CHAPTER III.

"Here let us sport,

Boys, as we sit;

Laughter and wit

Flashing so free.

Life is but short--

When we are gone,

Let them sing on,

Round the old tree."

_--Thackeray's "Mahogany Tree."_

THE _PUNCH_ DINNER AND THE _PUNCH_ CLUB.

Origin and Antiquity of the Meal--Place of Celebration--The

"Crown"--In Bouverie Street and Elsewhere--The Dining-Hall--The

Table--And Plans--Jokes and Amenities--Jerrold and his "Bark"--A

Night at the Dinner--From Mr. Henry Silver's Diary--Loyalty and

Perseverance of Diners--Charles H. Bennett and the _Jeu

d'esprit_--Keene Holds Aloof--Business--Evolution of the

Cartoon--Honours Divided--Guests--Special Dinners, "Jubilee,"

"Thackeray," "Burnand," and "Tenniel"--Dinners to _Punch_--The

_Punch_ Club--Exit Albert Smith--High Spirits--"The Whistling

Oyster"--Baylis as a Prophet--"Two Pins Club."

Among the Parliaments of Wits and the Conclaves of Humorists the weekly

convention known as "the _Punch_ Dinner" holds highest rank, if

importance is to be judged by results and pre-eminence by renown. For

three-and-fifty years have these illustrious functions been held, fifty

to the year. And those two thousand six hundred and fifty meals mark

off, week by week, the progress of English humour during the Victorian

era--not the humour of literature alone, but the humour, as well as the

technical excellence, of one of the noblest and most vigorous and

delightful of all the sections of English art.

This solemn festivity, therefore, has a solid claim to being included

among the scenes of English artist-life. If it be conceded, as I think

it must, that _Punch_ has been for half a century an effective, even a

glorious, school of art--of drawing in black-and-white and of

wood-cutting alike--it follows that the weekly repast which has helped

to bring these things about claims attention and respect among the Diets

of the world, and demands a first place in virtue of public service and

by right of artistic performance.

But it is not in the spirit nor with the fashionable view of the Royal

Academicians and their imposing banquet that the members of the _Punch_

staff hold their weekly junket. "We English," said Douglas Jerrold,

"would dine to celebrate the engulfing of England." Yet if "the

Punchites" share the feeling of old Timon that "we must dine together,"

it is neither for purposes of self-congratulation, nor yet of

hospitality. Though good-fellowship is near the genesis of the

institution, work and serious aim are at the root of it all, and in the

midst of all the merry-making are never for a moment forgotten.

Nevertheless, conviviality, you may be sure, counted for something in

the arrangement when Queen Victoria's reign was young. Clubs there were

not a few about Fleet Street and the Strand, where the men who founded

_Punch_, and their friends and enemies alike in similar walks of life,

would hob-nob together, and where the sharp concussions of their

diamond-cut-diamond wit would emit the sparks and flashes that were

remembered and straightway converted into "copy." In those early days

the flow of soul was closely regulated by the flow of liquor, and the

most modest of Dinners was food at once to body and to mind. "What

things," wrote Beaumont in his Letter to Ben Jonson--

"What things have we seen

Done at the 'Mermaid'! Heard words that have been

So nimble and so full of subtile flame,

As if that every one from whom they came

Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest,

And resolved to live a fool the rest

Of his dull life."

As in Elizabethan times, so in the days of Victoria. The _Punch_

Dinners of the last few decades would, in their excellence and

refinement, have astonished the merry crew of old; but the entertainment

is now but the prelude to business, and not, as in the earlier

struggling months, the powder that served to fire off the great guns of

humour. The weekly Dinner was evolved from the gatherings that were held

nearly every evening, as well as Saturday-nightly, in the anxious days

that preceded--and immediately succeeded, too--the laboured birth of

_Punch_. The first of these--the very first "_Punch_ Dinner," strictly

so-called--was held at "La Belle Sauvage," Ludgate Hill, on the spot now

occupied by the publishing firm of Cassell and Company. Hine was one of

those present at this historic feast, having been already impressed by

Landells into the service of the paper. I may add, as a matter of minor

history, that Mr. Price, the owner of the hostelry, advertised his house

in the early numbers of _Punch_: a fact which suggests (perhaps

unjustly) a mysterious financial understanding on the score of his

bill--especially as Mr. Price was a brother-in-law of Bradbury the

First. These tavern repasts were soon divided up between those who

wished to work and those who wished to play; and the _Punch_ Dinner and

the "_Punch_ Club" were in due course established as separate

institutions. For all that, the meetings of both were held in the "Crown

Inn" in Vinegar Yard, just off Drury Lane, and the "Club" was not

long after (1843) celebrated in the pages of _Punch_ itself by

the "Professor," Percival Leigh, in his choicest dog-Latin--his most

elegant _latin de cuisine_--or, as he himself called it,

"Anglo-Græco-Canino-Latinum." The lines, a parody of Goldsmith's

"Retaliation," begin thus:--

"Sunt quidam jolly dogs, Saturday qui nocte frequentant

Antiqui [Greek: Stefanon] qui stat prope moenia Drurî,

[Greek: Boulomenoi] cum prog distendere rather,

Indulgere jocis, necnon Baccho atque tobacco..."

--lines which, with a few of the succeeding ones, I may render thus, the

spirit and the text being followed as closely as may be:--

"Some jolly dogs on Saturdays at fall of night are fain

To haunt the 'Crown' beside old Drury, hard by Drury Lane;

Their object, to expand themselves with dainties of the feed

And give the hour to jest and wine, and smoke the fragrant weed.

Such fellows, sure, ne'er graced before that jovial mundane hole.

To them I sing this song of praise--those mighty men of soul,

Whose fame henceforth shall spread abroad, so long as time shall roll.

"The 'Crown' stands in a quiet yard, yet near the noisy street;

'Tis their local habitation--in its dining-room they meet.

The massive table, brightly spread, groans with the mighty feast.

The viands change. To-day 'tis beef with Yorkshire pudding dressed;

Next week perchance the dish that Hodge will grinningly define

As 'leg o' mutton, boiled, with trimmings.' Heartily they dine.

Here flows the Double X, and flows the Barclay-Perkins brew;

Nor is there lack of modern sack that best is known to you

When waiters call it 'off-n-off'--which waiters mostly do."

Here it was that the wits of pen and pencil first laid their heads

together in the service of Mr. Punch; and when they left for more

private, if not more venerable, quarters, the room was occupied, first,

by comrades of the same order of wit--among whom Augustus Mayhew, James

Hannay, Watts Phillips, and others started a short-lived comic

broad-sheet called "The Journal for Laughter;" and then by "The Reunion

Club"--a côterie which, in 1857, was to become far more widely known

under the style and title of the "Savage Club." It was situated next

door to the "Whistling Oyster," and faced a side entrance to Drury Lane

Theatre--a fairly large first-floor room, looking larger by reason of

its low ceiling, but well lighted by its three high windows. When I

visited it in 1893, the wooden staircase had been replaced by a steep

stone-way; but the approach and the ascent were still steep enough to

make one wonder how the portly Lemon could, without difficulty or fear

of accident, scale the classic heights, and twist his body to the

needful turns.

[Illustration: _PUNCH'S_ FIRST DINING-ROOM, "CROWN INN," VINEGAR YARD.]

Although, as I have said, conviviality and convenience were essentially

identified with the _Punch_ Dinner, especially in its embryonic stage,

when frequent interviews were necessary and the daily occupations of

many of the Staff precluded an earlier attendance, it was quickly seen

that the chief practical use and effect of the Dinner was to broaden the

men's view of things, to produce harmony of tone and singleness of aim,

to keep the Editor constantly in touch with his whole Staff, and through

them with the public; and thus to secure the fullest advantage which

their combined wit and counsel could afford. When the transfer of the

paper was completed from Ebenezer Landells to the house of Bradbury and

Evans, the regular Dinners were soon established at No. 11, Bouverie

Street, E.C., now given over to the Posts and Telegraphs. The second

floor was considered not too undignified for the purpose; but the

descent to the first was made in good time, Mark Lemon taking the

vacated room for his editorial office; and when in 1867 a general

removal was effected to No. 10, the present dining-room--or

Banqueting-Hall, as it was finely called--was specially constructed for

its high purpose. At first these repasts were held on Saturday night,

when the paper was made up and sent away to press. But when the true

value of the meetings became apparent, the day was changed to Wednesday.

The Dinner was established ostensibly for the discussion and determining

of the "big cut," and the function became as exclusive and esoteric as a

Masonic initiation. From that day to this it has, with few exceptions,

been held _januis clausis_; and beside it the Literary Ladies' Dinner

and Bluebeard's Chamber are as open to the world and free from mystery

as the public streets at noon.

[Illustration: _PUNCH'S_ PRESENT DINING-HALL IN BOUVERIE STREET,

WHITEFRIARS.]

The room in which it was held, so long the Temple of the Comic Muse, had

little in itself to command the attention of the superficial observer.

The stairs which Thackeray trod, and which resounded to the quick light

step of Jerrold and to the heavier tread of Leech, exist no longer; but

the classic shrine is practically as it was when the "Fat Contributor,"

pushing roughly past the young 'prentice engraver who opened the door to

his ring, gave no thought to him who was soon to make the name of

Birket Foster famous in the land.

[Illustration: MARK LEMON'S MONOGRAM, CUT ON THE _PUNCH_ TABLE.]

To-day a large--one might say an imposing--apartment on the first floor

looking upon the street is approached, as most front offices in London

City are approached, from a landing leading through an open office. Upon

the table are a water-jug and a couple of goblets of cheap and

distinctly unlovely Bohemian glass. A tobacco-box, hardly less ugly

(coëval, one would say, with the room itself), a snuff-box, and long

pipes serve to recall that respect for the past and for tradition which

is one of the most delightful, as it is one of the most successful,

elements in _Punch's_ composition. Here you may see Sir John Tenniel's

long churchwarden, with his initials marked upon it, and Charles Keene's

little pipe--for these two men would ever prefer a stem between their

teeth to a cigar-stump. Statuettes in plaster of John Leech and of

Thackeray, by Sir Edgar Boehm, as well as a bust of Douglas Jerrold,

decorate the mantelpiece or the dwarf-cupboard; and on the walls are

many frames of abiding interest.

