Public opinion was divided and unexpected convergences were

revealed--illustrated, to take only one instance, by _Punch's_ satirical

picture of John Bright embracing Wiseman. But in the heat of the

controversy _Punch_ showed refreshing signs of good sense and good

feeling, and sternly rebukes the precursors of the "Kensitites," who

made a vulgar demonstration, in which the ringleader masqueraded as a

mock Pope outside Wiseman's house. "To play the fool about the street on

behalf of Protestantism can only discredit it." Still, the Pope and

Wiseman remained the targets of _Punch's_ obloquy for several years.

Oxford he regarded as "the halfway house to Rome." Indeed, one is

tempted to sum up his views in an adaptation of an old rhyme:--

Roman dictation is my vexation;

Oxford is just as bad;

Papal aggression is my obsession,

And Pusey drives me mad.

In "Roman Candles in Hampshire" we find him attacking Keble's ritual at

Hursley. This was in February, 1852, and when the _Tablet_ attributed

the riots and loss of life at Stockport to the Government's proclamation

"against processions, vestments, and the free exercise of the Catholic

religion," charged the Ministers responsible with planning murder, and

described the Queen's speech as "a vile and hypocritical document,"

_Punch_ replied to the editor that "we, the mass of Englishmen, look

upon your viperine expectorations with simple antipathy and disgust." A

bitter cartoon on the interference of Irish priests at elections

followed up this exchange of opinions; not more bitter, however, than

the repeated onslaughts on Canon Moore, the Anglican pluralist registrar

of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury, who drew £13,000 a year,

according to _Punch_, yet doing nothing to earn it. The controversy died

down during the Crimean War, and then, four years elapsing, the Clapham

Evangelicals are rebuked for the "profane vulgarity and sanctified

slang" of their campaign against the Redemptionist Fathers.

[Sidenote: _A More Tolerant Spirit_]

[Illustration: THE PET PARSON]

For the rest of the period under review in this volume _Punch_ shows a

slightly more tolerant spirit to Papists. Exeter Hall and the bigots who

strove for a renewal of the Protestant ascendancy in Ireland, which they

considered had been imperilled by the Maynooth Grant, are frequently

rebuked for this intolerance; and he went so far as to say, _à propos_

of the persistent activities of the United Kingdom Alliance, that, "Of

all Popery, that which threatens to 'rob a poor man of his beer' is the

most objectionable and most atrociously subversive of the liberty of the

British subject." The sting of the remark was not lessened by the fact

that the honorary secretary of the Alliance in question was a Mr.

Samuel Pope, and _Punch_, unable to resist a pun, observes that there is

"one important difference between this present Papal aggression and that

of this time six years. There was at least one Wiseman engaged in the

former, whereas the parties to the latter are all of them fools." At the

close of the year we come across the first mention of Spurgeon--by no

means complimentary. _Punch_, who suggests him as a fit model for Madame

Tussaud, who "makes dolls of our idols," regarded the Nonconformist

preacher, already famous at the age of twenty-three, as a mere

self-advertising jocular charlatan, a "sacred creature at thousands of

tea-tables," a "dealer in brimstone with plenty of treacle." _Punch_, as

will be seen, had no liking for the "pets of the pulpit," whose

portraits were even more in evidence at the print-sellers' shops than

those of favourite actors. The "histrionic pulpit" was "worse than the

stage at its worst," and he admonishes Spurgeon to dispense with these

aids to popularity.

To resume and sum up, the outlook on Church and State of a very large

body of public opinion, from that of the Liberal Prime Minister to the

man in the street, is reflected in the pages of _Punch_. Where doctrinal

controversies are concerned we find a complete accordance with the

sentiments of "Hang Theology" Rogers, the late rector of Bishopsgate. We

find a complete inability to appreciate a bishop such as "Henry of

Exeter," who was prepared to spend--and lose--scores of thousands of

pounds in litigation to establish his views on baptismal regeneration.

We find continuous onslaughts on Pluralism, Sinecurism, Mediævalism,

Sectarianism, and, above all, Sabbatarianism. _Punch_ made no effort to

disguise his satisfaction when the "Exeter Hallites," as a result of

their campaign against the Maynooth Grant, were landed in serious

financial troubles, and appealed for relief to discharge their debts.

"How," he asks, "can people have the conscience to ask for charity of

others who have so little of it themselves?"

[Illustration: THE POLITICAL TOPSY

"I 'spects nobody can't do nothin' with me."--_Vide Uncle Tom's Cabin._]

On April 26 of this same year of 1845 _Punch_ castigated the violence of

the Duke of Newcastle, Colonel Sibthorp, Plumptre and other opponents of

the Maynooth Grant Bill, notably a certain Sir Culling Eardley Smith,

who declared that "the British Lion was now aroused and would not rest

again until he had devoured every atom of Popery," and that he knew of

"at least twelve men in Parliament who would die on the floor of the

House sooner than that the Bill should pass into law." If _Punch_ showed

himself almost as violent, if not as ridiculous as this Protestant

gladiator, let it be remembered that, as a convinced believer in the

British Constitution and the principles of the Reformation, he regarded

the Papal claims as an attempt to set up an _imperium in imperio_.

Catholic emancipation he firmly supported, but this was another matter.

His misgivings were unfounded, but there is no reason to doubt his

honesty or that of those who felt as he did. It was part of the same

insularity, often prompted by a sound instinct, which led him to look

with disfavour on foreigners and foreign ways as likely, if encouraged,

to denationalize the British fibre. To this we may also attribute his

early distrust and suspicion of Disraeli. Nor was it to be wondered at,

in view of the admissions of his biographers:--

The fundamental fact about Disraeli was that he was a Jew. He

accepted Christianity, but he accepted it as the highest

development of Judaism. He had inherited from his father a profound

interest in English history, literature, society and tradition,

which his own reading and experience had deepened. But he seemed

throughout his life never to be quite of the nation which he loved,

served and governed; always to be a little detached when in the act

of leading; always to be the spectator, almost the critic, as well

as the principal performer. "No Englishman," writes Greenwood,

"could approach Disraeli without some immediate consciousness that

he was in the presence of a foreigner."[9]

Now _Punch_ was intensely English; he saw no need for "Oriental mystery"

in politics, and considered Disraeli's adoption by the country gentlemen

as little short of an unholy alliance. Dizzy's flamboyant and exotic

tastes were a constant source of offence. Nothing better illustrates

this habit of mind, which was by no means peculiar to _Punch_, than the

part played by the paper during the 'forties and 'fifties in the long

and chequered movement in favour of removing Jewish disabilities. A

manly desire to give the Jews fair play was tempered by strong

prejudice. As we have seen, _Punch_ frankly admitted the Jews' great

virtue, their care for their poor, and held it up as an example to the

"Exeter Hallites," who thought that charity must begin abroad. At the

same time he held the Jews largely responsible for the worst side of the

cheap clothing trade, witness his bitter verses on "Moses & Co." in

1844.

[Footnote 9: _Life of Disraeli_ (Monypenny and Buckle), Vol. vi., p.

635.]

[Sidenote: _Punch and the Jews_]

_Punch's_ jests at the expense of the Jews were not always so excusable

as in the case of Messrs. Moses and "Sholomansh"; they were sometimes

purely malicious, as when a design for a monument to Disraeli at

Shrewsbury took the form of a column of discarded hats; or, again, when

the announcement that the University of Oxford intended to confer on him

the honorary degree of D.C.L., _Punch_ was prompted to remark that the

initials stood for "Deuced Clever Levite." The strange passage in

Disraeli's "Life of Lord George Bentinck," foreshadowing the rôle of

world revolutionaries assigned to the Jews in the recent much discussed

Jewish Protocol, did not escape _Punch's_ notice, and his comment is

characteristic:--

Well! The Jews, it seems, are conscious of their ill-treatment.

