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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 1.
FOR THE WEEK ENDING OCTOBER 9, 1841.
* * * * *
A MANUAL OF DENOUEMENTS.
"In the king's name,
Let fall your swords and daggers."--CRITIC.
[Illustration: A]A melo-drama is a theatrical dose in two or three acts,
according to the strength of the constitution of the audience. Its
component parts are a villain, a lover, a heroine, a comic character, and
an executioner. These having simmered and macerated through all manner of
events, are strained off together into the last scene; and the
effervescence which then ensues is called the _dénouement_, and the
_dénouement_ is the soul of the drama.
_Dénouements_ are of three kinds:--The natural, the unnatural, and the
supernatural.
The "natural" is achieved when no probabilities are violated;--that is,
when the circumstances are such as really might occur--if we could only
bring ourselves to think so--as, (_ex. gr._)
When the villain, being especially desirous to preserve and secrete
certain documents of vital importance to himself and to the piece, does,
most unaccountably, mislay them in the most conspicuous part of the stage,
and straightway they are found by the very last member of the _dram.
pers._ in whose hands he would like to see them.
When the villain and his accomplice, congratulating each other on the
successful issue of their crimes, and dividing the spoil thereof (which
they are always careful to do in a loud voice, and in a room full of
closets), are suddenly set upon and secured by the innocent yet suspected
and condemned parties, who are at that moment passing on their way to
execution.
When the guiltless prisoner at the bar, being asked for his defence, and
having no witnesses to call, produces a checked handkerchief, and
subpoenas his own conscience, which has such an effect on the villain,
that he swoons, and sees demons in the jury-box, and tells them that "he
is ready," and that "he comes," &c. &c.
When the deserter, being just about to be shot, is miraculously saved by
his mistress, who cuts the matter very fine indeed, by rushing in between
"present" and "fire;" and, having ejaculated "a reprieve!" with all her
might, falls down, overcome by fatigue--poor dear! as well she may--having
run twenty-three miles in the changing of a scene, and carried her baby on
her arm all the blessed way, in order to hold him up in the tableau at the
end.
N.B.--Whenever married people rescue one another as above, the
"_dénouement_" belongs to the class "unnatural;" which is used when the
author wishes to show the intensity of his invention--as, (_ex. gr._
again)
When an old man, having been wounded fatally by a young man, requests, as
a boon, to be permitted to examine the young man's neck, who, accordingly
unloosing his cravat, displays a hieroglyphic neatly engraved thereon,
which the old man interprets into his being a parricide, and then dies,
leaving the young man in a state of histrionic stupor.
When a will is found embellished with a Daguerréotype of four fingers and
a thumb, done in blood on the cover, and it turns out that the residuary
legatee is no better than he should be--but, on the contrary, a murderer
nicely ripe for killing.
The "supernatural" _dénouement_ is the last resource of a bewildered
dramatist, and introduces either an individual in green scales and wings
to match, who gives the audience to understand that he is a fiend, and
that he has private business to transact below with the villain; who,
accordingly, withdraws in his company, with many throes and groans, down
the trap.
Or a pale ghost in dingy lawn, apparently afflicted with a serious
haemorrhage in the bosom, who appears to a great many people, running, in
dreams; and at last joins the hands of the young couple, and puts in a
little plea of her own for a private burial.
And there are many other variations of the three great classes of
_dénouements_; such as the helter-skelter
nine-times-round-the-stage-combat, and the grand _mêlée_ in which
everybody kills everybody else, and leaves the piece to be carried on by
their executors; but we dare unveil the mystery no further.
* * * * *
SPORTING FACE.
"Well," said Roebuck to O'Connell, "despite Peel's double-face
propensities, he is a great genius." "A great _Janus_ indeed," answered
the _liberathor_.
* * * * *
"A RING! A RING!!"
The political pugilistic scrimmage which recently took place in the House
of Congress so completely coincides with the views and propensities of the
"universal scrimmage" member for Bath, that he intends making a motion for
the erection of a twenty-four-foot-ring on the floor of the House, for the
benefit of opposition members. The Speaker, says Roebuck, will, in that
case, be enabled to ascertain whether the "noes" or "ayes" have it,
without tellers.
* * * * *
PUNCH'S GUIDE TO THE WATERING PLACES.--No. 1.
BRIGHTON
If you are either in a great hurry, or tired of life, book yourself by the
Brighton railroad, and you are ensured one of two things--arrival in two
hours, or destruction by that rapid process known in America as "immortal
smash," which brings you to the end of your journey before you get to the
terminus. Should you fortunately meet with the former result, and finish
your trip without ending your mortal career, you find the place beset with
cads and omnibuses, which are very convenient; for if your hotel or
boarding-house be at the extremity of the town, you would have to walk at
least half a mile but for such vehicles, and they only charge sixpence,
with the additional advantage of the great chance of your luggage being
lost. If you be a married man, you will go to an hotel where you can get a
bed for half-a-guinea a night, provided you do not want it warmed, and use
your own soap; but it is five shillings extra if you do. Should you be a
bachelor, or an old maid, you, of course, put up at a boarding-house,
where you see a great deal of good society at two guineas a week; for
every third man is a captain, and every fifth woman "my lady." There, too,
you observe a continual round of courtship going on; for it comes in with
the coffee, and continues during every meal. "Marriages," it is said, "are
made in heaven"--good matches are always got up at meal-times in Brighton
boarding-houses.