[Illustration: PERCIVAL LEIGH'S MONOGRAM.]

Here you have the portraits of the four editors--that of Mark Lemon

painted by Fred Chester, son of his life-long friend George Chester, and

the likenesses of Shirley Brooks, Tom Taylor, and Mr. Burnand in

photography. The portraits of the Staff, taken by Bassano in 1891 at Mr.

William Agnew's request, to the number of fourteen or fifteen, hang

separately in their dark frames. The original of one of Tenniel's

Almanac designs; a masterly drawing, two feet long, by Keene, bought by

the late Mr. Bradbury at a sale--the (unused) cartoon of Disraeli

leading the principal financiers of the day in hats and frock-coats

across the Red Sea ("Come along, it's getting shallower"); the original

of Leech's celebrated "Mr. Punch's Fancy Ball," and a series of the

enlarged coloured prints of his hunting sketches; a caricature of Mr.

Furniss by Mr. Sambourne, made in Paris; another of Mr. Sambourne by Mr.

Furniss; and a third of Mr. Sambourne by himself; a caricature in

pen-and-ink and colour of the _Punch_ Staff marching along in Paris, by

Mr. Furniss; a black-and-white sketch by the same artist of the same

distinguished company in the train on the return journey; and another

souvenir of the Paris trip by Mr. du Maurier, including the portraits of

himself, Mr. Burnand, Mr. Arthur à Beckett, and Mr. W. Bradbury. The

trophy-frame of specimen proofs of some of the finest of Swain's cuts of

the artistic Staff's best work, gathered together for show in one of the

great exhibitions, has been removed to make room for photographs of

Gilbert à Beckett, "Ponny" (Horace) Mayhew, Charles Keene, Tom Taylor,

Percival Leigh, Charles H. Bennett, R. F. Sketchley, John Henry Agnew,

Thomas Agnew and William Bradbury, Mr. Fred Evans and Sir William Agnew;

while photographic groups of the Staff and a fine autotype of Thackeray

complete the wall decoration of one of the most interesting apartments

in London City.

[Illustration: JOHN LEECH'S INITIALS AND CYPHER.]

[Illustration: W. M. THACKERAY'S MONOGRAM]

And in the corner, on the locker farthest from the street, besides a

little _papier-mâché_ figure of a Japanese Punch--sent by an admirer in

the Land of the Rising Sun--and a group charmingly modelled from Sir

John Tenniel's beautiful cartoon of "Peace and the New Year," stands the

statue of the Great Hunchback himself, which in a fit of enthusiasm a

young German sculptor, named Adolph Fleischmann, wrought and presented

to the object of his admiration. It is a work of no little grotesqueness

and ingenuity (well modelled and coloured, and fitted with springs that

permit of the working of arms and eyes and head), which, endowed with a

white favour, has played its part in the decoration of the publishing

office on the occasion of certain royal weddings and public rejoicing,

and during the blocking of Fleet Street has been utilised in the

direction of comic self-advertisement.

[Illustration: HORACE MAYHEW'S INITIALS.]

Then there is a real "Royal Patent" appropriately framed, "hereby

appointing Master Punch unto the Place and Quality of Joke Maker

Extraordinary to her Majesty," duly signed and sealed by the Lord

Chamberlain, and countersigned "J. A. N. D. Martin." It is undoubtedly a

genuine certificate--up to a point; but how it was obtained, and how

_Punch's_ name came to be filled in, remains to this day a mystery. Such

is the room, with its pleasant decoration of red and black and gold,

with its large windows and its sunlight gaselier; but, take it for all

in all, it is about as unlike Mr. Sambourne's classic representation of

the Roman atrium in his Jubilee drawing as well could be imagined.

[Illustration: TOM TAYLOR'S INITIALS.]

And the Table itself--_the_ Table--the famous board of which we all have

heard, yet none, or but very few of us, have seen--I myself amongst the

fortunate few! As a piece of furniture this hospitable, but rather

primitive, piece of joinery is not of much account, the top being of

plain deal (_pace_ Thackeray's "_Mahogany_ Tree"), oblong in shape, with

rounded ends. But its associations render it a treasure among treasures,

a rich and priceless gem. For at this Table nearly every man upon the

Staff has, from the day it was made, sat and carved his initials upon

it with a penknife, when officially elevated to _Punch's_ peerage. As

each has died, his successor has taken his place--just as the Institut

de France creates Immortals to fill the chairs made vacant by death--and

he has cut his initials or his mark close by those of the men who

occupied the place before him. There they are, staring at you from the

Table like so many abecedarian skeletons at the feast; and if you take a

furtive and hasty peep from the doorway and lift the green protective

cloth you catch sight nearest you of a "D. M." in close company with a

beautifully-cut "W. M. T." and a monogrammatic leech inside a bottle

flanked by a J. and an L.; and you gaze with deep interest on the

handiwork of them and of the rest, many of whom have carved their names,

as on that Table, deep into England's roll of fame; and of others, too,

who, with less of genius but equal zeal and effort, have a strong claim

on the gratitude and the recollection of a kindly and laughter-loving

people.[7]

[Illustration: SIR JOHN TENNIEL'S MONOGRAM.]

[Illustration: SHIRLEY BROOKS' MONOGRAM.]

For more than forty years, then, this Table has week by week, with few

exceptions, been surrounded by the Staff of the day; and the chair, the

self-same old-fashioned wooden editorial armchair, has been filled by

the reigning Editor. "With few exceptions," I said; for Bouverie Street

has not invariably been the hatching-place of the Cartoon, nor have its

walls resounded with absolute regularity to the laughter and the jests

of the merry-makers. During the summer the Dinner has been, now and

again, and still is, held at Greenwich, at Richmond, Maidenhead, or

elsewhere--Hampton Court and Dulwich rather frequently of old, as well

as once at Harrow, and sometimes at Purfleet, Windsor, and Rosherville.

Sometimes, when occasion has demanded--in the "dead season," maybe, when

the attendance at the Table has dwindled, though for no sustained period

(it is even on record that the "Dinner" has consisted of a _tête-à-tête_

between Sir John Tenniel and Mr. Arthur à Beckett)--not more than three

or four consecutive weeks, certainly--the "Sussex," or more often the

old "Bedford Hotel," or latterly the "First Avenue," has been the scene

of the feast; while "special dinners" (and they have been many) have

been held in special places. And not invariably has the weekly repast

been a "dinner" at all, be it observed; for on certain rare occasions,

when some important Parliamentary matter has intervened, a luncheon has

been held instead. Once, in September, 1845, it was postponed from the

Saturday night at the intercession of Charles Dickens, so that a new

play by Macready might be produced with the full advantage of the

_Punch_ men's presence. And the Dinner was once more made a movable

feast, and was held on the Tuesday instead of the Wednesday, on the

occasion of the production of Mr. Burnand's and Sir Arthur Sullivan's

opera of "The Chieftain" in December, 1894.

[Illustration: WILLIAM BRADBURY'S INITIALS.]

[Illustration: F. M. EVANS' INITIALS. (Unfinished)]

In the "Bedford Hotel"--beloved of Thackeray, for in it he wrote much of

"Henry Esmond," and stayed there when his house was in the painters'

hands--the room occupied was that known as the "Dryden." Here the Staff

would make no attempt at self-repression; and I have been told how the

idle and the curious would congregate outside upon the pavement and

listen to the voices of the wits within, and wait to gape at them as

they passed in and out.

[Illustration: HENRY SILVER'S INITIALS.]

The places at Table once occupied by the members of the Staff are

nowadays regarded as theirs by right. But in earlier days the places

were often shuffled, as at a game of "general post." Proof of it may be

had from the following plans of the Table between 1855 and 1865--perhaps

the most interesting years in the history of _Punch_, as demonstrating

the transitional stage, when the ancient order of things was rapidly

developing into the modern as we know them to-day. In 1855, then, the

disposition was as follows:--

WILLIAM BRADBURY*

DOUGLAS JERROLD JOHN LEECH

TOM TAYLOR W. M. THACKERAY

GILBERT À BECKETT SHIRLEY BROOKS

HORACE MAYHEW MARK LEMON

PERCIVAL LEIGH JOHN TENNIEL

F. M. EVANS*

--only two artists and a half (Thackeray being a commixture of writer

and draughtsman) to seven writers and a half!

Five years later--in 1860--the places had changed, partly through death,

partly through rearrangement:--

WILLIAM BRADBURY*

W. M. THACKERAY (when he came) JOHN LEECH

TOM TAYLOR HENRY SILVER

HORACE MAYHEW CHARLES KEENE

SHIRLEY BROOKS JOHN TENNIEL

PERCIVAL LEIGH MARK LEMON

F. M. EVANS*

Here the artistic element is seen to be asserting itself to

some extent, the proportion between artist and writer being

further readjusted after the lapse of another five years: for

in 1865 the constitution of the table became--

F. M. EVANS*

TOM TAYLOR G. DU MAURIER

W. H. BRADBURY* HENRY SILVER

(his father seldom came now)

HORACE MAYHEW CHARLES H. BENNETT

CHARLES KEENE F. M. EVANS, JR.[9]

F. C. BURNAND SHIRLEY BROOKs

PERCIVAL LEIGH JOHN TENNIEL

MARK LEMON

--the editor for the first time taking his proper place at the table,

although, it is true, it was only at the foot.

To-day the number of the staff has been increased, and the right

proportion struck between the pen and the pencil--the editor, too,

presiding.

MR. F. C. BURNAND

SIR JOHN TENNIEL MR. F. ANSTEY

MR. LINLEY SAMBOURNE MR. HENRY LUCY

MR. ARTHUR À BECKETT MR. E. T. REED

MR. R. C. LEHMANN MR. BERNARD PARTRIDGE

MR. HARRY FURNISS

(until Feb. 1894) MR. PHIL MAY

MR. DU MAURIER MR. E. J. MILLIKEN

SIR WILLIAM AGNEW (sometimes)

MR. LAWRENCE BRADBURY or

MR. PHILIP AGNEW

=* Proprietors=

In the decade or so following the death of Douglas Jerrold--roughly

corresponding with the period within which the arrangements varied as i

have shown--six new appointments were made to the table. These were: Mr.

