack was to be made,
    _Just answered, Yes_. He felt for his pistols; my comrade got his
    ready under his blouse. I seized mine under my shirt. Just called
    to me, '_There, there, it is there you are to fire.' I fired. I
    thought that all the others would do the same; but they made me
    swallow the hook, and then left me to my fate, the rascals!_"

Poor DON LEON! So far the parallel is complete. The pistol was fired
against Spanish liberty; and the royal Just, finding the object missed,
sneaks off, and leaves his dupe for the executioner. There, however, the
similitude fails. LOUIS-PHILIPPE sleeps in safety--if, indeed, the ghosts
of his Spanish victims let him sleep at all; whilst for _Just_, the
carpenter, he is marked for the guillotine. Could Justice have her own, we
should see the King of the French at the bar of Spain; were the world
guided by abstract right, one fate would fall to the carpenter and the
King. History, however, will award his Majesty his just deserts. There is
a Newgate Calendar for Kings as well as for meaner culprits.

There are, it is said, at the present moment in France fifty thousand
communists; foolish, vicious men; many of them, doubtless, worthy of the
galleys; and many, for whom the wholesome discipline of the mad-house
would be at once the best remedy and punishment. Fifty thousand men
organised in societies, the object of which is--what young France would
denominate--philosophical plunder; a relief from the canker-eating chains
of matrimony; a total destruction of all objects of art; and the common
enjoyment of stolen goods. It is against this unholy confederacy that the
moral force of LOUIS-PHILIPPE'S Government is opposed. It is to put down
and destroy these bands of social brigands that the King of the French
burns his midnight oil; and then, having extirpated the robber and the
anarchist from France, his Majesty--for the advancement of political and
social freedom--would kidnap the baby-Queen of Spain and her sister, to
hold them as trump cards in the bloody game of revolution. That
LOUIS-PHILIPPE, the _Just_ of Spain, can consign his fellow-conspirator,
the _Just_ of Paris, to the scaffold, is a grave proof that there is no
honour among a certain set of enterprising men, whom the crude phraseology
of the world has denominated thieves.

It is to make the blood boil in our veins to read the account of the
execution of such men as LEON, ORA, and BORIA, the foolish martyrs to a
wicked cause. Never was a great social wrong dignified by higher courage.
Our admiration of the boldness with which these men have faced their fate
is mingled with the deepest regret that the prime conspirators are safe in
Paris; that one sits in derision of justice on fellow criminals--on men
whose crime may have some slight extenuation from ignorance, want, or
fancied cause of revenge; that the other, with the surpassing meekness of
Christianity, goes to mass in her carriage, distributes her alms to the
poor, and, with her soul dyed with the blood of the young, the chivalrous,
and the brave, makes mouths at Heaven in very mockery of prayer.

We once were sufficiently credulous to believe in the honesty of
LOUIS-PHILIPPE; we sympathised with him as a bold, able, high-principled
man fighting the fight of good government against a faction of
smoke-headed fools and scoundrel desperadoes. He has out-lived our good
opinion--the good opinion of the world. He is, after all, a lump of
crowned vulgarity. Pity it is that men, the trusting and the brave, are
made the puppets, the martyrs, of such regality!

As for Queen CHRISTINA, her path, if she have any touch of conscience,
must be dogged by the spectres of her dupes. She is the Madame LAFFARGE of
royalty; nay, worse--the incarnation of Mrs. BROWNRIGG. Indeed, what
JOHNSON applied to another less criminal person may be justly dealt upon
her:--"Sir, she is not a woman, she is a speaking cat!"


       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PUNCH'S PENCILLINGS.--No. XX.


"LIST, WAKLEY! LIST!--"--_New Shaksperian Readings_.]

       *       *       *       *       *


  "They say the owl was a baker's daughter."
  "Oh, how the wheel becomes it."--SHAKSPEARE.

That immense cigar, our mild Cavannah, has at length met with his deserts,
and left the sage savans of the fool's hotbed, London, the undisturbed
possession of the diligently-achieved fool's-caps their extreme absurdity,
egregious folly, and lout-like gullibility, have so splendidly qualified
them to support.

This extraordinary and Heaven-gifted faster is at length laid by the
heels. The full blown imposition has exploded--the wretched cheat is
consigned to merited durance; while the trebly-_gammoned_ and unexampled
spoons who were his willing dupes are in full possession of the enviable
notoriety necessarily attendant upon their extreme amount of unmitigated

This egregious liar and finger-post for thrice inoculated fools set out
upon a provincial "Starring and Starving Expedition," issuing bills,
announcing his wish to be open to public inspection, and delicately
hinting the absolute necessity of shelling-out the browns, as though he,
Bernard Cavanagh, did not eat, yet he had a brother "as did;"
consequently, ways and means for the establishment and continuance of a
small commissariat for the ungifted fraternal was delicately hinted at in
the various documents containing the pressing invitations to "yokel
population" to honour him with an inspection.

