the Chinese insurgent forces to rent of him, in the event of his being
made Emperor, the renowned wall of China. The sum offered has not
transpired, but it is said to be something extremely munificent. It is
the billsticker's intention, as soon as he obtains an imperial grant, to
form a company of persons who spend large sums of money every year in
advertisements, and to cover the entire length of the wall with their
bills and posters, a larger price being, of course, charged for those
which will be posted inside than for those outside the wall, where
comparatively but few people will be able to see them. The bills will be
in English, or specially translated into Chinese, at the option of the
advertisers. In the event of China being thrown open to English
commerce--and there is, at present, every opening of such a fact--it
will be at once seen what "a desirable medium for advertisements" this
national posting-station will be. So favourably is the scheme
entertained by some of our leading advertisers, that already have 12,000
miles of that part of the wall, which runs through the most densely
populated districts of the Empire, been bespoken at an enormous rental.
The company will be announced in a few days, and it is expected that the
shares will be quoted on the 'Change at a heavy premium the very first
day. MR. BERNAL OSBORN has been heard to say, "that next to a celebrated
Marquis's property, it will be the largest hoarding in the world," and
there is no doubt it will be. All our puffing tailors, pill-merchants,
quack medicine-sellers, and Cambridge Sherry dealers, are actively on
the look-out. Professor Liebig's testimonial in favour of Bitter Beer is
already printed in all the Chinese dialects, only waiting to be pasted
up. We shall keep our eye upon the wall.
* * * * *
DEAR ENTERTAINMENT FOR DEAR CREATURES.
"MY DEAR PUNCH,
"There is no doubt that the prodigious expenses of hotels are--as I
overheard certain _gentlemen_ say--in a great measure owing to us
_confounded women._ We cause so many rooms to have to be kept up on our
account. Why can't we--as they further asked, with a _stronger_
expression--be content with a decent coffee-room, instead of requiring a
separate sitting apartment? Why? I asked myself the same question, and
being unable to answer it, I thought the next time I was out with
Charles I would go into the coffee-room and not be _confounded._ So the
other day when he took me to one of those inns which a letter I read in
the _Times_ calls a "Hotel of recreation", I insisted on our dining in
the public room. There were some gentlemen sitting there that we have
since met in society, when they behaved in such a way that I couldn't
think what they meant, until at last I found that we were looked upon as
improper people because I had been seen at dinner in the coffee-room of
a tavern! When I discovered this I felt _confounded_ indeed. It seems
that I have committed an offence against society, everybody is so cool
to me, and really, if it were not for the contempt I feel for such
slaves of custom and prejudice, and the support I derive from the
knowledge that I have pleased my husband, and saved us both money, I
should be dreadfully grieved. But his approbation, and that of my own
conscience, are quite enough for me; however, as that is not quite the
case, I am afraid, with all women, the consequence is that they won't
brave the world, and go in the coffee-room. I must confess, _Mr. Punch_,
that before we take all the credit for what is called in novels the
'Self Sacrifice of Woman' which is given us, we might as well immolate a
little of our conventionality on the altar of domestic happiness. I am
sure that Judy is of the same mind as your equally constant admirer,
"_Belgravia, Sept., 1853._" "FIDES."
* * * * *
STRIKES TO BE LAUDED.
We are glad to see that the needlewomen have at last struck, and we wish
another class of the overworked and underpaid would follow their
example, the working clergy. Such a course would not be uncanonical. A
bishop, to be sure, is required to be "no striker," nor has he occasion
to be one with his thousands a year; but the case is very different with
the curate who has only twenty pounds.
* * * * *
KING CHOLERA'S PROCESSION.
From Russian steppe, from Persian sand,
From pine-fringed Norway fiord,
From Elbe's and Eyder's peopled strand
I've skimmed the sea--I've swept the land--
Way for your lord!
Come deck my board--prepare my bed,
And let the trump of doom
Peal out a march, that as I tread
Above the dying and the dead
All may make room!
From far I snuff the odour sweet
That I do love the best;
And wheresoe'er I set my feet,
Courtiers and liegemen flock to greet
Their King confest.
Well have you done your loyal part,
My subjects and my slaves--
In town and country, port and mart,
All's ready--after my own heart--
All--to the graves!
What is my feast? These babes forpined;--
Men ere their prime made old;--
These sots, with strong drink bleared and blind--
These herds of unsexed woman-kind
Foul-mouthed and bold--
These bodies, stunted, shrivelled, seared
With the malaria's breath;
In foetid dens and workshops reared;
From reeking sewers, drains uncleared,
Drinking in death.
What is my court? These cellars piled
With filth of many a year--
These rooms with rotting damps defiled--
These alleys where the sun ne'er smiled,
Darkling and drear!
These streets along the river's bank,
Below the rise of tide;
These hovels, set in stifling rank,
Sapped by the earth-damps green and dank--
These cess-pools wide.
These yards, whose heaps of dust and bone
Breathe poison all around;
These styes, whose swinish tenants grown
Half human, with their masters own
A common ground.
What are my perfumes? Stink and stench
From slaughter-house and sewer;
The oozing gas from opened trench,
The effluvia of the pools that drench
Court-yards impure.
What is my music? Hard-wrung groans
From strong men stricken down:
Women's and children's feebler moans,
And the slow death-bell's muffled tones
In every town.
Who are my lieges? Those that rule
In Vestry and at Board;
The Town-hall's glib and giddy fool,
The mob's most abject slave and tool
Though called its lord.
He who with prate of Vested Rights
Old forms of wrong defends;
Who for pound-foolishness still fights,
Wisdom, save penny-wisdom, slights;--
These are my friends.
* * * * *
THE INDUSTRIOUS COSSACKS.
We don't wonder that some of our Manchester friends should be content to
see the Russian forces holding the Principalities. Those who object to
the idleness of a military life must naturally admire an army of
occupation.
* * * * *
[Illustration: MR. 'ARRY BELVILLE, ON THE CONTINENT GENERALLY.
_'Arry Belville._ "YES! I LIKE IT EXTREMELY. I LIKE THE _Lazy ally_ SORT
OF FEELING. I LIKE SITTING AT THE DOOR OF A _Caffy_ TO SMOKE MY CIGAR;
AND ABOVE ALL (_onter noo_) IT'S A GREAT COMFORT TO WEAR ONE'S BEARD
WITHOUT BEIN' LARFED AT!"]
* * * * *
OPINIONS OF OUR CONTEMPORARIES.
"The Steppes of Russia are long dreary tracts, extremely tedious and
very difficult to get over, requiring the greatest patience so as not to
lose yourself in the midst of their interminable flatness; and, on my
word, the same thing may be said of the diplomatic steps of the same
country."--_Aberdeen._
"Meeting one's constituents is sometimes as disagreeable as meeting a
bill; but still it must be done, for the form of the thing, if it is
only to save one's political credit."--_Disraeli._
"The fault is not so much in bribing, as in being found out."--_W. B._
"The only balls England should fight her battles with should be balls of
cotton; the only shot, shot-silks'"--_Bright._
"There are two kinds of M. P.'s; those who confine themselves to merely
representing the people, and those who think it their duty also to
represent their wrongs and grievances."--_Roebuck._
"If I had my way I would very soon make the Russians leave the Danubian
provinces. I should say to them very plainly, "_Sortez, Messieurs, voila
la Porte_;" and, if they didn't, I would soon make them."--_Palmerston._
"I wouldn't dine with a Custom House officer, not even if he was to
invite me, for I should be afraid he would always stop the bottle and
never pass the wine."--_B. Oliveira._
"Dentists stop vacancies in teeth by filling them up with gold, and
really I know of no better plan for filling up a vacancy in
Parliament."--_Coppock._
"What's the use of my having a seat, if you will not allow me to sit
down upon it?"--_Rothschild._
"The EMPEROR NAPOLEON distinguished himself, it is true, in taking a few
capitals; but let me ask what capital can stand in the way of LOUIS
NAPOLEON without his immediately taking it? Such an Emperor is worth a
fortune--aye, several fortunes--to France."--_Malmesbury._
"The fact of the House sitting till so late an hour in the morning
may, perhaps, account for there being so few rising men in
Parliament."--_Brotherton._
"Peace is the only commodity that, in a commercial country like England,
one can never pay too dearly for, but then you should purchase it always
in the cheapest market, and sell it in the dearest. But selling it is
out of the question, for it is my advice to keep the peace, and not to
sell it."--_Cobden._
* * * * *
SHORT AND SAPONACEOUS.
[Illustration: S]
Some of _Mr. Punch's_ contemporaries have been circulating, together
with other small change, an account of a plant, newly discovered in
California by a Viennese. This plant, they say, "is about a foot in
height, and fades away in May, revealing to the astonished botanist a
ball of natural soap, contained within its stalk, and superior to the
best brown Windsor." They have forgotten, however, to add some
particulars, which _Mr. Punch_, in his zeal for the public service, has
taken pains to collect. He has ascertained that, out of one hundred and
twenty-nine persons who have read this paragraph, thirty-two have
observed, "that the properties of the plant are evidently soap-orific;"
twenty-eight have opined "that, when Nature planted it in California she
must have had an eye to the gold-washing;" sixty have pronounced
authoritatively, "that the discoverer of the plant ought at once to be
made a Companion of the Bath;" eight have expressed their surprise "that
it should have been discovered by a German, who could have had but
little previous knowledge of the article which it is said to produce;"
whilst the remaining person, an eminent boiler in the City, who prides
himself upon his French accent, remarked that, "they might say it had
been discovered by a German naturalist, but that, for his part, he
should always think it had been found out by a French _savon_." _Mr.
Punch_ has further ascertained that, in the Californian dialect of the
language of flowers, this plant signifies "I wash my hands of you!" and
is employed by ladies to intimate their rejection of an unwelcome suit.
* * * * *
THE CHELSEA GHOST.
The lovers of the marvellous will be sorry to hear that the Chelsea
Ghost is a spirit raised by the penny-a-liners in the hope of raising
their own spirits by a few extra pence during the present dull season.
We felt quite sure that directly the police went in search of the
apparition, it would not appear to any summons that might be served upon
it; and when we were told that SERGEANT SOMEBODY had walked through the
ghost, we were convinced the real fact must have been that if there was
a ghost at all, the police, instead of walking through it, would have
walked into it. We felt perfectly satisfied that the spectre must vanish
before the inspector, and we are happy, for the sake of common sense, to
find publicity given to the fact, that the Chelsea Ghost lives only in
the imagination of the unhappy paragraph-mongers, who have been tempted
to idealise a spirit for the purpose of realising an extra glass of grog
or some "other compound."
* * * * *
TOAST FOR TAVERN LANDLORDS.--The Cricketer, who always runs up a score
by his innings.
* * * * *
OUR TOURIST IN PARIS.--No. 5.
[Illustration: W]
With that spirit of zealous self-sacrifice which becomes his office,
your Correspondent has visited the great masqued ball at the Opera, that
terminates the festivities of the Carnival. He was accompanied by the
rising diplomatist GEORGE ERNEST CLARENCE PROTOCOL, whose filmy white
choker, pink shirt, opal studs, and shining boots were truly an honour
to his country. At one o'clock his Brougham whirled us rapidly to the
theatre. The streets were alive with people. A masqued ball is a fete
for those who can't go as well as for those who can. Riotous groups in
costume were exchanging badinage with the crowd and each other as they
converged to the great point of attraction. Flaring gas-lights
illuminated the street down which we turned out of the Boulevard, and
showed to advantage two bearded and cloaked warriors on horseback, who
looked as if they might be part of the entertainment. More flaring
gas-lights, like a butcher's shop on Saturday night; more picturesque
mounted swordsmen--the Brougham pulls up, and we alight amid the
respectful congratulations of the officials. We mount the stairs in
company of masks, dominoes, and persons in ordinary evening dress, and
pass into the Salle.
The effect is bewildering, overwhelming. The theatre is open to the
uttermost back wall, and, even so, barely holds the multitude of
dancers. The orchestra is probably the noisiest in the world, but is
nothing to the astounding din of the people. No words can describe the
combination of the two. As for the spectacle, several thousand lunatics,
in the violent stage, capering and gesticulating under a strong paroxysm
of their malady, will present a faint picture of it. The madmen are all
costumed, and resent the appearance of a black coat in their terrific
orgies. Probably it reminds them of the medical gentlemen from whom they
have escaped. There is a sprinkling of Greeks, knights, nobles of LOUIS
THE THIRTEENTH, shepherdesses, court ladies, and so forth; but the
prevalent costume of the men is the white and red of a Pierrot; of the
ladies, the chemise and trowsers of a _debardeur_. It is this division
that makes the most clamour and has the greatest enjoyment of the fun.
Groups of the white figures with floured faces, tall hats, and streaming
ribbons loll in the boxes, and hold a "chaffing" conversation with those
below, which may be witty, but, at all events, is deafening. The young
ladies in the embroidered shirts, satin pantaloons, and trim hats,
beneath which their hair descends in long plaited tails, contribute at
least their fair share to the uproar. But, besides, there are other
characters not so intelligible. One grotesque shape is composed entirely
of seaweed, or what looks like it; another is in rags, with carrots and
turnips on his head; a third sports a chimney pot as a head dress; a
fourth is surmounted by a weathercock. There is no limit to the
fantastic combinations thus arrived at, which are generally more odd
than pleasant; and any enterprising individual who should make his
appearance in a very dirty shirt, a crownless hat, and a pair of pumps
would, probably, make rather a hit than otherwise.