Henry Silver, In August, 1857; Charles Keene, February, 1860 (after a

nine years' probationership); Mr. F. C. Burnand, June, 1863; Mr. G. Du

Maurier, November, 1864; Charles H. Bennett, February, 1865 (though

ill-health prevented him from taking his place until the following

June); and Mr. R. F. Sketchley (till 1894 of the South Kensington

Museum), January, 1868. The present Staff, I may add, since Mr. du

Maurier's accession, have taken their places at the Table in the

following order: Mr. Linley Sambourne, Mr. Arthur à Beckett, Mr. E. J.

Milliken, Gilbert à Beckett, Mr. Reginald Shirley Brooks (until 1884),

Mr. Henry Lucy, Mr. F. Anstey, Mr. R. C. Lehmann, Mr. E. T. Reed, Mr.

Bernard Partridge, and in February, 1895, Mr. Phil May. As Mr. Punch

approached man's estate, and arrived at years of artistic discretion, he

cultivated a pretty taste in epicurism; until to-day, if report be true,

the Dinners (prepared and sent in by Spiers and Pond), the Ayala, and

the cigars, are all worthy of the palates of the men whose wit it is

theirs to stimulate and nourish. To summon the Staff to these feasts of

reason it was in later years the practice to issue printed notices,

which after 1870 were superseded by invitation cards drawn by Mr. du

Maurier--the design representing Mr. Punch ringing his bell, while the

faithful fly hurriedly to respond to the behest. But owing to the number

of portraits it contained of old friends now departed, and the painful

recollections it consequently aroused, its later use has been

discontinued.

[Illustration: F. C. BURNAND'S INITIALS.

_(1) On joining the Table, and (2) on appointment as Editor._]

[Illustration: GEORGE DU MAURIER'S MONOGRAM.]

[Illustration: LINLEY SAMBOURNE'S MONOGRAM.]

But when our Democritus boasted fewer years, there was not so much

ceremony in his banquet, neither was there so much state; nor was the

friendship less keen or the intimacy less enjoyable in Leigh's humbler

days of "off-n-off." A wonderful company--a brilliant company; with

flashing wit and dazzling sallies, with many "a skirmish of wit between

them." From more, the quieter flow of genial humour. And among the rest,

the listeners; men--some of them--who prefer to attend than to talk,

even to the point of reserve and almost of taciturnity. Such men were

John Leech, Richard Doyle, and Charles Keene--whose silence, however,

masked subtle minds that were teeming with droll ideas, and as

appreciative of humour as the sprightliest. What jokes have been made,

what stories told that never have found their way into print! What

chaff, what squibs, what caricatures--which it surpasses the wit of a

Halsbury or a MacNeill to imagine or condone!

Of what the _Punch_ Dinner was at the time when Thackeray was still of

the band, an idea may be formed from the following extract from Mr.

Silver's Diary, with which I have been favoured by the writer, who for

several years sat at it by right. He calls it--

"A NIGHT AT THE ROUND TABLE."

SCENE: _Mr. Punch's Banquet Hall at No. 11, Bouverie Street._

TIME: _Wednesday, March 2nd_, 1859, _six o'clock p.m._

F. M. EVANS W. M. THACKERAY JOHN LEECH HORACE MAYHEW TOM TAYLOR

SHIRLEY BROOKS HENRY SILVER PERCIVAL LEIGH JOHN TENNIEL MARK LEMON

'Turbot and haunch of venison--what a good dinner!' says Tenniel,

reading _menu_. Tantalising to Tom Taylor, who has to dine

elsewhere; and Thackeray leaves early, to go to an 'episcopal

tea-fight,' as he tells us--a jump 'from lively to severe,' to

Fulham Palace from the _Punch_ Table.

[Illustration: 40, Bouverie Street, E.C. July 15th 1871

The pleasure of your company is requested on Wednesday next, the

10th just at half-past Six sharp.

An answer, if unable to come, will oblige.

_PUNCH_ DINNER INVITATION CARD. DRAWN BY G. DU MAURIER.

CHARLES KEENE, R. F. SKETCHLEY, F. C. BURNAND, SHIRLEY BROOKS, TOM

TAYLOR, HORACE MAYHEW, PERCIVAL LEIGH G. DU MAURIER, JOHN TENNIEL]

Tom merely looks in 'to hear what you fellows say about the Reform

Bill,' which Dizzy introduced on Monday. So we begin discussing politics

even with the venison. 'Ponny' Mayhew condemns the Bill: does nothing

for the working man, he says. Tom thinks that people look to _Punch_ for

guidance, and that we ought to be plain-speaking, and take a decided

course. 'Professor' Leigh and Mark agree in thinking that we rather

should stand by awhile, and see how the stream runs. All seem of opinion

that Walpole acted as a man of honour in resigning, not being rich

enough to make money of no matter to him.

'Seria mista jocis' being Mr. Punch's motto (though it never has been

sanctioned by the Heralds' College), Shirley, apropos of money, asks,

'Why is Lord Overstone like copper?' 'Because he is a Lloyd with tin.'

Whereat Thackeray laughs heartily.

[Illustration: ARTHUR À BECKETT'S INITIALS.]

Odd that there should now be three old Carthusians in Mr. Punch's

Council of Ten. Thackeray observes this to the other two of them [J. L.

and H. S.], and proceeds to say, 'I went to Charterhouse the other day.

Hadn't seen School come out since I left. Saw a touching scene there--a

little fellow with his hands held tenderly behind him, and a tear or two

still trickling down his rosy cheek, and two little cronies with their

arms around his neck; and I well knew what had happened, and how they'd

take him away _privily_, and make him show his cuts!'

[Illustration: E. J. MILLIKEN'S INITIALS.]

'Talking of cuts, Mark, how about the Large one?' Thackeray suggests

Lawyer, Doctor, and Schoolmaster, standing in a row as prize boys, and

Dizzy presenting them with votes. I propose Diz trying to launch a

lop-sided 'Reform' ship, with the title 'Will it Swim?' Mark suggests D.

joining hands of artisan and yeoman, giving each of them a vote.

Thackeray thinks of workman coming among gentlemen of Parliament and

asking, 'What have you done for _me_?' Professor Leigh considers

situation might be shown by Bright and Dizzy poking up the British Lion,

for clearly he wants rousing. 'Yes,' says Shirley, 'and when he's

roused, you know, we can have another picture of him with his tail and

monkey up.' Idea gradually takes shape, and is approved,[8] though

Tenniel hardly likes it, and Leech wants to know if Ponny (Mayhew) would

not prefer a good old-fashioned tragic cartoon of the virtuous and

starving British Workman, with ragged wife and children, and Death a

ghastly apparition in the background.

This leads to a little spar between Ponny and 'Pater' Evans. Ponny lets

fly with great vigour: '_Punch_ is standing still now; used to take the

lead, but no longer dares to do so. _Avançons!_' waving hand excitedly.

Pater calmly answers that the times are altered, and that _Punch_ is

going with them. Strong words have done their work, and there's no

longer need of them. Nobody now talks about the trampled working man,

nor goes trumpeting abroad the dignity of labour. Then Ponny shifts his

ground, and complains that many clever fellows who are workers with the

pen are now hardly earning more than many workers with the pickaxe.

'Well, it's their own fault,' says Pater; 'they might easily earn more

if they were not so idle.' Penny replies they don't want luxuries, being

men of simple tastes, and anything but Sybarites. 'So am I,' cries

Leech; 'my tastes are very simple. Give me a good day's hunting, and

some good claret after it--nothing can be simpler, and I'm really quite

contented.'

[Illustration: GILBERT À BECKETT'S INITIALS.]

But Ponny harks back to his 'deuced clever fellows,' applauding one of

them especially, a Bohemian friend of his, who, he says politely, is far

cleverer a fellow than any at the _Punch_ Table. 'But what has he done?'

asks Leech. 'Tell you what he doesn't do,' says Shirley; 'he may write a

lot, but he certainly doesn't wash much.' Somebody wonders, if he were

proposed for White's Club, whether members would blackball him: and

Shirley quotes Charles Lamb's remark, 'What splendid hands he'd hold, if

only dirt were trumps!' Then Ponny shouts indignantly, 'There, never

mind his hands: think what a clever head he has.'

[Illustration: HARRY FURNISS'S INITIALS.]

Here Professor gives a little lecture on phrenology, impelled thereto by

Penny's capital allusion. Talking like a book, as his frequent manner

is, he expounds in fluent phrase his deeply-rooted faith in this

neglected science. To give idea of its importance, he vows he wouldn't

keep a housemaid who had a bad head. 'No more would I,' says Shirley;

'I'd send her to the doctor.' 'I mean, a head ill-shapen,' explains

Professor blandly, being 'the mildest-mannered man that ever cut a

throat'--in argument. 'A well-proportioned head betokens a fine brain:

whereas a skull that is cramped contains probably a mean one.' Avows

belief not so much in the localisation of organs as in their general

development. Here Leech, who hates street music, professes horror at the

possible development of organs, and wishes they were localised where

nobody could hear them. Paying no heed to this flippancy, Professor

explains gravely that peculiar formations incline to special acts, and

that the development of certain cranial organs--vulgarly termed

'bumps'--may be lessened or augmented in the course of early schooling.

'Well, I do believe in "bumps,"' says Shirley, speaking with solemnity,

'yes, even in schoolboys' heads--if you knock them well together.'

[Illustration: H. W. LUCY'S INITIALS.]

Mark next has an innings, and tells some of his stage stories. He tells

them very funnily, and imitates Macready and many other actors in their

vocal mannerisms. And he mimics operatic singers capitally, with

sonorous words in mock Italian basso recitative. Among his tales is one

of a half-tipsy actor playing in the 'Corsican Brothers' and explaining

their fraternal peculiarity--'My brother in Paris is now

feeling--hic--precishly shame senshations--hic--as myshelf!' Also tells

of his once bringing out a farce called 'Punch' at the Strand Theatre,

wherein a parrot played a prominent part. One night a new parrot took

its place, and used most dreadful language when the curtain rose.