Numerous were the visitors and small the contributions attendant upon the
circulation of these "documents in madness." Many men are rather notorious
in our great metropolis for "living upon nothing," that is, existing
without the aid of such hard food as starved the ass-eared Midas; out
these gentlemen of invisible ways and means have a very decent notion of
employing four out of the twenty four hours in supplying their internal
economy with such creature comforts as, in days of yore, disinherited
Esau, and procured a somewhat gastronomic celebrity for the far-famed
Heliogabalus. But a gentleman who could treat his stomach like a postponed
bill in the House of Commons--that is, adjourn it _sine die_, or take it
into consideration "this day seven years"--was really a likely person to
attract attention and excite curiosity: accordingly, Bernard Cavanagh was
questioned closely by some of his visitors; but he, like the speculation,
appeared to be "one not likely to answer."

Apparent efforts at concealment invariably lead to doubt, and, doubt
engendering curiosity, is very like to undergo, especially from one of the
fair sex, a scrutiny of the most searching kind. Eve caused the fall of
Adam--a daughter of Eve has discovered and crushed this heretofore hidden
mystery. This peculiarly _empty_ individual was discovered by the good
lady--despite the disguise of a black patch upon his nose and an
immeasurable outspread of Bandana superficially covering that (as he
asserted) useless orifice, his mouth--sneaking into the far-off premises
of a miscellaneous vendor of ready-dressed eatables; and there Bernard the
faster--the anti-nourishment and terrestrial food-defying wonder--the
certificated of Heaven knows how many deacons, parsons, physicians, and
fools--demanded the very moderate allowance for his breakfast of a
twopenny loaf, a sausage, and a quarter of a pound of ham _cut fat_:
that's the beauty of it--cut fat! The astonished witness of this singular
purchase rushed at once to the hotel: Cavanagh might contain the edibles,
she could not: the affair was blown; an investigation very properly
adjudicated upon the case; and three months' discipline at the tread-mill
is now the reward of this arch-impostor's merits. So far so good; but in
the name of common sense let some experienced practitioner in the art of
"cutting for the simples" be furnished with a correct list of the awful
asses he has cozened at "hood-man blind;" and pray Heaven they may each
and severally be operated on with all convenient speed!

       *       *       *       *       *


During the vacation, the Judges' bench in each of the Courts at
Westminster Hall has been furnished with luxurious air-cushions, and
heated with the warm-air apparatus. Baron Parke declares that the Bench is
now really a snug berth,--and, during one of Sergeant Bompas's long
speeches, a most desirable place for taking

[Illustration: A SOUND NAP.]

       *       *       *       *       *






_Setting forth a notable Plan for the better management of_



         If I were a Parliament man,
  I'd make a long speech, and I'd bring in a plan,
  And prevail on the House to support a new clause
  In the very first chapter of Criminal Laws!
  But, to guard against getting too nervous or low
  (For my speech you're aware would be then a no-go),
  I'd attack, ere I went, some two bottles of Sherry,
  And chaunt all the way Row di-dow di-down-derry![1]
  Then having arrived (just to drive down the phlegm),
  I'd clear out my throat and pronounce a loud "Hem!"
  (So th' appearance of summer's preceded by swallows,)
  Make my bow to the House, and address it as follows:--
  "Mr. Speaker! the state of the Criminal Laws"
  (Thus, like Cicero, at once go right into the cause)
  Is such as demands our most serious attention,
  And strong reprobation, and quick intervention."
  (This rattling of words, which is quite in the fashion,
  Shows the depth of my zeal, and the force of my passion.)
  "Though the traitor's obligingly eased of his head--
  Though a Wilde[2] to the dark-frowning gallows is led--
  Tho' the robber, when caught, is most kindly sent hence
  Beyond the blue wave, at his country's expense!--
  Yet so bad, so disgracefully bad, seems to me
  The state of the law in this '_Land of the free_'"--
  (Speak these words in a manner most zealous and fervid)--
  That there's no law for those who most richly deserve it!
  Yes, Sir, 'tis a fact not less true than astounding--
  A fact--to the wise with instruction abounding,
  That those who the face of the country destroy,
  And hurl o'er the best scenes of Nature alloy--
  Who Earth's brightest portions cut through at a dash--
  Who mix beauty and beastliness all in one hash"--
  (I don't dwell upon deaths, since a reason so brittle
  Is but worthy of minds unpoetic and little)--
  "Base scum of the Earth, and sweet Nature's dissectors,
  Meet with no just reward--these same Railway Directors!"
  I've not mentioned the "Laughters," the "Bravos," the "Hears,"
  "Agitations," "Sensations," and "Deafening Cheers,"
  Which of course would attend a speech _so_ patriotic,
  So truly exciting, and anti-narcotic!
  In this style I'd proceed, 'till I'd proved to the House
  That these railways, in fact, were a national _chouse_,
  And the best thing to do for poor Earth, to protect her,
  Would be--_to hang daily a Railway Director!_
  _Of course_ the Hon. Members could ne'er have a thought
  Of opposing a motion with kindness so fraught;
  But would welcome with fervent and loud acclamation             }
  A project so teeming with consideration,                        }
  As a model of justice, a boon to the nation!                    }
  Such, Simon, if I were a Parliament man,
  The basis would be, and the scope, of my plan!
  But my rushlight is drooping--so trusting diurnally,
  To hear your opinion--believe me eternally
  (Whilst swearing affection, best swear in the lump)
  Your obedient,
              JOHN STUMP.