It must be confessed, after the first half-hour, when the eye is more
accustomed to the scene, and the ear has begun to discriminate between
the various noises, the refined taste of your Correspondent (used to the
assemblies of MONSIEUR JULLIEN) was very much outraged. The orchestra is
simply infamous, nothing being audible but sounding brass and the
jangling cymbal; the house is foully dirty and badly lighted. The
company is shabbily dressed, and, apparently, includes many of the
lowest ruffians of Paris. On the other hand, there is immense enjoyment
and fun, and the dancing made even your travelling sage open the eyes of
astonishment.
The police, of course, are everywhere, and at the ordinary public balls
interfere to moderate the antics of the dancers. But at the masqued
balls they let things take their course; and the consequence is, that
each lady and gentleman, to the best of her or his ability, indulges in
those variations on the quadrille which are collectively objectionable.
They are, in musical phrase, perfectly _ad libitum_, and give scope for
an exercise of fancy and agility, which would produce rather a sensation
at ALMACKS. There was one couple, MOROK the Lion Tamer in red and
hessians, and a _debardeur_ in yellow trowsers and a powdered peruke,
who really were astounding. MOROK ended by carrying off his friend on
his shoulders, to the great delight of a fat Pompier, who stood by in a
bright brass helmet, exactly like a small coalscuttle.
PROTOCOL leads the way to the _foyer_, where a totally different scene
presents itself. This saloon is consecrated to persons in evening dress
and dominoes, no costumed characters being admitted. This is the resort
of all the "swells." Of course the blond children of Albion muster
strongly, and, indeed, rather eclipse the native gentlemen with their
severe hauteur and stately presence. Some of the ladies are in ball
dresses, and hang on the arm of cavaliers; the majority are in that
mysterious envelope which recalls AUBER'S charming comic opera, and
employ themselves in puzzling, or, as they say, "intriguing," whatever
acquaintances they recognise. PROTOCOL is immediately attacked by a tall
black domino, whose eyes sparkle with a lustre no mask can hide. She
whispers something in his ear which heightens his colour, and is gone
before he can demand an explanation. Now, by the shades of RADCLIFFE and
SIR WALTER, there is romance in the nineteenth century! Protocol, you
must practise the guitar and learn a collection of serenades "arranged
to suit a voice of moderate compass." "My dear fellow," replied the
diplomatist, "I thought no one in the world knew what that lovely
creature (I'm sure she's lovely) told me. Just fancy if she should turn
out to be as noble and rich as she is beautiful. Hey?" Ah, PROTOCOL, as
you say, just fancy! Why there she is again. MACHIAVEL is off in a trice
and pursues the fair who flies from him. The Contemplative One
entertains himself with hearing the adventures of young TWEEDLES, who
has just joined the Lancers, and is away on a fortnight's leave. The
poor child was induced to present a white domino with about five pounds'
worth of _sucre de pommes_, which he afterwards saw her resell to the
Marchand, to his infinite disgust. "You know," complained he, "it ain't
the money I care for, but it's such a howwid baw to be an object of
widicule to a dem Fwenchwoman. They widicule evewy one, and wespect
nothing. No wonder they're always having wevolutions and upsetting
weligion, and all that sort of thing. Let's make up a supper party at
the _Cafe Anglais_. You know my cousin SWELLINGS SWELLINGS, and there's
DE FAULTRE, who was in the 20th Black Guards, but wesides in Pawis
now--plays _ecarte_ vewy well--twemendous luck--always turning up the
king. I hope PWOTOCOL will come and bwing his fwend."
Another look at the lunatics, who are worse than ever. MOROK and the
party in yellow satin trowsers excel themselves. The Cherokees shake
their plumes and howl after a most horrid sort. The Pierrots redouble
their "chaff," and make up in clamour what they want in wit. The
Carnival is on its last legs, and does not spare them. It is still
alive, and kicking. A few hours hence, and those pious persons will be
repenting of their sins on cabbage and onions. Ah! as the lady with the
camellias says, _Quelle belle chose que la religion!_
When Sardis revolted against CYRUS, a wise captive gave the angry
monarch this advice: "Send men among them to teach them to fiddle and
dance and love pleasure, and they will never more give you any trouble."
I wonder if Paris would revolt now against CYRUS.
Supper at the _Maison Doree_. A little _consomme_ with poached eggs, a
_filet aux champignons_, and a salad with a bottle of Champagne.
PROTOCOL'S acquaintance, it appears, was the _blanchisseuse_ of the
Embassy, an exceedingly respectable person of fifty. The rising
diplomatist seemed rather sore on the subject of _Le Domino Noir_, which
became the principal topic of conversation in consequence. Of course,
the secret she told him must have been about his washing-bill.
The present opinion of the Sage is, that pleasure, and indeed things in
general, are vanity. _Bals masques_ are noisy, dusty, and dull. People
ought not to pay, but be paid, for going to them. Monastic institutions
have charms for a well-constituted mind. Literary pursuits are laborious
and not sufficiently remunerated. When Champagne is not good, it has
disagreeable effects on your health the next day. Bring me some _Cognac_
and _Eau de Seltz_. Oh dear, I wish had cut the supper.
[Illustration]
* * * * *
FRENCH TIES AND DYNAS-TIES.
The Grand Opera at Paris has just re-opened, after a perfect
"restoration" made by order of the EMPEROR, who is more favourable to a
"restoration" in affairs of the drama than in affairs of politics. The
theatre has been gorgeously re-decorated and overlaid with a profusion
of gold, which stands out in all the bold effrontery of gilt beneath the
blaze of a thousand gaslights. Even the members of the orchestra are
elaborately got up, and though not absolutely bound hand and foot at the
will of the EMPEROR, they are literally taken by the throat, for they
are compelled to appear in white neckcloths. Every instrumental
performer must become a member of the stiff-necked fraternity if he
wishes to be engaged at the Grand Opera; and it matters little what may
be his reputation, or how illustrious may be the stock to which he
belongs, if he refuses to bind himself to the tie prescribed by the
French Government. Such is the pliancy with which all classes now bow
their necks to the ruling power, that we have not heard of one instance
in which the forced application of the starched cravat has roused any
artist's choler. It is, however, feared that in a very heavy and
fatiguing opera the time of some of the pieces will have to be changed,
in order that the orchestra may get a few bars' rest to adjust their
neck-ties, which some of the tremendous _crescendo_ movements of
MEYERBEER will be likely to derange. We tremble to think of the
consequences of the "Blessing of the Poignards" on the cravats of the
poor fiddlers.
* * * * *
SECOND THOUGHTS.
It was intended to inaugurate a statue of LOUIS NAPOLEON at Lille,
bearing the inscription--"To the Protector of Native Sugar." It was,
however, abandoned for re-consideration. It will probably be amended as
follows, and the statue inaugurated on the 2nd of December--"To the
Protector of Native Sugar--_of lead_."
* * * * *
A JOKE THAT MUST BE FELT IF IT CAN'T BE SEEN.
We perceive that all Military Hats are to be superseded in the British
Army by a "Felt Helmet." We trust this arrangement will prevent
everything but the helmet from being "felt"--on the head of the soldier.
* * * * *
BRITISH REASONS FOR BOULOGNE ADDRESS.
The copy of an address of British residents at Boulogne lay for
signature--as British residents were duly informed by the
_Impartial_--at the library of MRS. MONEYDUE. We have been favoured with
the various reasons--and subjoin a few--the exquisite reasons that,
delighting and uplifting the British brain--induced the British
residents and visitors to write themselves down the very humble and much
obliged servants of the EMPEROR OF FRANCE.
MR. ALDERMAN GREENFAT signed "because he likes a strong Government. He
also likes success; there is no getting on in this world without it. Has
always believed that the French were only to be ruled with a rod of
iron, and believed that LOUIS NAPOLEON was the very man to keep that rod
in pickle."
MR. SHADRACH SHEKELS, money scrivener, signed "because he would always
support legitimate government. Him as was strongest was always most
legitimate. As a conscientious Jew he didn't care about France, having,
of course, his serious thoughts fixed on settling down in his old age in
New Jerusalem. Didn't think much of LOUIS NAPOLEON when once upon a time
he come into the City of London with his bills: wouldn't look at his
paper at no price. But times is changed. Would do his bill now--if not
at a _very long date_--not only with pleasure, but with great interest."
CAPTAIN PLANTAGENET SIMCOX (of the Stonehenge Yeomanry), signed "because
he liked PLUCK. And the EMPEROR had shown himself a clever fellow. He
had proved to Europe that he had head beside pluck. Without pluck, who
could have a stake in any country?"
PROFESSOR WOBBLES signed "because he considered His Imperial Majesty to
be one of PLUTARCH'S men. The EMPEROR had the true heroic nose. It was a
vulgar error that the world was governed by heads: no; the noses carried
it. Waterloo was won by a nose. The nose is the natural sceptre. The
EMPEROR was born a natural."
JOHN STRAIGHT, ESQ., (retired on his property) signed because "he
thought the EMPEROR so very much improved, having sown all his wild
oats. Was residing at Boulogne when LOUIS NAPOLEON landed, and was
bundled like a sack of sawdust into a cart and delivered at the prison.
But circumstances being changed, would now with the greatest pleasure
give in his adhesion to the Saviour and Protector of France!"
MRS. DEPUTY BOTOLPH would sign "because the dear EMPEROR had asked
herself and JEMIMA to the ball at the Tooleries; besides, His Majesty
looked such a hero upon horseback."
MISS AGNES BOCHURCH signed "with a sense of gratitude to the dear
EMPRESS, who had brought in such a darling style of dressing the hair."
Miss A. B. was, when in Paris, _once_ taken for the EMPRESS.
* * * * *
THE FAT OF THE LAND AND LAMBETH.
One MR. RHODES, of Carlisle Street, Lambeth, is summoned before the
Lambeth Street Magistrate to answer for the--what shall we call
it--indiscretion (?) of boiling down putrid fat on his premises to the
prejudice of the health of his neighbours, causing thereby "nausea, and
even vomiting." MR. SECKER turns to the wisdom of Parliament enshrined
in the Nuisance Act, but found that--
"The words relating to any dwelling-house or building being found in
a filthy and unwholesome condition _applied not_, as he took it, to
places where _a trade or business was carried on_, but to common
lodging-houses and places of that description, and the other part of
the clause _did not apply to the premises described_."
That is, if you can make a trade of a nuisance, if you can "carry on a
business" by fat-melting, the evil to the public is to be allowed
because of the profit to the individual. You may turn a whole parish
sick, if you can turn the penny upon their "nausea and vomiting."
* * * * *
EDITORIAL CANDOUR.
The _Morning Herald_ has recently made an approach to the principle of
abolishing the anonymous in newspaper writing, and has made a sort of
indirect disclosure of its editorship, by meeting the public half-way in
authorising an impression that has long existed in the minds of the
community. The _Herald_ of Tuesday, the 20th of September, after saying,
"_we_ have been favoured with the following letter," prints a
communication beginning "My dear Mamma." It is clear that to have made
the avowal of its severally imputed editorship complete, the letter
should have commenced with the words, "My dear Grandmamma."
* * * * *
THE RUSSIAN BEAR AND THE TURKEY COCK.
We have heard a good deal lately about the "position taken by Turkey;"
and as the attitude assumed has been undoubtedly rather warlike, we may
come to the conclusion that the "position taken by Turkey" is in fact
standing on her drum-sticks.
* * * * *
ALARMING ACCIDENT.
(_From our Own Four-Mil-a-Liner_)
[Illustration: M]
Miraculous escape--Another of those distressing accidents which too
often lead to a melancholy catastrophe took place on Wednesday evening
last. A party of four adventurous gentlemen, who had resolved on
visiting the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, after a quiet dinner at their
club, proceeded to that edifice, and, under the direction of a guide,
actually penetrated the labyrinths to the lowest box on the opposite
side from that at which they entered. Having achieved this feat, and
feasted their eyes upon the scenery thus set before them, one of them
announced his intention of attempting to get out of the theatre alone.
His companions sought to dissuade him from this foolhardy exploit; but,
flushed, it is supposed, with an extra half-pint of St. Estephe, the
traveller, a remarkably fine young man, to whom his friends were not in
the least attached, departed on the perilous enterprise. He ascended
eleven staircases, descended fourteen, and, having gone backwards and
forwards through twenty-two of the passages which come from nowhere and
lead to nothing, in this most wonderfully constructed building, he made
the appalling discovery that he had lost his way.
With the true Anglo-Saxon courage, he continued to explore undauntedly,
and at one period went down deep into the bowels of the earth, where,
far above his head, he could distinctly hear the trampling of feet, and
where, in the darkness, he stumbled upon certain whitish objects which
may have been either the skeletons of other lost travellers, or else
property busts and statues. At length, overcome by terror and thirst, he
rushed upwards, and continued to mount until he reached the dizzy height
where the air was so intensely rarified as to smell of oranges and
gingerbeer, and where, he states, he could distinctly hear the voice of
MR. GUSTAVUS BROOKE recommending MISS FEATHERSTONE to go to a nunnery.
His sufferings at this period were most acute, and his despairing
efforts to open every door he saw were agonizing.
Retracing his steps, he explored every lonely passage, dusty avenue, and
dark staircase in vain, and finally he conceived the daring resolution
of setting the theatre on fire, in the hope that assistance might thus
be summoned, but was prevented by the want of material. At one time he
says that he heard female voices, and immediately addressed to the
speaker those imploring accents to which woman never listens unmoved;
but his words were flung back to him by the echoes with an injurious
addition of something sounding like "Tipsy, I suppose." At last, fairly
overcome, he sat down upon an extremely dirty couch, and resigned
himself to his fate. How many dreadful hours thus passed he knows not,
but on returning to consciousness he found himself among kind faces, and
being carried over to the nearest tavern he was subjected to a course of
restoratives, including alcohol and nicotine, and was finally able to
walk home with some straightness. It is hoped that this will be a
warning, and inasmuch as proper guides can always be obtained for a
shilling, there is really no excuse for running so terrible a risk as
that of trying to leave the private boxes of Drury Lane without
assistance.