Story-telling being now the order of the evening, Silver tells of the

gun trick being tried in the Far West. One day, just as the conjuror had

caught the bullet in his teeth, another whizzed close to his head, and a

voice came from the gallery, 'Guess, I nearly had you then, old hoss!'

At the next performance a placard was displayed, and gentlemen were

begged to leave their rifles with the doorkeeper. Shirley enjoys this,

and says, 'Now, don't cry "_connu_" Ponny! You're always crying

"_connu_" when anyone says anything. And you're always cracking up your

chums. If a world was wanted anywhere, you'd say your brother had

discovered one and had better be consulted.'

[Illustration: ANSTEY GUTHRIE'S INITIALS.]

Ponny then breaks out again with his bilingual vehemence and Parisian

gestures. (Some people never can talk French without trying to shrug

shoulders.) Brandishing his dessert-knife, he shouts, 'Avançons, mes

amis! go ahead, my boys! En avant! Excusez-moi,' and scatters scraps of

French about, till Leech cries, 'There, don't talk like a lady's-maid,

Ponny; why can't you speak English?' And, to change the talk, he tells

of a French sport'man taking his first fences here, with rather a fresh

horse which has been lent him. After coming a couple of bad 'croppers,'

which he conceives to be the usual style of leaping here in England, he

says a little sadly, 'My friend, I t'ank you for your 'orse, bot I t'ink

dat I s'all jomp no more at present.'

[Illustration: E. T. REED'S INITIALS.]

Somebody caps this with tale of a 'Mossoo' who manifests deep sorrow at

the death of an old hare, slain by an English visitor. 'Hélas! il est

mort enfin! Mon pauvre vieux! I have shot at him for years! He was all

the game I had!'

And Leech tells another story of a foreigner of distinction hunting in

the Midlands, and hearing the cry 'Stole away!' and shouting out

excitedly, 'Aha, stole a vay, has he, de old t'ief! Den I suppose we

s'all not find a vay to him, and so we must go home!' ... Which we do.

[Illustration: R. C. LEHMANN'S INITIALS.]

* * * * *

Thus, for half a century has Wednesday evening been passed in the

editorial office of _Punch_, just when its readers are discussing the

merits of the previous week's issue; and according to the verdict of

those readers was attuned the merriment of the Staff. It is on record

how Douglas Jerrold would go radiant to the Dinners as "Mrs. Caudle" was

sending up _Punch's_ circulation at a rapid rate; "and was one of the

happiest among them all." Thackeray, too, first tasted the delights of

wide popularity in the success of his "Snob Papers," and he showed the

pleasure he felt in his demeanour at the board. At one time these two

men sat side by side, and there was as little love as space between

them; but with the good-humoured philosophy which is a tradition of that

institution, the occasional differences of opinion, and the harder

knocks of wit, and sometimes, even, the still sharper encounters of

temper, were all glossed over. As Thackeray so truly remarked

himself--"What is the use of quarrelling with a man if you have to meet

him every Wednesday at dinner?" Nevertheless, in course of time he

changed his seat from between Jerrold and Gilbert Abbott à Beckett, and,

crossing over, faced his friend the enemy, while Mark Lemon, watchful

and alert beneath the cloak of geniality, was quick to cast a damping

word on inflammable conversation and--so far as he could persuade them

to listen to a man so greatly their inferior in genius and intellect--to

stem the threatened outburst. As a matter of fact, Jerrold always

regarded Thackeray as a bit of a snob and viewed his entrance into

Society--against which Jerrold had for years been hurling his bitterest

darts--with very grave suspicion. "I have known Thackeray," he would

say, "for eighteen years, and I don't know him yet"--almost in the

despairing words in which I have heard a distinguished Academician speak

of his still more distinguished President. On the other hand, Mr. Arthur

à Beckett has declared to me, "I never knew my brother so well as when I

met him at the _Punch_ Table."

[Illustration: J. BERNARD PARTRIDGE'S INITIALS.]

[Illustration: PHIL MAY'S INITIALS.]

[Illustration: COMMENCEMENT OF C. H. BENNETT'S MONOGRAM.]

In the earliest weeks of _Punch's_ existence Kenny Meadows had been the

Nestor of the least; but when Jerrold joined the Staff three months

later, he took by force of character and wit, and power of lung, a

leading position on the paper and at the Table--a position which he

never resigned. Notwithstanding his biting sallies, we may be sure that

it was not Jerrold's primary object to make his victims wince. There is

no doubt that the "little wine" that so stimulated him to witty and

brilliant conversation full of flash and repartee, sometimes turned sour

upon his lips, and changed the kindness that was in his heart into a

semblance of gall. Mr. Sidney Cooper has gravely set it on record how on

leaving the _Punch_ Dinner Jerrold would tie a label with his name and

address upon it round his neck, so that, should he in his homeward

course be tempted to stray into the path of undue conviviality, he might

sooner or later be safely delivered at his destination. Although the

statement is in a measure confirmed in the memoirs of Hodder and of

Blanchard Jerrold himself, one cannot help being struck at the conflict

between it and the story of Jerrold's reply to the drunken young sparks

who met him in the street at midnight, and asked him the way to the

entertainment known as "Judge and Jury"--"Straight on, straight on as

you are going, young gentlemen--you can't miss them!" He was himself

greatly pleased with his milder witticisms, and, it is said, chuckled

complacently at the neatness of his conceit when toasting Mr. Punch, at

one of the Wednesday Dinners, in which he declared that "he would never

require spirit while he had such good Lemon-aid." He loved the paper as

few others loved it, and very, very rarely missed the weekly

gathering--attending it, indeed, up to within a week or so of his death.

Not less scrupulous in his attendance was Gilbert Abbott à Beckett, who,

when residing at holiday-times at Boulogne, would regularly come up to

town for their Cabinet Council; and if ill-chance unavoidably prevented

his wished-for presence, he would write--after the custom adopted by

many of his colleagues--a full explanation and apology. But the

necessity very seldom arose. True son of his father, Gilbert à Beckett

was equally faithful to the Table, and in spite of the paralysis of the

legs from which he suffered (and for which he was for a time duly

chaffed by the advice of Percival Leigh, lest there might be hysteria

about the disease) he attended the Wednesday gatherings with what

regularity he could up to within a fortnight before he died. Thackeray,

too, for many years after he ceased writing for _Punch_ would weekly

join the Staff, and always received a cordial and affectionate welcome.

The gentle Leech--who, according to Shirley Brooks, attended the Dinner

for more than twenty years without uttering an unkind or an angry

word--was at the Table within a few days of his death, but, in Brooks's

words, "scarcely seemed to understand what was going on." And yet

another member of the Old Guard, who stood by his post to the end, was

"The Professor," Percival Leigh, whose sense of wit was dulled with age,

but whose mind was otherwise as bright as ever. But at the Dinners the

genial, courteous old gentleman was listened to, as ever, with deference

by his younger collaborators, and from them he never had cause for

suspicion that his powers were failing--

"Full well they laughed, with counterfeited glee,

At all his jokes, for many a joke had he."

Another of _Punch's_ favourite sons was Charles H. Bennett. His life was

a hard yet happy one, and his career was short, though not too short for

fame; and the last two years during which he sat at the Table were

perhaps the merriest of them all. But his attendances, really owing to

the illness which ultimately bore him down, were irregular. This

irregularity, combined with his habit--then commoner even than now among

artists--of wearing his hair very long, brought him one day a letter

from his friends and fellow-diners in the following terms:--

"Punch" Council, October 24th, 1866.

Present:--LEMON W. H. BRADBURY

EVANS G. DU MAURIER

HORACE MAYHEW EVANS FILS

TOM TAYLOR S. BROOKS

LEIGH TENNIEL

"Resolved"--

That this meeting deeply sympathises with C. H. Bennett

on the state of his hair.

That this meeting appreciates the feeling which detains

the said Bennett from the Council until his hair shall

have been cut.

That this meeting deplores the impecuniosity which prevents

the said Bennett from attending a Barber.

That this meeting, anxious to receive the said Bennett

to its bosom, once more organises a subscription to

enable him to attend the said Barber.

That this company, having (limited) confidence in Mr.

Mark Lemon, entrusts him with the following subscriptions

in aid of the above object, and requests him

to communicate with the aforesaid Bennett to the end

that he may have his dam hair cut and rejoin the

assembly of the brethren.

£ s. d.

(Signed) MARK LEMON 0 0 1

FREDERICK EVANS 0 0 1

PERCIVAL LEIGH 0 0 1

HORACE MAYHEW 0 0 1

TOM TAYLOR 0 0 1

W. H. BRADBURY 0 0 1

GEORGE DU MAURIER 0 0 1

F. M. EVANS 0 0 1

SHIRLEY BROOKS 0 0 1

J. TENNIEL 0 0 1

--------

Stamps enclosed £0 0 10

========

And these ten penny stamps, together with the letter, are to this day

treasured by the artist's son.

It was not surprising that Bennett was missed; his animal spirits and

his bright good-humour counted for a good deal at the Table; and when he

died, his colleagues organised elaborate theatricals and collected a

large sum for those whom he loved and left behind in the pinch of

poverty.

If for some time before his death Charles Keene deserted the

dinner-table, it was owing, as he has himself confessed, in no slight

measure to political motives which developed about the time of the

Russo-Turkish War. Keene was what Tories call a patriot and Liberals a

"Jingo;" and in his quiet way he felt so deeply that he thought it best

to stay away--not that he loved _Punch_ less, but he loved his

convictions more. "I am sorry to say," he wrote, with doubtful accuracy,

"_Punch_ is 'Musco' to a man except C. K., so he keeps away from that

Liberal lot at the present conjunction." There certainly was, however,

another reason, quite independent of politics, which kept Keene from the

Table during the latter years of Mr. W. H. Bradbury's life. He was not,

as his biographer, Mr. Layard, has pointed out, of much use in

suggestion at the business function of the Dinner, and he looked less to

his colleagues than to his friends outside for the jokes to which he

drew his pictures; so that his presence was not a necessity.