Brighton is decidedly a fishing-town, for besides the quantity of John
Dorys caught there, it is a celebrated place for pursey half-pay officers
to angle in for rich widows. The bait they generally use consists of dyed
whiskers, and a distant relationship to some of the "gentles" or nobles of
the land. The town itself is built upon _the downs_--a series of hills,
which those in the habit of walking over them are apt to call "ups and
downs." It consists entirely of hotels, boarding-houses, and
bathing-machines, with a pavilion and a chain-pier. The amusements are
various, and of a highly intellectual character: the chief of them being a
walk from the esplanade to the east cliff, and a promenade back again from
the east cliff to the esplanade. Donkey-races are in full vogue, insomuch
that the highways are thronged with interesting animals, decorated with
serge-trappings and safety-saddles, and interspersed with goat-carts and
hired flys. There is a library, where the visiters do everything but read;
and a theatre, where--as Charles Kean is now playing there--they do
anything but act. The ladies seem to take great delight in the sea-bath,
and that they may enjoy the luxury in the most secluded privacy, the
machines are placed as near to the pier as possible. This is always
crowded with men, who, by the aid of opera glasses, find it a pleasing
pastime to watch the movements of the delicate Naiads who crowd the
waters.
Those to whom Brighton is recommended for change of air and of scene get
sadly taken in, for here the air--like that of a barrel-organ--never
changes, as the wind is always high. In sunshine, Brighton always looks
hot; in moonshine, eternally dreary; the men are yawning all day long, and
the women sitting smirking in bay-windows, or walking with puppy-dogs and
parasols, which last they are continually opening and shutting. In short,
when a man is sick of the world, or a maiden of forty-five has been so
often crossed in love as to be obliged to leave off hoping against hope,
Brighton is an excellent place to prepare him or her for a final
retirement from life--whether that is contemplated in the Queen's Bench, a
convent, a residence among the Welsh mountains, or the monastery of La
Trappe, a month's probation in Brighton, at the height of the season,
being well calculated to make any such change not only endurable, but
agreeable.
* * * * *
CUSTOM-HOUSE SALE. LOT 1.--A PORT.
For sale, Thorwaldsen's Byron, rich in beauty,
Because his country owes, and will not pay, "duty."
* * * * *
THE HEIR OF APPLEBITE.
CHAPTER VI.
TREATS OF CHALK-AND-QUA-DRILL-OGY.
[Illustration: E]Entirely disgusted with his unsuccessful appeal to the
enlightened British public assembled in the front of his residence, and
which had produced effects so contrary to what he had conceived would be
the result, Agamemnon called a committee of his household, to determine on
the most advisable proceedings to be adopted for remedying the evils
resulting from the unexpected pyrotechnic display of the morning. The
carpet was spoiled--the house was impregnated with the sooty effluvia, and
the company was expected to arrive at nine o'clock. What was to be done?
Betty suggested the burning of brown paper and scrubbing the carpet; John,
assafoetida and sawdust; Mrs. Waddledot, pastilles and chalking the floor.
As the latter remedies seemed most compatible with the gentility of their
expected visiters, immediate measures were taken for carrying them into
effect. A dozen cheese-plates were disposed upon the stairs, each
furnished with little pyramids of fragrance; old John, who was troubled
with an asthma, was deputed to superintend them, and nearly coughed
himself into a fit of apoplexy in the strenuous discharge of his duty.
Whilst these in-door remedial appliances were in progress, Agamemnon was
hurrying about in a hack cab to discover a designer in chalk, and at
length was fortunate enough to secure the "own artist" of the celebrated
"Crown and Anchor." Mr. Smear was a shrewd man, as well as an excellent
artist; and when he perceived the very peculiar position of things, he
forcibly enumerated all the difficulties which presented themselves, and
which could only be surmounted by a large increase of remuneration.
"You see, sir," said Mr. Smear, "that wherever that ere water _has_ been
it's left a dampness ahind it; the moistur' consekent upon such a dampness
must be evaporated by ever-so-many applications of the warming-pan. The
steam which a rises from this hoperation, combined with the extra hart
required to hide them two black spots in the middle, will make the job
come to one-pund-one, independently of the chalk."
Agamemnon had nothing left but compliance with Mr. Smear's demand; and one
warming and three stew-pans, filled with live coals, were soon engaged in
what Mr. Smear called the "ewaporating department." As soon as the boards
were sufficiently dry, Mr. Smear commenced operations. In each of the four
corners of the room he described the diagram of a coral and bells,
connecting them with each other by graceful festoons of blue-chalk ribbon
tied in large true-lover's knots in the centre. Having thus completed a
frame, he proceeded, after sundry contortions of the facial muscles, to
the execution of the great design. Having described an ellipse of red
chalk, he tastefully inserted within it a perfect representation of the
interior of an infant's mouth in an early stage of dentition, whilst a
graceful letter _A_ seemed to keep the gums apart to allow of this
artistical exhibition. Proudly did Mr. Smear cast his small grey eyes on
Agamemnon, and challenge him, as it were, to a laudatory acknowledgment of
his genius; but as his patron remained silent, Mr. Smear determined to
speak out.
"Hart has done her best--language must do the rest. I am now only awaiting
for the motter. What shall I say, sir?"
"'Welcome' is as good as anything, in my opinion," replied Collumpsion.