* * * * *
THE POPE'S POST OBIT.
In the _Giornale di Roma_, of the 25th ultimo, appears a document called
the "Act of Beatification" of FATHER JOHN of Britto, a Jesuit, who
suffered martyrdom in 1693; so that, after the lapse of 160 years, HIS
HOLINESS THE POPE has "beatified" the martyred Jesuit--made FATHER JOHN
happy at last. The Holy See is really as dilatory in beatifying parties,
or making them happy, as the High Court of Chancery. The Church of Rome
treats saints as some other churchmen treat bottles of port--laying them
down to acquire the right flavour, as well as _bouquet_, notwithstanding
that the latter ought to have been already possessed by individuals who
had died in the odour of sanctity. Miracles, we believe, are necessary
to canonization; no miracles, no Saintship: no niche in the calendar.
Our ultra-montane friends tell us that miracles, "the apparition of LA
SALETTE" for instance, are rigidly investigated at Rome; but it must be
difficult to sift those which occurred above 160 years ago, unless the
witnesses are cross-examined by table-rapping, or some equivalent means
of communicating with the defunct. However, the case of FATHER JOHN may
teach those whom it may concern not to be disheartened by the delay of
their beatification by the Roman Pontiffs, by showing them that though
they may have had to wait more than a century and a half for their
beatitude, they "may be happy yet."
* * * * *
A PROVERB AT FAULT.
Proverbial philosophy will occasionally fail, and we need go no further
for an instance than the well known maxim as to the propriety of "a long
pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together." Take six hearty
coalheavers, and, putting between them a pot of porter, call upon them
to take "a long pull and a strong pull," if you please; but pause before
you invite them to the impracticable operation of "a pull all together."
* * * * *
VESTED RIGHT.
There's strength in rock, to take the shock
Of wave, with naked brows;
There's pith in oak, to mock the stroke
Of wind, with stubborn boughs;
But where grew wood, and where rock stood
Wind blows and sea-wave ploughs.
I am not rock, I am not oak;
My roots are short and slight;
With foes more grave than wind or wave
It is my lot to fight.
'Gainst Time and Life I wage a strife--
My name is VESTED RIGHT!
And still I stand, all through the land,
With face for every foe;--
The Vestry's lord--its law my word--
I deal my "aye" and "no:"--
On Boards of Health I glide by stealth,
All new lights out to blow.
As Alderman, whene'er I can
The civic roast I rule;
My fingers fold all icy-cold
Round Charity and School;
From off the Bench, Law's sword I wrench,
And make the blade my tool.
From high St. Paul's my vision falls
Upon a world of slaves;
That foul line rounds my kingdom's bounds
With intramural graves;
Yon pall of smoke, that Heaven doth choke--
'Tis my black flag that waves!
As Kings of old, when they would hold
A Progress through the land,
Had hunting-seat or palace meet
Still ready at command;
So seats are mine, where lodgings line,
Garnished and swept do stand--
'Tis where doth stream the foetid steam
From the bone-boiler's vat,
The knacker's yard, which penned and barred,
Sends out its odours fat;
The slaughter-vault, whence, ne'er at fault,
Peereth the carrion rat.
In tanneries' stink, on cesspools' brink,
I sit and sleep and snuff;
The fever's breath brings me no death,
I hold such terrors stuff;
The odours flung from Smithfield dung
To me smell sweet enough.
I've my own graves to take the slaves
Whom 'tis my mood to kill;
The parish may the cost defray,
Full pits my pockets ill.
I've gains allowed from shell and shroud--
Each pauper brings his bill!
When of my field an inch I yield,
I yield it nothing loath;
The vacant spot is straight a plot
For Compensation's growth--
That vigorous weed whose fruitful seed
I sow and harvest both.
While thus I rule, the good old school
Rebellious spirits tames:
My sway supports in camps and courts--
One shape of many names!
Who dares make fight 'gainst Vested Right?
Who dares gainsay my claims?
* * * * *
SOLUTION OF HAUNTED HOUSES.
A Haunted House is a tenement of any number of ordinary stories, to
which is added an extraordinary one, in the form of a Ghost Story.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE GREAT MOUSTACHE MOVEMENT--FAIR PLAY FOR THE BAKER.]
* * * * *
A NEW DEPARTMENT OF FLUNKEYISM.
One of our contemporaries--the _Observer_--not satisfied with
registering the mere dinner-givings, _dejeuners_, migrations, and
marriages of the "upper classes," has just started a new department, to
which the rather alarming title of "Accidents in High Life" has been
given. We are henceforth, it seems, to be treated to the details of
aristocratic mishaps, and the public press is to inform us how LORD TOM
NODDY tumbled into a ditch while hunting, or what slips have been made
by LADY SO-AND-SO. We presume we may anticipate, under the thrilling
title of "Accidents in High Life," a few such paragraphs as the
following:--
"We regret to hear of a rather uncomfortable casualty having occurred to
the young EARL OF SPOONBILL. His lordship, while riding in Piccadilly,
had the misfortune to run over a young miscreant who was carrying a
basket of oranges. The young nobleman was somewhat shaken by the
concussion, which it is understood was sufficiently violent to break the
legs of the unhappy wretch who was the cause of it; but, as we ran by
the side of his lordship's horse, to be able to give our readers the
latest particulars of his health, we did not wait to hear the fate of
the degraded creature, who is, we hope, by this time expiating in a jail
the offence of obstructing a thoroughfare and causing a temporary
agitation to a member of a noble family. Repeated inquiries at his
lordship's area-gate have satisfied us that there is no further cause
for alarm. The noble earl was attended by the family apothecary, who
"exhibited" a Sedlitz powder over night, and beef tea in the morning.
* * * * *
GLUT OF MONEY AT THE MUSEUM.
A complaint has been made against the Trustees of the British Museum,
that they keep hoarded up several hundreds of duplicate coins, which
might be sold or otherwise advantageously disposed of. It certainly does
appear at first sight rather useless to keep several hundred pieces of
money of the same sort; but perhaps the Trustees think it would not be
prudent to leave themselves without one shilling or penny, as the case
may be, to rub against another.
* * * * *
INFALLIBLE BUBBLES.
(_To Mr. Punch._)
"SIR,
"Although yours is not a medical journal, I am sure you will readily
give insertion to a few lines, which may be rendered, by means of your
enormous circulation, instrumental in the preservation of thousands of
lives. Cases of recent occurrence have fearfully exemplified the
fact--previously well enough established--of the dependence of Asiatic
Cholera, in common with Typhus and other pestilences, on the inhalation
of the gaseous products of putrefactive decomposition. These consist
principally of sulphuretted hydrogen; indeed that gas is, there can be
no doubt, the noxious agent. Now, Sir, I wish to direct public attention
to an infallible preventive of Cholera, and every other disease of
zymotic origin, which, in the form of an antidote against the gas that
occasions them, is presented to us by Homoeopathy. You know that the
cardinal doctrine of that science is that _similia similibus curantur_;
like cures like. Well, Sir; there is a gaseous compound analogous to, or
like, sulphuretted hydrogen: I mean seleniuretted hydrogen, also called
hydro-selenic acid. The inhalation of a measure of atmospheric air,
otherwise pure, containing one part in ten billions of this gas, will
secure any individual whatever against both Cholera, and the whole class
of affections resulting from the same cause.
"Observe, only, that in order that the remedy may be enabled to act all
impediments to its operation must be carefully removed. Sulphuretted
hydrogen must cease to be breathed. The drainage of the neighbourhood
should be rendered efficient; all the sewers should be flushed and
trapped; all the cesspools stopped; all the graveyards closed; all the
knackers' yards, bone-boilers', and catgut makers' establishments and
every other description of nuisance in the neighbourhood abated.
"No other subsidiary conditions are requisite, except personal ablution,
wholesome food, and abstinence from intoxicating quantities of gin, and
other alcoholic fluids."
"PESTLE."
* * * * *
SWEETS TO THE SWEET.--Woman is a beautiful flower, that can be told, in
the dark even, by its (s)talk.
* * * * *
THE AGE OF COMPLIMENTS.
[Illustration: S]
Seemingly everybody is getting so very polite to everybody else that it
is beginning to be almost impossible for two or three persons to get
together without a meeting of two being got up to present the third with
a testimonial. If a steam-boat goes on a rather lengthy voyage, there is
sure to be a party mustered to pass flattering resolutions expressive of
confidence in the captain, although the ship may have gone several
hundred miles out of its way, and there may have been a variety of other
disagreeable _contretemps_.
The absurdity of testimonial-giving has reached such a height that we
may expect it to go still higher before it finally topples over, and we
shall not be astonished to hear that two persons riding together in a
Hansom cab have formed themselves into a meeting for the purpose of
presenting the driver with a new lash to his whip, or some other
appropriate "testimonial." When we hear of votes of thanks having been
passed in favour of the commander of a steamer across the Atlantic, we
feel that the difficult navigation of the Thames would warrant the
presentation of a piece of plate--say a toothpick--to the captains of
the Penny _Pink_ or the Halfpenny _Bee_, or the twopenny _Citizen_. If
steam-boat passengers are to come to complimentary votes, what reason
can there be why omnibus passengers should not vote one of their body
into the chair, and record a series of resolutions in honour of the
driver for his able and impartial conduct on the driving seat, or the
conductor for his uprightness on his foot-board?
* * * * *
THE STRIKE OF THE DAY.--The worst of all strikes is the strike of Irish
labourers--which generally consists in beating their wives.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE OLD 'UN AND THE YOUNG 'UN. _Old Nicholas._ "NOW THEN,
AUSTRIA, JUST HELP ME TO FINISH THE _PORTE_."]
* * * * *
THE ORGAN BOY'S APPEAL.
"WESTMINSTER POLICE COURT.--POLICEMAN X brought a paper of doggrel
verses to the MAGISTRATE, which had been thrust into his hands, X
said, by an Italian boy, who ran away immediately afterwards.
"The MAGISTRATE, after perusing the lines, looked hard at X, and
said he did not think they were written by an Italian.
"X blushing, said he thought the paper read in Court last week, and
which frightened so the old gentleman to whom it was addressed, was
also not of Italian origin."
O SIGNOR BRODERIP you are a wickid ole man
You wexis us little horgan boys whenever you can,
How dare you talk of Justice, and go for to seek
To pussicute us horgin boys, you senguinary Beek?
Though you set in Vestminster surrounded by your crushers
Harrogint and habsolute like the Hortacrat of hall the Rushers,
Yet there is a better vurld I'd have you for to know
Likewise a place vere the henimies of horgin-boys will go.
O you vickid HEROD without any pity
London vithout horgin boys vood be a dismal city!
Sweet SAINT CICILY who first taught horgin-pipes to blow
Soften the heart of this Magistrit that haggerywates us so!
Good Italian gentlemen, fatherly and kind
Brings us over to London here our horgins for to grind;
Sends us out vith little vite mice and guinea pigs also
A popping of the Veasel and a Jumpin of JIM CROW.
And as us young horgin boys is grateful in our turn
We gives to these kind gentlemen hall the money we earn,
Because that they vood vop us as wery wel we know
Unless we brought our hurnings back to them as loves us so.
O MR. BRODERIP! wery much I'm surprise
Ven you take your valks abroad where can be your eyes?
If a Beak had a heart then you'd compryend
Us pore little Horgin boys was the poor man's friend.
Don't you see the shildren in the droring rooms
Clapping of their little ands when they year our toons?
On their mothers' bussums don't you see the babbies crow
And down to us dear horgin boys lots of apence throw?
Don't you see the ousemaids (pooty POLLIES and MARIES)
Ven ve bring our urdigurdis, smilin from the hairies?
Then they come out vith a slice o' cole puddn or a bit o' bacon or so
And give it us young horgin boys for lunch afore we go.
Have you ever seen the Hirish children sport
When our velcome music-box brings sunshine in the Court?
To these little paupers who can never pay
Surely all good organ boys, for God's love, will play.
Has for those proud gentlemen, like a sorting B--k
(Vich I von't be pussonal and therefore vil not speak)
That flings their parler-vinders hup ven ve begin to play
And cusses us and swears at us in such a wiolent way.
Instedd of their abewsing and calling hout Poleece
Let em send out John to us vith sixpence or a shillin apiece.
Then like good young horgin boys avay from there we'll go
Blessing sweet SAINT CICILY that taught our pipes to blow.
* * * * *
PRISON DISCIPLINARIANS.
"Who shall decide when jailors disagree?"
Extract from the Evidence taken before the last Parliamentary Committee
on the Subject of Prison Discipline.
CAPTAIN FONDLEPRIG'S _Examination_.
_Q. 3491._ _Chairman._ You have had considerable experience in the
treatment of felons and other prisoners, and have made prison discipline
the object of much consideration?
_A._ I have.
_Q. 3492._ Will you give the Committee your ideas of the mode in which
prisoners should be treated.