    [1] The exact tune of this interesting song it has not been in
        our power to discover--it is, however, undoubtedly a truly
        national melody.

    [2] After due inquiry we have satisfied ourselves that the
        individual here mentioned is _not_ H.M.'s late
        Solicitor-General, but one Jonathan Wilde, touching whose
        history _vide_ Jack Sheppard.

       *       *       *       *       *



    "All the world's a joke, and all the men and women merely
    jokers."--_Shakspeare_. From the text of Joseph Miller.

Messrs. GAG and GAMMON beg most respectfully to call the strict attention
of the reading public to the following brief prospectus of their
forthcoming work "On Jokes for all subjects." Messrs. GAG and GAMMON
pledge themselves to produce an article at present unmatched for
application and originality, upon such terms as must secure them the
patronage and lasting gratitude of their many admirers. Messrs. GAG and
GAMMON propose dividing their highly-seasoned and
warranted-to-keep-in-any-climate universal facetiæ into the following
various heads, departments, or classes:--

General jokes for all occasions; chiefly applicable to individuals' names,
expressive of peculiar colours.

A very superior article on _Browns_--if required, bringing in said Browns
in Black and White.

Embarrassed do., very humorous, with _Duns_; and a choice selection of
unique references to the copper coin of the realm. Worthy the attention of
young beginners, and very safe for small country towns, with one wit
possessed of a good horse-laugh for his own, or rather Messrs. G. and G.'s

Do. do. on _Greens_, very various: bring in _Sap_ superbly, and _Pea_ with
peculiar power; with a short cut to _Lettus (Lettuce)_, and Hanson's
Patent Safety,--a beautiful allusion to the "Cab-age." May be tried when
there is an attorney and young doctor, with a perfect certainty of

Do. do. do. On _Wiggins_; very pungent, suitable to the present political
position; offering a beautiful contrast of Wig-_ins_ and Wig-_outs_;
capable of great ramifications, and may be done at least twice a-night in
a half whisper in mixed society.

Also some "Delightful Dinner Diversions, or Joke Sauces for all Joints."

_Calves-head_.--Brings in fellow-feeling; family likeness; cannibalism;
"tête-à-tête"; while the brain sauce and tongue are never-failing.

_Goose_.--Same as above, with allusions to the "sage;" two or three that
_stick in the gizzard_; and a beautiful work up with a "long liver."

_Ducks_.--Very military: bring in _drill_; drumsticks; breastwork; and
pair of ducks for light clothing and summer wear.

_Snipes_.--Good for lawyers; long bill. Gallantry; "Toast be dear Woman."
Mercantile; run on banks. And infants; living on suction.

_Herring_.--Capital for _bride_: _her-ring_; petticoats, flannel and
otherwise, _herring-boned_. Fat people; _bloaters_; &c. &c. &c.

_Venison_.--Superior, for offering everybody some of your sauce. Sad
subject, as it ought to be looked upon with a grave eye (_gravy_). Wish
your friends might always give you such _a cut_. &c. &c. &c.

_Port_.--Like well-baked bread, best when crusty; flies out of glass
because of the "bee's wing." Always happy to become a _porter_ on such
occasions; object to general breakages, but partial to the cracking of a
bottle; comes from a good "cellar" and a good buyer, though no wish to be
a good-bye-er to it. All the above with beautiful leading cues, and really
with two or three rehearsals the very best things ever done.