_They_ join Secret Societies. _They_ (for the evils complained of

by the Barbarians have nothing to do with it; their leaders are

nobodies) topple over thrones with delight. Bless us, what a

picture! And what does it suggest? Now we know why Shadrach is a

Sheriff's Officer! "_All is race._" What a picture of cool

malignity is this! Shadrach taps us on the shoulder with a fiendish

luxury, and exults in dragging off the Northern Barbarian. He

luxuriates in locking up the Frank in a sponging-house; he charges

him for the "Semitic Element," and sticks it on to the chop and

sherry.

Was _Punch_ an anti-Semite? The answer is to be found in his unwavering,

if not always very courteous or respectful, support of Baron Rothschild

in his eleven years' struggle to enter the House of Commons.

Baron Rothschild's anomalous position and his persistence in demanding

relief recalled to _Punch_ Martin Luther's saying of the Jews: "They

sit as on a wheelbarrow, without a country, a people, or a Government."

This, adds _Punch_, was said 350 years ago, and the Jew is on the

wheelbarrow still.

[Illustration: A GENTLEMAN IN DIFFICULTIES

LORD JOHN: "It's impossible for our House to let you have that little

matter now. But you can have a Bill payable next Session, if you like."]

[Sidenote: _Jewish Disabilities_]

Rothschild, elected as Whig Member for the City of London, and

re-elected in 1852, 1854, and twice in 1857, was still refused

permission to take part in the privileges of the House, though allowed

to sit below the Bar, and remain there when notice was taken of

strangers. In all, _nine_ Bills giving the Jews relief had been passed

by the Commons since 1830 and rejected by the Lords, before the tenth,

and last, introduced by Lord John Russell in 1858, led to a compromise

under which each House was enabled to determine the form in which the

oath should be taken by its members. On July 26, 1858, Baron

Rothschild's "barrow" was removed, and he was permitted to swear the

oath of allegiance in the Jewish form and take his seat. To Lord John

Russell belonged the chief credit for carrying through this reform and

abating a crying scandal, but undoubtedly _Punch_ lent him valuable

free-lance help throughout.

FROM PEACE TO WAR

In the 'forties _Punch_, as we have already noted, stood in with "the

group of middle-class men of enthusiasm and sagacity" whose leaders in

Parliament were Cobden and Bright. Their views were from the first

strongly anti-militaristic, and were shared up to a certain point by

_Punch_. In his early years he was, with some reserves, distinctly

pacificist. If by 1854 he was a whole-hearted supporter of the Crimean

War, it was not due to any change of _personnel_. The gentle Doyle

resigned because of _Punch's_ "No Popery" campaign. Thackeray severed

his connexion with the paper because of its attacks on Palmerston, the

Prince Consort and Louis Napoleon. But the men who dominated the policy

of _Punch_ in his ultra-humanitarian days remained when he was most

bellicose. Leech, who drew the "Home of the Rick-burner," was

responsible for "General Février" and the Crimean and Mutiny cartoons.

Mark Lemon was still editor, Douglas Jerrold and Gilbert à Beckett were

his right hand men and most voluminous contributors. It was a

conversion, if you like, but it was not dictated by expediency, nor did

it involve a sacrifice of conviction or a desertion of the cause of the

underdog. It was partly due to a John Bullish resentment of anything

savouring of foreign aggression or intervention. Along with all his

criticisms of Palmerston's Parliamentary opportunism, _Punch_ gave "the

judicious bottle-holder" credit for keeping us out of wars by his

stiffness. _Punch_ supported Cobden and Bright in the battle over the

Corn Laws, but distrusted and thoroughly disapproved of the attitude of

the Manchester School towards the reform of the conditions of

Labour--witness his "Few words with John Bright" over the Factory Act of

1847. Above all, he could not stomach the over-candid friend who

invariably sided against his country.

[Illustration: "GENERAL FÉVRIER" TURNED TRAITOR

"Russia has two Generals in whom she can confide--Generals Janvier and

Février."--_Speech of the late Emperor of Russia._]

With this much by way of preface we may note that the anti-militaristic

tirades of these early years are mainly directed against the needless

pomp and pageantry, expense and extravagance of the services. _Punch's_

campaign against duelling is another matter, and here at least he never

recanted his detestation of "the law of the pistol." He did not spare

even the Duke of Wellington, but made sarcastic reference to his meeting

with Lord Winchilsea in 1843, and in his cartoon represented the

principals wearing frock-coats and fool's caps. There is an indignant

letter to Peel the following March, when that statesman refused to bring

in a Bill against duelling, or to reprimand the Irish Attorney-General

for challenging in open court the opposing counsel in the O'Connell

trial; and when Peel further declined to grant a pension to the widow of

Colonel Fawcett, a distinguished officer who lost his life in a duel,

this refusal prompted a famous cartoon a fortnight later, accompanied by

this vitriolic comment:--

If a statue be ever erected to the living honour or the memory of

Sir Robert Peel, the artist will wholly fail in his illustration of

the true greatness of the statesman unless he deck the bronze with

widow's cap and weepers. In the long and sinuous career of the

noble baronet, we know of nothing equal to his denial of a pension

to Mrs. Fawcett, and, almost in the same week, his speech in favour

of the "laws of honour" as they exist. In one hand does the Prime

Minister hold the scales of justice, and in the other a

duelling-pistol!

_Punch's_ remedy for the evasion of the law was to let the principals go

free, but to hang the seconds without hesitation.

[Illustration: THE LAW OF THE PISTOL.]

[Sidenote: _Punch as Pacifist_]

The choice of the Army as a profession is discussed in one of the series

named "The Complete Letter-writer," which appeared in 1844. Mr. Benjamin

Allpeace, guardian to young Arthur Baytwig, pronounces against it as a

gilded fraud. At best soldiers are evils of the earth, and the pomp and

pageantry of war mere gimcrackery. The reality is "misery and anguish,

blood and tears." This was the year in which the Prince de Joinville,

Louis Philippe's third son, after bombarding Tangier and occupying

Mogador, made himself notorious by his bellicose pamphleteering; but

_Punch_ was equally severe on Lord Maidstone for his patriotic rhymes in

the _Morning Post_, and on the warlike philanthropists of Exeter Hall,

who were much exercised by the Prince's ill-will towards Great Britain.

_Punch_, prohibited in France not for the first or last time for his

comments on French politics, ridiculed the Chauvinists on both sides

with impartial satire, and published a "Woman's Plea for Peace with

France" on the ground of our debt to that country in wine, fashion, the

ballet, Jullien (the popular musician and conductor resident in London,

who would have to flee in case of war), and cosmetics. Later on, in the

same year, we come across "Entente Cordiale" cartoons, in which _Punch_

assumes the rôle of the pacificator of Europe, and a letter to French

editors protesting against the notion that John Bull is a plotter.