Nevertheless, he would attend, now and again, until age began to tell

upon him; and his companions love to think of him, clutching his

short-stemmed pipe to his mouth, puffing gravely, saying little,

thinking much, quick at appreciating a joke, slow at making one, with an

eye full of humour, and its lid and corresponding corner of his mouth

quickly responsive to any quip or crank that might let fly. Eclectic in

his humour as in his art, disposed to condemn any cartoon suggestion not

thoroughly thought out as "damn bad," he was in the weekly assembly at

the Table like the 'cello in the orchestra--not much heard, yet when

there indispensable to the general effect and the general completeness,

even though he only went "for company."

I have lingered, perhaps unduly, over the social side of the _Punch_

Dinner, for the company is of the best, and the subject an entertaining

and a pleasant one. But serious business has to be discussed and

transacted--and transacted it is, whatever jokes and ebullitions of

_bonhomie_ may form the running accompaniment to the work in hand. In

Mark Lemon's time the Dinner began at "six sharp," and in Shirley

Brooks's and Tom Taylor's a half-hour later; but when Mr. F. C. Burnand

took up the reins of power, the hour was advanced to seven o'clock, and

on its stroke the Staff are generally found in their places. From all

parts they come, just as their predecessors used to speed from Boulogne,

from Herne Hill, and from the Isle of Wight, so that their absence

should not be felt nor their assistance lacking at the Gathering of the

Clan. Sir John Tenniel comes from Maida Vale, most likely, or from some

spot near to London--which he has hardly quitted for a fortnight

together during the last forty years, save when, in 1878, he went to

Venice with Mr. Henry Silver and left Charles Keene _malgré lui_ as

cartoonist-in-chief. Mr. Sambourne arrives, perhaps, from a yachting

expedition or from the moors; Mr. du Maurier from his beloved Whitby or

from a lecturing tour; Mr. Lucy hurries in from the House of Commons;

Mr. Furniss, up to the time of his resignation, from some distant spot

where he "entertained" last evening, and whence he would expect to be

three hundred miles away on a similar errand on the morrow. But not for

some time past, it must be said in passing, had either Mr. du Maurier or

Mr. Furniss been so regular at the Table as in earlier days--Mr. Furniss

by reason of his touring, and Mr. du Maurier on account of the distance

of his home, and the evil effect of tobacco-smoke on his eyes and

nerves.

Then when dinner is over and coffee finished, and paper and pens brought

in--at half-past eight, as near as may be--the cigars come on and the

waiters go off (including at one time the crusted Burnap, an original

worthy of "Robert" himself); and not more rigidly was the Press excluded

from the Ministerial Whitebait Dinner in the good old times, than are

Cabinet Ministers interdicted from the Dinner of Mr. Punch to-day. Then

the Editor, who has been presiding, invites ideas and discussion on the

subject of the "big cut," as the cartoon is commonly called; and no two

men listen more eagerly to the replies--suggestions that may be

hazarded, or proposals dogmatically slapped down--than Mr. Burnand, who

is responsible for the subject, and Sir John Tenniel, whose duty it will

be to realise the conception. The latter makes few remarks; he waits,

reflects, and weighs, thinking not so much, perhaps, of the political or

social, as of the artistic possibilities of the subjects as they are

brought up, and other points that recommend themselves both to the

artistic and literary members of the Staff. All the while, perhaps, the

Editor has a fine subject up his sleeve, and only brings it forth when

the discussion has begun to wane. Or a proposal may be made at the very

first by one member of the Staff that is accepted at once with

acclamation--an event, however, of the utmost rarity; or again, as is

usually the case, the final decision may be gradually and almost

painfully evolved from this symposium of professional wits and literary

politicians. This is the time when the men are apt to lay bare their

political beliefs (if any such they have) or their lack of them; and I

wager that if poor Keene could once more be present at a _Punch_ Dinner,

he would no longer charge it against the Staff that it is "'Musco' to a

man."

Indeed, at the present time _Punch_ may be considered to represent the

old Whig feeling. Sir John Tenniel, Mr. Anstey, and Mr. Arthur à Beckett

are credited with Tory bias; Mr. Milliken, Mr. H. W. Lucy, Mr. R. C.

Lehmann, and Mr. Reed represent the Radicals; Mr. Sambourne is Unionist;

and Mr. Burnand, as behoves him who holds the scales, confesses to no

political sympathies or antipathies whatever.

Thus the subject of the cartoon is settled--often by the aid of the

latest editions of the evening papers; and being once settled, is very

rarely revived on any pretext whatever. On one occasion, however, when

Mark Lemon was Editor, and Shirley Brooks was recognised as the best

suggestor, an exceptional incident took place. The subject was duly

decided upon, and Brooks went home. After he was gone, and none but Mark

Lemon, Charles Keene, Sir John Tenniel, and Mr. Henry Silver were left,

Keene, to the surprise of the rest, made a suggestion in connection with

the American War then being waged, that was immediately accepted as

vastly superior to that which had previously been adopted; and the

future Editor was much astonished as he opened his paper on the

following Tuesday and his eyes fell on a different and wholly unexpected

cartoon. Yet, though Brooks was practically the Suggestor-in-Chief, it

would be unfair to pass over the curious fitness of Leech's proposals.

They were always marked with equal judgment and taste, and, as it was

admitted, his suggestions invariably were "just right."

When the "big cut" has been decided on, the question of a single-page or

double-page engraving sometimes comes up; and then the legend has to be

settled. This (irreverently known as "cackle" by those who produce it)

is largely the work of Mr. E. J. Milliken, who nowadays occupies a good

deal of Shirley Brooks's old position of "suggestor," and who, like him,

is living testimony of the truth of John Seddon's saying that "wit and

wisdom are born with a man." For many years Mr. Milliken has suggested

the greater number of the cartoons, and he is generally the first asked

for a proposal for Sir John Tenniel's cut. He usually has several

subjects, carefully considered and as carefully written out, in his

pocket-book, and fitted with peculiarly felicitous quotations. He is

also mainly responsible for the Almanac cartoons--subjects for both the

great _Punch_ satirists--Sir John, and Mr. Linley Sambourne. All,

however, share with him the duty and the credit of the difficult art of

cartoon-suggesting, and, no matter by whom it may be proposed, no

subject is passed without full discussion. Every possible objection is

heard and considered. Although Mr. Milliken may bring in his Bill,

amendments are always proposed, and are either rejected or carried; and

then the Bill as amended becomes the subject of the cartoon. The title

and legend are written on a piece of paper, which, enclosed in an

envelope, is then handed over to the cartoonist. It was at this moment

that Shirley Brooks used to throw down his knife in order to "cut" any

further discussion, and after that symbolic act a more desultory

conversation on the other men's work would follow. Not on Leech's,

however; for he was left greatly to himself--a piece of masterly

inactivity and non-interference on the Editor's part which speaks

volumes for Lemon's prudence and shrewd discrimination.

Under Mr. Burnand's _régime_ the course of events is a little altered.

For even while Sir John has begun to think out the composition and the

technical details of the subject which the Council has determined, and

is scheming maybe in his own mind how best he may arrange his figures so

that when he draws them the heads will not come across a join on the

wood-block where its segments are screwed together; or, again, how so to

arrange an exceptionally elaborate subject that Mr. Swain may still have

it ready for engraving in good time on the Friday evening, the attention

of the Staff is now turned to the "Cartoon junior"--the second

cartoon--to which for some years Mr. Linley Sambourne has been giving

some of the finest and most ingenious work of his life. This is

discussed somewhat like the first, and often enough raises the

draughtsman's interest in the work he has to do to a point of genuine

artistic enthusiasm. But there appears to be no finality about the

second cartoon so far as the Dinner is concerned, and it is no unusual

thing in lively times for the subjects to be given at the last moment by

telegram to Mr. Sambourne; so that his condition of mind during the

Thursday following the Dinner may not inaptly be compared to that of an

anxious fireman waiting for a "call." The contributions of the rest of

the artistic Staff--Mr. du Maurier, Mr. Bernard Partridge, and Mr. E. T.

Reed--do not form the subject of Wednesday's cogitation; nor is it true,

as has publicly been stated, that when jokes fail it is customary to

draw them from a pot into which, written on slips of paper, they have

been deposited on the many occasions when Mr. Punch's cistern of wit has

overflowed into the jar in question.

Such is the simple function of "the _Punch_ Dinner." The Editor

presides--or, in his absence to-day, Mr. Arthur à Beckett, just as it

was Douglas Jerrold and Shirley Brooks in Lemon's time, and Tom Taylor

in Brooks's (the duty of vice- or assistant-editor never falling to an

artist)--inviting suggestions, "drawing" his artists, and spurring his

writers, with rare tact and art; and he challenges comparison with any

of his predecessors, just as Sir Frederic Leighton excels all previous

Presidents of the Royal Academy. Some of those who sit around the Table,

as I have already set forth, have attended for many years; and it is

they who secure to _Punch_ that quality of tradition and healthy sense

of prestige which strengthen him against every assault, whether of man

or of Time himself. To this traditional sense of ancient glory and

present vigour Sir John Tenniel has of course contributed more than any

other living man; not Leech, nor Thackeray, nor Jerrold, nor Doyle,

served _Punch_ more loyally or effectively, and he has secured that the

dignified spirit of the paper has suffered no deterioration. To him it

falls, also, to see that the subjects of cartoons are not repeated. The

tenderness of the Staff for the honour, good name, and pre-eminence of

_Punch_ is delightful and touching to behold; the sentiment of a great

past animates them all, and kindles in them the hope and ambition for as

great and as proud a future.