_A._ I recommend the utmost kindness and indulgence. The criminal should
excite our compassion, and we should do our utmost to alleviate his
sense of the punishment which society makes it necessary to inflict. I
would, on his arrival, ascertain, delicately of course, what had been
his previous habits and tastes. If he could read, which I would discover
by some little stratagem (such as placing a letter in his hand and
asking him what _he_ made of the address, as it puzzled _me_, or some
other gentle device), I would cause amusing books to be placed, during
the night, in his cell, and secretly changed, so as not to put him under
obligation. If he could not read, poor fellow, I, or my wife, or my
daughter, should read to him whenever he chose to ring for us, and I
would accord him the indulgence of a pipe, if he wished it. To civilise
and lead him to the Beautiful, fresh flowers should be placed in his
cell--we would, in naming it to him, call it his grot--every morning,
and I would recommend the hanging his apartment with engravings from the
best masters, avoiding of course any subject likely to remind him
painfully of his incarceration. Music should be supplied, and I have a
plan for bringing all the Italian organists where I believe most people
wish they were, namely, within the walls of our gaols, to soothe the
minds of our captives. The bath should be recommended to, but not forced
upon him, and if he preferred a warm bath in his cell, with Eau de
Cologne in the water, I should naturally order it. For his health's
sake, I should advise his adhering to the regular hours of meals, but if
he desired a glass of sherry and a sponge cake, or an ice and wafers, or
oysters and stout, between meals it would be inhuman to refuse it. The
bill of fare should be brought to him each morning, and any reasonable
suggestions he might make for its alteration he should see were attended
to. If, which I do not anticipate, he should, despite this treatment, be
insubordinate, I would, after long, patient, and humble entreaty had
been exhausted, threaten to withhold his ice, or withdraw his flowers,
or, in a very bad case, I might refuse him Eau de Cologne to his bath.
_Q. 3493._ If a prisoner were very rebellious, would you whip him?
[_The Witness fainted, and was removed._
LIEUTENANT SKINNUM'S _Examination_.
_Q. 3494._ _Chairman._ You have had considerable experience in the
treatment of felons and other prisoners, and have made prison discipline
the object of much consideration?
_A._ I have.
_Q. 3495._ Will you give the Committee your ideas of the mode in which
prisoners should be treated?
_A._ Treated! I'd treat 'em, bless 'em. Shady side of a deuced good
bamboo's the place for them. Confound them! Why, if a fellow's sent to
jail, stands to reason he's a scoundrel, and if he's a scoundrel treat
him as such. It's an insult to an honest man to leave a rogue with a
whole bone in his skin. My way's short. Thrash a rascal whenever you
happen to be near him, and have a stick handy, which I take care
generally to have; but a poker will do, or a crowbar, if you're in a
hurry. The object of punishment is to prevent the offence being
repeated, and dash my buttons but a fellow will think twice before he
commits an offence that gets him under my hands a second time. Boys?
Why, boys are worse than men. A man steals, perhaps, to feed his family;
but what does a blessed boy steal for? To buy tarts and gin, and go to
the penny theatre. I take it out of 'em, though. First I thrash 'em till
there isn't a bit of their system that can be called strictly
comfortable. Next, I starve 'em till they're as weak as rats. Then I
give 'em work to do which they could hardly do if they were in the
strongest health, and if they drop down at it I lick 'em till they get
up again, and I refresh their minds with pails of cold water into the
bargain. That's the right system. Ever kill them? Well, not often.
Sometimes they die out of spite, for these boys are very malicious and
revengeful, and will do anything to get an officer into trouble; but I
find the magistrates baffle their malignity by taking no notice, and all
goes on well. As for insubordination, by Jove, they don't often try it
with me, but an iron collar, and a chain to hold it to the wall, a taste
of the cat o' nine tails after Morning and Evening Service, a sound kick
whenever a jailor happens to pass, and food placed before the rascal,
but just out of his reach, for a few days, do wonders.
_Q. 3496._ If a prisoner were very rebellious, would you whip him?
_Witness, (in a dreadful rage)._ Whip him, Sir! No, Sir! Whipping's too
good for him, Sir! I'd--I'd--I'd--skin him alive, Sir--that's what I'd
do with him, Sir.
[_The witness, in his excitement, knocked over the short-hand writer
with a violent back-hander, and rushed out._
* * * * *
THE WEAPONS OF THE SLAVE.
At Wilkesbarre, in Pennsylvania, two slave-hunters under the Fugitive
Slave Law did their best and worst to recapture a mulatto, named REX.
They placed handcuffs on him; but with these very handcuffs, the
man--maddened by despair--beat down and marked his hunters. There is a
moral in this, if America could understand it. Well will it be if
emancipation be granted before slavery, with its very chains, shall
knock down and mark the national slaveholders.
* * * * *
GENTLE READER!--If you have a remarkably strong constitution, you may
read the following; but if not, we beg of you to pass it over:--
If a cigar makes a man ill, will a cheroot make a Man-illa?
* * * * *
THE CROWN OF HUNGARY.
It seems that the Royal Insignia of Hungary have lately been dug out of
a hole in a very damaged condition. The Crown was cracked, and the cloak
of ST. STEPHEN, which, if it had been "made to measure" for the Saint
himself, must have been rather the worse for wear, was so injured by
damp that if ST. STEPHEN'S mantle should fall on anybody else the result
could only be rheumatism. The garment cannot, however, have been worth
much, for if it was the cloak that the Hungarian royalty used to wear,
it had long ago become transparent, and might have been seen through
very easily. We have not heard how the rubbish came to be discovered;
but as the cloak was very seedy it may have sprung up, as anything of a
seedy nature is apt to do when buried in the ground, and thus given a
clue to its own discovery. Who got the Crown into the mess in which it
was found is not a question very difficult of solution; but it is clear
that those who imputed its abstraction to M. KOSSUTH, were as much in
the dark as many of the acts and deeds of the Austrian Government. When
a Crown is dragged in the dirt and degraded, the probability is, that he
whom the cap fits is the one whose head it ought to rest upon.
* * * * *
A WORD FOR THE HOTEL-KEEPERS.
[Illustration: S]
Several correspondents of the _Times_ have been writing themselves into
a great rage lately, about what they are pleased to call the "Iniquity
of our present Hotel system." They complain, with a warmth of expression
which is really very seasonable, that go where you will throughout the
kingdom, you'll not find an Inn which is not inn-convenient--to your
person, certainly, if not to your purse. Everywhere, they say, you'll be
charged a good price for bad accommodation: and the larger the
establishment, the smaller is your chance of escaping imposition. If you
order a light dinner, you may be sure, nevertheless, you'll have to pay
a heavy price for it. If wine be your beverage, you'll be charged three
and sixpence for a glass and a half of Cape, served in a vinegar-cruet
and called "a pint of Sherry:" or, if you drink beer, you will get a jug
of what it were a bitter raillery to call bitter ale, and which, however
nasty, you'll be charged a nice sum for. So that, in either case, the
process of selling these liquids may be said invariably to include the
purchaser. Your candles, too, they say, which figure so highly as "wax"
in the bill, will prove in the candlestick to be as bad a composition as
the fourpence in the pound of a fraudulent bankrupt: and whether lit or
not, there's still the burning shame that you're to pay just the same
for them. For "attendance," too, you are charged about as much as for a
lawyer's: half-a-crown a day being no uncommon item for the luxury of
sometimes looking at a waiter. And if you want a horse, you'll find
there's not one in the stable but what's made a heavy charger.
Another of their complaints is, that in the fitting up of our hotels
there is as much bad taste as in the wines you cannot drink there. For,
while the second-class houses are barely half-furnished, those which are
anomalously styled "first-rate" are as much over-done as the victims who
frequent them, all the rooms being crammed to every corner with a lot of
ugly furniture, for which nevertheless you've to pay pretty handsomely.
In short, the British Innkeeper, as these writers represent him, figures
as a sort of human apteryx, who supports himself entirely by the length
of his bill.
Now, the correctness of these charges we admit as readily as we dispute
the landlords'. At the same time, we think there is an evident excuse
for them; for the writers, in their vehemence, seem entirely to have
overlooked the fact, that inasmuch as every innkeeper is bound to keep
open house, he is obviously obliged to take as many people in as
possible.
* * * * *
[Illustration: MYSELF, AS I APPEARED ON PERUSING MY HOTEL BILL, HAVING
STAYED A NIGHT IN BRIGHTON.]
* * * * *
A LITTLE MONEY QUESTION.
"OH, DEAR PUNCH, DEAR,
"I want to ask you one little question. It is about 'defacing the coin.'
I wish to ask whether my brother SEPTIMUS is liable to be taken up? The
foolish boy has several waistcoats, the buttons of which are made of
coins. He has one for every-day use made with fourpenny pieces. He has
another, the buttons of which are made with half-sovereigns. That is for
Sunday wear, whilst he has another for very grand occasions that is
buttoned together with two-sovereign pieces. He is with these absurd
fancies quite a 'Man made of Money', and I know a young lady who calls
him a 'walking change for a ten-pound note.' It is very conceited of him
to be sure, and I am only afraid he will be taken up some
day--especially if he has on at the time his great driving coat that has
a long row of half-crowns running down in front, and a couple of
crown-pieces over the pockets behind. Now I wish you to tell me, dear
_Punch_, supposing he is taken up, can they send him to prison, and cut
his hair off, and make him eat gruel for defacing the coin? I am more
frightened than I can tell you about him.
"Poor fellow! It would be terrible to see two big policemen lay their
large hands on him, when he was out walking with his little sister, and
tear him away from my side, because he happened to be wearing his grand
pink shirt with the studs made out of the tiniest threepenny pieces.
This talk about 'defacing the coin' is all rubbish, for it strikes me
that if I give ten shillings for half-a-sovereign, I have a right to do
what I like with it--to throw it in the fire even, if I choose; but I am
fairly tired out of my life with such stuff!
I remain, my dearest _Punch_,
Your great friend and admirer,
CLARA (at No. 10).
"P.S. Supposing again I choose to wear a lucky coin round my neck that
was given to me by JULIUS before he went to sea, I should like to know
what they would do with me? I declare _I would die sooner_ than they
should take it from me!"
* * * * *
PUBLICANS AND PARSONS.--Cathedral Chapters are compiled from leaves
taken out of Hotel-keepers' Books.
* * * * *
HOW TO BREATHE THE "FREE AIR" OF AUSTRIA.--Keep your mouth shut!
* * * * *
LE GRAND OPERA ENRHUME.
M. HALEVY, weary of compelling his orchestra to imitate the tinkling of
Bayaderes' armlets, or the solemn tramp of an army of elephants, has, in
his opera of the _Nabob_, now performing at the Opera Comique,
introduced a novel musical effect, upon which _Mr. Punch_, in
anticipation of its speedy transmission to England, feels bound to offer
a word of comment. In the third act of the opera, the libretto of which,
be it remarked, is from the pen of M. SCRIBE, a chaise, containing two
of the principal characters, is upset at the door of a tobacconist's
shop in Wales. Of course, the occupants of the chaise are assisted into
the shop, where they sing a duet with, as the French papers say, "A
funny accompaniment of coughing and sneezing." At this we are told the
whole house _"eclata de rire_", and that "_les brouhahas les plus vives
accueillirent ce joli morceau_". If _Mr. Punch_ were not entirely free
from all petty national jealousy, he might, perhaps, insinuate that M.
HALEVY has taken his idea from the brilliant sternutations which the
immortal tenor GRIMALDI was wont to embroider, as the _Morning Post_
would say, upon his grand scena of "_Tippetywitchet_." But he contents
himself with M. HALEVY'S indirect tribute of praise to that great
_artiste_, and rejoices in the conviction that the _belle fioriture_ of
_il povero Guiseppe_, now that they have received the stamp of French
approval, will come into general acceptation with us.
He expects that during the ensuing winter great pains will be taken to
perforate the roofs and walls of our theatres, as managers will feel
that no singer can succeed properly in an air unless she stands in a
draught.
He expects also that his contemporaries will criticise the _debut_ of a
new tenor after the following fashion--
"SIGNOR INFREDDATURA, who made his first appearance last night in
the comic opera of _Il Catarro_, has all the qualifications of a
great singer; viz. a fine person, a sweet and powerful voice,
expressive and appropriate action, and _a bad cold_. He took all his
sternutations with the greatest ease, and in correct time, and in
his grand aria of '_Ah! tu traditrice_,' the audience knew not
whether to admire most, the great power with which he gave the
_Ahchew_--sustaining the '_Ah_' for some seconds, and then suddenly
pouring forth the '_Chew_' in a volume of sound that DUPREZ might
have envied--or the playful irony which he threw into his new and
_spirituel_ reading of the _treechay_. He was, however, but badly
seconded by MADAME TESTACHIARA, who was so nervous as to have no
control over her organ whatever, so that the two pinches of snuff
which the prompter administered to her before she came on exploded
at the wrong time, and thus impaired the general effect of an
otherwise fine performance."
One advantage _Mr. Punch_ perceives, will certainly result from the
vigorous prosecution of M. HALEVY'S idea. It is that, whereas our
climate has hitherto been the bane, it will henceforth prove the
antidote of foreign singers. They will flock here in crowds to perfect
their education, nor will they be deterred from coming by a fear of
overstocking the market, as they will always feel sure that there is
plenty of rheum for them in England. And even MR. SIMS REEVES, when
afflicted by the recurrence of his apparently hereditary cold, need no
longer disappoint the audience by withdrawing from them altogether, and
may favour them with "My lodging is on the cold ground" (a song which
will naturally afford great scope for a display of the new ornaments),
or with "We'll sound the gay Catarrh."
* * * * *
OBSTRUCTING THE PAVEMENT.
A poor applewoman is not allowed to loiter on the pavement. The
lithographic artist, who draws the reddest salmon and setting suns on
the flagstones, is instantly told by the policeman to "walk his chalks."
