_PUNCH'S_ WRITERS: 1843-51.
Horace Mayhew--"The Wicked Old Marquis"--A Birthday Ode--R. B.
Peake--Thomas Hood--"The Song of the Shirt"--Its Origin--Its Effect
in the Country--Its Authorship Claimed by Others--Translated
throughout Europe--A Missing Verse--Hood Compared with
Jerrold--"Reflections on New Year's Day"--Dr. E. V. Kenealy--J. W.
Ferguson--Charles Lever--Laman Blanchard--Tom Taylor--Passed over
by Shirley Brooks--Taylor's Critics--Mr. Coventry Patmore--"Jacob
Omnium"--Tennyson _v._ Bulwer Lytton--Horace Smith--"Rob Roy"
Macgregor--Mr. Henry Silver--Introduces Charles Keene--His Literary
Work--Service to Leech--Retirement--Mr. Sutherland Edwards--Charles
Dickens and _Punch_--Sothern Earns his Dinner--Reconciliation of
Dickens and Mark Lemon--J. L. Hannay--Cuthbert Bede.
[Illustration: HORACE MAYHEW.
(_From a Photograph by Bassano._)]
_Punch_ had been running about eight months when, in Wills's words, "a
handsome young student returned from Germany and was heartily welcomed
by his brother, Mr. Henry Mayhew, and then by the rest of the
fraternity." This was at the particular _Punch_ meeting at which Mr.
Hamerton was present. Horace Mayhew's diploma joke consisted, I believe,
of "Questions addressées au grand concours aux élèves d'Anglais, du
Collége St. Badaud dans le Département de la Haute Cockaigne" (Vol. III.
p. 89). Regular occupation was forthwith found for him as sub-editor,
his duties being to collect the cuts from the artists, to act as medium
of communication between the writers and draughtsmen, and to assist Mark
Lemon in making-up the paper; and for these services he received one
pound a week. Soon, however, it was found that the editor could very
well perform all such duties for himself, and the post of "pony" was
abolished. Horace--or "Ponny," as he was invariably nicknamed--became
one of the accepted writers. He was most prolific as a suggestor, and
never failed of point and pith in his own numerous little paragraphs. As
a proposer he had much of the talent of his brother, but little of his
genius. "The Life and Adventures of Miss Robinson Crusoe," written by
Douglas Jerrold, was "Ponny's" suggestion; but he carried out his
conceptions entirely in such papers as his extremely amusing "Model
Men," "Model Women," and "Model Couples;" and his "Change for a
Shilling" and "Letters left at a Pastrycook's" are still remembered.
"Ponny" had not a seat "in the Cabinet" until January 11th, 1845, before
which time he had no separate existence as a contributor, all his "copy"
being entered indiscriminately to the Editor. For a long while his
average contribution was thirty-one columns in each volume; but his main
value lay in the short articles and paragraphs of a playful and
whimsical character. Thus, when the "Birmingham Advertiser" declared
with grovelling snobbishness that "in these days it is quite refreshing
to pronounce the name of the Duke of Newcastle," "Ponny" suggested that
during the summer months "the name of his Grace should be written up in
every public thoroughfare." He was, in fact, in the words of an old
friend, "bright, good-natured, and lively, not very clever, but always
letting off little jokes;" "a social butterfly," adds Mr. Sala, "who
never fulfilled the promise of his youth."
He was a strikingly good-looking man, and was justifiably proud of
Thackeray's greeting as they met at Evans's--"Ah, here comes Colonel
Newcome!" "From his aristocratic mien and premature baldness," says
Vizetelly, "Wiltshire Austin christened him 'the wicked old Marquis.'
The keeping of late hours was Ponny Mayhew's bane. For a quarter of a
century--save an annual fortnight devoted to recruiting himself at
Scarborough or elsewhere--he scorned to seek repose before the milkman
started on his rounds, and during the greater portion of the year never
thought of rising until the sun had set, when he would emerge from his
Bond Street rooms as spruce and gay as a lark." He had been engaged to a
daughter of Douglas Jerrold (whose other daughter, it will be
remembered, was the wife of Henry Mayhew), but on the ground that "one
Mayhew is enough in the family," Jerrold would not hear of it, and the
young people remained faithful to each other to the end. Living first
with Joseph Swain, the engraver, he afterwards took up his residence for
a time with the Lemons at King's Road, Chelsea.
"Ponny's" portrait, it has often been said, may be seen in the White
Knight in "Alice in Wonderland;" but "the resemblance," says Sir John
Tenniel, "was purely accidental, a mere unintentional caricature, which
his _friends_, of course, were only too delighted to make the most of.
P. M. was certainly handsome, whereas the White Knight can scarcely be
considered a type of 'manly beauty.'" He was a great favourite with the
Staff, by reason of his many charming qualities. What they thought of
him may be in a measure deduced from one or two of the verses borrowed
from Shirley Brooks's Birthday Ode, here reproduced from Mr. Hatton's
"True Story" in "London Society":--
"Is he perfect? Why, no, that is hardly the case;
If he were, the _Punch_ Table would not be his place;
You all have your faults--I confess one or two--
And we love him the better for having a few.
"He never did murder, like--never mind whom,
Nor poisoned relations, like--some in this room;
Nor deceived the young ladies, like--men whom I see,
Nor even intrigued with a gosling, like--me.
"No; black are our bosoms, and red are our hands,
But a model of virtue our Ponniboy stands;
And his basest detractors can only say this,
That he's fond of the cup, and the card, and the kiss.
"A warm-hearted fellow--a faithful ally,
Our Bloater's[42] Vice-Regent o'er _Punch's_ gone by;
He's as true to the flag of the White Friars still
As when he did service with Jerrold and Gil.
"Here's his health in a bumper! "_Old_" Ponny--a fib;
What's fifty? A baby. Bring tucker and bib.
Add twenty; then ask us again, little boy,
And till then may your life be all pleasure and joy!"
"Ponny" Mayhew, who did not actually write anything for some years
before his end, died in May, 1872; and on p. 191 of the sixty-second
volume a graceful obituary notice pays tribute to his long and faithful
service and his gentle good-nature.