"Welcome!" ejaculated Smear: "a servile himitation of a general
'lumination idea, sir. We must be original. Will you leave it to me?"
"Willingly," said Agamemnon. And with many inward protestations against
parties in general and his own in particular, he left Mr. Smear and his
imagination together.
The great artist in chalk paced the room for some minutes, and then
slapped his left thigh, in confirmation of the existence of some brilliant
idea. The result was soon made apparent on the boards of the drawing-room,
where the following inscription attested the immensity of Smear's genius--
"PARTAKE
OF
OUR
DENTAL DELIGHT."
The guinea was instantly paid; but Collumpsion was for a length of time in
a state of uncertainty as to whether Mr. Smear's talents were ornamental
or disfigurative. Nine o'clock arrived, and with it a rumble of vehicles,
and an agitation of knocker, that were extremely exhilarating to the
heretofore exhausted and distressed family at 24.
We shall not attempt to particularise the arrivals, as they were precisely
the same set as our readers have invariably met at routs of the second
class for these last five years. There was the young gentleman in an
orange waistcoat, bilious complexion, and hair _à la Petrarch_, only
gingered; and so also were the two Misses ----, in blue gauze, looped up
with coral,--and that fair-haired girl who "detethted therry," and those
black eyes, whose lustrous beauty made such havoc among the untenanted
hearts of the youthful beaux;--but, reader, you _must_ know the set that
_must_ have visited the Applebites.
All went "merry as a marriage bell," and we feel that we cannot do better
than assist future commentators by giving a minute analysis of a word
which so frequently occurs in the fashionable literature of the present
day that doubtlessly in after time many anxious inquiries and curious
conjectures would be occasioned, but for the service we are about to
confer on posterity (for the pages of PUNCH are immortal) by a description
of
A QUADRILLE:
which is a dance particularly fashionable in the nineteenth century. In
order to render our details perspicuous and lucid, we will suppose--
1.--A gentleman in tight pantaloons and a tip.
2.--Ditto in loose ditto, and a camellia japonica in the
button-hole of his coat.
3.--Ditto in a crimson waistcoat, and a pendulating eye-glass.
4.--Ditto in violent wristbands, and an alarming eruption of buttons.
ALSO,
1.--A young lady in pink-gauze and freckles.
2.--Ditto in book-muslin and marabouts.
3.--Ditto with blonde and a slight cast.
4.--Ditto in her 24th year, and black satin.
The four gentlemen present themselves to the four ladies, and having
smirked and "begged the honour," the four pairs take their station in the
room in the following order:
The tip and the
freckles.
The camelia japonica, The crimson waistcoat,
and the and the
marabouts. slight cast.
The violent wristbands
and the
black satin.
During eight bars of music, tip, crimson, camellia, and wristbands, bow to
freckles, slight cast, marabouts, and black satin, who curtsey in return,
and then commence
LA PANTALON,
by performing an intersecting figure that brings all parties exactly where
they were; which joyous circumstance is celebrated by bobbing for four
bars opposite to each other, and then indulging in a universal twirl which
apparently offends the ladies, who seize hold of each other's hands only
to leave go again, and be twirled round by the opposite gentleman, who,
having secured his partner, promenades her half round to celebrate his
victory, and then returns to his place with his partner, performing a
similar in-and-out movement as that which commenced _la Pantalon_.
L'ETE
is a much more respectful operation. Referring to our previous
arrangement, wristbands and freckles would advance and retire--then they
would take two hops and a jump to the right, then two hops and a jump to
the left--then cross over, and there hop and jump the same number of times
and come back again, and having celebrated their return by bobbing for
four bars, they twirl their partners again, and commence
LA POULE.
The crimson waistcoat and marabouts would shake hands with their right,
and then cross over, and having shaken hands again with the left, come
back again. They then would invite the camellia and the slight cast to
join them, and perform a kind of wild Indian dance "all of a row." After
which they all walk to the sides they have no business upon, and then
crimson runs round marabout, and taking his partner's hand, _i.e._, the
slight cast, introduces her to camellia and marabout, as though they had
never met before. This introduction is evidently disagreeable, for they
instantly retire, and then rush past each other, as furiously as they can,
to their respective places.
LA TRENISE
is evidently intended to "trot out" the dancers. Freckles and black satin
shake hands as they did in _la Pantalon_, and then freckles trots tip out
twice, and crosses over to the opposite side to have a good look at him;
having satisfied her curiosity, she then, in company with black satin,
crosses over to have a stare at the violent wristbands, in contrast with
tip who wriggles over, and join him, and then, without saying a word to
each other, bob, and are twirled as in _l'Eté_.
LA PASTORALE
seems to be an inversion of _la Trenise_, except that in nineteen cases
out of twenty, the waistcoat, tip, camellia and wristbands, seem to
undergo intense mental torture; for if there be such a thing as "poetry of
motion," _pastorale_ must be the "Inferno of Dancing."
LA FINALE
commences with a circular riot, which leads to _l'Eté_. The ladies then
join hands, and endeavour to imitate the graceful evolutions of a
windmill, occasionally grinding the corns of their partners, who
frantically rush in with the quixotic intention of stopping them. A
general shuffling about then takes place, which terminates in a bow, a
bob, and "allow me to offer you some refreshment."
_Malheureux!_ we have devoted so much space to the quadrille, that we have
left none for the supper, which being a cold one, will keep till next week.