The broken-down tradesman, with his white neckcloth, and black gloves
with the fingers peeping out of the tips, is not allowed to lean against
a door-post, and offer, in a melancholy attitude, his lucifer-matches
for sale. The same rigour is exercised towards the hundred-bladed Jew
boy, the barefooted girl with her bunch of violets, and the grinning
Italian with his organ. Not one of them is allowed to monopolise the
pavement, but is immediately commanded by the ferocious policeman to
"move on." But there is a class of persons who are permitted to remain
still, where a child who is crying her apples "three a penny" is not
allowed even to loiter. This class of persons is not the most reputable
class to come in contact with, nor the pleasantest even to look at. It
is the betting class. Pass a betting-shop when you will, you are sure to
find an immense crowd collected outside it.
There is no knowing what they talk about--and we have not the slightest
wish to increase our knowledge--but there they will stand for hours,
running in and out of the shop, in the most feverish state, exchanging
memoranda in half-whispers, and dotting down incomprehensible figures in
little clasp-books, which they hold up close to their breasts, for fear
any one should see what they are inscribing in them. They seem
dreadfully afraid lest any one should peep over their shoulders, and
discover the wonderful "odds" they are pencilling down. We have no
particular love or partiality for this numerous class of HER MAJESTY'S
subjects. We do not like them, with their slangy stable coats, their
sporting hats knowingly cocked on one side, and their suspicious looks
that seem to say of every one on whom their sharp, calculating glances
fall, "Well, I wonder how green you are, and I wonder what harvest I
shall get out of your greenness." We do not like this betting _genus_,
with its whips and switchy canes, and thick-ruled trowsers, into which a
small five-barred gate seems to have been compressed, and its sensual
thick-lipped mouths, that are invariably playing with a flower or a
piece of straw, or caressing the end of a pencil.
Now, this class of persons blocks up our public pavements. Attempt to
pass by the Haymarket, or Jermyn Street, or the purlieus of Leicester
Square, about four or five o'clock, and you will find that the arteries
of circulation are tied up by those thick coagulated knots of betting
men. The thoroughfare is quite impassable, and you are compelled to go
into the mud of the road to avoid being soiled by the refuse of the
pavement. We wish the police would, until the entire system is
abolished, sweep away the offensive nuisance, for we do not see why
betting men should be allowed to carry on their trade on the flagstones
any more than applewomen, or even your openly-professed beggar. The
police might be worse engaged than in making them "move on." In this
instance we would have them not pay the slightest respect to their
"betters."
* * * * *
"THE BONES OF PAGANINI."
[Illustration: A]
A paragraph with the above startling heading has been going the round of
the newspapers. It seems that the bones of the great violinist have been
turned into bones of contention, by the priests who have refused to bury
them. Several lawsuits have taken place, and there has been one appeal
to the Court of Nice, which treated the matter as a Nice question. This
court refused the request of PAGANINI'S executors, who were anxious to
get the bones buried; but rather than submit to the decree, without
making any further bones about the matter, they appealed to Genoa, which
it seems is somewhat over nice, for it superseded Nice in its decision.
A further appeal has, however, been made to Turin, which reversed the
judgment of Genoa, and a reference to the Holy See is now spoken of.
"There the matter rests," say the papers, but where the bones will
ultimately rest remains a problem.
* * * * *
THAT VERY SMALL (POLITICAL) PARTY.
LORD JOHN RUSSELL, in his recent speech at Greenock, alluded to the
"absence of party" as a thing scarcely to be hoped, but greatly to be
desired. The word "party" is so vague in its ordinary sense, that we
should be glad to know the "party" to which LORD JOHN alludes. He may
either mean "that party" over the way, on the other side of the House,
or that "other party," or that "Irish party," or that "troublesome
little party" that is always asking inconvenient questions, or some
"party" that some other "party" is always egging on to annoy the
Government. The only "party" to which we are quite sure his Lordship did
not refer is the "Protectionist party," for it would have been absurd to
express a wish for the absence of what has already ceased to be, and it
would be even worse than crushing a butterfly on a wheel, to call for
the annihilation of a nonentity.
* * * * *
ARMS FOR IRELAND.
THE QUEEN has suggested to the Irish the propriety of mending their own
clothes. Hitherto, when we have sent steel to Ireland, it has been in
the shape of swords and bayonets. QUEEN VICTORIA, however, a right royal
housewife, presents sister HIBERNIA with a packet of needles.
* * * * *
[Illustration: TRUE FEELING.
"_My dearest Brother, confide in me. You are ill?_"
"_Ill, Jemima! Broken-hearted--dying! For six months I've sought
her--all my money gone in advertisements and inquiries; but she is lost
to me for ever!_"
"_She?_"
"_Yes! The Woman who Starched that Collar!_"]
* * * * *
THE LANDLORDS' MEETING AT THE LONDON COFFEE HOUSE.
Some of our daily contemporaries have published an advertisement,
headed, "THE TIMES _versus_ ENGLISH HOTELS," and consisting of six
resolutions passed at a meeting of the principal Hotel-keepers of Town
and Country, held at the London Coffee House, Ludgate Hill, on the 15th
instant.
What end the public-house-keepers proposed to themselves in publishing
those resolutions, it is not very easy to conceive. A mere resolution
that a newspaper, in criticising hotel prices, has abused the liberty of
the Press, will not persuade any reader of the paper to think so. The
worst thing that has been, or could have been done to the landlords by a
newspaper, was the publication of their bills: do they resolve this to
be exceeding the bounds of just criticism?
Unnecessary wax-lights, at 2_s._ a pair; port and sherry fifty per cent.
above market price; swipes calling itself ale, at 1s. per pot; these and
all such items, if obviously extortionate, cannot be exhibited in any
other light by the simple resolution of the extortioners, even if that
be framed and glazed.
There is just one use which we may imagine these ostensible resolutions
to serve. Perhaps they are put forward by way of blind to the real ones
which were formed at this assembly of publicans. The following,
probably, are those which the gentlemen actually concurred in:--
Resolved, unanimously--
I. That an agitation has been raised against hotel charges by the Press,
which, if unchecked, will perhaps result in the reduction of them, by
terrifying some of us into diminishing our prices, and necessitating the
rest to follow their example.
II. That it is our interest to resist the attempt thus being made to
compel us, by intimidation, to moderate our bills.
III. That such resistance can be effectually maintained only by a firm
combination amongst ourselves, based upon a determination to stand by
each other, in the endeavour to perpetuate those exactions which we now
levy on the British Public; but that by hanging closely together, we may
defy the Press, hold the public at our mercy, and safely despise and
disregard popular opinion.
IV. But that, in order to preserve this happy state of independence, it
is indispensably necessary to exclude most rigorously from the
Hotel-keeping business the pernicious principle of competition.
V. That every effect and exertion should therefore be made to induce the
Magistrates in town and country to persevere in their existing excellent
system of restricting tavern-licenses to certain parties; thereby
restraining that competition which would soon oblige us to adjust our
prices in conformity with the clamour of common sense.
VI. That a subscription be entered into in order to raise funds for the
further propitiation of the said Magistrates in our favour, by bribing
them additionally to persist in refusing licenses to any other
individuals than ourselves.
* * * * *
SHAMEFUL INTIMIDATION OF AN OLD GENTLEMAN.
At the Westminster Police Office, in the course of an organ-grinding
nuisance case, there was read, according to the reports, a threatening
letter; which, as the following copy of it will show, was of a very
dangerous character. It was stated to have been addressed to "an aged
invalid gentleman;" who, we presume, had disobliged the writers by
growling at them and sending them away:--
"SIGNOR RUSSELL,--You are one very great vicked ole man. You are one
very rechted miserable man. Why you wil hart the pore horgan man
that trys to get a honnest living, for you have plenty yourself
money? Why you stop the poor horgan man to get a little money? You
are a very ole feeble man, and cannot life much longer. When you die
where will your guilty sole go to? You have no charity for the poor
horgan man; what charity will God have for you in the next world?
What mercy will he have for you? He will be as hard to you in the
next world as you are to the poor man in this. You will go to
purgatory and stop for ever and ever, if you do not repent of your
vickidnys, you brown breeched, blue coated, brite button ole
scarecrow; now, in conclusion, three or four of us true sons of
Italy have sworn by the HOLY VIRGIN to make of you rite over upon
the top of your own dore-steps one fritefullest tomartyr.
"Sined,
"ANTONIO G.
"GUIDO R.
"JUAN B."
The report further states that opposite the names were three daggers;
but from the theological views apparent on the face of the document, we
imagine that the daggers were merely the sort of index which his
Eminence CARDINAL WISEMAN is in the habit of prefixing to his signature.
MR. BRODERIP, we are told, read this letter, "which created much
laughter." Of that convulsive affection, however, happily nobody died;
so that the communication was simply dangerous--not actually fatal to
the hearers. To the original recipient, however, it seems to have been
productive of consequences seriously alarming, as it, "had put him into
such a state of bodily fear that he was nearly dead."
We have read of people who saw their own ghosts; which rather frightened
them. SIGNOR RUSSELL, perhaps, was in some degree terrified by his own
phantom, raised by the Italian organ-grinders--the apparition of himself
in brown breeches, blue coat, and brass buttons. However, besides being
thus exhibited as an "old scarecrow" to his own eyes, he had cause for
apprehension in one of the mysterious menaces addressed to him. The
threat of perpetual Purgatory, a Protestant old gentleman might despise;
but that of martyrdom by being made the frightfullest tomartyr upon the
top of his own door steps, is a substantial horror. It is suggestive of
an idea dreadful enough to make him tremble over his bit of fish, and
shudder in the enjoyment of his mutton-chop--the idea of being pounded
and crushed into a pulp, and ground by Popish organ-grinders to the
consistence of tomartyr sauce.
* * * * *
THEOCRACY OF RUSSIA.
The Russians have been hitherto supposed to belong to the Greek Church;
but there now appears to be some doubt of this. It was lately stated, in
the foreign correspondence of some of our contemporaries, that after a
recent review of his troops by Prince Gortschakoff, the General issued
an order of the day, in which he told the army of occupation that they
were called upon to annihilate Paganism, concluding his address with
"Long live the CZAR! Long live the God of the RUSSIANS!" If PRINCE
GORTSCHAKOFF is to be taken as a correct exponent of Muscovite divinity,
the religion of the Russians must be identical with that of the YEZIDI,
inasmuch as the latter, also, are worshippers of the old gentleman
denominated NICHOLAS.
* * * * *
"FAST" LITERATURE.
A sporting "gent," who has courageously entered the "lists" at several
betting-houses, has lately purchased an elaborate work on "Ethnology,"
in consequence of his having heard that it will give him much
information on the subject of "races."
* * * * *
A NEW MOTTO FOR RUSSIA.--Bear and Overbear.
* * * * *
OUR BEAUTIFUL FASHIONS OF THE PRESENT DAY.
Our beautiful fashions go on improving! Like Buckingham Palace, they are
constantly being altered, and never altered for the better. What the
human _facade_ will be ultimately, there's no knowing. Everything has
been tried in the shape of flowers, feathers, ornaments on the top, and,
in some instances, paint, that could possibly disfigure it. Let these
disfigurements only continue, and they may have the effect of converting
the human head into a kind of MEDUSA'S, that will turn into stone all
who look at it. One of the latest absurdities is the way in which ladies
wear their bonnets--if it can be called wearing at all, when it is
falling, like a Capuchin's hood, right down their backs. It thus forms a
capital receptacle for collecting any refuse or rubbish that may be
dropt, or thrown, into it. We know one lady who found her bonnet, when
she got home, perfectly filled with dust. It was quite a dust-bin in a
small way--and the luncheon, which was on the table at the time, had to
be sent away, as everything was spoilt by the dusty shower that the lady
had unconsciously shaken down upon it.
There was another lady--whose husband is not so rich as he should be,
and who grumbles fearfully, poor fellow, at every new bonnet he has to
pay for--who discovered her _chapeau_ to be as full as it could hold of
orange-peel. Some malicious little boys must have amused themselves in
walking behind her and pitching into it every piece of orange-peel they
found lying about. It was an amusing game of pitch-in-the-hole to them.
The consequence has been that the lady, who is extremely particular,
especially when she takes a new fancy like a new bonnet into her head,
has been compelled to throw away her old bonnet, and to have a new one.
The poor husband, who is really to be pitied (husbands generally are),
has been obliged, in order to pay for the additional expense, to walk
instead of riding, to give up smoking, and to cut off his luncheons--all
of which expenses came out of his own pocket and not out of the
housekeeping. The last time he was seen he was so thin that it was
almost a microscopical effort to see him. But this absurd fashion,
coupled with the other absurdity of long dresses, has the one good
effect in keeping our streets clean, for the low bonnets carry off all
the superfluous dust, and the long dresses carry away all the
superfluous mud.
[Illustration]
It would be difficult to say which fashion, in point of cleanliness,
ranks the lowest. A classical friend of ours humorously declares that he
thinks the bonnets will soon be the lower of the two, and that the
ladies, for convenience' sake, will shortly be wearing them, tied on to
the end of their dresses. It will be relieving them, he funnily says, of
a great _draw-back_, and will have the further advantage of keeping
their dear heads cool. This classical friend also says that the ladies,
as viewed at present with their bonnets hanging behind them, look like
female anthropophagi, or "monsters whose heads do grow beneath their
shoulders." However, we have only one hope that the fashion, which seems
to be dropping lower and lower every day, will gradually drop off
altogether, and then the marital cry will be "_Il n'y a plus de_
Bonnets!" and Cranbourne Street will be ruined. But after all, the
eccentricities in the way of dress do not lie exclusively on the side of
the ladies.