_Punch_ had already given a half serious support to Captain Warner, the

eccentric inventor, who professed to have invented a long-range

invisible shell to blow up ships at a distance, hailing it as a means of

ending war, and developed the argument further in a curious article on

the "Science of Warfare," _à propos_ of the benevolent object of some

inventors at Fulham. Their aim, it seems, was to put an end to war by

making it so truly terrific that, as in the classic example of the

Kilkenny cats, it would terminate its own existence by its very

ferocity. Thus do we find in the mid 'forties a foreshadowing of the

sinister uses of applied science and a justification of the doctrine of

"frightfulness." In 1845, in connexion with the intended reorganization

or calling out of the Militia, we find the first of many satirical

references to the famous Brook Green Volunteer--Brook Green being "one

of the bolts of the great Gate of London," as Hammersmith was the key to

the metropolis on the western side. _Punch_ at this time was a bitter

critic of the methods of recruiting, and his anti-militaristic zeal

reached a climax in a protest against the advertisements used at

Birmingham and elsewhere, in which he calls the recruiting sergeant "the

clown in the bloody pantomime of glory." He had already fallen foul of

Sir Charles Napier for his defence of the "cat" in 1844. The issue of

August 15, 1846, contains a personal appeal to the Queen to abolish

flogging in the Army. Here is the last stanza of "Lines on the Lash: to

the Queen":--

Let thy queenly voice be heard--

Who shall dare to disobey?--

It but costs thy Royal word,

And the lash is cast away.

With thyself it rests to scour

From our arms the loathsome stain;

Then of mercy show thy power,

And immortal be thy reign!

This may not be great poetry, but doggerel verse can be simple and

passionate. The appeal was not granted until 1881.

[Illustration: A SILLY TRICK

JOHN BULL: "Come, come, you foolish fellow; you don't suppose I'm to be

frightened by such a turnip as that!"]

[Sidenote: _The Invasion Scare_]

In 1848 the French invasion scare was in full swing, but _Punch_

maintained an attitude of satirical scepticism. Impetus was lent to the

alarm by the letter of Lord Ellesmere to _The Times_, and by the letter

of the Duke of Wellington. These were welcomed by _Punch_ as a

letting-off of alarmist steam. "Folks who feared an invasion, authorized

by Lord Ellesmere and the Duke of Wellington, have said their say, have

contributed their quota to absurdity, and, satisfied with the effect,

may now rest content for life." In the same vein the suggestion of the

formation of a National Guard who should train and practise shooting on

Sundays provokes sarcastic comment on this new form of "Sunday balls."

The enrolment of Special Constables, as a precaution against the

violence of the "physical force" extremists among the Chartists, is a

frequent theme of comment generally jocular and unsympathetic.

England's immunity from the general upheaval made for optimism. Cobden

in 1848 and 1849 was still in favour with _Punch_ as the "cleverest Cob"

in England and the apostle of "Peace, Retrenchment, and Reform." His

Arbitration Motion in the latter year met with _Punch's_ cordial

approval:--

PEACE AND WAR IN PARLIAMENT

Mr. Cobden took a businesslike view of the question, and by the

practicability of his notions obtained the expressed

goodwill--could more be expected?--of the Prime Minister and the

Foreign Secretary. For ourselves, we entirely accord with the

position of Mr. Cobden, and have a most cheerful faith in the

ultimate prosperity of his doctrines, for they are mingling

themselves with the best thoughts of the people, who are every day

more and more assured that whatever may be the cause of war, they

are the first sacrificed for it; it is they who pay the cost. Just

as the sheep is stripped of his skin for the noisy barbarous drum,

to beat the lie of glory, so are the people stripped to pay for the

music.

The romance of one era is the reality of the next. The Arbitration

Question has taken root, and will grow and spread. They show a

cedar in the gardens at Paris--a cedar of hugest girth and widest

shape--that, some century ago, was brought from Lebanon in the cap

of a traveller. The olive twig, planted by Mr. Cobden in

Westminster, will flourish despite the blighting wit of mess-rooms,

and rise and spread into a tree that shall offer shade and security

to all nations.

In a similar vein is the welcome extended to the Peace Congress in

Paris:--

THE PARLIAMENT OF PEACE IN PARIS

Anyway, the cause of peace has been reverently preached, and

reverently listened to, in the warlike city of Paris. Within a walk

of the tomb of the great peace-breaker--who turned kingdoms into

graves, and whose miserable purple was dyed in the heart's blood of

human freedom--even there peace has been worshipped. Napoleon in

his violet robe--beset with golden bees--the bees that, as in the

lion of the olden day, swarmed in carcases--Napoleon, with his

Pope-blessed crown clipping his homicidal brain, is, after all, a

portentous, glistering evil--contrasted with our Quaker friend

[Joseph Sturge], who, risen in the Hall of St. Cecilia, condemns

aggressive war as an abomination, a nuisance that it behoves man,

in this season of his soul's progress, with all his heart and all

his mind, to denounce and renounce as un-Christian, vile, and

brutifying. The drab against the purple; and, in our small

thoughts, the drab, so preaching, carries it.

So, again, _Punch_ breaks a lance in defence of the Peace Congress in

the year 1850 at Frankfort. What if it were inspired by visionary aims?

All great reformers, idealists and benefactors--Harvey, Jenner,

Stephenson--had been ridiculed by unthinking and unimaginative

critics:--

TO THE LAUGHERS

The Peace Congress is a capital joke. It's so obvious a subject for

fun that we haven't thought it worth while to waste a laugh on it.

All manner of pens have been poking the public in the ribs about

it--paper pellets of all colours and weights have been slung at

it--arrows from all quivers have been emptied on its vulnerable

sides.

"Preach Peace to the World!" The poor noodles! "Inculcate the

supremacy of right over might!" Ineffable milk-and-water spoonies!

"Hold out to nations brotherhood for warfare, the award of justice

instead of the bayonet!" The white-faced, lily-livered prigs!

"Why, it's the merest Utopianism," says the _Economist_.

"It's neither more nor less than Christianity," sneers the

_Statist_; "Trade is the peace-maker," says the Doctor of the

Manchester School; "Diplomacy keeps the world quiet," jocularly

declares the Red-tapist; "Peace indeed, the designing democrat!"

growls the Absolutist; "Peace, with a bloated Aristocracy still

rampant!" snarls the Red Republican. And they all drown in a chorus

of contemptuous laughter the pleading voices of the poor Peace

Congressists in the Church of St. Paul.

But there are some voices which refuse to join in this chorus. And

there are some, too, of the wise and the great who can discern in

this gathering of friends of peace, this little Babel of various

tongues, this tiny congress of many races, a thing in no way to be

ridiculed any more than the acorn is to be ridiculed when Science

declares that its heart contains the Oak.

The pacificist note had already been sounded when the Duke of Wellington

publicly declared in 1849 that it was time ignorance should cease in the

Army, on which _Punch_ remarked "When the aforesaid ignorance ceases,

how long will the British Army last?" And in the same year, while

condemning the Government for refusing to pay for enlarging the National

Gallery, he protested against the Naval Estimates as past a joke "when

£158,000 might be spent on a frigate including her total loss at sea."

On naval matters _Punch_ foretold many things, but he did not foresee

the advent or predict the cost of the super-Dreadnought. Indeed, if the

truth be told, he was extremely sceptical as to the efficiency of

ironclads at all. They were "ferreous freaks": vessels "made in

foundries were sure to founder." He is on safer ground altogether when

he assails with great spirit and caustic irony the refusal of the

Admiralty in 1850 to admit naval surgeons to the wardroom, and

proclaimed in vehement accents that he was "made positively ill" by the

arguments of those who opposed Captain Boldero's proposals. The status

and dignity of Army and Navy doctors and surgeons were near to his

heart, and he scornfully resented the view that while "glory may be

written on a drum head, it is not to be put down on lint."