The exclusiveness of _Punch_ notwithstanding, he has not always been as

inhospitable (if that is the word to use of an essentially business

meeting of a private nature) as some of his friends would have us

suppose. There are many who claim the distinction of having dined at

_Punch's_ Table, but few who can sustain their pretension. Some,

however, there are--a very few, it is true; but more than have been

officially recognised as _Punch_ diners. Mr. Harry Furniss has publicly

contended that his aunt, Mrs. Thompson, was one of these. As the lady,

before she married Dr. Thompson, is said to have been originally engaged

to Landells, the first _Punch_ engraver, this might well be; for about

the time of the transfer of the property from him to Bradbury and

Evans--and Landells, it will be remembered, did not give up the whole of

his share till some time afterwards--the rules and regulations were not

by any means so stringent as they ultimately became. In any case, the

claims of "Mr. F.'s Aunt" have in her time been as strenuously insisted

upon as ever they were at the Finchings'. Then came Charles

Dickens--whose presence, I believe, is not contested. Before his quarrel

with Mark Lemon and Bradbury and Evans, because _Punch_ declined to

print a justification of himself in connection with his purely domestic

circumstances, he was the guest of _Punch's_ publishers, who were his

own publishers, and who were also the publishers of the "Daily

News"--upon the preparations for which Dickens, as first editor, was

then engaged. Moreover, Dickens was an intimate friend of Douglas

Jerrold, whose influence on _Punch_ at that time was paramount; so that

the double circumstance is amply sufficient to account for Dickens's

presence at No. 11, Bouverie Street. Much the same considerations may be

held to explain Sir Joseph Paxton's frequent attendance. The great

gardener--it was _Punch_ who christened his big exhibition building "The

Crystal Palace," "What shall be done with the Palace of Crystal?"--was

the intimate of Mark Lemon. He had also the most cordial relations with

the Staff, some of whom he would entertain in the gardens of Chatsworth,

where he acted as the agent of the Duke of Devonshire, grandfather of

the present duke, and himself on the best of personal terms with Mr.

Punch. And I have proof that he exerted all his influence in favour of

Bradbury and Evans's great new venture, through the intermediary of

Charles Dickens. "Paxton," writes Dickens in one of his letters bearing

upon the subject that lie before me, dated October, 1845--a few months

before the launching of the "Daily News"--"has the command of every

railway and railway influence in England and abroad, except the Great

Western; and he is in it heart and purse." What more likely, then, that

Dickens, at work at Whitefriars, should be invited by his friends, his

publishers, to dine with his friends of the _Punch_ Staff?--though he

possibly did not stay to the Cabinet Council; and what more reasonable

than for them to value Paxton's considerable influence at the price of a

graceful privilege, seeing that the "Daily News" thought it, in those

early days, worth while to appoint a "Railway Editor" at a salary of

£2,000 a year? Moreover, Paxton was interested with Bradbury and Evans

in "The Gardeners' Chronicle" (in whose columns he had first published

the "Cottagers' Calendar"), to say nothing of his "Flower Garden," which

he and Dr. Lindley edited for them. Sir Joseph Paxton, then, was a

constant and appreciative attendant at the _Punch_ Table until the year

1865, the date of his death.

Mr. Peter Rackham, too, was another guest--the guest, again, and valued

friend of the publishers--well understood to have given financial

assistance in respect to the founding of the "Daily News." He was a

highly esteemed friend of Thackeray and Dickens both, and the novelists

and their publishers would send him presentation copies of their new

works. The former, by the way, presented him with a copy of his

"Virginians" when it appeared, inscribing it to Mr. Rackham in this

characteristic manner:--"In the U. States and in the Queen's dominions

All people have a right to their opinions And many don't much relish The

Virginians. Peruse my book, dear R., and if you find it A little to your

taste I hope you'll bind it." Mr. Rackham ceased his visits to the Table

in 1859, in which year, I understand, he died. Another visitor, as all

the world now knows, was Dean Reynolds Hole, who has recorded in his

"Memories" his impressions of that famous Dinner of February 15th, 1860.

To me, also, he has given an idea of the effect wrought upon him by the

frolic of the meal--an impression certainly not dimmed by time nor faded

in his imagination. He says: "There was such a clash and glitter of

sharp-edged swords, cutting humour, and pointed wit (to say nothing of

the knives and forks), the sallies of the combatants were so incessant

and intermixed, the field of battle so enveloped in _smoke_, that there

was only a kaleidoscopic confusion of brilliant colours in the vision of

the spectator, when the signal was given to 'cease firing.'" Who would

not attend a _Punch_ dinner after that?

A frequent visitor was Mr. Samuel Lucas--known to his fellow-workers as

plain "Sam Lucas"--who was then editing the newly-founded "Once a Week"

for Bradbury and Evans. His attendance, which was constant enough

between the years 1860 and 1864, was--like that of his sub-editor, Mr.

Walford--doubtless a great convenience to all concerned, for most of the

_Punch_ artists and writers were also contributors to the more serious

magazine, and arrangements could obviously be more quickly and

effectively made at a single meeting than by a number of special

interviews. Sir W. H. ("Billy") Russell, too, "dined on several

occasions at the _Punch_ Table, when Mr. Mark Lemon and Mr. Shirley

Brooks were the Editors of the paper;" the introduction, it is

understood, being at the time when he was correcting the proofs of his

Crimean book, which Bradbury and Evans were printing.

And, lastly, Sir John Millais--himself a contributor to _Punch's_

pages--was once a Dinner guest. "I certainly dined once," he wrote to me

a year or two ago, "at an hotel in Covent Garden ['Bedford Hotel'] when

Mark Lemon was editor of _Punch_, and I have always been under the

impression it was one of their Dinners. The Staff only were present, and

Lemon was in the chair, and I sat beside Leech. There were ten or twelve

dining beside myself, and it was on a Wednesday."

This point settled, then, as to Dinner guests--among whom, says the

proprietress of the "Bedford Hotel" (the niece, by the way, of Mark

Lemon), Peter Cunningham should also be included--other visitors there

are to be considered. If _Punch_ does not rigidly obey the Biblical

behest, and when on duty bent is not wholly "given to hospitality," he

at least has allowed hospitality to sit with gladness when the business

of the evening is done. From time to time outside friends were

introduced, and, according to one witness, whose testimony I am unable

to confirm, Tom Hood, Barham ("Tom Ingoldsby"), and Charles Knight have,

at intervals, been entertained "after business hours." The Staff, at

such times, would go into Committee over cigars and drinks and literary

talk and jokes, and Leech would rumble out in his splendid great bass

voice Barry Cornwall's "King Death." This was the only song of his which

his friends remember; and Ponny Mayhew would seek to emulate it with the

musical setting of Thackeray's "Mahogany Tree." He sang that song in

chorus, all upstanding, that sad Christmas Eve when Thackeray died,

among his friends of the Kensington côterie. He had brought in the fatal

news to the jovial party, and then, says Mr. Frederick Greenwood, he

proceeded: "I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll sing the dear old boy's

'Mahogany Tree;' he'd like it." "Accordingly we all stood up, and with

such memory of the words as each possessed ... and a catching of the

breath here and there by about all of us, the song was sung."

Then come the special _Punch_ dinners, official and otherwise. In 1863

there was the Shakespeare dinner, that was held to arrange the

Shakespeare Tercentenary number of _Punch_; and a quarter of a century

later there was the Paris junketting that resulted in the Paris

Exhibition number. Then there was the yearly festival celebrated by Sir

William Agnew, and the "Almanac Dinner," which was usually held about

the month of September--in olden times, from 1850 to 1885--always at the

"Bedford," but lately discontinued; and there is the Annual Dinner to

the printers and the rest given by the firm--the first of which, under

the name of "wayzgoose," took place at the "Highbury Barn Tavern." At

these entertainments the Staff would sometimes attend and fraternise

with printers and engravers, and would make a point of congratulating

those "wood-cutters" whose recent work had specially delighted them.

_Punch_ has always been strong on Jubilees, and his "boys" have done

their best to maintain them as a sacred tradition. On January 3rd, 1853,

Jerrold celebrated his fiftieth birthday with a dinner given to the

whole of his colleagues. Baily, the sculptor, was one of the "outside"

guests on the occasion, and was so charmed with the brilliancy and

jollity of the company that he offered, and in due time redeemed his

promise, to execute its hero's bust. That work, one of the finest of the

old Academician's portrait-busts, now, if I mistake not, belongs to the

nation's collection of its great men's portraits. On Wednesday, June

27th, 1866, the memorable picnic and dinner took place at Burnham

Beeches, to celebrate Mr. Punch's fiftieth volume, when the popular

Editor received from his proprietors a purse of a hundred guineas and a

tankard, and from them and the Staff a gold watch and chain of eleven

links, with a lock in the form of a book, as recounted in the sketch of

Mark Lemon's life.

Then, again, there was Thackeray's "Atonement Dinner," if I may call it

so, for the slight he had unthinkingly cast upon the Staff. In his now

celebrated laudatory essay on John Leech in the "Quarterly Review" he

had written: "There is no blinking the fact that in Mr. Punch's Cabinet

John Leech is the right-hand man. Fancy a number of _Punch_ without

Leech's pictures! What would you give for it? The learned gentlemen who

write the work must feel that, without him, it were as well left alone."

Picture the indignation in the office, imagine how strongly would be

resented this _faux pas_ of Thackeray, in which he allowed his

enthusiasm for one friend to overlook, and that not inoffensively, the

feelings of the others! The writer was abroad at the bursting of his

little bomb, and no one was more distressed than himself at the result

of the explosion or readier to admit the fault. He wrote a handsome

letter of apology to Percival Leigh--he explained how "of all the slips

of my fatal pen, there's none I regret more than the unlucky half-line

which has given pain," and declared that it was more than his meaning;

and he begged furthermore that the memory of the lapsus--painful equally

to him and to Leech--might be wiped out in a dinner given by himself to

the confraternity. And they all came to his house in Kensington Palace

Gardens, and Thackeray was duly chaffed and teased--"and who can doubt,"

says Trollope, "but they were very jolly over the little blunder?"

Then there was the Staff dinner at the Crystal Palace to inaugurate the

new series of "The Gentleman's Magazine," when _Punch_ and _Punch_

history were greatly to the fore; and the great dinner at the "Albion"

to celebrate Mr. Burnand's accession to the editorial chair--when not

only the Staff, but for the first time since the early days all

"outside" contributors to _Punch_ were invited, when, although the

subject of the cartoon had previously been settled, a certain amount of

business was gone through, just to show "how it was done." And who that

was there on that great occasion will forget the speech of Mr.