By this time _Punch's_ established reputation brought a great number of
anonymous contributions, only a very few of which were ever used, and of
fewer still was the authorship placed upon record. Early in 1843,
however (p. 82, Vol. IV.), Mr. Blackwood, of Edinburgh, sent in one of
the earliest of Scottish witticisms, a conundrum; Joseph O'Leary, a
reporter of the "Morning Herald," is said to have contributed a poem on
"The English Vandal;" and R. B. Peake, who had adapted "A Night with
_Punch_" for W. J. Hammond, began his little series of "_Punch's_
Provincial Intelligence," of which the most notable is a humorous report
of the University Boatrace of the year; and then the elder Hood began
his short but brilliant career.
[Illustration: THOMAS HOOD
_From an Engraving by W. Hole, after the Painting by Lewis._]
Thomas Hood had forgiven and forgotten the annoyance he had felt on
seeing in the first number of _Punch_ a bogus advertisement ascribed to
him under the title of "Lessons in Punmanship," at which he "could only
express his amazement that his name should be paraded with apparent
authority in a paper of the very existence of which he was not aware;"
and within two years he became a fairly constant contributor, after
writing to Dickens, "You will be glad to hear that I have made an
arrangement with Bradbury to contribute to _Punch_, but that is a secret
I cannot keep from you. It will be light occasional work for odd times."
So he began with a sketch re-drawn by H. G. Hine, accompanying a "Police
Report of a Daring Robbery by a Noble Lord"--the first of his stinging
attacks on Lord William Lennox, one of _Punch's_ favourite and, it must
be admitted, legitimate butts. Then followed at different times a score
or more of conundrums in the true Hoodian vein under the title of "Whys
and Whens," fair specimens of which are these: "Why is killing bees
like a confession? Because you unbuzz 'em." "Why is 'yes' the most
ignorant word in the language? Because it doesn't no anything." "What's
the difference between a soldier and a bomb-shell? One goes to wars, the
other goes to peaces." "When is a clock on the stairs dangerous? When it
runs down." A couple of sketches and "A Drop of Gin," an important poem
of seventy-six lines somewhat in the manner of the latter portion of
"Miss Kilmansegg" were followed--enclosed within a comic border!--by his
greatest popular effort, "The Song of the Shirt." This appeared, not in
the "Almanac," but in the "Christmas Number," on p. 261 of the second
volume for 1843.
The particular incident by which this immortal poem was suggested was
one which had called forth a powerful leading-article in the "Times." It
was the "terrible fact" that a woman named Bidell, with a squalid,
half-starved infant at the breast, was "charged at the Lambeth
police-court with pawning her master's goods, for which she had to give
£2 security. Her husband had died by an accident, and had left her with
two children to support, and she obtained by her needle for the
maintenance of herself and family what her master called the 'good
living' of _seven shillings a week_."
_Punch_ was at once aglow with red-hot indignation, and in an article
entitled "Famine and Fashion!" proposed an advertisement such as this
for the firm that employed her--
"_Holland coats_ from two-and-three are shown
By Hunger's haggard fingers neatly sewn.
_Embroidered tunics_ for your infant made,--
The eyes are sightless now that worked the braid;
_Rich vests of velvet_ at this mart appear,
Each one bedimm'd by some poor widow's tear;
And _riding habits_ formed for maid or wife,
All cheap--aye, ladies, cheap as pauper-life.
For _mourning suits_ this is the fitting mart,
For every garment help'd to break a heart."
The subject touched Hood more powerfully perhaps than others, for his
nature was essentially grave and sympathetic. As he himself had said,
it was only for his livelihood that he was a lively Hood--although he
was always brimming over with comicalities; and he never felt more
deeply the dignity of his profession and his own force and weight than
when he was engaged on serious work. So Hood conjured up his "Song of
the Shirt," moved by the revelations of poor seamstresses who received,
as it appeared, five farthings a shirt, out of which sum they had to
find their own needles! Mark Lemon told Mr. Joseph Hatton that Hood had
"accompanied the poem with a few lines in which he expressed the fear
that it was hardly suitable for _Punch_, and leaving it between his
discretion and the waste-paper basket." It had, said Hood, already been
rejected by three papers, and he was sick of the sight of it. Mark Lemon
brought the poem up at the Table, where the majority of the Staff
protested against its inclusion in a comic paper. But Lemon was
determined; and, after all, was it not for a Christmas number that he
destined it--a number in which something serious, pathetic, with a note
of pity and love, was surely not out of place?
The effect on its publication was tremendous. The poem went through the
land like wild-fire. Nearly every paper quoted it, headed by the
"Times;" it was the talk of the hour, the talk of the country. It went
straight to John Bull's kind, _bourgeois_, sympathetic heart, just as
Carlyle declared that Ruskin's truths had "pierced like arrows" into
his. The authorship, too, was vigorously canvassed with intense
interest. Dickens, with that keen insight and critical faculty which had
enabled him almost alone among literary experts to detect the sex of
George Eliot, then an unknown writer (though doubtless he was helped in
the case I now speak of by Hood's letter to him just quoted), was one of
the few who at once named the writer of the verses. And it was well for
Hood that he had proof positive of the authorship, for one of the most
curious things connected with the poem was the number of persons who had
the incomprehensible audacity to claim it. One young gentleman was
mentioned by name, either by his friends or himself, and I find a letter
in a volume of newspaper cuttings to this effect: "I have just read, to
my great surprise, the announcement in your paper that Mr. Hood wrote
'The Song of the Shirt,' because _I know positively_ that what I before
stated to you is the fact." So hard pressed, indeed, was Hood, that he
wrote a private letter in February, 1845, in the following terms:--
"As I have publicly acknowledged the authorship of the '_Song of
the Shirt_,' I can have no objection to satisfy you privately on
the subject. My old friends Bradbury and Evans, the proprietors of
_Punch_, could show you the document conclusive on the subject. But
I trust my authority will be sufficient, especially as it comes
from _a man on his death-bed_."
Had these literary vultures had their way, Hood would have been brazened
out of his verses altogether.
_Punch_ shared handsomely in the glory of the poet, and its circulation
_tripled_ on the strength of it. And Mrs. Hood, poor soul, triumphed in
her prophecy; for had she not said, and maintained in spite of each
successive rejection from foolish editors--"Now mind, Hood, mark my
words; this will tell wonderfully! It is one of the best things you ever
did!"