The turning point at which _Punch's_ pacificist zeal began to cool was

reached in 1849, and the change grew out of a generous sympathy with

Italy and Hungary. The repeated warnings addressed by Palmerston to

Austria, the independent action which so often embarrassed his

colleagues and annoyed his Sovereign, and his support of Turkey in

refusing to surrender Kossuth (though he subsequently repudiated any

responsibility for his welcome in England), were warmly praised by

_Punch_, who welcomed his declaration as a "bugle note." In 1850 _Punch_

waxed humorous at the expense of Sir Francis Head, who wrote a book in

which he demonstrated that 150,000 Frenchmen could invade London with

the greatest ease. The _coup d'ètat_ of 1851, and suspicion of the aims

of Louis Napoleon, whom _Punch_ described as a "perjured homicide,"

converted him into a supporter of rifle clubs as "patriotic and

needful." The Russell Cabinet fell over the Local Militia Bill,

Palmerston carrying an amendment which omitted the word "local" from the

title of the Bill, so as to make the Militia generally available as an

Army Reserve. Palmerston had already resigned, or been dismissed, for

exceeding his functions as Foreign Minister by expressing his private

approval of the policy of Louis Napoleon, but in spite of this _Punch_

regretted the loss of the strong man of the Cabinet. The year 1852

opened in gloom and misgiving, faithfully reflected in the lines on

"Retrospect and Prospect: or 1851 and 1852," with their picture of the

anxious vigil of England.

[Illustration: THERE'S ALWAYS SOMETHING

"I'm very sorry, Palmerston, that you cannot agree with your

fellow-servants; but as I don't feel inclined to part with John, you

must go, of course."]

"Defence not defiance" is the keynote of the appeal, "Speak, Mr.

Cobden!" but it foreshadowed a cleavage which was soon to develop into

bitter antagonism:--

Armaments useless our money to spend on,

Certainly we should be acting like geese;

_But_ have we any sure ground to depend on,

In trusting our neighbours will leave us at peace?

Speak, Mr. Cobden!

The services of Volunteer Rifle Corps were accepted by the Government,

and _Punch_ (who was extremely satirical at the expense of the Oxford

University authorities for discouraging the O.U.R.C.) can fairly claim

to have been the inventor of _camouflage_ on the strength of the

following suggestions as to equipment. Under the heading of "Safety

Uniforms" the reader finds:--

In accordance with the practical suggestions of several

distinguished military officers, and others, care has been taken to

provide a great variety of patterns and uniforms, the colours of

which, assimilating to every conceivable shade of surrounding

objects, cause the wearer to present as indistinct a mark as

possible to the enemy's aim. Besides the neutral greys

corresponding to the mixed colours of the heath, and the brown

mixture identical with the colour of the mud, samples have been

manufactured of slate-colour and brick-dust red, calculated for

house-top service amongst the chimney pots, of bright green with

mother-of-pearl and gilt buttons intermingled, adapted for field

fighting in case of an invasion occurring at the time of the

daisies and buttercups, of straw colour for a harvest or stubble

brigade, and of snowy white, which would be a suitable tint if we

were to be attacked simultaneously by the foe and the frost. A

splendid pattern has also been made of cloth of gold and silver,

the dazzling effect of which under a glare of sunshine, in the

midst of a Turneresque landscape, would be such as utterly to

bewilder the aim of the most expert marksman. All these wonderful

uniforms, warranted incapable of being hit, besides a regulation

rifle guaranteed never to miss, to be had at Messrs. Punch and

Co.'s, Army Clothiers, 85, Fleet Street, where every species of

Gentlemanlike Dressing is supplied to those requiring a superior

article and good cut.

[Sidenote: _Death of "The Duke"_]

The challenge to Cobden to declare himself soon gave place to direct

attacks on the pacificists, and the death of the Duke of Wellington gave

_Punch_ a fresh text on which to expound the doctrine of preparation.

RENDERING UP THE SWORD

Our Arthur sleeps--our Arthur is not dead.

Excalibar shall yet leap from the sheath,

Should e'er invading foot this England tread--

Upstirring, then, his marble tomb beneath.

Our Wellington's undying fire shall burn

Through all our veins--until the foeman say,

"Behold, their Arthur doth to life return!"

And awestruck from the onset shrink away.

Moreover, _Punch_ defends the martial pageantry at the Duke's funeral at

this juncture on the ground that it served to show to "Continental

despots and bigots with what enthusiasm we yet honour military heroism;

that if we have abjured the life of strife, we have not renounced the

spirit of valour."

[Illustration: ABERDEEN SMOKING THE PIPE OF PEACE]

[Illustration: ITINERANT NEWSMAN, No. 1: "I say, Bill, what are you

givin' 'em?"

DITTO, No. 2: "Grand Massacre of the French, and Terrible Slaughter of

the British Troops."]

[Sidenote: _Outbreak of War_]

Throughout 1852 and 1853 there is a steady _crescendo_ of hostility in

the references to Cobden, Bright and the Quaker pacificists. In this,

both pen and pencil are wielded with aim and purpose, as evidenced in

the cartoon "No danger," and the verses in "Ephraim Smug." In the

Russo-Turkish quarrel _Punch's_ long and consistent distrust--to put it

mildly--of the Tsar Nicholas was the governing factor which determined

him to espouse the side of the Porte, inspired his cartoons "Turkey in

Danger" and "Paws off, Bruin," and, most astonishing of all, reconciled

him, though most reluctantly, to the alliance with his _bête noire_, the

Emperor Napoleon III. For when war came in the spring of 1854 the

predictions and misgivings of alarmists and prophets were falsified, and

Great Britain was arrayed not against but on the side of France. In the

interval dividing the outbreak of hostilities between Russia and Turkey

from Great Britain's declaration of war on March 28, 1854, _Punch_ threw

all his weight into the balance with the War party in the Cabinet, and

bitterly resented the alleged pro-Russian sympathies of Lord Aberdeen.

These are hinted at in the cartoon in which the Prime Minister is shown

with the British Lion saying "I must let him go," and are unmistakably

indicated in the charges against Lord Aberdeen of blacking the Tsar's

boots, and prosecuting the war in a dilatory and half-hearted way. The

Manchester School and the "Pilgrimage to Russia" of the deputation from

the Society of Friends to carry to the Tsar their protest against the

war are severely handled. On the other hand belief in the righteousness

of our cause did not blind _Punch_ to the negligence and worse of those

charged with the conduct of military operations and the equipment of our

forces. He regrets the typical English attitude, in regard to

preparations, that the whole thing was "rather a bore." The need of

organized efficiency is preached in every number, and, above all, the

debt of honour owed by the nation to the rank and file of our fighting

men and to their dependents. Quite early in the war we find this

excellent plea on behalf of "The girls they leave behind them":--

It is to be hoped that "A Naval Officer," writing in _The Times_,

will not vainly have called attention to the position in which the

wives of soldiers will be placed by the departure of their husbands

on foreign service for the defence of Europe and mankind against

the enemy Nicholas. As to the soldier's pay, he half starves upon

it himself, and after his semi-starvation there remains not the

value of a crumb to be handed over to his wife and perhaps

children. The girl--and, maybe, the little girls and boys--left by

him have surely a claim superior to that of the mate and progeny of

the lazy clown and the sottish and improvident mechanic. It is just

that relief should be dealt out to them with no parochial hand, but

with a palm a little wider open than that of the relieving officer,

and in a spirit of consideration somewhat more kindly than the

beadle's.