We must not throw every absurdity on their backs. The gentlemen come in,
also, for a large share of the ridiculous. Look at an elegant young gent
of the present day! His hat you must confess is faultless. It combines
every quality within its lovely chimney-pot form. It has not only beauty
of shape, but utility of purpose. The brim is admirable. A lady-bird can
about settle on it, and that is all. There is just sufficient width to
enable you to lift the hat with, and what more do you want? As for
keeping the sun off, it is not needed for that purpose, for when is the
sun ever seen in England? and as for keeping the rain off, as it is a
well-known fact that no Englishman ever ventures out of doors without
his umbrella, it cannot be needed for that purpose any more than for the
sun. Then look at the shirt-collar! It is a high linen wall, behind
which the face is securely protected from the sharp, cutting winds that
are continually flying about our climate, like so many aerial
guillotines. One's head would infallibly be chopped off, cleaner than
any head of asparagus, if it were not for some such protection; and
besides, we should not find fault with our young men if they do try to
hide as much as they can of their beautiful features. You may be sure
they only do it out of charity to the ladies! The small ribbon that
fences in this high wall of collar is, likewise, most beautiful. It is
almost an invisible fence that is planted evidently more for ornament
than use. The wall would look cold and naked--a kind of workhouse
wall--without it. We may say that every part of the dress bespeaks a
degree of taste that would win the admiration even of a savage. In fact,
get a savage--a greater savage, if you can, than one who beats his wife;
then select a Young Lady and a Young Gent in the present year's
costumes; let the former be as fashionable as you like--let the latter
be as green as you can find him: then put them before your savage--turn
them gently round for five minutes, and then ask him his candid opinion.
We will wager our next week's receipts--no small wager, by the way--that
he will be puzzled to say--
[Illustration: WHICH LOOKS THE MOST RIDICULOUS?]
* * * * *
"ENOUGH'S AS GOOD AS A FEAST."
At the _dejeuner_ given the other day to MR. G. V. BROOKE, it was stated
by the manager of Drury Lane that after the morning performance, which
took place last week, the public-houses in the neighbourhood of the
theatre were crowded with people, who, after seeing _Othello_, were
refreshing themselves for the purpose of seeing _The Stranger_ in the
evening. We admit that two tragedies in one day must be rather warm work
for the audience, as well as for the actors, and we do not wonder at
"refreshment" being found necessary to enable the public to go through
with the day's labours. Some plays are drier than others, and it would
be a curious fact to ascertain how much more washing down _The Stranger_
would require than _Othello_. If we were to attempt a calculation, we
should say, that if SHAKSPEARE took a bottle of sparkling Moselle,
nothing short of a hogshead of heavy would be needed to make KOTZEBUE go
down at all glibly.
* * * * *
ANOTHER GHOST!
Of course we continue to receive reports of the appearance of other
ghosts. In the playhouse world, last week, it was reported that the
night watchman on duty at the Princess's was startled by the ghost of
_Macbeth_. Now, as the theatre does not open until the 10th the news
must be premature.
* * * * *
MANNERS AND CUSTOMS.
[Illustration: U]
Under the rules issued by the Treasury Commissioners with respect to the
appointment of Custom House officials, it is declared that persons
nominated to be searchers must be fully acquainted with vulgar
fractions. There is no objection to this kind of vulgarity as one of
their qualifications, but we hope no necessity exists that they should
be guilty of any other, and continue to be rude and insolent. Another
rule provides that no person will be admitted to the service who shall
have committed an offence against the revenue laws. What then has become
of the maxim "Set a thief to catch a thief?"
* * * * *
"THE PLAGUE WITHIN OUR GATES."
"The Plague is at our doors!" the watchers cried amain:--
At the shrill call England raised up her head:
"Arm! arm against the Plague!" the watchers cried again:
England turned round upon her lazy bed,
Folding her arms in dreamy drowsihead--
"Arm! arm!" the watchers cried--the watchers cried in vain!
England not stirring slept; or if perchance one stirred,
'Twas but to vent a muttered curse on those
Whose warning trumpet-call through folds of slumber heard,
Broke in upon the pleasure of repose,
With ugly thoughts of death and dying throes--
So Echo's voice gave back the watchers' idle word.
As when a leaguering host, under the shroud of night,
Hath sapped a city's wall, and creeping in,
Flashes with sword and fire upon the sleepers' sight,
Who springing, drunk with fear and dazed with din,
Out of their beds, to grope for arms begin--
Arms that should long ere then have been girt on for fight--
So suddenly the Plague hath crept within our gate;
With even such wild yell and hideous note
Of fear, we start from sleep, to find the choking weight
Of those blue, bony fingers on the throat;--
To meet those stony eyes that glare and gloat
On victims who, fore-armed, had struggled with their fate.
We run this way and that; we cling to all that come
With nostrum or defence; and as we fall
We curse the watchers too, and ask, "Why were ye dumb?
Why waked ye not the sleepers with your call?
Why urged ye not the warriors to the wall?"
Meanwhile to the Plague's breath lives helplessly succumb.
And while he stalks abroad, on his triumphant way,
We fetter his allies; his arms we hide:
Allies--that till he came had unmolested sway
To make within our walls these breaches wide,
Through which our grim and ghastly Foe did stride;
Arms--that for his right hand we have furbished many a day.
And now with bended knees, and heads bowed to the ground,
In sudden piety high Heaven we sue
To stay the Plague that still his mightiest strength has found
In what we have done ill or failed to do--
Whose weapons we keep ever sharp and new--
Some of whose champions bold we as our chiefs have crowned.
* * * * *
A NOTED IMPOSTOR.
The Russian note is not to be judged of so much by its contents, as by
its envelope--not so much by what it says, as by what it attempts to
cover. If the note should prove a failure, the CZAR will have reason to
regret that he did not show his usual address on the occasion.
* * * * *
OUR TOURIST IN PARIS.--No. 6.
No Englishman can visit the Picture Galleries at the Louvre without
thinking of a building in London devoted to the same purpose, which is
neither very beautiful nor very convenient; and it is rather tempting to
enlarge on the despicable show the Trafalgar Square collection makes
beside the principal Continental ones. The equitable temper, however, of
your Correspondent leads him to suggest some reflections which will
mitigate that censure. The National Gallery was not built by the
luxurious sovereign of an impoverished people, or it might have been
larger and more splendid. No curse cleaves to its stones. The pictures
are not the fruit of rapine and confiscation, or the collection might
have been more extensive and valuable. As it is, it contains less
rubbish and more priceless gems than any gallery of its size in the
world; and no pillaged aristocracy, no humbled province, claims a canvas
there. Such considerations consoled him as he paced up the gilded saloon
of APOLLO to the square chamber which holds the masterpieces of the
collection. RAPHAEL, PAUL VERONESE, LEONARDO, and TITIAN appear in all
their glory; but the star of the room and cynosure of neighbouring eyes,
is MADAME SOULT'S MURILLO--the _Assumption of Mary_. A crowd of devout
admirers cluster always round this great work and the artist who is
employed in copying it. It has the effect of a tender strain from one of
Mozart's masses, sweet and sensous, yet not low. Ladies cannot but be
charmed to see that a saint can be so pretty, and turn with a shudder
from dirty anchorites and unshaven martyrs to gaze again and again at
those lovely eyes, and silky hair, and those elegant hands crossed so
gracefully on her bosom.
Certainly nothing can be more delightful than to sit on the central
ottoman (which by the way is a great deal more comfortable than those
backless rout seats that we wot of), and, shifting one's position from
time to time, study the various marvels of art that clothe the walls of
this saloon. Your Correspondent, like every English gentleman, knows (or
wishes to be thought to know) something about pictures, but he is not
minded to gratify you with the slang that is usually thought necessary
for the proper treatment of this subject. Wherefore he will make no
allusions to breadth, or chiaro-scuro, or texture, or bits of colour.
PAUL VERONESE'S _Marriage at Cana_ is before him, fresh and varied as a
bouquet of flowers, and he wishes to enjoy it as he would digest his
dinner, without giving technical reasons for the process. He turns to a
group of RAPHAEL'S (I beg pardon, RAFAELLE'S), and would not for the
world spoil the pleasure they give him by speculating on the Roman
School and the artist's three manners, and the influence of PIETRO
PERUGINO or MICHAEL ANGELO on his style, and so forth. These fine art
critics are a cold-blooded set of fellows, and look at a picture as an
attorney does at a lease, to see if they cannot pick a hole in it.
All this time the eyes of the enthusiast have been wandering to a corner
of the chamber where an artist is copying a small _Rembrandt_. It is not
the _Rembrandt_ he is regarding, but the artist. How excessively nice!
The most charming young lady perched on a pair of steps, like a dear
little bird in a tree. She bends over her work and draws her head back,
and scans the effect on one side and the other with, really, the most
irritating picturesqueness. She wears a blue robe just the colour of her
eyes, with a little ermine tippet, and when an ancient dragon, who is
reading a novel at the foot of the steps, in a cloak and ugly bonnet,
speaks to her, she laughs and shakes her blond _chevelure_, and is so
delightful altogether, that it is quite impossible to attend to the
pictures. Let us go into the long gallery where the students are not so
fascinating. Dirty, long-haired, and bearded men in blouses, and females
in seedy crumpled black, look up as we pass by from their easels.
An English family runs past with the blue catalogues in their hands. A
precious bore the whole affair is to them. They must be quick, there is
no time to lose. "What a lot of pictures! Isn't that a funny man with a
beard? How slippery the floor is! RUBENS, ah, really. Come, girls, we
must get back to MEWREISE'S to lunch. There's the Bose Arts, and the
Museum of Artillery, and the Bois de Bullown"--"You should say Bulloyne,
Pa"--"to be done before dinner."
A long vista of pictures ordered, as all galleries should be,
chronologically. As you enter, mystical compositions, or rather
apparitions of draped angels and saints gaze at you with sleepy eyes
from firmaments of gold. Their limbs are long and gaunt; their looks
grimly devout, and their heads are set awry on their shoulders. Is it
credible that there should be educated men in the present day who yearn
after these barbarisms, and have no sympathy with the struggles made by
subsequent artists to get free from their influence? And that clergymen
should put up copies of the same in our churches, and almost
anathematise as heathens those who prefer better drawing? This period is
the very winter of art, and the next is the spring, all life and
freshness and beauty. We cannot but here remember the young painters in
England who have borrowed a name, if not a principle, from the times
before RAPHAEL. Already their works have become the great point of
attraction in the Royal Academy; already they have reaped the success
of enthusiastic praise, and the still rarer and more precious success of
rancorous abuse. What does our friend ORTOLAN say on this subject?
ORTOLAN has a lively sense of every sort of pleasure. He orders a dinner
better than another man, and enjoys it more; he is a good sportsman, and
well known as a first-rate wicket-keeper at LORD'S. But only his
intimate friends are aware how he appreciates literature and art, and
how solid his acquirements are in both. He is now quietly analysing the
method employed by TITIAN in painting flesh when he is accosted by your
Correspondent. "What do I think of Pre-Raphaelitism? I don't know what
it means. Where are you to find out? There was a pamphlet certainly with
that title which strongly recommended painting from Nature, but there is
nothing very new in that. All artists paint from Nature, and very sick
it makes one of the wonderful wigs, and satin, and armour, and
plate-glass and china, and fruit and flowers and shiny dogs and deer. I
don't speak of landscape painters, because the writer of that pamphlet
has already proved that the moderns in this line are very superior,
because better imitators than the old. One notion of his may perhaps
pretend to novelty, that a painter should 'select nothing and reject
nothing' in Nature. But I don't understand what he means by this. How
can you avoid selecting and rejecting? I suppose some things are
prettier than others, just as some women are prettier than others. He
can hardly want a man to shut his eyes to what gives him pleasure. If he
does he is wrong, and must know that he's wrong. If not, he must mean
that when you are set down to paint the subject you have selected, you
ought to paint it as it is. If that is all his discovery, what is the
use of making such a fuss about it? Of course you ought, and so every
industrious student does, to the best of his ability. But you must
distinguish between studies and pictures. The first are merely
exercises; the second are, or should be, poems. No one was more aware of
this than the landscape painter whom he worships so devoutly, and who is
generally thought to have pushed poetical treatment of landscapes to an
extreme.
"But, perhaps, this writer does not tell us what we want to know, and we
must look for Pre-Raphaelitism in the pictures themselves. Most of them
are clever, and some of them show the very highest ability; but this, of
course, is not the Pre-Raphaelite part of the work, and must be put out
of sight. No new principle can produce _genius_, though genius may find
out the new principles. What then remains? Is there a quaintness of form
and manner which reminds one of the early Italian painters? I think
there was a good deal, and still is some, but they happily seem to be
working themselves free from a peculiarity which, to my mind, is neither
more nor less than affectation. Is it an extraordinary fancy for ugly
people that seems occasionally to possess them like an evil spirit? If
this is the new principle, the sooner it is put down the better. There
are quite enough frights in the world without stereotyping them for the
delectation of all time. Or is it a toilsome elaboration of detail,
which not one man out of a thousand could ever see without a glass? I
confess, that even where the minute objects themselves form the subject
of the picture, this painful execution is quite oppressive to me. I seem
to be looking through an inverted telescope, which gives everything a
hard outline that I never see in Nature myself, and never want to see;
and further, while there is an atmosphere, I don't believe anybody else
can see. But where this minute detail is merely accessory to the subject
of the picture, there I hold the system to be wrong and false in the
strongest sense. It is, of course, very catching to talk about imitating
Nature exactly, but one simple test will show that for dramatic or
poetical subjects it won't do. Dress up two models as carefully as you
like, put them into appropriate attitudes, take a calotype of the group,
copy it exactly on the canvas, call it _Hamlet and the Ghost_, and then
ask yourself what notion it gives you of SHAKSPERE. Imitation of Nature
is only an expedient. The end of Art is to please."