* * * * *
THE GENTLEMAN'S OWN BOOK.
We are ashamed to ask our readers to refer to our last article under the
title of the "Gentleman's Own Book," for the length of time which has
elapsed almost accuses us of disinclination for our task, or weariness in
catering for the amusement of our subscribers. But September--September,
with all its allurements of flood and field--its gathering of honest old
friends--its tales of by-gone seasons, and its glorious promises of the
present--must plead our apology for abandoning our pen and rushing back to
old associations, which haunt us like
[Illustration: THE SPELLS OF CHILDHOOD.]
We know that we are forgiven, so shall proceed at once to the
consideration of the ornaments and pathology of coats.
THE ORNAMENTS
are those parts of the external decorations which are intended either to
embellish the person or garment, or to notify the pecuniary superiority of
the wearer. Amongst the former are to be included buttons, braids, and
mustachios; amongst the latter, chains, rings, studs, canes, watches, and
above all, those pocket talismans, purses. There are also riding-whips and
spurs, which may be considered as _implying_ the possession of quadrupedal
property.
_Of Buttons_.--In these days of innovation--when Brummagem button-makers
affect a taste and elaboration of design--a true gentleman should be most
careful in the selection of this _dulce et utile_ contrivance. Buttons
which resemble gilt acidulated drops, or ratafia cakes, or those which are
illustrative of the national emblems--the rose, shamrock, and thistle tied
together like a bunch of faded watercresses, or those which are
commemorative of coronations, royal marriages, births, and christenings,
chartist liberations, the success of liberal measures, and such like
occasions, or those which would serve for vignettes for the _Sporting
Magazine_, or those which at a distance bear some resemblance to the royal
arms, but which, upon closer inspection, prove to be bunches of endive,
surmounted by a crown which the Herald's College does not recognise, or
those which have certain letters upon them, as the initials of clubs which
are never heard of in St. James's, as the U.S.C.--the Universal Shopmen's
Club; T.Y.C.--the Young Tailors' Club; L.S.D.--the Linen Drapers'
Society--and the like. All these are to be fashionably eschewed. The
regimental, the various hunts, the yacht clubs, and the basket pattern,
are the only buttons of Birmingham birth which can be allowed to associate
with the button-holes of a gentleman.
The restrictions on silk buttons are confined chiefly to magnitude. They
must not be so large as an opera ticket, nor so small as a silver penny.
_Of Braids_.--This ornament, when worn in the street, is patronised
exclusively by Polish refugees, theatrical Jews, opera-dancers, and
boarding-house fortune-hunters.
_Of Mustachios_.--The mustachio depends for its effect entirely upon its
adaptation to the expression of the features of the wearer. The small, or
_moustache à la chinoise_, should only appear in conjunction with Tussaud,
or waxwork complexions, and then only provided the teeth are excellent;
for should the dental conformation be of the same tint, the mustachios
would only provoke observation. The German, or full hearth-brush, should
be associated with what Mr. Ducrow would designate a "cream," and
everybody else a drab countenance, and should never be resorted to, except
in conformity with regimental requisitions, or for the capture of an Irish
widow, as they are generally indigenous to Boulogne and the Bench, and are
known amongst tailors and that class of clothier victims as "bad debts,"
or "the insolvency regulation," and operate with them as an insuperable
bar to
[Illustration: PASSING A BILL.]
The perfect, or heart-meshes, are those in which each particular hair has
its particular place, and must be of a silky texture, and not of a bristly
consistency, like a worn-out tooth-brush. Neither must they be of a bright
red, bearing a striking resemblance to two young spring radishes.
The _barbe au bonc_, or _Muntzian fringe_, should only be worn when a
gentleman is desirous of obtaining notoriety, and prefers trusting to his
external embellishments in preference to his intellectual acquirements.
_On Tips_.--Tips are an abomination to which no gentleman can lend his
countenance. They are a shabby and mangy compromise for mustachios, and
are principally sported by the genus of clerks, who, having strong hirsute
predilections, small salaries, and sober-minded masters, hang a tassel on
the chin instead of a vallance on the upper lip.
Our space warns us to conclude, and, as a fortnight's indolence is not the
strongest stimulant to exertion, we willingly drop our pen, and taking the
hint and a cigar, indulge in a voluminous cloud, and a lusty
[Illustration: CARMEN TRIUMPHALE.]
* * * * *
"HABIT IS SECOND NATURE."
FEARGUS O'CONNOR always attends public meetings, dressed in a complete
suit of fustian. He could not select a better emblem of his writings in
the _Northern Star_, than the material he has chosen for his habiliments.
* * * * *
"THE SUBSTANCE AND THE SHADOW."
We understand that Sir Robert Peel has sent for the fasting man, with the
intention of seeing how far his system may be acted upon for _the relief_
of the community.
* * * * *
"SAY IT WAS ME."
"Jem! you rascal, get up! get up, and be hanged to you, sir; don't you
hear somebody hammering and pelting away at the street-door knocker, like
the ghost of a dead postman with a tertian ague! Open it! see what's the
matter, will you?"