Blatchford--an artist who was the natural successor to Colonel

Howard--he who signed his drawings with a trident?--or Mr. Sala's

sallies, in the funniest of orations, at the expense of Mr. Sambourne,

who had expressly not donned evening dress? Still more important than

this was the Jubilee dinner held on July 19th, 1891, just

five-and-twenty years after the Burnham Beeches picnic--in honour of Mr.

Punch's hundredth volume. The "Ship" at Greenwich was the place of

venue. With Mr. Burnand in the chair, the members of the Staff seated as

represented in Mr. Sambourne's well-known drawing of "The Mahogany

Tree," with Mr. W. H. Bradbury and Sir William Agnew at one end of the

table, with toasts to Mr. Punch himself, to Sir John Tenniel, to Mr.

Burnand, and to the proprietors, the enthusiasm "first grew warm and

then grew hot;" and when a presentation of a silver cigar-box had been

made to the Editor, it was duly resolved to meet again, the same company

in the same place, fifty years hence!

The last state event in the world of _Punch_-politico-rejoicings was the

dinner to Sir John Tenniel on the occasion of his knighthood. Then the

banquet was held at Hampton Court, and the "Mitre" was the scene of the

ceremony. All the enthusiasm of the Jubilee revels reappeared in an

intensified form. For not only was it all focussed upon one man, but in

his case there was a great personal triumph, a national recognition of a

great work and of a splendid career, and in the eyes of the world the

justification of that mighty art of black-and-white, which through the

printing-press is a greater vital force than any other existing form of

art--though despised till now in all official quarters--the art by which

_Punch_ rose to his pinnacle of greatness. And added to all this was the

emotional note that prevailed throughout the harmony of the feast, for

not even Leech himself had captured more hearts than Tenniel--that Grand

Old Man of _Punch_ for whom not one member of the staff but entertains

an affection of the warmest and the most cordial character, which even

respectful esteem has had no power in moderating. But one event, and

only one, could call forth greater enthusiasm and greater emotion, and

that, I apprehend, is when in six years time _his_ Jubilee on _Punch_,

by the kindness of Fate, comes to be celebrated by his loving and

admiring colleagues.

Such are the chief semi-official dinners that have been held; but the

list would be swelled were those other occasions included when these

men--never sated, it would really seem, with each other's company--would

invite the rest of the Staff, or most of it, to dine at their private

houses. How many of these entertainments were offered by Leech to the

light-hearted and frisky band who

"Judicious drank and greatly daring dined"!

How many anecdotes might be told of such _réunions_, as they swooped

down on Landells or on Lemon at Herne Bay, or, in the rollicking days of

youthful indiscretion, would adjourn at midnight to serenade the

snoringly unconscious Hine away in the wilds of Hampstead!

Certain complimentary dinners offered to the _Punch_ Staff should find a

record here, if only on the ground of completeness. The first public

recognition was the Mansion House dinner which, under the title of

"Literature and Art," included the _Punch_ Staff, together with Charles

Dickens, the members of the Royal Academy, and a few newspaper men.

Dickens has left it upon record how his feelings were hurt at the

tactless way in which the well-meaning Lord Mayor, Sir James Duke,

Bart., M.P., imparted to his guests the pleasure it was to him to meet

with mere talent after being satiated with blood and rank in the persons

of Royalties, Dukes, and Cabinet Ministers. He made them feel, in

fact--and resent not a little--how hitherto the Mansion House had drawn

its line at them, an error which Sir Stuart Knill in 1893 had the better

taste to avoid. Somewhat of a similar blunder was made by Lord Carlisle,

who invited Thackeray, Jerrold, and others of the _Punch_ men to meet

one or two of their own set, firmly persuaded that he was about to revel

in brilliant conversation, entirely forgetful of the fact that in all

probability they were perfectly familiar with the others' stories and

had their tricks of humour by heart. The result, as might have been

expected, was an entertainment of conventional dulness. How could you

expect, at a meal so pretentiously forced, of such affected joviality,

to hear Jerrold ask the butler for "some of the old, not the elder,

port"? as he would in the sanctity of their own precincts; or retort on

one who declared his liking for calf's-tail, "Extremes meet!" or (when

the dish was calf's-head), "What egotism!" and yet again, "There's

brotherly love for you!" Not at my Lord Carlisle's, as in Bouverie

Street, would you hear Shirley Brooks ask the famous two-edged riddle

which Dean Hole reminds us of--"Why is Lady Palmerston's house like Swan

and Edgar's? Because it's the best house for muzzling Delane

(_mousseline de laine_)"--Delane being then unjustly suspected of having

been "nobbled" during his visits to my lady's _salon_, at the expense of

the "Times," of which he was at that time the editor. Nor would you

enjoy the discomfiture of a disputant of "Master Douglas" (as Thackeray

rather testily named him), who, after chaffing the great wit for the

unsteadiness of hand through which he broke a glass--which, he declared,

_he_ never did--received for reply an incredulous stare, and the cutting

enquiry, "Yet I suppose you look into one every morning?"

The latest outside _Punch_ dinner of importance which history has

thought well to set upon record is that given by Mr. Lucy ("Toby, M.P.")

in order to bring together for the first time Mr. Gladstone and the

members of that Staff which, as a body, had rendered him such steady and

invaluable support for nearly half a century. What wonder, then, that

the meeting was a great success, and that everyone present was on the

best of all possible terms with his fellow-diners? Yet "Moonshine,"

commenting on the event, declared with malicious good-humour that "It is

said that _Punch_ has been entertaining Mr. Gladstone. We don't believe

a word of it, as we can't conceive that _Punch_ ever entertained

anybody!" The object of this fair hit, the Editor of _Punch_, forthwith

sought out the epigrammatist, in the belief that here was a new humorist

whose services he might employ. He, however, who might have enlightened

him, wrongly believing that the motive of the quest was less friendship

than resentment, declined to give the desired information. But Mr. Punch

appropriately avenged the insult--by subsequently absorbing it as a

joke of his own, illustrated by the hand of Mr. Reginald Cleaver.

Perhaps to these revels of the merry clan should be added the jovial

meetings of the Moray Minstrels under the hospitable direction of Mr.

Arthur Lewis. And yet a stronger claim on the memory of those who now

bear Mr. Punch's _bâton_ between them are the meetings referred to in

the letter from the late Sir A. H. Layard, which I received shortly

before his death: "I was intimately acquainted with Tom Taylor, R.

Doyle, and other contributors to _Punch_, and constantly met them at

Taylor's table; but I do not remember to have dined at a '_Punch_ Table'

on one of the Wednesday evenings. You may probably be aware that they,

like myself, were in the habit of spending Sunday with Sir Alexander and

Lady Duff Gordon, in their house at Esher, where many articles and jokes

and sketches which appeared in the periodical were discussed." These

meetings, however, must have taken place before the time of the "Papal

Aggression," and some little while, consequently, before Sir John

Tenniel was enlisted as a recruit.

Who will say, in the face of all this, that _Punch_ has not learned the

secret of combining pleasure with business, practising the art with

infinite satisfaction to himself and with the applause of succeeding

generations? "Where Macgregor sits, _there_ is the head of the table,"

said the Scottish chieftain. Where Mr. Punch sits, say those of a later

day, there is the flow of wit and of laughter--there the fountain of

that fun which has stamped his journal as representative of what is most

characteristic and best in English humour--there the source of the art

which has been the greatest school of wood-drawing and cutting, and of

true caricature, that this country has ever seen. Good-nature is the

quality rarest and most remarkable in a political and social journal.

How much of _Punch's_ excellent temper, I wonder, is not to be

attributed to his meat before grace? Whether "the Dinner" be the sole

cause, I do not venture to pronounce, though I submit the question for

the consideration of mankind; but is it not imaginable that high living

goes for something in the sum of _Punch's_ high thinking? and may it

not almost be said of him, as Moore sang of Sheridan, that his wit

"... in the combat, as gentle as bright,

Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade"?

For a short time only the _Punch_ Club flourished. "Its object," writes

Landells, "was to form a little society amongst ourselves to talk over

and settle upon subjects for the paper of the coming week. It was not

strictly confined to the _Punch_ writers and artists, for friends and

well-wishers were admitted, and had here an opportunity of entertaining

their ideas in a sociable and agreeable manner. Besides those on the

regular Staff of _Punch_, there were members of the club Mr. Grieve the

scene-painter, Mr. Henry Baylis, Mr. Tully the composer,[9] Mr. Joseph

Allen the artist, and I have seen in addition Mr. Charles Dickens, Mr.

Stanfield, Mr. Frank Stone, Mr. Landseer, and other celebrities, in that

little snug and comfortable room. Here the inimitable Douglas Jerrold

was in his glory, showing off his ready sparkling wit, his joyous hearty

laugh ringing out above them all. Alas! several of this once brilliant

company have now passed away, but those who remain will ever remember

the many happy hours spent in the old _Punch_ Club."

In his "canino-classic" poem already mentioned--entitled "Sodalitas

Punchica, seu Clubbus Noster"--Percival Leigh gives some further

particulars of the membership of the Club--lines which I translate

somewhat freely, perhaps, yet with all the reverence due to their

academic beauty:

"The names of some of our greatest men the Poet now indites--

Old Mark and Henry Mayhew, two of _Punch's_ brightest lights--

(The first beats Aristotle blue; the second, Sophocles):

_Then enter_ Douglas Jerrold's self, our greatest wit and tease--

Who treats his friends like Paddy Whack, his love for them to prove;

And Tully great, whose talent flows in just as great a groove;

Then Hodder, of the "Morning Herald," sheds the light he brings,

And Albert Smith the mighty--and the Poet's self who sings.

O'er these our ancient Nestor rules, who lived when lived Queen Anne,

And even knew old Japhet--or 'twas so the story ran."