And so this song, which, in spite of its defects, still thrills you as
you read, achieved such a popularity that for sudden and enthusiastic
applause its reception has rarely been equalled. It was soon translated
into every language of Europe--(Hood used to laugh as he wondered
how they would render "Seam and gusset and band," into Dutch);
it was printed and sold as catchpennies, printed on cotton
pocket-handkerchiefs, it was illustrated and parodied in a thousand
ways; and the greatest triumph of all, which brought tears of joy to
Hood's eyes, before a week was out a poor beggar-woman came singing it
down the street, the words set to a simple air of her own. The greatest
delight of Hood--"the darling of the English heart," as he was called,
who was literally dying when he wrote the song, and so fulfilled the
sole condition which Jerrold said was all that was needed to make him
famous--was the conviction that the interest which the nation was taking
in his lines would turn to the real advantage of those in whose cause he
pleaded. He felt that he had touched not only the nation's heart but
the nation's conscience, and he deeply appreciated Kenny Meadows' and
Leech's efforts in the same direction, such as are to be seen in the
cartoons of "Pin Money, Needle Money," and many more besides.
Speaking of the "Song of the Shirt," which brought letters to _Punch_
from every part of the globe, Mr. Ruskin declares it the most impressive
example of the most perfect manifestation of the temper of the
caricaturist, the highest development of which is to be found in Hood's
poetry; and he compares it to Leech's "General Février turned Traitor."
There certainly can be no doubt that its force is amazingly assisted by
its plainness and simplicity of language.
It is a curious fact that one verse of the poem was not printed by Mark
Lemon, although it appeared in the original manuscript; nor is it
included in the reprinted "Works." I imagine that its omission was
simply a matter of make-up, as it would be hard to compress the poem
into the space allotted to it, without using a much smaller type than
was usual in _Punch_; and an odd number of verses is a serious matter
for a sub-editor to wrestle with when he has to arrange a poem into
double columns of a given depth. The missing verse, which, to do Mark
Lemon justice, is the one most easily spared, runs as follows:--
"Seam, and gusset, and band,
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Work, work, work,
Like an Engine that works by Steam!
A mere machine of iron and wood,
That toils for Mammon's sake,
Without a brain to ponder and craze,
Or a heart to feel--and break!"
In the same number that contained the "Song of the Shirt" was another
impressive poem by Hood, "The Pauper's Christmas Carol," in seven
stanzas; but it was entirely overshadowed and eclipsed by its
fellow-song, so that it lay, as it has done for the most part since,
almost unknown, unhonoured, and unsung. Yet it was as ringing and true
as any of Jerrold's most stirring efforts in his championship of the
poor. But the two friends were essentially different in their treatment
and methods. Hood's satire was never personal, as Jerrold's was; and,
unlike Jerrold, Hood would never tolerate the idea, much less practise
it, of placing "a wide moral gulf between Rich and Poor, with Hate on
one side and Fear on the other." He sought to help the poor by awakening
the love and sympathy of Society, and for that reason he selected his
epitaph in reference to his poem, for he would never have chosen this as
technically his finest work. He was altogether out of harmony with
Jerrold's policy of stinging the rich into charity and justice by biting
satire and illogical sarcasm, warm-hearted and well-meant though it was.
At this time Hood was fast approaching his end; and he wrote for _Punch_
on his death-bed. Though still young, he was becoming more and more
afflicted with physical ailments. Amongst other troubles, he was getting
stone deaf, he said; but consoled himself with the reflection that his
friend Charles Landseer was _two stone deafer_. And all the while his
rollicking fun, and quaintly sudden turn of word and idea were
transporting his readers, as he somewhere says, "from Dull-age to
Grin-age." His humour was effervescent, continuous, and effortless--not
like Jerrold's wit, intermittent flashes called up at need--but
overflowing in a rich stream of joke, pun, hit, crank, and quip,
covering a field far wider than Jerrold's, and more genial.
The next contribution was his poem "The Drama," apropos of the State
trials in Ireland, and the Fair Maid of Perth, with allusion to the
Fighting Smith in either case--a poem of 108 lines. Then followed
"Reflections on New Year's Day" (January 6th, 1844), from which a couple
of specimen verses may well be quoted:--
"Yes, yes, it's very true and very clear!
By way of compliment and common chat,
It's very well to wish me a New Year;
But wish me a New Hat.
"Oh, yes, 'tis very pleasant, though I'm poor,
To hear the steeple make that merry din;
Except I wish one bell were at the door
To ring new trowsers in."
After a column on "The Awful State of Ireland" Hood was, on the 3rd of
March, 1844, editorially reckoned on the Staff. But the decree of Fate
was against him, and he only contributed two more pieces altogether.
_Punch_, as he acknowledged, was the one bright meteor that had flashed
across his milk-and-watery way in his latter years, and gave him,
together with Sir Robert Peel's tactful and charming bestowal of a
pension, his last delight. But already death, he said, had thrown open
wide its door to him, and he was "so near to it that he could almost
hear the hinges creak." And when he died, there were engraved upon his
tombstone, at his own desire, the simple words, "He Sang the Song of the
Shirt."
The first arrival of 1844 was Dr. Edward Vaughan Kenealy, who, many
years after, acted for and defended the historic "Claimant," the
self-confessed Orton, _alias_ Castro, _alias_ "Sir Roger Tichborne,"
with so much violent ability, lost his balance and came to utter grief.
In his youth one of his scholarly relaxations was to translate English
verse of various sorts into various languages--Greek, Hebrew, Arabic,
Hindustani, and the like, for he was a remarkable linguist. His unique
_Punch_ contribution was the rendering of "The King of the Cannibal
Islands" into Greek, and very good Greek too. The _jeu d'esprit_ is to
be found on p. 79, Volume VI., as well as in his volume of verse
dedicated to Lord Chief Justice Cockburn, whom he was destined
afterwards to waste his life in vilifying, while shattering his own
career in his savage and ineffective assaults.
In the following month T. J. Serle struck up an ephemeral connection. He
had been Macready's secretary, and acting manager of Drury Lane, and had
written "The Shadow on the Wall," and other successful plays; and
Jerrold's eldest son was named Thomas Serle, after him. His first paper
was "A Fine Lady," on the 10th of March; but after one further
contribution, two months later, he appeared no more. About the same time
there was printed "The Magnitia," by Frank Moir (May 3rd, No. 199).