"Yes, sir!" responded the tame tiger of the excited and highly respectable
Adolphus Casay, shiveringly emerging from beneath the bed-clothes he had
diligently wrapped round his aching head, to deaden the incessant clamour
of the iron which was entering into the soul of his sleep. A
hastily-performed toilet, in which the more established method of encasing
the lower man with the front of the garment to the front of the wearer,
was curiously reversed, and the capture of the left slipper, which, as the
weakest goes to the wall, the right foot had thrust itself into, was
scarcely effected, ere another series of knocks at the door, and batch of
invectives from Mr. Adolphus Casay, hurried the partial sacrificer to the
Graces, at a Derby pace, over the cold stone staircase, to discover the
cause of the confounded uproar. The door was opened--a confused jumble of
unintelligible mutterings aggravated the eager ears of the shivering
Adolphus. Losing all patience, he exclaimed, in a tone of thunder--
"What is it, you villain? Can't you speak?"
"Yes, sir, in course I can."
"Then why don't you, you imp of mischief?"
"I'm a-going to."
"Do it at once--let me know the worst. Is it fire, murder, or thieves?"
"Neither, sir; it's A1, with a dark lantern."
"What, in the name of persecution and the new police, does A1, with a dark
lantern, want with me?"
"Please, sir, Mr. Brown Bunkem has give him half-a-crown."
"Well, you little ruffian, what's that to me?"
"Why, sir, he guv it him to come here, and ask you--"
Here policeman A1, with the dark lantern, took up the conversation.
"Jist to step down to the station-'us, and bail him therefrom--"
"For what!"
"Being werry drunk--uncommon overcome, surely--and oudacious
obstropelous." continued the alphabetically and numerically-distinguished
conservator of the public peace.
"How did he get there?"
"On a werry heavily-laden stretcher."
"The deuce take the mad fool," muttered the disturbed housekeeper; then
added, in a louder tone, "Ask the policeman in, and request him to take--"
"Anything you please, sir; it is rather a cold night, but as we're all in
a hurry, suppose it's something short, sir."
Now the original proposition, commencing with the word "take," was meant
by its propounder to achieve its climax in "a seat on one of the hall
chairs;" but the liquid inferences of A1, with a dark lantern, had the
desired effect, and induced a command from Mr. Adolphus Casay to the small
essential essence of condensed valetanism in the person of Jim Pipkin, to
produce the case-bottles for the discussion of the said A1, with the dark
lantern, who gained considerably in the good opinion of Mr. James Pipkin,
by requesting the favour of his company in the bibacious avocation he so
much delighted in.
A1 having expressed a decided conviction that, anywhere but on the collar
of his coat, or the date of monthly imprisonments, his distinguishing
number was the most unpleasant and unsocial of the whole multiplication
table, further proceeded to illustrate his remarks by proposing glasses
two and three, to the great delight and inebriation of the small James
Pipkin, who was suddenly aroused from a dreamy contemplation of two
policemen, and increased service of case-bottles and liquor-glasses, by a
sound box on the ear, and a stern command to retire to his own proper
dormitory--the one coming from the hand, the other from the lips, of his
annoyed master, who then and there departed, under the guidance of A1,
with the dark lantern. After passing various lanes and weary ways, the
station was reached, and there, in the full plenitude of glorious
drunkenness, lay his friend, the identical Mr. Brown Bunkem, who, in the
emphatic words of the inspector, was declared to be "just about as far
gone as any gentleman's son need wish to be."
"What's the charge?" commenced Mr. Adolphus Casay.
"Eleven shillings a bottle.--Take it out o'that, and d--n the expense,"
interposed and hiccoughed the overtaken Brown Bunkem.
"Drunk, disorderly, and very abusive," read the inspector.
"Go to blazes!" shouted Bunkem, and then commenced a very vague edition of
"God save the Queen," which, by some extraordinary "sliding scale,"
finally developed the last verse of "Nix my Dolly," which again, at the
mention of the "stone jug," flew off into a very apocryphal version of the
"Bumper of Burgundy;" the lines "upstanding, uncovered," appeared at once
to superinduce the opinion that greater effect would be given to his
performance by complying with both propositions. In attempting to assume
the perpendicular, Mr. Brown Bunkem was signally frustrated, as the result
was a more perfect development of his original horizontal recumbency,
assumed at the conclusion of a very vigorous fall. To make up for this
deficiency, the suggestion as to the singer appearing uncovered, was
achieved with more force than propriety, by Mr. Brown Bunkem's nearly
displacing several of the inspector's front teeth, by a blow from his
violently-hurled hat at the head of that respectable functionary.
What would have followed, it is impossible to say; but at this moment Mr.
Adolphus Casay's bail was accepted, he being duly bound down, in the sum
of twenty pounds, to produce Mr. Brown Bunkem at the magistrate's office
by eleven o'clock of the following forenoon. This being settled, in spite
of a vigorous opposition, with the assistance of five half-crowns, four
policemen, the driver of, and hackney-coach No. 3141, Mr. Brown Bunkem was
conveyed to his own proper lodgings, and there left, with one boot and a
splitting headache, to do duty for a counterpane, he vehemently opposing
every attempt to make him a deposit between the sheets.--Seven o'clock on
the following morning found Mr. Adolphus Casay at the bedside of the
violently-snoring and stupidly obfuscated Brown Bunkem. In vain he
pinched, shook, shouted, and swore; inarticulate grunts and apoplectic
denunciations against the disturber of his rest were the only answers to
his urgent appeals as to the necessity of Mr. Brown Bunkem's getting ready
to appear before the magistrate. Visions of contempt of court, forfeited
bail, and consequent disbursements, flitted before the mind of the
agitated Mr. Adolphus Casay. Ten o'clock came; Bunken seemed to snore the
louder and sleep the sounder. What was to be done? why, nothing but to get
up an impromptu influenza, and try his rhetoric on the presiding
magistrates of the bench.