H. G. Hine, who was afterwards to become the Vice President of the Royal

Institute of Painters in Water-Colours, was elected a member; but his

taste lay neither in the direction of Clubs nor in the absorption of

strong drink. And least of all did he love Bohemia. "I only dined with

them once," he wrote to me, "and then at the 'Belle Sauvage.' The dinner

was given by the proprietors of _Punch_ to the Staff. They found the

Club already in existence, and desired to have some part in it, or, as

was said at the time, to place their finger in its pie. I believe this

to have been the only Dinner held at the 'Belle Sauvage.' I may mention

in connection with the _Punch_ Club (whose meetings, which were not

Dinners generally, were held on Saturdays) that much chaff and practical

joking were indulged in, and that was one reason for my non-attendance.

On one occasion when Albert Smith wanted his hat and umbrella on leaving

the Club, the attendant presented him pawn-tickets for the articles. He

was extremely annoyed, sent the man for a policeman, and gave the whole

Club into custody; and they had to pay the redemption price, besides

looking very foolish. It was Horace Mayhew told me of this." It has been

said that this was the last straw on Smith's back, and settled his

withdrawal from _Punch_. But it is only fair to add that the indignity

of which Albert Smith complained was thoroughly in accordance with the

spirit of the practical joking that went on at the time, while the

reason of the pledging was said to be the forcing of the unwilling,

hyper-economical Smith to "stand punch round," as all the others did

from time to time, he taking his full share of the liquor, though he

declined to entertain in his turn.

Albert Smith, indeed, during the time he was connected with _Punch_ was

usually the butt of the jokers, particularly of Douglas Jerrold, but

rarely did he so completely turn the tables on his tormentors as on this

occasion. Yet he was not averse to chaff, particularly when he applied

it to others. One day, at the Club, Mark Lemon had been remarking that

he had no peculiarities, at least not more than other men, and certainly

none that he knew of. "For example," said he, "many men have some

peculiarity in shaving--some shave with the right hand, others with the

left, or some with either indifferently." "What do _you_ shave with?"

asked Albert Smith. "With my right hand," replied the Editor. "Then

that's your peculiarity, Uncle Mark," said Smith; "most people shave

with a razor."

No doubt the fun was often a little rough, and that the members were a

little ashamed of it; for when Mark Lemon introduced there Mr. Catling,

the editor of "Lloyd's Weekly Newspaper," he picturesquely warned his

guest to be prepared for "an awful set of blackguards." On the night in

question, however, the fun was flatter, and Kenny Meadows, the Father of

the Feast, distinctly peppery.

On the occasion of Mr. R. J. Hamerton's visit Jerrold was in high

feather, and, waxing eloquent on the growing influence of _Punch_, cried

for silence while he proclaimed its ingredients. Gilbert à Beckett, he

declared, was the spirit, and John Leech the sugar; Albert Smith was the

water; himself, he confessed, was the acid; and Mark Lemon--the spoon.

And among other little witticisms of the Punchites which memory has set

on record is a conversation among them on the subject of the payment of

income-tax. With most of them there was in the earliest days little

income and less tax, and strange were the stories told. At last one,

whose name has not been preserved, quietly asserted that he honestly

filled in the declaration each year, and honourably paid the demand

which was regularly served upon him. The company's surprise had

increased to contemptuous incredulity, when their Quixotic friend

proceeded: "I don't think I lose by it, I always take the average of

three years, according to the regulation; so I take the present year

and the two future ones--_and you fellows know what a pessimist I am_!"

It was usually at the "Whistling Oyster" that the meetings of the Club

were held. The little house was conveniently situated, as already

explained, next door to the "Crown"--now Number 12 or 12A Vinegar Yard.

At this place a Mr. Pearkes had opened an oyster shop nearly twenty

years before, and his little rooms were frequented by the most talented

of the denizens of Bohemia--literary, theatrical, and artistic. One day,

in the early 'Forties, the proprietor, to his amazement, heard one of

his oysters whistling--a continuous shrill little whistle, doubtless

through a hole in its shell. The fact was at once noised abroad, and

crowds visited his shop to listen to the sibilant mollusc, which not

only whistled, but, it was said with some truth, drew the town as

effectively as old Drury herself, on the other side of the court.

The rain of jokes that followed was ceaseless, and _Punch's_ not the

worst. He celebrated the bivalve in his pages by picture and by word,

and his young men made the best of the incident. Douglas Jerrold, says

Walter Thornbury, suggested that it was one of the sentimental kind

which, having been crossed in love, took to whistling to keep up

appearances and show it didn't care. Thackeray declared in all

seriousness that he had heard an American in the shop, after listening

to the performance, gravely assert that at home in Massachusetts they

had a much cleverer oyster, which not only whistled "Yankee Doodle" from

beginning to end, but followed his master about like a dog. And it was

further suggested that, report having exaggerated the powers of the

performer into being able to whistle "God save the Queen," the

proprietor had been requested to take it to Windsor Castle, but that the

command had been summarily cancelled when it was ascertained _that the

musician was a "native!"_ The result to the fortunate proprietor was a

substantial one; his house became known and for many years kept up its

reputation on the deformity of a twopenny shell-fish. It is, therefore,

hardly surprising that "other vermin" took to music as well; that about

the same time a "singing mouse" made its appearance, duly touring in

London and the provinces; and that _Punch_ made the most of the engaging

little _virtuoso_.

For some few years, then, the _Punch_ Club flourished. In Hal Baylis it

had an ideal chairman, roystering, jovial, witty, side-splitting--the

only man, in the opinion of many, who could draw his sword and maintain

his ground against Jerrold's cut and thrust. So good were his sayings,

or so adaptable to _Punch's_ purpose, that his position in the Club was

respected, and he was put upon the free list, and received his weekly

copy of the paper up to the day of his death. He was originally a

printer, then a newspaper proprietor and editor; but fate had been

unkind to him, and in the days of his presidency he had come to be an

advertisement canvasser. He ruled with royal dignity, but knew the limit

to his powers; and when Landells made his appeal to "the boys" at one of

the dinners to "see him righted" in connection with his quarrel with

Bradbury and Evans, he comforted the ex-engraver as best he could, and

skilfully passed to the "Order of the day."

Of Baylis's judgment of character and capacity Landells has left the

following example: "One evening at the _Punch_ Club there had been more

than the usual amount of chaff going on between Henry Baylis and Douglas

Jerrold, when the former suddenly said, 'If you will give me a pen and

ink I will make a prophecy that shall be fulfilled within two years. It

shall be sealed up and given to Daddy Longlegs [myself] upon his

undertaking not to open it before the expiration of that time.' The

paper was handed to me, and carefully put by. Time passed, and I had

forgotten the circumstance altogether, when some years afterwards,

looking over some old pocket-books, I found a sealed letter addressed to

'Daddy Longlegs, Esq.--to be opened two years after date.' On breaking

the seal I found the following: 'I, Henry Baylis, do hereby prophesy

that within two years from this date Douglas Jerrold will write

something that shall be as popular as anything that Charles Dickens ever

wrote.'" Within those two years the "Caudle Lectures" had been produced

and Baylis's prophecy fulfilled.

Nothing of the old Club now remains--it passed away with the Old Guard

of _Punch's_ youthful days; and just as _Punch_ himself from a mere

street-show puppet rose to reigning wit and arch-philosopher, so

practically has his Club-house been lost to Drury Lane and instead lends

dignity to Garrick Street.

One other club--essentially also a _Punch_ côterie--remains to be

mentioned: the "Two Pins Club." A riding club in the first instance, it

consists of not a dozen members, who periodically jogg off to Richmond

or elsewhere to take exercise and lunch together in riding-breeches and

good-fellowship. Of these the chief members have been Lord Russell of

Killowen (who on his elevation to the Bench as Lord Chief Justice sent

in his resignation, as you may see in Mr. Linley Sambourne's cartoon of

July 14th, 1894, by the letters on the scroll Lord Russell holds:

"P.P.C.--T.P.C."), Mr. Burnand, Sir John Tenniel, Mr. Linley Sambourne,

Mr. E. T. Reed, Mr. Harry Furniss, Sir Frank Lockwood, the Hon. Mr.

Russell, Sir Arthur Sullivan, Mr. John Hare, Sir Edward Lawson, Mr.

George Alexander, and Mr. C. H. Matthews. But the savour of _Punch_ is

over it all, and though outsiders are of it, it is as much a _Punch_

club of _Punch_ origin as the one that went before. It has been said

that there is difference of opinion as to the source of its name, it

being supposed that it arose from one of the founders declaring that "it

didn't matter two pins what name it bore." The simple truth is that it

was christened after the names of two great riding worthies--at least

one worthy, the other unworthy--of English literature: John Gil_pin_ and

Dick Tur_pin_; of the latter of whom Thomas Hood tells us that when the

romantic malefactor was righteously hanged, after a spirit-swilling

career, he died of having had "a drop too much."

FOOTNOTES:

[7] The initials and monograms appear in the following order round the

Table: 1, Mark Lemon; 2, F. C. Burnand (second carving, after stencil by

Prof. Herkomer, R.A.); 3, John Tenniel; 4, Shirley Brooks; 5, Arthur à

Beckett; 6, R. C. Lehmann; 7, W. M. Thackeray; 8, Henry Silver; 9, Harry

Furniss; 10, John Leech; 11, G. du Maurier; 12, W. Bradbury; 13, Douglas

Jerrold; 14, E. J. Milliken; 15, F. M. Evans; 16, Tom Taylor; 17, Linley

Sambourne; 18, Phil May; 19, J. Bernard Partridge; 20, E. T. Reed; 21,

H. W. Lucy; 22, F. C. Burnand (first carving); 23, Gilbert à Beckett;

24, Anstey Guthrie; 25, Horace Mayhew; 26, Percival Leigh. Charles H.

Bennett died before he could complete his monogram, and Mr. R. F.

Sketchley neglected the duty--an omission he ever after regretted.

[8] See _Punch_ cartoon, "Who will Rouse Him?" (March 12th, 1859).

[9] Who subsequently put Hood's "Song of the Shirt" to music (published

from the _Punch_ office, price 2s. 6d.), as well as the "Songs for the

Sentimental," "_Punch's_ own Polka" (printed in _Punch_ September 7th,

1844), and probably also "The Queen's Speech, as it is to be sung by the

Lord Chancellor" (_Punch_, Feb., 1843).