J. W. Ferguson was a far more important and more useful contributor,
whose work was full of talent, whose versification was clever and
pointed, and whose topical "_Punch's_ Fairy Tales" (with obtrusively
obvious morals) are models of their kind. His "Little Frenchman's First
Lesson" (May 18th, 1844) purports to be a translation of a French poem
with which patriots are supposed to implant hatred of England in the
minds and hearts of their children the refrain being "Car ce sont là des
perfides Albionnais!"--and the "Second Lesson," which replies to a
French attack, were important efforts. His "Lays of the Amphitheatre
(Royal), by T. B. Macaulay," "Cyinon and Iphigeneia," and similar
contributions justified his inclusion in the Staff (April, 1845); but
after the autumn of 1846, by which time he was represented by a score of
columns, he disappeared from _Punch's_ scene.
A letter from Charles Lever (6th June, 1844), under the title of "A
Familiar Epistle," and over the signature "Archy Delany," for a moment
brought that distinguished novelist into contact with Thackeray--a
circumstance that was not forgotten by either writer, when the latter
paid his rather stiff Dublin visit some time afterwards to the "Harry
Rollicker" whom he so brilliantly parodied in his "Prize Novelists."
Then Mr. W. P. Bull, of Nuneaton, sent in half a column of mock-heroic
verse--"A Soliloquy"--which purported to be the commencement of a scene
from an unpublished drama entitled "The Chemist," a contribution of
which Lemon thought very highly. No further items, however, came from
that quarter.
Three recruits appeared with the month of October. A writer named
Jackson forwarded a couple of pieces ("Irish Intelligence" and "The
Polka Pest"--the latter well describing the craze with which the new
dance inoculated the whole country); and then Laman Blanchard, Jerrold's
life-long friend and fellow-worker from the beginning, made a début
that was almost coincident with his death. His "Royal Civic Function"
showed what a hand had been lost to _Punch_; but it was his delightful
"New Year's Ode: To the Winner of the St. Nisbett--Season, 1844," that
was the best of his rare contributions. It was at once an elegy of Mrs.
Nisbett, and a prayer and prophecy that she might again be seen on the
boards. The last verse runs:--
"Who weds a mere beauty, dooms dozens to grieve;
Who marries an heiress, leaves hundreds undone;
Who bears off an actress (she never took leave),
Deprives a whole city of rational fun.
But farewell the glances and nods of St. Nisbett;
We list for her short ringing laughter in vain,
And yet--bereaved London!--What think you of _this_ bet?
A hundred to one we shall see her again!"
The prophecy was only partly fulfilled; Mrs. Nisbett was certainly seen
again upon the stage, but Blanchard was not there to enjoy the sight. He
died within the same year, to the passionate grief of Douglas Jerrold.
[Illustration: TOM TAYLOR.
(_From a Photograph by Bassano._)]
The last and most important accession of the year was Tom Taylor, for
six-and-thirty years a Staff officer of _Punch_, and for the last six of
them commander-in-chief. He was twenty-seven years old when he sent in
his first two contributions--"_Punch_ to Messieurs les Rédacteurs of the
French Press" and "Startling and most Important Intelligence" (October
19th, 1844). According to John Timbs, "Landells in one of his artistic
visits to Cambridge met with Mr. T. Taylor, who, having completed his
University studies, came to London to embark in the profession of
letters, his first contribution being to Douglas Jerrold's 'Illuminated
Magazine,'" just at the time when Landells ceased his connection.
Bristed, in his record of English University life, foretold of
"Travis," generally accepted as a literary portrait of Taylor, "perhaps
he will be a nominal barrister and an actual writer for _Punch_ and the
magazines. Perhaps he will go quite mad and write a tragedy:" a capital
example of a prophecy after the event, so far as it goes--for "Five
Years" was published in 1851.
[Illustration: JOHN LEECH, TOM TAYLOR, AND PART OF HORACE MAYHEW.
(_Drawn by R. Doyle._)]
Tom Taylor prided himself on the classic verve of his prose and verse,
and undoubtedly assisted in maintaining _Punch's_ literary standard. His
work for the paper went on increasing--from six columns in Vol. VII., to
forty-two in Vol. XIII.--and soon won him his seat at the Table. For a
long while, however, he did not shine as a cartoon-suggestor, the first
being "Peel's Farewell" (July 14th, 1849), and the second in the
following May, the extremely happy burlesque on the picture in the
National Gallery--"Leeds Mercury instructing Young England." As time
went on and he became known as a writer of taste and versatility, as a
dramatist and adaptor of plays, French and English; art critic of the
"Times;" artist biographer; and Civil Servant (he attained to the
secretaryship of the Local Government Board), the weight of his
increasing responsibility and influence seemed to get into what should
have been his humorous work. To counteract it, Thackeray, up to the time
of his resignation, struggled to maintain the spirit of jollity and the
lightness of touch which had formerly been _Punch's_ true note. But in
1874, when Shirley Brooks died, Tom Taylor, who had been identified with
the paper ten years before Brooks had joined it, was promoted, as by
right of service, to the supreme command.
It cannot be said that his editorship was a success. His fun was too
scholarly and well-ordered, too veiled, deliberate, and ponderous; and
under him _Punch_ touched its lowest point of popularity.
"In humour slow, though sharp and keen his mind;
His hand was heavy, though his heart was kind."
His popularity among the outsiders was great, as I have learnt from many
of his old contributors; for he loved to extend his hospitality to young
men at his house, Lavender Sweep, at Wandsworth, and to send kindly
notes of encouragement and promises of future help. Nevertheless, he was
ever the butt of rival publications. In one of them a cartoon, entitled
"An Editor Abroad," was published, showing Mr. Burnand and Mr. du
Maurier helping him and his _Punch_ Show out of the mud in which he had
stuck; in another he was represented as "The Trumpet Blower;" while in
an article in "The Mask" (April, 1868), before he had assumed his sway,
Mr. Punch is supposed to point to "Mark Lemon's Triumphal Car" and,
referring to Taylor, to say: "He is our seraph.... His adaptations, I
assure you, are delightful. You must be well up in Michel Levy's
_répertoire_ to find him out. He is so very artful."
A peculiar feature of Tom Taylor's editorship was the hieroglyphical
character of his handwriting. His missives of instructions to artists
and writers came as a terror to the receivers, who could make little of
them. "Mr. Tom Taylor's letters," Mr. Swain informs me, "were often very
difficult to decipher. His writing was peculiar, and he would also
continue the letter if necessary in any odd corner that was vacant. I
remember his writing some instructions to an artist one day in this
fashion, while I stood at his table, and, while blotting it, saying,
'You can send it off, but I don't think he'll be able to make it out.'"