Influenced by this determination, Mr. Adolphus Casay started for that den
of thieves and magistrates in the neighbourhood of Bow-street; but Mr.
Adolphus Casay's feelings were anything but enviable; though by no means a
straitlaced man, he had an instinctive abhorrence of anything that
appeared a blackguard transaction. Nothing but a kind wish to serve a
friend would have induced him to appear within a mile of such a wretched
place; but the thing was now unavoidable, so he put the best face he could
on the matter, made his way to the clerk of the Court, and there, in a low
whisper, began his explanation, that being "how Mr. Brown Bunkem"--at this
moment the crier shouted--
"Bunkem! Where's Bunkem?"
"I am here!" said Mr. Adolphus Casay; "here to"--
"Step inside, Bunkem," shouted a sturdy auxiliary; and with considerable
manual exertion and remarkable agility, he gave the unfortunate Adolphus a
peculiar twist that at once deposited him behind the bar and before the
bench.
"I beg to state," commenced the agitated and innocent Adolphus.
"Silence, prisoner!" roared the crier.
"Will you allow me to say,"--again commenced Adolphus--
"Hold your tongue!" vociferated P74.
"I must and will be heard."
"Young man," said the magistrate, laying down the paper, "you are doing
yourself no good; be quiet. Clerk, read the charge."
After some piano mumbling, the words
"drunk--abusive--disorderly--incapable--taking care of
self--stretcher--station-house--bail," were shouted out in the most
fortissimo manner.
At the end of the reading, all eyes were directed to the well-dressed and
gentlemanly-looking Adolphus. He appeared to excite universal sympathy.
"What have you to say, young man?"
"Why, your worship, the charge is true; but"--
"Oh! never mind your buts. Will you ever appear in the same situation
again?"
"Upon my soul I won't; but"--
"There, then, that will do; I like your sincerity, but don't swear. Pay
one shilling, and you are discharged."
"Will your worship allow me"--
"I have no time, sir. Next case."
"But I must explain."
"Next case. Hold your jaw!--this way!"--and the same individual who had
jerked Mr. Adolphus Casay into the dock, rejerked him into the middle of
the court. The shilling was paid, and, amid the laughter of the idlers at
his anti-teetotal habits, he made the best of his way from the scene of
his humiliation. As he rushed round the corner of the street, a peal of
laughter struck upon his ears, and there, in full feather, as sober as
ever, stood Mr. Brown Bunkem, enjoying the joke beyond all measure.
Indignation took possession of Mr. Adolphus Casay's bosom; he demanded to
know the cause of this strange conduct, stating that his character was for
ever compromised.
"Not at all," coolly rejoined the unmoved Bunkem; "we are all subject to
accidents. You certainly were in a scrape, but I think none the worse of
you; and, if it's any satisfaction, you may say it was me."
"Say it was you! Why it was."
"Capital, upon my life! do you hear him, Smith, how well he takes a cue?
but stick to it, old fellow, I don't think you'll be believed; but--_say
it was me._"
Mr. Brown Bunkem was perfectly right. Mr. Adolphus Casay was not believed;
for some time he told the story as it really was, but to no purpose. The
indefatigable Brown was always appealed to by mutual friends, his answer
invariably was--
"Why, _Casay's_ a steady fellow, _I_ am not; it _might_ injure him. _I_
defy report; therefore I gave him leave to--_say it was me!_"
And that was all the thanks Mr. Adolphus Casay ever got for bailing
friend.
FUSBOS
* * * * *
THE POLITICAL EUCLID.
WHEREIN ARE CONSIDERED
THE RELATIONS OF PLACE;
OR
THE BEST MODE OF
GETTING A PLACE FOR YOUR RELATIONS:
Being a complete Guide to the Art of
LEGISLATIVE MENSURATION,
OR,
How to estimate the value of a Vote upon
WHIG AND TORY MEASURES.
THE WHOLE ADAPTED TO
THE USE OF HONOURABLE MEMBERS.
BY
LORD PALMERSTON,
_Late Professor of Toryism, but now Lecturer on Whiggery to the College of
St. Stephen's._
* * * * *
BOOK I.--DEFINITIONS.
A point in politics is that which always has _place_ (in view,) but no
particular party.
A line in politics is interest without principle.
The extremities of a line are loaves and fishes.
A right line is that which lies evenly between the Ministerial and
Opposition benches.
A superficies is that which professes to have principle, but has no
consistency.
The extremities of a superficies are expediencies.
A plain superficies is that of which two opposite speeches being taken,
the line between them evidently lies wholly in the direction of
Downing-street.
A plain angle is the evident inclination, and consequent piscation, of a
member for a certain place; or it is the meeting together of two members
who are not in the same line of politics.
When a member sits on the cross benches, and shows no particular
inclination to one side or the other, it is called a right angle.
An obtuse angle is that in which the inclination is _evidently_ to the
Treasury.
An acute angle is that in which the inclination is _apparently_ to the
Opposition benches.
A boundary is the extremity or whipper-in of any party.
A party is that which is kept together by one or more whippers-in.