_Sherry_.--"Do you sherry?" "Not just yet." "Rather unlucky, _white
whining_: like a bottle of port; but no objection to _share he_. Hope
never to be out of the Pale of do.; if so, will submit to be done Brown."

N.B.--After an election dinner, any of the above valued at a six weeks'
invitation from any voter under the influence of his third bottle; and
absolute reversion of the chair, when original chairman disappears under

_Champagne_.--Real pleasure (quite new--never thought of before)--must be
_Wright's_; nothing _left_ about it; intoxicating portion of a bird,
getting drunk with pheasant's eye. What gender's wine? _Why hen's_
feminine. Safe three rounds; and some others not quite compact.

_Hock_.--Hic, hec, do.

_Hugeous_.--Glass by all means (_very new_); never could decline it, &c.
&c. &c.

_Dessert_.--Wish every one had it; join hands with _ladies' fingers_ and
bishops' thumbs: Prince Albert and Queen very choice "Windsor pairs;"
medlars; unpleasant neighbour: nuts; decidedly lunatic, sure to be
cracked; disbanding Field Officers shelling out the kernels, &c. &c. &c.

The above are but a few samples from the very extensive joke manufactory
of Messrs. Gammon and Gag, sole patentees of the powerful and prolific
steam-joke double-action press. They are all warranted of the very best
quality, and last date.

Old jokes taken in exchange--of course allowing a liberal per-centage.

Gentlemen's own materials made up in the most superior style, and at the
very shortest notice.

Election squibs going off--a decided sacrifice of splendid talent.

Ideas convertible in cons., puns, and epigrams, always on hand.

Laughs taught in six lessons.

A treatise on leading subjects for experienced jokers just completed.

A large volume of choice sells will be put up by Mr. George Robins on the
1st of April next, unless previously disposed of by private contract.

N.B.--Well worthy the attention of sporting and other punsters.

Also a choice cachinatory chronicle, entitled "How to Laugh, and what to
Laugh at."

For further particulars apply to Messrs. Gag and Gammon, new and
second-hand depôt for gentlemen's left-off facetiæ, Monmouth-street; and
at their West-end establishment, opposite the Black Doll, and next door to
Mr. Catnach, Seven-dials.

       *       *       *       *       *




  Let Bulwer and Stephens write epics like mad,
    With lofty hexameters grapplin',
  My theme is as good, though my verse be as bad,
    For 'tis all about Ellena Chaplin!

  As lovely a nymph as the rhapsodist sees
    To inspire his romantical nap. Lin
  Ne'er saw such a charming celestial Chinese
    "Maid of Honour" as Ellena Chaplin.

  O Yates! let us give thee due credit for this:--
    Thou hast an infallible trap lain--
  For mouths cannot hiss, when they long for a kiss;
    As thou provest--with Ellena Chaplin.

  E'en the water wherein (in "Die Hexen am Rhein")
    She dives (in an elegant wrap-lin-
  Sey-woolsey, I guess) seems bewitch'd into wine,
    When duck'd in by Ellena Chaplin.

  A fortunate blade will be he can persuade
    This nymph to some church or some chap'l in,--
  And change to a wife the most beautiful Maid
    Of the theatre--Ellena Chaplin!

       *       *       *       *       *


The active and speculative Alderman Humphrey, being always ready to turn a
penny, has entered into a contract to supply a tribe of North American
Indians with second-hand wearing apparel during the ensuing winter. In
pursuance of this object he applied yesterday at the Court of Chancery to
purchase the "530 suits, including 40 removed from the 'Equity Exchequer,'
which occupy the cause list for the present term." Upon the discovery of
his mistake the Alderman wisely determined on

[Illustration: GOING TO BRIGHTEN.]

       *       *       *       *       *



    FORGET-ME-NOT            Dedicated to the "Irish Pisantry." By
                               Mayor Dan O'Connell.
    FRIENDSHIP'S OFFERING    Dedicated by Mr. Roebuck to the _Times_.
    THE BOOK OF BEAUTY       Edited by Col. Sibthorp and Mr. Muntz.
    THE JUVENILE ANNUAL      Edited by the Queen, and dedicated to
                               Prince Albert


    ON NOSOLOGY              By the Duke of Wellington and
                               Lord Brougham.
    A TREATISE ON ELOQUENCE  By W. Gibson Craig, M.P.
    COOPER'S DEAR-SLAYER     By Lord Palmerston.