To this experience may be added my own--that I have been the first to
decipher one of these notes addressed to an unattached artist, now
understood for the first time, nearly twenty years after it was written.
To the compositors he was a perpetual tribulation; and it is doubtful
if he could not have given points to Horace Greeley. That his son helped
him, towards the end, in a secretarial sort of way, was no doubt a
saving mercy.
His was one of the busiest literary and journalistic careers of the day;
and when he died he left a void--great, it is true, yet in one respect
easily enough filled. But it was little to his friends that his humour
was not of the brightest and lightest, for his heart was of the warmest,
as Mr. George Meredith set forth in the October number of the "Cornhill
Magazine," to which he contributed a noble tribute--"To a Friend
Recently Lost, T. T."--a sonnet beginning:--
"When I remember, Friend, whom lost I call
Because a man beloved is taken hence,
The tender humour and the fire of sense
In your good eyes: how full of heart for all;
And chiefly for the weaker by the wall,
You bore that light of sane benevolence:"
The _Punch_ men, themselves, in a whole-page obituary (July 24th, 1880),
bore graceful testimony to his personal worth. "That he is not with us,"
they said, "is hard to imagine.... A cultivated man of letters, an
admirable scholar, he was as free from pedantry as he was incapable of
idleness. From first to last he was, in the highest and best sense,
'Thorough.' ... Quick to detect and appreciate talent, he was ready in
every way and on all occasions to hold out a helping hand to a
beginner." Thus feelingly they spoke of "the dear friend" they had lost.
For in his death they forgot the little annoyances they had suffered
from the tampering with their lines and spoiling their points, of which
they had sometimes had occasion to complain; with other drawbacks
belonging to an essentially fidgety nature. It may safely be said, that
if he left a hard task to his successor to work up the reputation of
_Punch_ as a comic paper, he did not at least render it difficult for
him to make his mark by comparison.
No new humorist appeared in the volumes for 1845, although a poet of
eminence found expression on a single occasion. To one Kelly is to be
credited some humorous verses on "Dunsinane;" to J. Rigby, an Irish
Song; to Leech, his Harlequinade verses (which do not aspire even to the
dignity of a "trifle" or doggerel); to Watts Phillips, a few articles of
little importance; and to J. King, the verses in which an "Exiled
Londoner" (p. 147, Vol. IX.) apostrophises his beloved Babylon. The one
contribution of importance was that of Mr. Coventry Patmore.
This was written in hot indignation of generous youth (he was but
twenty-two years old) at the French atrocity in Algiers, when, during
the campaign, General Pelissier filled with straw the mouth of the caves
of Dahra, wherein the opposing Arabs, with their women and children, had
taken refuge, and set fire to the mass. This foul act of the future Duke
of Malakoff caused a thrill of horror to pass through Europe, and the
gentle author of "The Angel in the House" was moved by the scandal to
the composition of his eight-stanza poem, of which Douglas Jerrold
procured the insertion on the 16th of August (p. 73, Vol. IX.):--
"Rush the sparks in rapid fountains
Up abroad into the sky!
From the bases of the mountains
Leap the fork'd flames mountain-high!
The flames, like devils thirsting,
Lick the wind, where crackling spars
Wage hellish warfare, worsting
All the still, astonished stars!
Ply the furnace, fling the faggots!
Lo, the flames writhe, rush, and tear
And a thousand writhe like maggots
In among them--_Vive la guerre!_"
The poem follows the details of the massacre, sickening but for the
power the lines display. It continues:
"And now, to crown our glory,
Get we trophies, to display
As vouchers for our story,
And mementoes of this day!
Once more, then, to the grottoes!
Gather each one all he can--
Blister'd blade with Arab mottoes,
Spear-head, bloody yataghan.
Give room now to the raven
And the dog, who scent rich fare;
And let these words be graven
On the rock-side--_Vive la guerre!_"
It was Mr. Patmore's sole contribution, his Muse never again being
startled into any other poetical demonstration of the sort in _Punch's_
pages. The following year he became assistant-librarian at the British
Museum.
"Jacob Omnium's" first appearance, curiously enough, was with a short
article which, in the reprinted works of Thackeray, has been ascribed to
the novelist. This was "A Plea for Plush" (July 20th, 1846),
appropriately signed "[Greek: Philophlynkês]," dealing, it is true, with
Jeames's nether garments on a hot day, but still with no internal
evidence of style to warrant its ascription to the "Fat Contributor."
Henceforward his other few papers were entered to him in his own name of
Matthew J. Higgins. He was a great friend of the _Punch_ Staff,
particularly of Thackeray and Leech. Of him the former had written in
the "Ballad of Policeman X"--
"His name is Jacob Homnium, Exquire;
And if _I_'d committed crimes,
Good Lord! I wouldn't ave that mann
Attack me in the _Times_!----"
while Leech took his part against Lord John Russell on the occasion of
Higgins's "Story of the Mhow Court Martial." He was shown as a tall,
self-possessed gentleman, saying to the little fellow, who is sparring
up to him--"Pooh, go and hit one of your own size." Higgins's height,
indeed, was greater than that of either Thackeray or his friend Dean
Hole--six feet eight; and when the three friends walked abroad, the
sensation among the passers-by was considerable. On Thackeray and Dean
Hole measuring heights once in the house of a common friend, it was
found that they were practically equal. "Ah, yes," exclaimed the Dean;
"the cases are about the same, but one contains a poor dancing-master's
fiddle, and the other a Stradivarius."
_Punch's_ sensation of the year was the fierce revenge taken by Tennyson
in its pages on Bulwer Lytton. Bulwer, as is explained elsewhere, had
been set up by _Punch_ as one of its pet butts from the very beginning;
and when Tennyson's sledge-hammer onslaught was brought to them, so it
is said, by a distinguished man of letters--a particular friend of both
parties--they rejoiced exceedingly. Tennyson's broadside had not been
unprovoked. Years before, in 1830, he had published, through Effingham
Wilson, "Poems, chiefly Lyrical," which contained the poem "To a Darling
Room," afterwards suppressed. Seizing on this, Lytton had re-echoed in
his "New Timon: A Romance of London," the strictures which Christopher
North has so severely, though good-naturedly, passed upon it in
"Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine" for May, 1832, and furthermore taunted
the Laureate with the pension of £200 which had just been conferred upon
him. The attack was just the sort to extort a violent reply.