A circular member is a rum figure, produced by turning round; and is such
that all lines of politics centre in himself, and are the same to him.
The diameter of a circular member is a line drawn on the Treasury, and
terminating in both pockets.
Trilateral members, or waverers, are those which have three sides.
Of three-sided members an equilateral or independent member is that to
which all sides are the same.
An isosceles or vacillating member is that to which two sides only are the
same.
A scalene or scaly member has no one side which is equal to his own
interest.
Parallel lines of politics are such as are in the same direction--say
Downing-street; but which, being produced ever so far--say to Windsor--do
not meet.
A political problem is a Tory proposition, showing that the country is to
be done.
A theorem is a Whig proposition--the benefit of which to any one but the
Whigs always requires to be demonstrated.
A corollary is the consequent confusion brought about by adopting the
preceding Whig proposition.
A deduction is that which is drawn from the revenue by adopting the
preceding Whig proposition.
* * * * *
MAJOR BENIOWSKY'S NEW ART OF MEMORY
A gentleman who boasts one of those proper names in _sky_ which are
naturally enough transmitted "from _pole to pole_," undertakes to teach
the art of remembering upon entirely new principles. We know not what the
merit of his invention may be, but we beg leave to ask the _Major_ a few
_general_ questions, and we, therefore, respectfully inquire whether his
system would be capable of effecting the following miracles:--
1st. Would it be possible to make Sir James Graham remember that he not
long since declared his present colleagues to be men wholly unworthy of
public confidence?
2dly. Would Major Beniowsky's plan compel a man to remember his tailor's
bill; and, if so, would it go so far as to remind him to call for the
purpose of paying it?
3dly. Would the new system of memory enable Mr. Wakley to refrain from
forgetting himself?
4thly. Would the Phrenotypics, or brain-printing, as it is called, succeed
in stereotyping a pledge in the recollection of a member of parliament?
5thly. Is it possible for the new art to cause Sir Robert Peel to remember
from one week to the other his political promises?
We fear these questions must be answered in the negative; but we have a
plan of our own for exercising the memory, which will beat that of Beniow,
or any other sky, who ventures to propose one. Our proposition is, "_Read_
PUNCH," and we will be bound that no one will ever forget it who has once
enjoyed the luxury.
* * * * *
SONGS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL.--NO. 9.
I wander'd through our native fields,
And one was by my side who seem'd
Fraught with each beauty nature yields,
Whilst from her eye affection beam'd.
It was so like what fairy books,
In painting heaven, are wont to tell,
That fondly I _believed_ those looks,
And found too late--'twas all a sell!
'Twas all a sell!
She vow'd I was her all--her life--
And proved, methought, her words by sighs;
She long'd to hear me call her "wife,"
And fed on hope which love supplies.
Ah! then I felt it had been sin
To doubt that she could e'er belie
Her vows!--I found 'twas only tin
She sought, and love was all my eye!
Was all my eye!
* * * * *
SHIPPING INTELLIGENCE.
The _Shamrock_ ran upon a timber-raft on Monday morning, and was _off
Deal_ in ten minutes afterwards.
The storm of Thursday did considerable damage to the shipping in the
Thames. A coal was picked up off Vauxhall, which gave rise to a report
that a barge had gone down in the offing. On making inquiries at Lloyd's,
we asked what were the advices, when we were advised to mind our own
business, an answer we have too frequently received from the underlings of
that establishment. The _Bachelor_ has been telegraphed on its way up from
Chelsea. It is expected to bring the latest news relative to the
gas-lights on the Kensington-road, which, it is well known, are expected
to enjoy a disgraceful sinecure during the winter.
Captain Snooks, of the _Daffydowndilly_, committed suicide by jumping down
the chimney of the steamer under his command. The rash act occasioned a
momentary flare up, but did not impede the action of the machinery.
A rudder has been seen floating off Southwark. It has a piece of rope
attached to it. Lloyd's people have not been down to look at it. This
shameful neglect has occasioned much conversation in fresh-water circles,
and shows an apathy which it is frightful to contemplate.
* * * * *
TO SIR ROBERT.
Doctors, they say, are heartless, cannot feel--
Have you no core, or are you naught but Peel?
* * * * *
A PLEASANT ASSURANCE.
The Marquis of Normandy, we perceive, has been making some inquiries
relative to the "Drainage Bills," and has been assured by Lord
Ellenborough, that the subject should meet the attention of government
during the recess. We place full reliance on his Lordship's promise--the
_drainage_ of the country has been ever a paramount object with our Whig
and Tory rulers.
* * * * *
CHRISTIANITY.--PRICE FIFTEEN SHILLINGS.