       *       *       *       *       *


Public curiosity has been a good deal excited lately by mysterious rumours
concerning some valuable jewels, which, it was said, had been discovered
at the Exchequer. The pill-box supposed to enclose these costly gems being
solemnly opened, it was found to contain nothing but an antique pair of
false promises, set in copper, once the property of Sir Francis Burdett;
and a bloodstone amulet, ascertained to have belonged to the Duke of
Wellington. The box was singularly enough tied with red official tape, and
sealed with treasury wax, the motto on the seal being "_Requiscat in

       *       *       *       *       *


We are enabled to assure our readers that his Royal Highness the Duke of
Cornwall has appointed Lord Glengall pap-spoon in waiting to his Royal

The Lord Mayor, Lord Londonderry, Sir Peter Laurie, Sir John Key, Colonel
Sibthorp, Mr. Goulburn, Peter Borthwick, Lord Ashburton, and Sir E.L.
Bulwer, were admitted to an interview with his Royal Highness, who
received them in "full cry," and was graciously pleased to confer on our
Sir Peter extraordinary proofs of his royal condescension. The
distinguished party afterwards had the honour of partaking of caudle with
the nursery-maids.

Sir John Scott Lillie has informed us confidentially, that he is not the
individual of that name who has been appointed monthly nurse in the
Palace. Sir John feels that his qualifications ought to have entitled him
to a preference.

The captain of the _Britannia_ states that he fell in with two large
whales between Dover and Boulogne on last Monday. There is every reason to
believe they were coming up the Thames to offer their congratulations to
the future Prince of _Whales_.

       *       *       *       *       *


We understand that Sir Peter Laurie has been presented with the Freedom of
the Barber's Company, enclosed in a pewter shaving-box of the value of
fourpence-halfpenny. On the lid is a medallion of

[Illustration: THE HARE A PARENT.]

       *       *       *       *       *

A difficulty, it is thought, may arise in bestowing the customary honour
upon the chief magistrate of the city, upon the birth of a male heir to
the throne, in consequence of the Prince being born on the day on which
the late Mayor went out and the present one came into office. Sir Peter
Laurie suggests that a petition be presented to the Queen, praying that
her Majesty may (in order to avoid a recurrence of such an awkward
dilemma) be pleased in future to

[Illustration: MIND HER DATES.]

       *       *       *       *       *



The other evening, the public were put in possession, at Covent Garden
Theatre, of a new branch of art in play concoction, which may be called
"dramatic distillation." By this process the essence of two or more old
comedies is extracted; their characters and plots amalgamated; and the
whole "rectified" by the careful expunction of equivocal passages.
Finally, the _drame_ is offered to the public in _act_ive potions; five of
which are a dose.

The forgotten plays put into the still on this occasion were "The
Discovery," by Mrs. Frances Sheridan, and "The Tender Husband," by Sir
Richard Steele. From one, that portion which relates to the "City," is
taken; the "Court" end of the piece belonging to the other. In fact, even
in their modern dress, they are two distinct dramas, only both are played
at once--a wholesome economy being thus exercised over time, actors,
scenery, and decorations: the only profusion required is in the article of
patience, of which the audience must be very liberal.

The courtiers consist of _Lord Dangerfield_, who although, or--to speak in
a sense more strictly domestic--because, he has got a wife of his own,
falls in love with the young spouse of young _Lord Whiffle_; then there is
_Sir Paladin Scruple_, who, having owned to eighteen separate tender
declarations during fourteen years, dangles after _Mrs. Charmington_, an
enchanting widow, and _Louisa Dangerfield_, an insipid spinster, the
latter being in love with his son.

The citizens consist of the _famille Bearbinder_, parents and daughter,
together with _Sir Hector Rumbush_ and a clownish son, who the former
insists shall marry the sentimental _Barbara Bearbinder_, but who,
accordingly, does no such thing.

The dialogues of these two "sets" go on quite independent of each other,
action there is none, nor plot, nor, indeed, any progression of incident
whatever. _Lord Dangerfield_ tells you, in the first scene, he is trying
to seduce _Lady Whiffle_, and you know he won't get her. Directly you hear
that _Sir Paladin Scruple_ has declared in favour of _Miss Dangerfield_,
you are quite sure she will marry the son; in short, there is not the
glimmer of an incident throughout either department of the play which you
are not scrupulously prepared for--so that the least approach to
expectation is nipped in the bud. The whole fable is carefully developed
after all the characters have once made their introduction; hence, at
least three of the acts consist entirely of events you have been told are
going to happen, and of the fulfilment of intentions already expressed.