"Not mine, not mine (O, muse forbid!) the boon
Of borrowed notes, the mock-bird's modish tune,
The jingling medley of purloined conceits
Out-babying Wordsworth, and out-glittering Keats,
Where all the airs of patchwork pastoral chime
To drown the ears in Tennysonian rhyme.
* * * * *
"Let school-miss Alfred vent her chaste delight
On darling rooms, so warm and bright;[43]
Chant 'I am weary' in infectious strain,
And 'catch the blue-fly singing on the pane;'
Though praised by critics and adored by Blues,
Though Peel with pudding plumb the puling muse;
Though Theban taste the Saxon purse controls,
And pensions Tennyson while starves a Knowles."
_Punch_ (p. 64, Vol. X.) had rushed in to the rescue with the clever
retort:--
_"The New Timon" and Alfred Tennyson's Pension._
"You've seen a lordly mastiff's port,
Bearing in calm, contemptuous sort
The snarls of some o'erpetted pup
Who grudges him his 'bit and sup:'
So stands the bard of Locksley Hall,
While puny darts around him fall,
Tipp'd with what TIMON takes for venom;
He is the mastiff, TIM the Blenheim."
But Tennyson's was not by any means "the lordly mastiff's port." He was
stung by the contemptuous reference to the pension, and proved the truth
of Johnson's aphorism--
"Of all the griefs that harass the distrest,
Sure the most bitter is the scornful jest"--
and he straightway wrote the ten verses that appeared under the title of
"The New Timon, and the Poets" (p. 103, Vol. X.), signing them
"ALCIBIADES":--
"We know him, out of SHAKESPEARE'S art,
And those fine curses which he spoke;
The old TIMON, with his noble heart,
That, strongly loathing, greatly broke.
So died the Old: here comes the New.
Regard him: a familiar face:
I _thought_ we knew him: What, it's you,
The padded man that wears the stays--
* * * * *
"What profits now to understand
The merits of a spotless shirt--
A dapper boot--a little hand--
If half the little soul is dirt?
* * * * *
"A TIMON, you! Nay, nay, for shame:
It looks too arrogant a jest--
The fierce old man--to take _his_ name,
You bandbox. Off, and let him rest."
This crushing rejoinder was cordially welcomed by Thackeray and the
rest of the Staff, who loved to castigate the fopperies of the conceited
poetaster, and Lytton, it is said, was not a little astonished at the
virility of "school-miss Alfred." But Tennyson's anger soon cooled;
perhaps his conscience smote him; for the very next week he toned down
the savagery of his first verses in an "Afterthought," in which he said:
"And _I_ too talk, and lose the touch
I talk of. Surely, after all,
The noblest answer unto such
Is kindly silence when they brawl."
The first set of verses are not to be found in the poet's collected
poems; but the second are included, only "kindly silence" is replaced by
"perfect stillness." After that Tennyson broke silence no more; and
Lytton subsequently made what was put forward as an _amende honorable_,
in a speech at Hertford (October, 1862), when he said that "we must
comfort ourselves with the thought so exquisitely expressed by our Poet
Laureate," and so forth. The quarrel between _Punch_ and Lytton faded,
first into a truce, and then into friendship; and in 1851 we find
several of the Staff playing "Not so Bad as we Seem"--written specially
for them--at Devonshire House, before the Queen and the Prince Consort.
It may not inappropriately be mentioned that when Woolner's bust of
Tennyson was presented to Trinity College and the authorities excluded
it from the chapel and library on the ground that there was no precedent
for paying so much honour to a living person, _Punch_, by the hand of
Shirley Brooks, published one of the finest parodies extant of the
Laureate's style, beginning with the line--
"I am not dead; of that I do repent."
In January, 1847, Horace Smith, the brother of James ---- they of the
"Rejected Addresses"--contributed a column "Christmas Commercial
Report;" and John Macgregor--"Rob Roy"--began his acknowledged series of
papers and sketches with "Costumes for the Commons" and "Meeting of the
Streets," the pecuniary results of which he devoted to police-court
poor-boxes. He was hardly more than a lad at the time; but he was
already a strong writer, and his references to the French Revolution
have the intrinsic merit that they were written by one who was in Paris
at the time when the "Citizen King" took flight to England.
[Illustration: HENRY SILVER.
(_From a Photograph by Elliott and Fry._)]
Mr. Henry Silver, ex-_Punch_ Staff officer, first appeared anonymously
in _Punch_ in February, 1848, with an obituary notice, sent from
Norwich, where he was articled to Sir William Foster, Bart., solicitor.
It was called "The Death of Mr. Wimbush's Elephant"--the Jumbo of the
period, which had died at the age of eighty-four. He was then only
twenty years of age, and, encouraged by this success, he began
contributing trifles to "The Month." This publication was edited by
Albert Smith in 1851; but although it was illustrated by Leech, and was
one of the most genuinely humorous works of its kind, it ran for only
six months. When "The Month" came to a sudden stop, the articles
remaining unpublished were turned over to Mark Lemon to see what use he
could make of them. Some were by Mr. Silver, who was forthwith summoned
from his anonymity by a line in _Punch_: "'Naughty Boy' has not sent his
address." Mark Lemon was not kept waiting for the answer, and after
paying him for several of his previous contributions (an attention
highly appreciated) he at once installed the young man as a writer at
the rate of one guinea per column. This, in due course, was raised to
thirty shillings, and at that remained until 1881, when he received a
weekly stipend of six guineas, which the Editor declared to be the
maximum then payable to a _Punch_ writer. Some years previous to this,
and soon after the death of Douglas Jerrold, Mr. Silver had been
summoned to occupy the place at the Table left vacant by the great
satirist. "My chief work," he writes in answer to my inquiry, "was in
the decade ending with the 'Sixties, though it by no means ceased then.
I often filled four or five columns a week, and contributed '_Punch's_
History of Costume'" (illustrated by Tenniel), "'Our Dramatic
Correspondent,' 'Our Dramatic Spectator,' with a great amount of prose
and verse, and sundry pages of the 'Essence of Parliament' when Shirley
Brooks was away."
Perhaps Mr. Silver's greatest service to _Punch_, as elsewhere
explained, was his introduction of Charles Keene, with whom he was very
intimate for more than forty years. His friendship with Leech, a
fellow-Carthusian, though of course greatly his senior, is another
interesting passage of his life, testified to by the many hunting
sketches which, with a score or more of Keene's, decorated the billiard
room of the fine old house in Kensington where Leech had died, and which
Mr. Silver subsequently occupied until it was pulled down in 1893.