The English poor have tender teachers. In the first place, the genius of
Money, by a hundred direct and indirect lessons, preaches to them the
infamy of destitution; thereby softening their hearts to a sweet humility
with a strong sense of their wickedness. Then comes Law, with its whips
and bonds, to chastise and tie up "the offending Adam"--that is, the Adam
without a pocket,--and then the gentle violence of kindly Mother Church
leads the poor man far from the fatal presence of his Gorgon wants, to
consort him with meek-eyed Charity,--to give him glimpses of the Land of
Promise,--to make him hear the rippling waters of Eternal Truth,--to feast
his senses with the odours of Eternal sweets. Happy English poor! Ye are
not scurfed with the vanities of the flesh! Under the affectionate
discipline of the British Magi L.S.D.,--the "three kings" tasking human
muscles, banqueting on human heartstrings,--ye are happily rescued from
any visitation of those worldly comforts that hold the weakness of
humanity to life! Hence, by the benevolence of those who have only solid
acres, ye are permitted to have an unlimited portion of the sky; and
banned by the mundane ones who have wine in their cellars, and venison in
the larder from the gross diet of beer and beef--ye are permitted to take
your bellyful of the savoury food cooked for the Hebrew patriarch. Once a
week, at least, ye are invited to feast with Joseph in the house of
Pharaoh, and yet, stiff-necked generation that ye are, ye stay from the
banquet and then complain of hunger! "Shall there be no punishment for
this obduracy?" asks kindly Mother Church, her eyes red with weeping for
the hard-heartedness of her children. "Shall there be no remedy?" she
sobs, wringing her hands. Whereupon, the spotless maiden Law--that
Amazonian virgin, eldest child of violated Justice--answers, "_Fifteen
Shillings!_"
We are indebted to Lord BROUGHAM for this new instance of the stubbornness
of the poor--for this new revelation of the pious vengeance of offended
law. A few nights since his lordship, in a motion touching prison
discipline, stated that "a man had been confined for _ten weeks_, having
been fined a shilling, and _fourteen shillings costs_, which he did not
pay, because he was absent one Sunday from church!"
Who can doubt, that from the moment _John Jones_--(the reader may christen
the offender as he pleases)--was discharged, he became a most pious,
church-going Christian? He had been ten Sundays in prison, be it
remembered; and had therefore heard at least ten sermons. He crossed the
prison threshold a new-made man; and wending towards his happy home, had
in his face--so lately smirched with shameless vice--such lustrous glory,
that even his dearest creditors failed to recognise him!
Beautiful is the village church of Phariseefield! Beautiful is its
antiquity--beautiful its porch, thronged with white-headed men and ruddy
little ones! Beautiful the graves, sown with immortal seed, clustering
round the building! Beautiful the vicar's horses--the vicar himself
preaches to-day,--and very beautiful indeed, the faces, ay, and the
bonnets, too, of the vicar's daughters! Beautiful the sound of the bell
that summons the lowly Christian to cast aside the pomps and vanities of
the world, and to stand for a time in utter nakedness of heart before his
Maker,--and very beautiful the silk stockings of the Dowager Lady Canaan's
footman, who carrieth with Sabbath humility his Lady's books to Church!
Yet all this beauty is as deformity to the new-born loveliness of _John
Jones_; who, on the furthermost seat--far from the vain convenience of pew
and velvet hassock--sits, and inwardly blesses the one shilling and
fourteen shillings costs, that with more than fifteen-horse power have
drawn him from the iniquities of the Jerry-shop and hustle-farthing,--to
feed upon the manna dropping from the lips of the Reverend Doctor FAT!
There sits _John Jones_, late drunkard, poacher, reprobate; but now, fined
into Christian goodness--made a very saint, according to Act of
Parliament!
If Mother Church, with the rods of spikenard which the law hath
benevolently placed in her hands, will but whip her truant children to
their Sunday seats,--will only consent to draw them through the bars of a
prison to their Sabbath sittings,--will teach them the real value of
Christianity, it being according to her own estimate--_with the
expenses_--exactly fifteen shillings,--sure we are, that Radicalism and
Chartism, and all the many foul pustules that, in the conviction of Holy
Church, are at this moment poisoning and enervating the social body, will
disappear beneath the precious ointment always at her touch.
When we consider the many and impartial blessings scattered upon the poor
of England--when in fact we consider the beautiful justice pervading our
whole social intercourse--when we reflect upon the spirit of good-will and
sincerity that operates on the hearts of the powerful few for the comfort
and happiness of the helpless million,--we are almost aghast at the
infidelity of poverty, forgetting in our momentary indignation, that
poverty must necessarily combine within itself every species of infamy.
Poor men of England, consider not merely the fine and the expenses
attendant upon absence from church, but reflect upon the want of that
beautiful exercise of the spirit which, listening to precepts and parables
in Holy Writ, delights to find for them practical illustrations in the
political and social world about you. We know you would not think of going
to church in masquerade--of reading certain lines and making certain
responses as a bit of Sabbath ceremony, as necessary to a respectable
appearance as a Sabbath shaving. No; you are far away from the elegances
of hypocrisy, and do not time your religion from eleven till one, making
devotion a matter of the church clock. By no means. You go to hear, it may
be, the Bishop of EXETER; and as we have premised, what a beautiful
exercise for the intellect to discover in the political doings of his
Grace--in those acts which ultimately knock at your cupboard-doors--only a
practical illustration of the divine precept of doing unto all men as ye
would they should do unto you! Well, you pray for your daily bread; and
with a profane thought of the price of the four pound loaf, your feelings
are suddenly attuned to gratitude towards those who regulate the price of
British corn. We might run through the Scriptures from Genesis to
Revelation, quoting a thousand benevolences illustrated by the rich and
mighty of this land--illustrated politically, socially, and morally, in
their conduct towards the poor and destitute of Britain; and yet the
stiffnecked pauper will not dispose his Sabbath to self-enjoyment--will
not go to church to be rejoiced! By such disobedience, one would almost
think that the poor were wicked enough to consider the church discipline
of the Sabbath as no more than a ceremonious mockery of their six days
wants and wretchedness.