One character our enumeration has omitted--that of _Mr. Winnington_, who
being a lawyer, stock and marriage broker, is the bosom friend and
confident of every character in the piece, and, consequently, is the only
person who has intercourse with the two sets of characters. This is a part
patched up to be the sticking plaster which holds the two plots
together---the flux that joins the _mettle_some _Captain Dangerfield_ (son
of the Lord) to the sentimental _citoyenne_ _Barbara Bearbinder_. In fact,
_Winnington_ is the author's go-between, by which he maketh the twain
comedies one--the Temple Bar of the play--for he joineth the "Court" with
the "City."

So much for construction: now for detail. The legitimate object of comedy
is the truthful delineation of manners. In life, manners are displayed by
what people do, and by what they say. Comedy, therefore, ought to consist
of action and dialogue. ("Thank you," exclaims our reader, "for this
wonderful discovery!") Now we have seen that in "Court and City" there is
little action: hence it may be supposed that the brilliancy of the
dialogue it was that tempted the author to brush away the well-deserved
dust under which the "Discovery" and the "Tender Husband" have been
half-a-century imbedded. But this supposition would be entirely erroneous.
The courtiers and citizens themselves were but dull company: it was
chiefly the acting that kept the audience on the benches and out of their

Without action or wit, what then renders the comedy endurable? It is this:
all the parts are individualities--they speak, each and every of them,
exactly such words, by which they give utterance to such thoughts, as are
characteristic of him or herself, each after his kind. In this respect the
"Court and City" presents as pure a delineation of manners as a play
without incident can do--a truer one, perhaps, than if it were studded
with brilliancies; for in private life neither the denizens of St.
James's, nor those of St. Botolph's, were ever celebrated for the
brilliancy of their wit. Nor are they at present; if we may judge from the
fact of Colonel Sibthorp being the representative of the one class, and
Sir Peter Laurie the oracle of the other.

This nice adaptation of the dialogue to the various characters, therefore,
offers scope for good acting, and gets it. Mr. Farren, in _Sir Paladin
Scruple_, affords what tradition and social history assure us is a perfect
portraiture of an old gentleman of the last century;--more than that, of a
singular, peculiar old gentleman. And yet this excellent artist, in
portraying the peculiarities of the individual, still preserves the
general features of the class. The part itself is the most difficult in
nature to make tolerable on the stage, its leading characteristic being
wordiness. _Sir Paladin_, a gentleman (in the ultra strict sense of that
term) seventy years of age, is desirous of the character of _un homme de
bonnes fortunes_. Cold, precise, and pedantic, he tells the objects--not
of his flame--but of his declarations, that he is consumed with passion,
dying of despair, devoured with love--talking at the same time in
parenthetical apologies, nicely-balanced antitheses, and behaving himself
with the most frigid formality. His bow (that old-fashioned and elaborate
manual exercise called "making a leg") is in itself an epitome of the
manners and customs of the ancients.

Madame Vestris and Mr. C. Matthews played _Lady_ and _Lord Whiffle_--two
also exceedingly difficult characters, but by these performers most
delicately handled. They are a very young, inexperienced (almost
childish), and quarrelsome couple. Frivolity so extreme as they were
required to represent demands the utmost nicety of colouring to rescue it
from silliness and inanity. But the actors kept their portraits well up to
a pleasing standard, and made them both quite _spirituels_ (more
French--that _Morning Post_ will be the ruin of us), as well as in a high
degree natural.

All the rest of the players, being always and altogether actors, within
the most literal meaning of the word, were exactly the same in this comedy
as they are in any other. Mr. Diddear had in _Lord Dangerfield_ one of
those parts which is generally confided to gentlemen who deliver the
dialogue with one hand thrust into the bosom of the vest--the other
remaining at liberty, with which to saw the air, or to shake hands with a
friend. Mr. Harley played the part of Mr. Harley (called in the bills
_Humphrey Rumbush_) precisely in the same style as Mr. Harley ever did and
ever will, whatever dress he has worn or may wear. The rest of the people
we will not mention, not being anxious for a repetition of the unpleasant
fits of yawning which a too vivid recollection of their dulness might
re-produce. The only merit of "Court and City" being in the dialogue--the
only merit of that consisting of minute and subtle representations of
character, and these folks being utterly innocent of the smallest
perception of its meaning or intention--the draughts they drew upon the
patience of the audience were enormous, and but grudgingly met. But for
the acting of Farren and the managers, the whole thing would have been an
unendurable infliction. As it was, it afforded a capital illustration of


       *       *       *       *       *


The dramatic capabilities of "Ten Thousand a-Year," as manifested in the
vicissitudes that happen to the Yatton Borough (appropriately recorded by
Mr. Warren in _Blackwood's Magazine_), have been fairly put to the test by
a popular and _Peake_-ante play-wright. What a subject! With ten thousand
a-year a man may do anything. There is attraction in the very sound of the
words. It is well worth the penny one gives for a bill to con over those
rich, euphonious, delicious syllables--TEN THOUSAND A-YEAR! Why, the magic
letters express the concentrated essence of human felicity--the _summum
bonum_ of mortal bliss!