At Leech's death Mr. Silver was invited by Mark Lemon to apply to the
Governors of Charterhouse for the gift of an admission into "Gown-boys"
for the son of the great draughtsman who had been so good a friend.
After many fruitless efforts he was at length successful, and received
the welcome present from the hands of Lord John Russell--as is set forth
elsewhere. On the death of Lemon, Mr. Silver severed his regular
connection with _Punch_.
The advent of the brilliant journalist Mr. Sutherland Edwards was the
other event of 1848. "I was engaged on _Punch_," he says, "at the
recommendation of Gilbert à Beckett, who had thought well of satirical
verses and poems contributed by me to a paper called 'Pasquin.' Douglas
Jerrold, however, had been attacked rather severely in 'Pasquin;' not by
me, but by James Hannay. Hannay and myself wrote the whole of 'Pasquin'
up to the time of my quitting that publication in order to write for
_Punch_; and we considered ourselves jointly responsible for what
appeared in its columns. Jerrold was away in the Channel Islands at the
time of my being engaged on _Punch_; and on his return to London he
showed himself annoyed (not unnaturally, perhaps) at the Editor, Mark
Lemon, having engaged me. 'Two youths,' he was reported to have said,
'throw mud at me, and because one of them hits me in the eye you clasp
him to your bosom.' Mark Lemon now asked me to give up writing for
_Punch_, but to contribute as much as I liked to a magazine he was about
to start with the assistance of the contributors to _Punch_. It was to
have been called 'The Gallanty Show;' but it never came out. After I had
contributed to _Punch_ for some weeks, I wrote a few articles for one of
'_Punch's_ Pocket-Books;' then finding I was not wanted, I ceased to
send in contributions, and my engagement came to an end.... I resumed my
connection with _Punch_ when Mr. Burnand became Editor (thirty-two years
afterwards), and still write for it from time to time, but only as an
occasional contributor." In this year Richard Doyle made a slight
literary appearance in the paper, with an article on "High Art and the
Royal Academy."
Charles Dickens is supposed to have contributed to _Punch_ in the
following year (1849) an article entitled "Dreadful Hardships Endured by
the Shipwrecked Crew of the _London_, Chiefly for Want of Water"--a
criticism on the scandalous condition of the suburban water supply. Mr.
F. G. Kitton has examined the original manuscript preserved by Mrs. Mark
Lemon in her autograph album. Mr. Hatton found it among Lemon's papers,
bearing on the outside, in the Editor's handwriting, the inscription,
"Dickens' only contribution to _Punch_!" But the alleged contribution is
absolutely undiscoverable in the pages of the paper. The explanation is,
in Mr. Kitten's words, that "about the time the manuscript was written,
several pictorial allusions to foul water in suburban London appeared in
_Punch_, which bear directly upon the subject of Dickens's protest, and
it is surmised that the Editor, on the receipt of Dickens's
contribution, considered that greater prominence would be given to the
matter to which they referred by means of a cartoon than by a few lines
of text. Hence we find the rebuke enforced by the pencil of the artist,
instead of the mere literary lashing which Dickens intended to inflict
upon that particular public grievance." It may safely be suggested that
this was the only occasion on which, after his reputation was made,
Dickens was ever "declined with thanks." This MS., it may be added, was
sold at Sotheby's on the 9th of July, 1889, and was knocked down for
£16.
[Illustration: CHARLES DICKENS' SOLE (AND REJECTED) CONTRIBUTION.
(_By Permission of Mr. F. G. Kitton and Mr F. Sabin._)]
The curious fact remains that Dickens, who was the intimate friend of
_Punch's_ Editor for the best part of their working lives, whose
publishers were _Punch's_ proprietors as well as the publishers and part
proprietors of the "Daily News," which Dickens edited, never contributed
to _Punch_, nor was in any way identified with it, save, indeed, with
its Dinner-Table. At that function he was at one time a frequent
visitor, and also was he present when at the Prince of Wales's wedding a
brilliant company assembled at the publishing office to see the
_cortège_ go by. It was on that occasion that Sothern, one of the
invited guests, arrived on the other side of the way, but, owing to the
denseness of the crowd, was utterly unable to force his way across. His
friends caught sight of him, and pointed to a policeman. Sothern took
the hint. "Get me through," he whispered, "and I'll give you a
sovereign." "Afraid I can't," said the man regretfully, "but I'll try."
A prodigious effort was made, but unsuccessfully, loud protests going up
from the packed crowd. Sothern was at his wits' end; he could not bear
the thought of losing such a dinner in such a company, but his invention
did not fail him. "Look here," he said to the constable; "put your
handcuffs on me, drag me through, and land me at that door, and I'll
give you _two_ pounds." The man seized the idea and Sothern together; he
slipped on the handcuffs, and with a loud "Make way, there!" dragged his
prize through a mass of humanity that was only too happy to assist the
law as far as might be; and after a few moments of crushing, pushing,
and general rough handling, the dishevelled comedian was successfully
landed at _Punch's_ publishing door. "You'll find the money in my
waistcoat pocket," said Sothern. But he did not observe that, after the
policeman had secured it, a stealthy addition was made to the money in
the constabular palm by one of his _Punch_ friends; and only when the
man disappeared in the crowd did Sothern realise that a timely bribe had
left him to mix with his friends for the rest of the day and to eat his
dinner with hands firmly secured in his manacles!
It is said that Dickens held aloof from _Punch_ on account of
Thackeray's success in it. If so, the jealousy must have been all on
Dickens' side; for Thackeray's well-known exclamation, when he hurried
into the _Punch_ office and slapped down before Lemon the latest number
of "Dombey and Son" containing Paul Dombey's death, "It's stupendous!
unsurpassed! There's no writing against such power as this!" was that of
a generous and magnanimous man. Bryan Proctor ("Barry Cornwall"),
writing to E. Fitzgerald in 1870, said, "I saw a good deal of Thackeray
until his death.... I did not observe much jealousy in Thackeray towards
Dickens, nor _vice versâ_. They travelled pretty comfortably on their
dusty road together. Each had a quantity of good-nature, and each could
afford to be liberal to the other." The probable explanation is that
Dickens simply did not care to interrupt his triumphant career of
novelist in order to write occasional articles in a paper in which
anonymity was the rule and rejection so painfully possible.