The "Soldier's Dream" of the kind lady who came to visit his wife and

children is an appeal to translate the vision into reality. And there

were other grievances. The breakdown of the postal service to the seat

of war and the injustice of making the recipients pay 2s. for each

letter are shown up in "Dead Letters from the Baltic."

[Sidenote: _Song of the Nightingale_]

[Illustration: WOUNDED SOLDIERS AND NIGHTINGALES]

But this was a minor matter compared with the grievous scandal of the

hospitals, disclosed by William Russell, the fearless correspondent of

_The Times_, and ultimately remedied by the exertions of Sidney Herbert

and, above all, of Florence Nightingale. This had moved the country

deeply, and the indignation was not easily allayed. Florence

Nightingale's services are repeatedly referred to. She was _Punch's_

chief heroine in these years, from the day of her first mention and the

publication of "The Nightingale's Song":--

THE NIGHTINGALE'S SONG TO THE SICK SOLDIER

Listen, soldier, to the tale of the tender Nightingale,

'Tis a charm that soon will ease your wounds so cruel,

Singing medicine for your pain, in a sympathizing strain,

With a jug, jug, jug of lemonade or gruel.

Singing bandages and lint, salve and cerate without stint,

Singing plenty both of liniment and lotion,

And your mixtures pushed about, and the pills for you served out,

With alacrity and promptitude of motion.

Singing light and gentle hands, and a nurse who understands

How to manage every sort of application,

From a poultice to a leech; whom you haven't got to teach

The way to make a poppy fomentation.

Singing pillows for you smoothed, smart and ache and anguish soothed,

By the readiness of feminine invention;

Singing fever's thirst allayed, and the bed you've tumbled made,

With a careful and considerate attention.

Singing succour to the brave, and a rescue from the grave,

Hear the Nightingale that's come to the Crimea,

'Tis a Nightingale as strong in her heart as in her song,

To carry out so gallant an idea.

This is only one of a whole series of poems--notably one written at the

time of her dangerous illness in May, 1855--inspired by the "Lady of the

Lamp," who did not forget, on her side, to acknowledge that the wounded

common soldiers had behaved "like gentlemen and Christians to their

nurses." Her saintship is secure, in spite of the adroit disparagement

of modern iconoclasts; and the verdict of the common soldier was happily

expressed by a private at a dinner given to Crimean troops by the people

of Folkestone and Hythe in 1856: "We cannot forget Miss Nightingale--nor

can we forget mismanagement."

[Illustration: "Well, Jack, here's good news from home. We're to have a

medal."

"That's very kind. Maybe one of these days we'll have a coat to stick it

on."]

[Sidenote: _Familiar Grievances_]

Florence Nightingale was not forgotten by the nation; the Queen sent her

an autograph letter of thanks and a brooch, but no official recognition

was bestowed upon her by the British Government until 1907, when she was

given the Order of Merit. As for William Russell, _Punch_ laboured in

season and out of season to secure some public acknowledgment of his

humanity and courage, but the debt remained unpaid for forty years, and

was then liquidated by a mere knighthood. The Crimean War was not a

great war, judged by modern standards, but it assuredly was not a

picnic, and it abounded in prospective plagiarism. Note, for example,

the complaint of the treatment of the "Jolly Russian prisoners," in the

winter of 1854:--

How jolly the prisoner, who gets for his pay,

From his captor's own purse seven shillings a day!

And that's how we pension our officer-foes,

For which we shall certainly pay through the nose.

The nation that prisoners so handsomely pays

The wages of postmen will probably raise,

And doubtless provide on a grand scale for all

The children and wives of our soldiers who fall.

Note again the criticisms of official reticence about individual acts of

bravery in the lines "The Unmentioned Brave: Song by a Commanding

Officer," early in 1855:--

Oh! no, we never mention them,

Their names must not be heard,

My hand Routine forbids to trace

Of their exploits one word.

Most glorious though their deeds may be,

To say it I regret,

When they expect a word from me,

They find that I forget.

You say that they are happy now,

The bravest of the brave,

A "special" pen recording how

Mere Grenadiers behave.

Of "special" pens I disapprove,

An inconvenient set,

Who oftentimes the veil remove,

And print what we forget.

The charges of incompetence in the conduct of the war and of greed among

those who made profit out of it have a painfully familiar ring.

Generals, beginning with Lord Hardinge, were too old; or they were

"blundering cavalrymen." Heroism was kept severely in its place or

inadequately rewarded, as when a drummer-boy, who had shown conspicuous

gallantry at the battle of the Alma, was given £5 by the Prince Consort;

or, again, when a gallant sergeant was given a silk handkerchief hemmed

by the Queen. Why, asks _Punch_, was he not made an ensign? Of a review

of wounded soldiers by the Queen he observes that it would have been

more gracious if she had gone to the hospital instead of having the

invalids brought up to the palace to be inspected. In the same vein is

the dialogue, "Honour to the Brave":--

_Flunkey_ (reads): "Yesterday thirty of the Invalids from the

Crimea were inspected ... many of the gallant fellows were

dreadfully mutilated at the Alma and Inkerman....After the

inspection ten of the Guards were regaled in the Servants' Hall."

_Flunkey_ (loq.): "Regaled in the Servants' 'All! Eh? Well, I don't

think they've any call to grumble about not bein' 'Honoured

Sufficient!'"

[Illustration: A DISTRESSED AGRICULTURIST

LANDLORD: "Well, Mr. Springwheat, according to the papers, there seems

to be a probability of a cessation of hostilities."

TENANT (who strongly approves of war prices): "Goodness gracious! Why,

you don't mean to say there's any DANGER OF PEACE?"]

[Sidenote: _Combatants and Non-Combatants_]

The navvies who volunteered for service in the Crimea are not forgotten

by _Punch_. When cheers are raised for the fighting men and their

commanders,

As loud a cheer give, England, to the Navvies' gallant band,

Who have gone to lend our warriors a stalwart helping hand.

These to their work with shovel and crowbar as true will stand

As those to theirs with bayonet, with rifle and with brand.

The Charge of the Light Brigade[10] prompts Leech's picture of "A Trump

Card(igan)"; but, rather than with the officers, _Punch_, throughout the

war, was more concerned with the rank and file, and with instances of

unfair differentiation between officers and men, notably in regard to

the sale of promotions and the grants of leave, satirized in the

cartoon, "The New Game of Follow my Leader," in which a very diminutive

bugler, advancing in front of a long file of soldiers, addresses the

commander-in-chief: "Please, General, may me and these other chaps have

leave to go home on urgent _Private_ affairs?"

The efforts of the Peace Party are a constant source of derisive

criticism, as in the bitter stanzas, "Mr. Gladstone's Peace Song." Even

more bitter is the onslaught in the year 1856 on John Bright:--

Merrily danced the Quaker Bright,

And merrily danced that Quaker,

When he heard that Kars was in hopeless plight,

And Mouravieff meant to take her.

He said he knew it was wrong to fight,

He'd help nor Devil nor Baker,

But to see that the battle was going right,

O! merrily danced the Quaker.

[Footnote 10: _Punch_ welcomed Tennyson's famous poem, which originally

appeared in the _Examiner_, but could not agree with the view expressed

in "Maud" that war is better than peace, though he held that it might be

the only way--as at the moment--to secure it.]