_Charles Aubrey_, of Yatton, in the county of York, Esquire, possesses ten
thousand a-year in landed property, a lovely sister in yellow satin, a
wife who can sing, and two charming children, who dance the mazourka as
well as they do it at Almack's, or at Mr. Baron Nathan's. As is generally
the case with gentlemen of large fortunes, he is the repository of all the
cardinal virtues, and of all the talents. Good husbands, good fathers,
good brothers, and idolised landlords, are plenty enough; but a man who,
like _Aubrey_, is all these put together, is indeed a scarce article; the
more so, as he is also a profound scholar, and an honest statesman. In
short, though pretty well versed in the paragons of virtue that belong to
the drama, we find this _Charles Aubrey_ to be the veriest angel that ever
wore black trousers and pumps.

The most exalted virtue of the stage is, in the long run, seen in good
circumstances, and _vice versa_; for, in this country, one of the chief
elements of crime is poverty. Hence the picture is reversed; we behold a
striking contrast--a scene antithetical. We are shown into a miserable
garret, and introduced to a vulgar, illiterate, cockneyfied, dirty,
dandified linendraper's shopman, in the person of _Tittlebat Titmouse_. In
the midst of his distresses his attention is directed to a "Next of Kin"
advertisement. It relates to him and to the Yatton property; and if you be
the least conversant with stage effect, you know what is coming: though
the author thinks he is leaving you in a state of agonising suspense by
closing the act.

The next scene is the robing-room of the York Court-house; and the
curtains at the back are afterwards drawn aside to disclose a large
cupboard, meant to represent an assize-court. On one shelf of it is seated
a supposititious Judge, surrounded by some half-dozen pseudo female
spectators; the bottom shelf being occupied by counsel, attorney, crier of
the court, and plaintiff. The special jury are severally called in to
occupy the right-hand shelf; and when the cupboard is quite full, all the
forms of returning a verdict are gone through. This is for the plaintiff!
Mr. Aubrey is ruined; and _Mr. Titmouse_ jumps about, at the imminent risk
of breaking the cupboard to pieces, having already knocked down a counsel
or two, and rolled over his own attorney.

This idea of dramatising proceedings at _nisi prius_ only shows the state
of destitution into which the promoters of stage excitement have fallen.
The Baileys, Old and New, have, from constant use, lost their charms; the
police officers were completely worn out by Tom and Jerry, Oliver Twist,
&c.; so that now, all the courts left to be "done" for the drama are the
Exchequer and Ecclesiastical, Secondaries and Summonsing, Petty Sessions
and Prerogative. But what is to happen when these are exhausted? The
answer is obvious:--Mr. Yates will turn his attention to the Church!
Depend upon it, we shall soon have the potent Paul Bedford, or the grave
and reverend Mr. John Saunders, in solemn sables, _converting_ the stage
into a Baptist meeting, and repentant supernumeraries with the real water!

Hoping to be forgiven for this, perhaps misplaced, levity, we proceed to
Act III., in which we find that, fortune having shuffled the cards, and
the judge and jury cut them, _Mr. Titmouse_ turns up possessor of Yatton
and ten thousand a-year; while _Aubrey_, quite at the bottom of the pack,
is in a state of destitution. To show the depth of distress into which he
has fallen, a happy expedient is hit upon: he is described as turning his
attention and attainments to literature; and that the unfathomable straits
he is put to may be fully understood, he is made a reviewer! Thus the
highest degree of sympathy is excited towards him; for everybody knows
that no person would willingly resort to criticism (literary or dramatic)
as a means of livelihood, if he could command a broom and a crossing to
earn a penny by, or while there exists a Mendicity Society to get soup

We have yet to mention one character; and considering that he is the
main-spring of the whole matter, we cannot put it off any longer. _Mr.
Gammon_ is a lawyer--that is quite enough; we need not say more. You all
know that stage solicitors are more outrageous villains than even their
originals. _Mr. Gammon_ is, of course, a "fine speciment of the specious,"
as Mr. Hood's Mr. Higgings says. It is he who, finding out a flaw in
_Aubrey's_ title, angled per advertisement for the heir, and caught a
_Tittlebat--Titmouse_. It is he who has so disinterestedly made that
gentleman's fortune.--"Only just merely for the sake of the costs?" one
naturally asks. Oh no; there is a stronger reason (with which, however,
reason has nothing to do)--love! _Mr. Gammon_ became desperately enamoured
of _Miss Aubrey_; but she was silly enough to prefer the heir to a
peerage, _Mr. Delamere. Mr. Gammon_ never forgave her, and so ruins her