* * * * *
THE CROWN OF ST. STEPHEN.
The new-found crown of Hungary has been brought in great state to
Vienna, and with like state returned again to Hungary. The reason for
this (we impart the news to the reader as private and confidential)
was--BARON LIONEL ROTHSCHILD, having examined the diadem, refused to
lend a single penny upon it. The real, original stones have been taken
out, but we understand the Pope has, in the handsomest manner, proposed
to supply other gems of far surpassing value--namely, no other than
half-a-dozen of the pebbles that stoned ST. STEPHEN himself.
* * * * *
THE SUPPORTERS OF AUSTRIA.
The arms of Austria are the eagle; the double-headed eagle. When,
however, we think of the paper currency of the house of
Hapsburgh--currency issued only to be dishonoured--the supporters of
Austria are surely not eagles, but--as NOKES, the wag upon 'Change,
says--_kites_.
* * * * *
HOW TO PAY YOUR TAXES.
"MR. PUNCH,
"Direct Taxation may be compensated for by cheapness; but it is very
painful. When we are compelled to pay a lot of money at once, we feel a
pang which the disbursement of twice as much distributed over a longer
period, in small additions to our expenditure, does not occasion. The
latter case resembles the gradual extraction of a single hair: the
former is equivalent to having a whole handful torn right out. You know
that you may lose a quantity of blood by frequent leeching, which, if
abstracted at once from your system, would make you faint. I am still
suffering from the recent payment of my assessed taxes; and shall not
lose the horrible sensation for a week. As to the Income-Tax--it has the
effect of a fine: a regular punishment. Couldn't these dreadful
penalties be paid by instalments? I declare I am almost determined the
next time I am forced to undergo one of them, to have myself put under
the influence of chloroform. I have sometimes thought of brandy instead;
but I have a generous weakness, which spirituous liquors are apt to
stimulate, and I am afraid that if I were to pay my Income-Tax in the
state I allude to, I should fling down a few guineas over the amount as
a voluntary contribution, overcome with enthusiastic devotion to my
QUEEN and Country.
"Yours, a severely plucked _September 29, 1853._" "MICHAELMAS GOOSE."
"P.S. If we have war, these taxes will become quite intolerable; and
chloroform will be absolutely necessary."
* * * * *
OUR SHABBY CONTEMPORARIES
[Illustration]
We have a bone to pick with our contemporaries. In reporting the speech
of LORD PALMERSTON, at Perth, they recorded a passage in which the noble
Lord suggested that those who saw and heard things that were going
wrong, should communicate them to the public officer whose duty it is to
put them right, which would be conferring a great favour on the man in
office, as well as doing a benefit of magnitude to the country at large.
They represent his Lordship as saying, in continuation:--
"There may be a great deal of chaff in that which is received--but
if in a bushel of chaff he shall find a pint of good corn, that
bushel of chaff would be worth winnowing, and he can turn that pint
of corn to good purposes."
But why has that been omitted which followed of course, and by the
omission of which the above extract is made to conclude with
abruptness--to read, as it were, broken off, stumpy? What motive, but a
mean one, was there for suppressing what LORD PALMERSTON must have gone
on to say?--namely, that in communicating to Government information
respecting things that go wrong, mixed up with chaff, the most essential
services had been rendered to an applauding nation by a popular
periodical--which modesty prevents _Punch_ from more distinctly alluding
to.
* * * * *
CIVIC SIMPLICITY.
The next Lord Mayor's Day is, we are told, to be celebrated with
touching simplicity. Gilt gingerbread has had its day; and Bartholomew
Fair being abolished, the Lord Mayor's coach will follow the gilt
chanticleers-in-trowsers and other gorgeous gingerbread. MR. ALDERMAN
WIRE'S liveries are very simple, but very significant. Being a lawyer,
he has put characteristic facings on his profession, clothing his
coachman and footmen in suits of parchment with shoulder-knots of red
tape. The effect is very handsome. The worthy Sheriff's motto, _Vincit
qui patitur_, is very happy, and is beautifully engrossed upon the cuffs
and collars. _Vincit qui patitur._ He conquers who suffers! How often is
it illustrated in law. He who wins, _pays_!
* * * * *
SCOTCH INFLICTIONS.--"Winter"--say the papers--"has already set in with
severity in Scotland." What is worse; LORD ABERDEEN has, months since,
set in with severity in England.
* * * * *
[Illustration: OUR FRIEND, 'ARRY BELVILLE, IS SO KNOCKED ALL OF A HEAP
BY THE BEAUTY OF THE FOREIGN FISH GIRLS, THAT HE OFFERS HIS 'AND AND
'ART TO THE LOVELY PAULINE.]
* * * * *
MILITARY REWARDS IN CHINA.
The Chinese heroes who are now cutting off each other's tails and
mutilating each other's limbs, appear to realise a far larger quantity
of kicks than halfpence by their warlike achievements. Even a successful
general seems to make but a sorry business of it, for the renowned
HIANG-YUNG, after taking a bridge and a few other important positions,
was rewarded for his heroic exploits by "permission to wear a yellow
riding jacket." The poor fellow seems to have been regularly jockied by
his Imperial master. Military rewards are evidently cheap in China, for
"peacock's-feathers," "strike-lights," and "pen-knives," are enumerated
as the articles of which the EMPEROR is most lavish to his successful
soldiers.
We wonder what our WELLINGTON would have said to a bunch of cock's tails
after Torres Vedras, by way of having so many feathers in his cap; or a
box of lucifers as a light recognition of his services at Waterloo.
There must be a true relish for military glory among the Chinese
generals, if they are sufficiently "pleased by a feather" to risk their
lives in the hope of obtaining a bit of a peacock's tail on which to
plume themselves, and are prepared to carry on "war to the knife" with a
pen-knife in prospect by way of acknowledgment. If a more civilised
commander were, after a brilliant achievement, to be offered a
pen-knife, he would probably use it to "cut his stick," and leave the
service for ever.
* * * * *
"ANOTHER AND ANOTHER STILL SUCCEEDS."
BYRON has informed us that "Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains," but
how are we to describe ALBERT SMITH, who seems determined to make
himself the "Monarch of Mont Blanc?" It is true that he could scarcely
fix upon a higher point for the summit of his ambition. If he has chosen
that particular walk in life, though it is laborious and slippery, we
see no reason why he should not repeat his "terrific ascent" as often as
he feels disposed. If he should continue to go "up, up, up" for another
year, we shall begin to look upon the ascent of Mont Blanc as ALBERT
"SMITH'S work in general."
* * * * *
SIGNS MADE SYMBOLS.
[Illustration: A]
A Reform of the extortionate system of British Hotels might be commenced
with an alteration of their nomenclature, consisting in a judicious
allotment of nicknames. The good old English signs of the Dragon, the
Lion, Red or Black, and such like, should be taken as examples of the
principle on which all those places of plunder should be designated.
Those time-honoured appellations are recommended not only by their
antiquity but by their candour, and we would have every extravagant Inn,
that is, almost every Inn in the kingdom, that does not rejoice in one
of them, denoted and commonly called and known by a similar kind of
title; as, The Crocodile, The Boa Constrictor, The Hyena, The Condor,
The Wolf, The Ogre, in order to signify that it is the den of a ravenous
monster that subsists by devouring travellers.
* * * * *
CREDIT AT A DISCOUNT.
There was great consternation at the West End on the announcement being
made that the rate of discount had been raised in the Back parlour--of
SHADRACK AND CO.--from fifty-five to sixty per cent. Even this amount of
interest was insufficient to ensure the discount of some very good
paper--for though the paper itself was certainly very good, it was
spoiled by some very bad names on the back of it.
* * * * *
[Illustration: WHAT EVERYBODY THINKS.
_Young Palmerston, a sharp clever boy._ "OH, CRIKEY! WHAT A SCOTCH MULL
OF A PRIME MINISTER!"
[THAT MAY BE, BUT IT IS NOT PRETTY TO SAY SO.--_Punch._]]
* * * * *
[Illustration: ECONOMY.
Mamma. "_My dear child! What are you doing with my best Velvet Dress?_"
Child. "_I am only cutting and contriving a Frock for my Doll!_"]
* * * * *
THE EMPEROR AT BOULOGNE
(_By our own Eye-Witness._)
BOULOGNE has for some weeks presented the miserable aspect of a sort of
daylight Vauxhall, or the "behind the scenes" portion of a theatre at
rehearsal time. The "EMPEROR" having been expected nearly a month ago,
the "authorities" who had made him captive in 1840 determined to
captivate him in 1853 by turning the town into a series of "bowers of
bliss" by the aid of at least 1000 scaffolding poles and some millions
of yards of evergreens. The "authorities," having formed themselves into
a sort of committee of stage management, proceeded to get up the scenery
and properties a month ago; and during that month, the equinoctial gales
have been shifting the scenery and distributing the properties in a most
vague and impartial manner. Several "triumphal arches" have been for the
last three weeks staggering in a sort of drunken state in the middle of
the principal thoroughfares. The festoons of "evergreens" have been
helplessly hanging about in a condition which shows that the immortality
of their greenness is a mere myth, for we never saw a collection of
used-up tea-leaves looking so thoroughly "done brown" as the long lines
of deceased box, dangling about in the blustering breath of BOREAS. The
rain, as if mistaking them for real "tea-leaves," and hoping to get
still some good out of them, has kept them in almost a perpetual soak,
and the pavements have been strewed with the dying or dead asparagus in
that feathery state it assumes when the asparagus has all gone, and the
plants have taken it into their heads to put forth a rather graceful but
unprofitable luxuriance of green-stuff.
We must give every credit to the "getting up" of the "EMPEROR'S"
reception, for we certainly never saw so many "set scenes" employed in a
single act, and when we remember that the act was a mere farce, the
expense incurred seems still more remarkable.
The "properties" were also on the most elaborate scale, and the
pasteboard eagles were equal to any owl we ever saw in the palmiest days
of _Der Freischuelz_. Immense "troops of auxiliaries" and
"supernumeraries" in military uniforms were engaged expressly for the
occasion, and as these had to be billeted on the inhabitants, there were
instances of a quiet English family or two having to entertain a
dragoon, while in one case the choice between a colonel, or two
lieutenants, or four privates was offered to a quaker, who was residing
at Boulogne for retirement.
There could be no objection to any amount of obsequiousness in which the
Boulonnais themselves might indulge, but surely a "loyal address" from
the English to any sovereign but their own was somewhat superfluous.
Nevertheless such a document was got up and was actually signed by
DOCTOR SOMEBODY, MRS. SOMEBODY, MISS SOMEBODY, MISS ANNA MARIA SOMEBODY,
MASTER J. SOMEBODY, and a lot of little SOMEBODIES or NOBODIES, who we
suppose had a family meeting with Papa or Mamma in the chair, to appoint
a deputation to "go up" with the piece of flatulent flattery to the
"EMPEROR." We can excuse the address of the _matelottes_, presented by a
very venerable _matelotte_, who read to the sham NAPOLEON the very same
address that she had read to the real NAPOLEON "forty years ago, in the
maturity of her beauty" (what a beauty she must be in 1853 if she was
full-blown in 1804); but we cannot understand what pretext there could
be for a few English old women and children expressing their "loyalty"
to the present "EMPEROR."
Their "Majesties" entered the lower town, having been "washed, just
washed in a shower," which came on as they approached the
Sous-Prefecture, and a vast crowd of umbrellas was all that could be
seen by the assembled multitude. There was all the usual humbug of
receiving the keys, which are never used, and would of course refuse to
fit the lock, which in its turn would inevitably decline to act, and the
Imperial couple were then dragged about in the rain, under the drippings
from the festoons and through the theatrical arches, one of which was
designed after the _Arc d'etoile_, being itself in reality an _arc de
toile_--or arch of canvas. No sooner had their "Majesties" left the town
than our old friend BOREAS began to puff and blow through all the
streets, which he very rapidly cleared of all their "thousand additional
lights," sending the paper lanterns through the air on all sides, and
whisking away the evergreen festoons, which were instantly turned into
skipping ropes by the delighted _gamins_. Thus, like everything else,
the whole affair of the "EMPEROR'S" visit to Boulogne was speedily blown
over.
* * * * *
FREEBOOTER OF THE CASTLE.
An Outlaw bold, I quarter hold in a goodly castle free,
Which I wot the Lord, of his own accord, would scarce allow to me.
And I scorn to sleep in the donjon keep; but the room of state is mine,
And I work the beef of the fat old thief, and I tope the old rogue's
wine.
For, sooth to say, upon his prey, I banquet as I will,
And hereby ye know that my Lord also doth plunder, fleece, and pill,
He spoils and takes, yet no law breaks, the statute keeps within,
As a man may do the traveller who doth shear to the very skin.
The lion's feed, through his own greed, the little jackal supplies,
So I make my boot of another's fruit, and feast on another's prize.
My eyes flash out, and for joy I shout, the wayfarer to view,
He is game, I ween, that mine Host so keen and his serfs for me pursue.