[Illustration: THE BRITISH LION SMELLS A RAT]

[Sidenote: _Paying the Bill_]

The article in which we read that "Wholesale slaughter and devastation,

when you are driven to it, is the only economy of slaughter and

devastation," is a definitely frank espousal of the doctrine of

"frightfulness." Cobden and Bright, "our calico friends," are

mercilessly assailed in every number; Cobden in particular for his

pamphlet, "What next, and next?" and for his servility to America. Peace

came at the end of March, 1856, with its aftermath of criticism,

dissatisfaction, discontent with the Peace terms, and fierce comments on

generals and contractors, mismanagement and neglect of men and horses,

and on the failure of the navy. Already the Sebastopol Blue Book had

appeared--a painful document with "delay," "want of----" and

"unaccountable neglect" appearing on every page. The discussion of the

Peace Treaty in Parliament prompts _Punch_ to mitigated "joy and

satisfaction" over what he calls "Walewski's Treaty of Peace"; to praise

Lord Malmesbury--no favourite of his; to describe Lord Aberdeen as

crawling out "like an old slug, now that the war-storm is over," to

express his general approbation, tempered by his "preposterous love of

Russia"; and to condemn Disraeli, the leader of the Opposition, for his

ignominious silence in the Commons. The speeches by Lord Panmure in the

Lords, and Lord Palmerston in the Commons, in moving the votes of thanks

to our soldiers, sailors, marines, militia, and Foreign Legion, and

those of the Leaders of the Opposition, who seconded them, were

appropriate, but fell short of the merits of the theme. "Certain

figures, given on official authority, tell the whole story of the two

years' war with grim succinctness. We have lost 22,467 men, of whom but

3,532 died in battle or from wounds." Nothing is new: in emphasizing the

demand that Russia must be made to pay the bill, and declaring that her

attempts to evade the Treaty must be rigorously dealt with, _Punch_

strikes a note all too familiar in the last two years and a half. His

general attitude is summed up in the lines on "Rejoicings for Peace":--

Thank Heaven the War is ended!

That is the general voice,

But let us feign no splendid

Endeavours to rejoice.

To cease from lamentation

We may contrive--but--pooh!

Can't rise to exultation,

And cock-a-doodle-doo!

We can't pass now direct from grief to laughter,

Like supernumeraries on the stage,

To smiling happiness from settled rage;

We look before and after.

Before, to all those skeletons and corses

Of gallant men and noble horses;

After--though sordid the consideration--

Unto a certain bill to pay,

Which we shall have for many a day,

By unrepealable taxation.

Yet never fought we in a better cause,

Nor conquered yet a nobler peace.

We stood in battle for the eternal laws;

'Twas an affair of high Police,

Our arms enforced a great arrest of State;

And now remains--the Rate.

Friction with America over the dismissal of our Minister at Washington

led to a remarkably frank open letter to President Pierce, of which the

gist is: "Let us fight by all means if you will have it, but think what

it means"; wholesome advice. On the other hand the temper of the

Manchester Pacificists, who had taken to disparaging Sardinia and the

cause of Italian liberty, _à propos_ of the advance of a million pounds

to Sardinia, prompted the invidious suggestion: "They possibly fear lest

a blow struck anywhere for freedom should cause the countermand of a

trade offer." _Punch_, in these days no longer Pacificist, hailed Sidney

Herbert's Bill for improving the education of officers in the Army, and

establishing a board to examine for commissions and promotions; but he

was more enthusiastic over Sir Joseph Paxton's proposed inquiry into the

barracks system, quoting with approval his remark that, while every

prisoner in our gaols costs us £150 a year, "the soldier was the

worst-lodged person in the Queen's Dominions."

Post-war parallels multiply at this period, the year 1856--in the

recrudescence of crime and burglaries, and the garrotting scare; in

wholesale criticism of Lord Palmerston. There is an excellent burlesque

in the shape of an imaginary article from the _Morning Herald_ on the

execution of Palmerston on Tower Hill. Immediately after exulting over

"Pam's" downfall, the writer passes to a fulsome adulation of the dead.

Here, as so often time has proved, _Punch_ was a prophet as well as a

critic. Other familiar grounds for discontent are to be found in the

Peace terms and undue leniency to Russia; in friction with France;

wholesale speculation and peculation; unnecessary Parliamentary

expenditure; and complaints of high prices, which, by the way, induced

_Punch_ to suggest abstinence as the best means of bringing down the

price of sugar and butter. The return of the Guards is fitly honoured in

July, and "The Nightingale's Return" in August:--

Most blessed things come silently, and silently depart;

Noiseless steals spring-time on the year, and comfort on the heart;

And still, and light, and gentle, like a dew, the rain must be,

To quicken seed in furrow and blossom upon tree.

So she, our sweet Saint Florence, modest, and still, and calm,

With no parade of martyr's cross, no pomp of martyr's palm,

To the place of plague and famine, foulness, and wounds and pain,

Went out upon her gracious toil, and so returns again.

When titles, pensions, orders, with random hand are showered,

'Tis well that, save with blessings, she still should walk undowered.

What title like her own sweet name, with the music all its own?

What order like the halo by her good deeds round her thrown?

[Sidenote: _Incapable Commanders_]

Lord Hardinge, the commander-in-chief, had been denounced as "the apex

of incapacity," but _Punch_ spoke kindly of that gallant old hero of the

Peninsula on his resignation. He was "all bravery and kindness except

when opposed to Court influence, and then he could neither snub great

people nor stand up for the interests of the Army." With this statement

we may bracket a useful _obiter dictum_ on appointments generally: "Too

much ability is demanded for the small places, and for the large places

generally too little." No confidence is shown in the "whitewashing

report" of the Chelsea Board of Inquiry into the charges brought against

Lord Lucan, Lord Cardigan, and others. The Board was packed with

"aristocratic officers," and its report is described as "a Chelsea

Hospital salve for curing the reputations of Lucan, Cardigan, and Co."

Evidently _Punch_ is in good satirical form, for he follows this sally a

month later with an indignant article on the appointment of an earl's

son, aged twelve, to be a Royal Page at £200 a year for four years, with

a grant of £500 as outfit, and a lieutenancy in the Guards without

purchase; and the simultaneous offer of a commission as ensign in a

marching regiment to a heroic sergeant-major, aged forty, without money

to purchase it. A bad case of "ragging" in the Guards comes in for

severe castigation, and the dismissal of the offenders from the service

is welcomed as a step in the right direction. Nevertheless, while he was

a stern critic of extravagant and ill-conditioned officers, _Punch_

recognized the need of decent pay, and appealed for aid from the State

to remedy the long-borne grievance. Amid the discordant chorus of

criticism and discontent which arose on the conclusion of Peace, happier

notes are sounded in the references to the initiation, on a

comprehensive basis, of the Order of Valour. The principle adopted in

its bestowal is set forth in the lines which appeared in the issue of

February 23, 1856:--

Till now the stars and garters

Were for birth or fortune's son,

And as oft in snug home-quarters

As in fields of fight were won.

But at length a star arises,

Which as glorious will shine

On Smith's red serge vest as upon the breast

Of Smyth's scarlet superfine.

Too long mere food for powder

We've deemed our rank and file,

Now higher hopes and prouder

Upon the soldier smile.

And if no Marshal's bâton

Private Smith in his knapsack bears,

At least in the War, the chance of the star

With his General he shares.