Having brought the whole family to a state in which he supposes they will
refuse nothing, _Gammon_ visits _Miss Aubrey_, and, in the most handsome
manner, offers her--notwithstanding the disparity in their
circumstances--his hand, heart, and fortune. More than that, he promises
to restore the estate of Yatton to its late possessor. To his astonishment
the lady rejects him; and, he showing what the bills call the "cloven
foot," _Miss Aubrey_ orders him to be shown out. Meantime, _Mr. Tittlebat
Titmouse_, having been returned M.P. for Yatton, has made a great noise in
house, not by his oratorical powers, but by his proficient imitations of
cock-crowing and donkey-braying.

This being Act IV., it is quite clear that _Gammon's_ villany and
_Tittlebat's_ prosperity cannot last much longer. Both are ended in an
original manner. True to the principle with which the Adelphi commenced
its season--that of putting stage villany into comedy--Mr. Gammon
concludes the _facetiæ_ with which his part abounds by a comic suicide!
All the details of this revolting operation are gone through amidst the
most ponderous levity; insomuch, that the audience had virtue enough to
hiss most lustily[3].

    [3] While this page was passing through the press, we witnessed a
        representation of "Ten Thousand a-Year" a second time, and
        observed that the offensiveness of this scene was considerably
        abated. Mr. Lyon deserves a word of praise for his acting in
        that passage of the piece as it now stands.

Thus the string of rascality by which the piece is held together being
cut, it naturally finishes by the reinstatement of Aubrey--together with a
view of Yatton in sunshine, a procession of charity children, mutual
embraces by all the characters, and a song by Mrs. Grattan. What becomes
of _Titmouse_ is not known, and did not seem to be much cared about.

This piece is interesting, not because it is cleverly constructed (for it
is not), nor because _Mr. Titmouse_ dyes his hair green with a barber's
nostrum, nor on account of the cupboard court of _Nisi Prius_, nor of the
charity children, nor because Mr. Wieland, instead of playing the devil
himself, played _Mr. Snap_, one of his limbs--but because many of the
scenes are well-drawn pictures of life. The children's ball in the first
"epoch," for instance, was altogether excellently managed and _true_; and
though many of the characters are overcharged, yet we have seen people
like them in Chancery-lane, at Messrs. Swan and Edgar's, in country
houses, and elsewhere. The suicide incident is, however, a disgusting

The acting was also good, but too extravagantly so. Mr. Wright, as
_Titmouse_, thought perhaps that a Cockney dandy could not be caricatured,
and he consequently went desperate lengths, but threw in here and there a
touch of nature. Mr. Lyon was as energetic as ever in _Gammon_; Mrs. Yates
as lugubrious as is her wont in _Miss Aubrey_; Mrs. Grattan acted and
looked as if she were quite deserving of a man with ten thousand a year.
As to her singing, if her husband were in possession of twenty thousand
per annum, (would to the gods he were!) it could not have been more
charmingly tasteful. The pathetics of Wilkinson (as _Quirk_) in the
suicide scene, and just before the event, deserve the attention and
imitation of Macready. We hope the former comedian's next character will
be Ion, or, at least, Othello. He has now proved that smaller parts are
beneath his purely histrionic talents.

Mr. Yates did not make a speech! This extraordinary omission set the house
in a buzz of conjectural wonderment till "The Maid of Honour" put a stop
to it.

NOTE.--A critique on this piece would have appeared last week, if it had
pleased some of the people at the post-office (through which the MS. was
sent to the Editors) not to steal it. Perhaps they took it for something
valuable; and, perhaps, they were not mistaken. Thanks be to Mercury, we
have plenty of wit to spare, and can afford some of it to be stolen now
and then. Still we entreat Colonel Maberly (Editor of the "Post" in St.
Martin's-le-Grand) to supply his clerks with jokes enough to keep them
alive, that they may not be driven to steal other people's. The most
effectual way to preserve them in a state of jocular honesty would be for
him to present every person on the establishment with a copy of "Punch"
from week to week.

       *       *       *       *       *

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Corporation's ISYS search for use by individuals, and we request that you
use these files for personal, non-commercial purposes.

+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort
to Doctrine Publishing's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a
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.