Once, however, by the hand of Leech, Dickens made an appearance in
_Punch_, and, curiously enough, only once. This was in the drawing of
the awful appearance of a "wopps" at a picnic (p. 76, Vol. XVII.), where
the novelist appears as the handsome, but not very striking, youth
attendant on the young lady who is overcome at the distressing
situation. It must be admitted that the portrait is hardly recognisable.
But a serious quarrel broke out between Dickens and the _Punch_ men,
publishers and Editor alike--a quarrel wholly on Dickens's side. So
great had been his intimacy and his influence that he could cause the
insertion of a cartoon and even bring about the alteration of the Dinner
day. But now, on the unhappy differences between himself and his wife,
trouble arose between old friends. Mark Lemon had naturally leaned
towards the wife, from chivalry and sense of right, and the publishers
preferred to take no share in a quarrel in which they certainly had no
concern. On May 28, 1859, the whole of the back page of _Punch_ was
given to an advertisement of "Once a Week," which was to follow
"Household Words," and to an explanation of the position of affairs
between "Mr. Charles Dickens and his late Publishers." The following
paragraphs are all that it is needful to quote from the statement:--
"So far as 1836, Bradbury and Evans had business relations with Mr.
Dickens, and, in 1844, an agreement was entered into by which they
acquired an interest in all the works he might write, or in any
periodical he might originate, during a term of seven years. Under
this agreement Bradbury and Evans became possessed of a joint,
though unequal, interest with Mr. Dickens in 'Household Words,'
commenced in 1850. Friendly relations had simultaneously sprung up
between them, and they were on terms of close intimacy in 1858,
when circumstances led to Mr. Dickens's publication of a statement,
on the subject of his conjugal differences, in various newspapers,
including 'Household Words' of June 12th.
"The public disclosure of these differences took most people by
surprise, and was notoriously the subject of comments, by no means
complimentary to Mr. Dickens himself, as regarded the taste of this
proceeding. On June 17th, however, Bradbury and Evans learnt from a
common friend, that Mr. Dickens had resolved to break off his
connection with them, because this statement was not printed in the
number of _Punch_ published the day preceding--in other words,
because it did not occur to Bradbury and Evans to exceed their
legitimate functions as proprietors and publishers, and to require
the insertion of statements on a domestic and painful subject in
the inappropriate columns of a comic miscellany. No previous
request for the insertion of this statement had been made either to
Bradbury and Evans, or to the editor of _Punch_, and the grievance
of Mr. Dickens substantially amounted to this, that Bradbury and
Evans did not take upon themselves, unsolicited, to gratify an
eccentric wish by a preposterous action.... Bradbury and Evans
replied that they did not, and could not, believe that this was the
sole cause of Mr. Dickens's altered feeling towards them; but they
were assured that it _was_ the sole cause, and that Mr. Dickens
desired to bear testimony to their integrity and zeal as his
publishers, but that his resolution was formed, and nothing could
alter it."
So this foolish estrangement went on until, years afterwards, Clarkson
Stanfield on his death-bed besought Dickens to resume his friendship
with the man with whom, after all, he had had no cause of quarrel. So
Dickens sent to Lemon (whom he doubtless suspected of having written
the publishers' damaging defence just quoted) a kindly letter when
"Uncle Mark" appeared as Falstaff before the public, and when Stanfield
was buried the two men clasped hands over his open grave; and later on,
when Dickens died, some of the most touching and beautiful verses that
ever appeared in _Punch_ were devoted to his memory.
[Illustration: JAMES HANNAY.
(_From a photograph by T. Rogers._)]
In 1850 appeared James Hannay, Mr. Sutherland Edwards' associate in
"Pasquin," and founder (I am informed by his cousin, Mr. J. L. Hannay,
the police magistrate) of "The Puppet Show." It was when he was
approached by the proprietors of this periodical (the Vizetelly
brothers), and was asked to write for it as well--"Something in the
manner of Sterne, with a dash of Swift"--he replied that in that case
his remuneration would have to be "Something in the manner of
Rothschild, with a dash of Baring." Hannay was at that time on the
"Morning Chronicle," after having, like Jerrold and Stanfield, given a
trial to the Royal Navy and found it wanting. He literally fought his
way into _Punch_, just as Shirley Brooks did a few years subsequently,
and was assisted from within by the kindly appreciation of Thackeray.
Perhaps Jerrold was reconciled to the accession in view of Hannay having
started "The Puppet Show" with the main object of violently assaulting
his old friend and chum Mr. Edwards, who, in spite of all journalistic
amenities, remained his chum, for these assaults were only attacks _pour
rire_.
For a time Hannay's pen was of the utmost value to _Punch_. His earliest
contributions were notes on a tour in Scotland--his native country--he
describing himself as "The Scotchman _who went back again_." But he did
not remain very long with _Punch_; besides being a wit, he was a scholar
with a very serious side to his character, and the amusement of the
public became, in his eyes, less important than their instruction. He
was only twenty-three when he produced his first novel of "Singleton
Fontenoy, R.N.," which so pleased Carlyle that it induced the old
philosopher to invite him to his house. Then he turned lecturer on
literary subjects, became "Quarterly" reviewer, married a daughter of
Kenny Meadows, took to diplomacy in a small way, and was appointed Her
Majesty's Consul at Barcelona, where he died in 1873. Mr. Holman Hunt,
one of the band of wits and youthful geniuses of whom Hannay was the
wittiest of all, writes to me of him as "a contributor of great power
who might with self-control have gained a great position--a friend who
used to come on our nocturnal boating expeditions up the river. He was
one of the dear crew who in different capacities and with varied powers
once manned life's larger boat with me."
Sir John Tenniel contributed a few pieces in 1851 (p. 56, Vol. XX.) and
later, but they were of little importance. Cuthbert Bede was as much a
writer as a draughtsman, as he showed by his parody of the "High-mettled
Racer." Then came another of _Punch's_ stars of the first magnitude,
Shirley Brooks.
FOOTNOTES:
[42] Mark Lemon.
[43] The author here quotes in a footnote a few lines from the poem,
beginning
"O, darling room, my heart's delight"----
and then observes: "The whole of this _Poem_ (!!!) is worth reading, in
order to see to what depths of silliness the human intellect can
descend."