In glee I skip as I think they'll strip him of all that his poke can
hold,
As they hack with a will and a brandished bill and hew out the victim's
gold,
And screw and wring with a long long string, to squeeze out more and
more:
It pleases me so that I laugh Ho ho! and hurl out a demon's roar;
For I know to-night that luckless wight will at my mercy lie;
I shall get the good of his sumptuous food and his red port wine so
high.
On him I'll creep in slumber deep when he is bound for me!
Do ye know me now? Do I need avow that I am the TAVERN FLEA?
* * * * *
A CASE OF CLEAN HANDS.
"Would you like to wash your hands, Sir?" "We would." "This way if you
please Sir." We follow, and are shown into a closet, and allowed to
introduce ourselves to soap, water, and towel. We are about to depart
for our dinner--for we are at the _Sun and Staylace_ at Richmond, or at
the _Crozier_ at Greenwich--when we find, mounting guard at the
closet-door (with all the calm determination of a sentinel) the
chambermaid. She is upon duty there, for--at least--sixpence for water,
soap, and towel. For, at least, sixpence; and you can see by the calm
energy of the woman's countenance that she has resolved to have that
tester, or like a true and acknowledged heroine of the domestic drama,
to perish in the attempt. But she has never yet been known to perish,
for she has always achieved her little sixpence!
* * * * *
HA'PORTHS OF PHILOSOPHY.
The only legitimate strike is the strike of the iron when it is hot. A
coward is generally a bully, for he who is chicken-hearted may naturally
be fowl-mouthed.
* * * * *
THE MOUSTACHE!--Working-men are about to adopt the moustache.
Consequently, all idlers--in self-defense--must shave.
* * * * *
[Illustration: WEIGHT AND MEASURE.
"_Quite full, Marm. Might have sqooged the Child in, but you're about a
hounce and a 'arf too large._"]
* * * * *
ANOTHER INSULT TO IRELAND!
(_From the Nation._)
"It is reported that the ever glorious JOHN MITCHELL has escaped from
the blood-red hands of the sanguinary Saxon. And what has been the
reward offered for his apprehension? Why 'L2 or such _lesser sum_ as may
be determined upon by the convicting magistrate!' Forty shillings for
that heroic martyr! Oh, my countrymen, does not the brutal _Times_,
every day of its atrocious existence, offer more for a strayed cur--a
wandering puppy-dog? And forty shillings (or less) for the hope of
Erin!"
It would seem that the Colonial Government has orders to treat Irish
patriots, as at rural fairs and merry-makings the master of ceremonies
treats pigs; namely--to grease well their tails, that they may the more
easily slip out of hand.
* * * * *
THEATRICAL ACT OF GRACE.
Our theatrical readers will rejoice to know that MR. CHARLES KEAN will
re-open the Princess's with an act of clemency. The play-going world
lamented to learn that, MR. KEAN--in pursuance of a high, unflinching
principle--had erased the QUEEN'S name from the List, for having
incautiously laughed at Free MR. BRAID'S imitation of MR. KEAN. We are
happy to learn, however, that HER MAJESTY'S name has been restored,
intelligence to that effect having, last week, been sent from the
Box-office to Balmoral.
* * * * *
MAHOGANY POSSESSED.
There is something in Table-moving--and we imagined that FARADAY had
discovered what that was. At least we thought that if he had not, the
Deuce was in it; and we were right--but right in the alternative. The
phenomenon, according to the demonstration of two Anglican divines, is
produced by "Satanic Agency." The old broker of souls is the man in
possession of mahogany. The REV. N. S. GODFREY, Incumbent of Wortley,
Leeds, and the REV. E. GILLSON, Curate of Lyncombe and Widcombe, Bath,
have respectively printed and published evidence of this fact. They have
witnessed the change of mahogany into Satan-wood. They have seen the
tables talk with their legs by knocking on the floor, and they give us
dialogues which they have held, personally, with these articles of
furniture; questions put and genuine answers returned, with the
stamp--without which none are genuine. From these answers they conclude
that the leg of the table is connected with a cloven foot.
The tables, indeed, candidly confessed to both of these clergymen that
they were actuated by evil spirits, one of which described itself as a
lost soul, by the name of ALFRED BROWN, but appeared, by the testimony
of another, to have an _alias_. This rogue of a spirit asserted that he
could move the table without the hands of the experimenters; which, when
tested, however, he could not do; and it certainly seems that
table-moving cannot be accomplished unless somebody else, besides the
devil, has a hand in it.
That personage is familiarly denominated the Old Gentleman. His table
talk justifies his title to that appellation, by showing that he is in
his dotage. The demons that possess the tables contradict themselves on
cross examination in a way unparalleled by the stupidest liar that ever
stood in a witness box. The Baronet whose case broke down the other day
was a very adept in fiction, compared to the Father of it--speaking by
tables. Besides it is very silly of him--not the Baronet but the
other--to disclose himself at all. If his great object is to get people
to come to him, he could do nothing more likely to defeat it than to go
to them, and thus convince the British Public of his existence. "The
Devil is an Ass" is now something more than the title of a comedy.
The tables refused to move when the Bible was placed upon them--though
one did lift its leg by trying very hard "slowly and heavily," under the
burden of a New Testament. But another was equally restive beneath a
slip of paper whereon was written the name of "SATAN." So it was under
other names, not to be repeated here. Now, all this is grossly
inconsistent on the part of one who has always been considered the very
Prince of Plausibility.
However, both of the reverend gentlemen denounce all doubt touching the
correctness of their reference of these things to diabolical agency, as
profane scepticism; and under these circumstances we have besought the
advice of our venerated Rector, the REV. DR. DRYPORT; who told us that
he believed in no supernatural events whatever, the acknowledgment of
which was not required by the Thirty-Nine Articles. He added that if he
saw a table, moving without physical agency, stopped, independently of
simple weight, by the superposition of a Bible, he should be disposed to
let the volume remain where it was, and apply himself to the study of
its contents. If he had reason to suppose that the devil was in the
table, he should let him alone, and have nothing to say to him unless he
were sure he had the power to cast him out of it.
We asked the Reverend Doctor what he thought of the following extract
from the pamphlet of MR. GILLSON.
"I then asked, 'Where are SATAN'S head-quarters? Are they in
England?' There was a slight movement. 'Are they in France?' A
violent movement. 'Are they in Spain?' Similar agitation. 'Are they
at Rome?' The table literally seemed frantic.... 'Do you know the
Pope?' The table was violently agitated."
DR. DRYPORT answered that he supposed the table must have been one that
had been used at Exeter Hall, and probably acted under influence from
that quarter--of a mechanical nature. He should think that one of the
parties touching the table was a very zealous Protestant.
We inquired if there would be any harm in our trying if tables would
move by the imposition of our hands? He replied that there could be no
doubt that they were moved by an imposition practised by hand, but if we
had any, there was no objection to our making the experiment. We,
therefore, chose twelve honest men, constituting, in fact, a British
jury, and got them to lay their hands on a substantial dinner-table,
which presently began to move. The following dialogue ensued:
"Where are the head-quarters of despotism? Are they in England?" There
was no movement. "Are they in France?" A violent movement. "Are they in
Austria?" A tremendous movement. "Are they in Russia?" The table jumped
and bounced, and tumbled from side to side in such a manner that one
might have imagined that a quantity of brandy and water had been spilt
upon it and made it furiously drunk.
"Do you know OLD NICHOLAS?" The table capsized, went right over;
completely upset.
After that, what question can there be about the "agency" concerned in
Table-moving? DR. DRYPORT, however, will have it that MR. GODFREY and
MR. GILLSON have not been having communication with evil spirits, and
that whatever those gentlemen may say for themselves, they are no
conjurors.
* * * * *
"MANCHESTER is the portico of the great Temple of Peace."--_Cobden._
* * * * *
SIGNS OF THE TIMES.
[Illustration]
Last night, an alarming riot took place in Printing-house Square. About
five hundred hotel-keepers--represented by their signs--attacked the
_Times'_ office.
The RED BULL swore "he'd toss the whole bilin of 'em for a pint. He
ought to know something of rumpsteaks; and 5_s._ a head warn't too much
for 'em."
The ANGEL wondered that any gentlemen who _was_ a gent _could_ object to
wax-candles to go to bed with. The ANGEL abominated compo; hoping she
knew what real light was.
The GOAT-IN-BOOTS said kids, other ways children, over nine, ought to be
charged for as full-growd. Some little gals was women at eight.
The COCK-AND-BOTTLE was above trumpeting anything. But how could any
gent expect a pint of port under three-and-six?
At least a dozen BEARS--growling their loudest--said, seeing the expense
at which they sat, swore they couldn't afford a sandwich under a
shilling.
The ADAM-AND-EVE never heard of such a thing as "a dressing-room."
Wondered what next?
At this time the increased crowd of RED LIONS, WHITE BULLS, BLACK
HORSES, began to roar and bellow, and snort and neigh and kick in the
most appalling style. The hubbub becoming unendurable, the Editor--after
due warning given by the publisher--threw up the window in the face of
the mob, and fired a leading article over their heads. Upon this, the
crowd quietly separated.
* * * * *
ANOTHER MONEY QUESTION.
"DEAREST PUNCHY,
"I don't feel quite safe--as I have a large money-bag, full of 'lucky
pieces', _every one of which is more or less disfigured, or defaced_.
Some are bent, some are chipped or cut, some have holes bored through
them to enable any one to wear them round his neck, and every one has
something the matter with it. Now I have been all my life collecting
these lucky coins--and I am sure there must be five or six pound's worth
of them altogether--at all events a great deal more than I should like
to have taken from me. Besides they all represent a 'charm' against
fits, against the small-pox, or some calamity or other; and it would be
very hard if my 'lucky pieces,' instead of bringing me good-luck, were
the cause of my lasting sorrow and ruin. Do you think they could carry
me to the Tower for having them in my possession, or would they send me
to New South Wales? My aunt tells me they are of no kind of value; but
that I will never believe, for what was once a shilling must be always a
shilling, though I should not like to be dragged off to the
Police-office in the event of my buying a paper of pins in order to test
its value.
"Yours, FANNY."
* * * * *
WORTHY ATTENTION.
"DEAR PUNCH,--As there is a great deal doing at present in the way of
Removal of Nuisances, would it not be well to draw the attention of the
parties entrusted with this duty to all inquiries into 'the authorship
of JUNIUS,' than which a greater nuisance does not exist.
"TODDLES."
* * * * *
ECHO RIGHT AT LAST.
In a recent edict the Chinese Emperor asks indignantly, "Where is the
LIEUTENANT-GENERAL WAN-TING?" For the reply we beg to refer his Imperial
Majesty to our old friend Echo, who to the question,
"Where is WAN-TING?" will truly reply "Wanting."
* * * * *
THE PAROCHIAL MUDLARK.
A CHAUNT FOR CHURCHWARDENS AND OVERSEERS.
Set my arm-chair to the table; hand a light and bring a tumbler,
O be joyful while you're able; silence each unthankful grumbler.
Parish Clerk and Undertaker is my calling and vocation;
Let no peace-and-quiet-breaker throw me into consternation.
What's to be will surely happen, by no pains or care prevented;
All in vain is sewers trapping; we had better be contented.
Wherefore vex your souls, your spirits why should you, my friend,
disquiet?
He that fidgets, frets, and worrits, gets no satisfaction by it.
Since we all are born to trouble, plagues, of course, must be expected.
Being only grass and stubble, what of cleanliness neglected?
Live an let live, that's my motto; catgut-makers are our neighbours;
Knackers we no right have got to stop from following their labours.
From the premises of JONES the nose of SMITH if somewhat reaches,
Caused by boiling flesh or bones, or greaves to feed the canine species,
SMITH should, like a Christian, wink; put up with such a little trifle:
Hold his nostrils, if he think it needful the perfume to stifle.
Churchyards also, that employ afford so many people unto,
Why not let us still enjoy, thus doing as you would be done to?
Hundreds prosper and grow wealthy with 'em underneath their noses,
Living hearty, fat, and healthy, nearly to the age of MOSES.
Things of that sort to the senses now and then will grow unpleasant,
Whensoever that commences, take and do like me at the present,
Smoke a pipe, whereby you'll smother all the nuisance and objection;
Better that than any other measure to prevent infection.
Don't go poking, don't go raking, into what I need not utter,
All the means from parties taking out of which their bread they butter,
Best to leave alone stagnation; stir it, and we know the sequel,
That of all this agitation will the strongest posy equal.
'Tis presumption to depend on such precautions and defences;
Who can calculate their end on any further than expenses?
From the lot that Man awaits we none of us can lift the curtain;
And an increase of the rates is all we can consider certain.
Water will be rather queer sometimes; the pump a churchyard handy
Well, but then there's little fear, suppose you mingle it with brandy.
So, here's the present state of things--and let us have no revolutions--
Upsetting Emperors, Queens, and Kings; and our Parochial Institutions.
* * * * *
TREMENDOUS EFFECTS OF A KISS.
NICHOLAS and FRANCIS JOSEPH have met at Olmuetz; met and affectionately
fraternised. For we are told that "loud applause followed from the
spectators as the Emperors publicly _kissed_ each other: and then the
Court dinner followed, the two Emperors spending the evening together in
undisturbed _privacy_." But this scene (_see last week's Punch_) our
artist has already immortalised; he having sketched the Imperial
couple--even as in an old play--"from behind the arras." The royal
salute has been embalmed in the lines of the Austrian Poet Laureat,
DOCTOR VON WATTZ:--
"Snakes in their little nests agree,
And 'tis a pretty sight,
When the Emperors of the like kid-ney,
Do kiss left cheek and right."