The first distribution of the "V.C." by the Queen was not made until

June 26, 1857, and in the same vein, but with greater dignity _Punch_

strove to render justice to the occasion:--

THE STAR OF VALOUR

Distributed by the Queen's Own Hand. June 26, 1857.

The fount of Honour, sealed till now

To all save claims of rank and birth,

Makes green the laurel on the brow

Ennobled but by soldier's worth.

Of these the bravest and the best

Who 'scaped the chance of shot and sword,

England doth, by her Queen, invest

With Valour's Cross--their great reward!

Marking her sense of something still,

A central nobleness, that lies

Deeper than rank which royal will,

Or birth, or chance, or wealth supplies.

Knighthood that girds all valiant hearts,

Knighthood that crowns each fearless brow;

That knighthood this bronze cross imparts--

Let Fleece, and Bath, and Garter bow!

[Sidenote: _The Victoria Cross_]

The plainness of the cross aroused critical comment, to which expression

was lent in the epigram, which has not lost its point yet:--

Here's Valour's Cross, my men; 'twill serve,

Though rather ugly--take it,

John Bull a medal can deserve,

But can't contrive to make it.

But the very simplicity of the bronze cross has lent it distinction.

_Punch_ was on safer ground when he urged that doctors and firemen were

well qualified to receive it; the Albert Medal, in recognition of acts

of gallantry in saving life performed by anyone whatever, was not

instituted till 1866. _Punch's_ democratic bias is also agreeably shown

in his plea on behalf of the artisans and artificers employed at the

dockyards and arsenals, whose labours shortened the war, but who were

thrown out of work on its conclusion. In answer to their petition for

help to emigrate, it was intimated to them that the Government would

help them if they would help themselves. The delay of the Government in

fulfilling their side of the bargain, when the men had complied with

this condition, gives occasion for a piece of sarcastic criticism on

State parsimony. And in this context we may note the charming poem on

Mother Seacole, the brave old sutler in the Crimea, beloved of all

soldiers, who had fallen on evil days, but was relieved by public

subscription, largely due to the appeal in _Punch's_ columns. Lastly,

and to sum up this review, we may note the shrewd common sense of the

timely article setting forth the pros and cons of Army Purchase, in

which the writer emphasizes the need of a higher standard of brains and

ability. Under the existing tradition, the abolition of purchase would

probably mean promotion by influence--an equally vicious system. To

alter the way of getting a commission was of no avail unless you altered

the thing itself. Efficiency was not incompatible with purchase, but it

was incompatible with "taking care of Dowb"--not the only reference in

_Punch_ to the historic telegram of Lord Panmure to Lord Raglan on

behalf of his protégé and relative, Captain Dowbiggin.

ENTR'ACTE

LONDON IN THE MID-NINETEENTH CENTURY

The survey of London, as set forth in the pages of _Punch_ seventy and

eighty years ago, undoubtedly ministers to our complacency. Much that

was picturesque has vanished, but the improvements in the state of the

streets, in lighting, communications, and, above all, sanitation, cannot

be easily overstated. In the early 'forties three methods of paving the

streets were employed: stones, Macadam, and wood; and according to

_Punch_ they were all bad. The stones caused jolting, Macadam was muddy,

while wood pavement, which was only partially used in a few favoured

localities--the Poultry and Lombard Street--was a constant source of

danger by reason of its slipperiness. The spectacle, so familiar in

recent years, of horses skating on all four feet down inclines is

noticed in the year 1849. Hansom, the architect, had taken out the

patent for his safety carriage in 1834, and that strange vehicle, which

Disraeli celebrated as "the Gondola of London," and which is now

relegated to the position of a curiosity or a relic, was fully

established in a popularity which lasted for half a century or more. To

those like the present writer who have been in a hansom when one wheel

came off, or the horse's belly-band broke, or who have been propelled

against the glass when the horse came down, the wonder is that it lasted

so long. Yet, on a fine day, it was a pleasing, if precarious, vehicle,

and inspired an exiled poet in the 'eighties to say that he would "give

a monarch's ransom for a Piccadilly hansom." The old four-wheeler or

"growler" still lingers and emerges during strikes of taxi-drivers, but

_Punch_, though he found the cabman swathed in capes a fertile theme for

his pencil, in general regarded him as a rapacious and extortionate old

bandit, and his cab a squalid and insanitary means of transit. The

one-day cab strike in 1853 grew out of the new Act fixing the fare at

6d. a mile. Under the new police regulations, whenever a dispute as to

mileage occurred, both parties could deposit five shillings and have the

matter decided by a magistrate. In one instance the cabman, not having

five shillings, lost his case and was fined. A good deal of public

sympathy, fostered by the _Examiner_, was enlisted on behalf of the

cabman, but _Punch_ was rigidly on the side of the public as against the

proprietors of dirty cabs, miserable horses, and their abusive and

rapacious drivers. The stringency of the regulations may be gathered

from the lines on "A Civil Cabman's Sauce," based on a paragraph which

appeared in _The Times_. A cabman had been sentenced by the Lord Mayor

to twenty shillings or fourteen days for refusing to take a fare because

he wanted his tea. The cabman had suggested that the fare might also

require that refreshment. At this period, it may be also noted, cabmen

were not allowed to smoke when on their stands. Towards its close an

improvement in the cab service is acknowledged, but many years were to

elapse before the institution of cab-shelters. As for the rapacity of

cabmen, it was as water compared with wine when judged by the standard

of taxi-drivers.

[Illustration: CABMAN IS SUPPOSED TO HAVE TAKEN THE WRONG

TURNING--THAT'S ALL]

[Sidenote: _The Ancient Omnibus_]

[Illustration: AMY (to Rose): "Good gracious, Rose, I'm afraid from the

way the man talks that he is intoxicated!"

CABBY (impressively): "Beg pardon, Miss! N-n-not (hic)

intossi--intossi-cated (hic)--itsh only shlight 'ped-ped-pediment in

speesh, Miss!"]

Turning next to the 'buses, some of us are old enough to remember their

dim interiors, the smell of damp, sodden straw on the floors, and the

perilous ascent to the roof by what was little better than a rope

ladder. Still, we own to a sneaking regret for the old 'bus driver; to

sit next him on the box-seat was a liberal education in the repartee of

the road. The "knife-board," as the low partition against which outside

passengers sat back to back was called, does not appear until after

1852. The slow speed of travel by 'bus is a constant source of satire; a

journey to the remoter suburbs, if _Punch_ is to be believed, took

almost as long as it now takes to go to Exeter. Yet, with familiar

inconsistency, he constantly rebukes the 'busmen for racing, especially

on the route from Putney to St. Paul's. The miseries of the crowded

interior, what with dogs, bundles, bird-cages, and wet umbrellas, are

vividly described, and it was not until 1849 that fixed fares were

introduced. Up till then the sum was left to the caprice of the

conductor, or "cad." Competition brought improvement in the shape of a

superior type of "saloon" 'bus, and towards the end of this period

complaints against cabs and 'buses died down somewhat; but in comfort,

cleanliness, and speed, the difference between the public vehicles of

1857 and 1920 is immense. About the former year the reader will find a

good description in "The Fine Old English Omnibus," of its discomforts,

stuffiness and perils and the disagreeable qualities of the "cad" and

driver. In one respect only, London was better served--on its waterway.

The Thames passenger steamers were a great feature of the time. Not that

they were above criticism; collisions were frequent, overloading was

habitual, the conduct of the passengers was not above reproach, and in

general the service was condemned as both risky and inefficient, and

ranked along with smallpox and railroads as a remedy for

over-population.

[Illustration: FEMALE 'BUSES (A Prophecy)]

From vehicles one passes by a natural transition to those who were

charged with the regulation of traffic, though its masterly control by

the police had not yet been developed to the point at which it has

frequently elicited the admiration of foreign visitors. The new

policemen, who had been embodied under the Metropolitan Police Act of

1829, when Peel was Home Secretary, were no special favourites of

_Punch_ in his early years, and his opinion of their efficiency may be

gauged by his greeting the threat of their strike with the remark that

he did not think it would make much difference. Their relations with

cooks--a fruitful source of satire--began to be a theme of ridicule in

the late 'forties, and inspired in _Punch_ "The Loves of the New

Police," recounting the tragedy of a constable who forfeited his post

owing to a fatal weakness for chops and stout.

[Sidenote: _The New Police Force_]

[Illustration: THE POLICE]

We have spoken already of the postmen; for their dress in 1844 students

of official costume may be referred to the picture overleaf.

As for lighting, gas was already in general, though by no means

universal, use. The gasless condition of Kensington is bewailed in 1844;

the bad lighting of Eaton Square in 1849. The use of electricity was

foreshadowed, but that was all. For domestic purposes the commonest

illuminant was "camphine," an oil distilled from turpentine. Miss Mulock

in _The Ogilvies_ speaks of it as being always either "too dull or too

bright," and _Punch_ is not enthusiastic as to its virtues. The agility

of the street lamp-lighter lent point to a proverb which has become

obsolete under modern conditions, for the lamp-lighter has no longer

need to climb and never runs. In 1844 _Punch_ speaks of the Lucifer

having replaced the Congreve--or "Congry" as it was vulgarly

called--friction match; but the change of name was later, according to

Mayhew and Charles Knight, who speaks of the penny box of Lucifer

matches as "a triumph of science."

[Illustration: SIR JAMES GRAHAM HOLDS A REVIEW OF THE LONDON POSTMEN]

[Sidenote: _Municipal Apathy_]

The linking-up of central with outlying London had hardly begun in the

'forties. Many of the nearer suburbs were then practically detached

villages. Kensington was reached by a dark, badly-laid country road from

Knightsbridge, where, till 1846, carters used to stop at the Half-way

House, a little roadside inn, for their half-pint of porter and bit of

bread and cheese. The isolation of Brook Green, Islington, Battersea

Fields, even Chelsea, when a little allowance has been made for satiric

license, was a real thing. Lord Ebury shot snipe in Pimlico in the

'twenties; and they probably frequented its swamps as late as the year

1840. What are now parks or residential quarters were then waste spaces

or open fields. The "Pontine Marshes" of Shepherd's Bush, as _Punch_

called them, have long been drained and covered with houses. But there

were wildernesses even in central London, notably Leicester Square and

Lincoln's Inn Fields. The "dead seclusion" and unkempt appearance of

Leicester Square was a standing reproach to Londoners. As for the _terra

incognita_ of Lincoln's Inn Fields, "the Metropolitan Bush," it only

differed from Leicester Square because it was "invisible to the naked

eye." The dirt and confusion and cruelty to animals which reigned in the

region of Smithfield market, and are the subject of reiterated protests

in _Punch_, belong to an unregretted past. _Punch_ was a great Londoner.

We talk of people being house-proud; he was city-proud, and it irked him

to see historic squares and public places neglected or disfigured. For

years and years his complaints go up against the interminable delays in

the erection and completion of the Nelson memorial in Trafalgar Square,

the lions that lingered, the fountains that would not play. They begin

in 1844; in 1845 he calls Trafalgar Square "England's Folly," and eleven

years later we read:--

In England, the growth of buildings, like that of its institutions,

is exceedingly slow, if sure. Years are taken over a building that

on the Continent would be run up in almost as many months. A

celebrated German statistician has sent us the following incredible

particulars:

To erect a Simple Column It takes in England 12 years.

Ditto, with Lions, everything

complete " " 24 "

To build a Common Bridge " " 15 "

Ditto a Suspension Bridge " " 25 "

Ditto Houses of Parliament A trifle under 100 "

With statues, the same authority proceeds to say, they have a

curious plan. They erect the pedestal first, and then leave it in

one of their most public places to be ready for the statue of some

celebrated man, when they have caught one. Thus, in Trafalgar

Square, they have a pedestal that has been waiting for years. It is

supposed to be for the COMING MAN, but apparently he is in no hurry

to make his appearance.

"Britannia," _Punch_ makes the remark, is assuredly "a great deal

happier in her heroes than in her efforts to perpetuate their memory."

And six years later he adds: "We cannot make a statue that is not

ridiculous ourselves, nor, although we invite foreign competition, is it

likely that we shall get any other kind of statue made." In the same

spirit of national self-criticism the following lines appear in 1851 on

"The Nation and Its Monuments":--

The National Gallery holds its place

In Trafalgar's noble Square,

And being a national disgrace,

Will remain for ever there.

The Duke on the Arch was raised, in spite

Of all that the world could say;

And because he stands on an awkward site,

We, of course, shall let him stay.

The Palace of Glass is so much admired,

Both in Country and in Town,

That its maintenance is by all desired:

So we mean to pull it down.

[Sidenote: _London Changes and Improvements_]

In 1852 _Punch_ gives a list of things indefinitely postponed, in which

we find the completion of Nelson's pillar; the catalogue of the British

Museum Library--_Punch_ was no admirer of Panizzi, the librarian; the

Reform of the City Corporations; the completion of the new Houses of

Parliament; an omnibus that will carry a person quicker than he can

walk; good water; cheap gas; perfect sewerage; and unadulterated milk.

The campaign against Barry, the architect of the new Houses of

Parliament, was conducted with a good deal of acrimony. _Punch_ began by

objecting to the cost, then to Barry's "long sleep," and later on to the

expensive experiments in ventilation, and the darkness of the reporters'

gallery. Nor was he less impatient over the delays in the completion of

the Hungerford Suspension Bridge and the new Westminster Bridge--begun

in 1854, eight years after the old bridge had been closed as dangerous,

and opened in 1860. The future of the derelict Marble Arch moved him to

frequent and caustic comment before its removal from outside Buckingham

Palace to its present site in 1850. As early as 1853 there was talk of

removing Temple Bar, but this was not done till 1878. And the mention of

Buckingham Palace recalls the fact that in 1857, when it was proposed to

cut a carriage road through St. James's Park, there was no public road

past the palace. The pelicans, which delight us to-day on their

sadly-diminished lake, date back to the time of Charles II, who received

a gift of these birds from the Tsar of Muscovy.

The record of new buildings, constructions, monuments, and

"improvements" kept by _Punch_ is not complete, but it serves to

illustrate the changes between mid-Victorian and Georgian London. The

Thames Tunnel, Brunel's pioneer work in the long series of subterranean

engineering achievements which have transformed the under-crust of

London, was opened in August, 1843, and on October 28, 1844, the Queen

opened the new Royal Exchange amid civic junketings which caused "Q"

(Douglas Jerrold) to deplore the absence of the sons of labour from a

hollow pageant in which only merchant princes were represented. The

reference to the two tall buildings at Albert Gate seems to indicate an

apprehension even in those early days of the coming of skyscrapers, of

which Queen Anne's Mansions are still the sole realization. Thackeray

has a humorous poem on "The Pimlico Pavilion", which refers to the

pavilion in the gardens of Buckingham Palace, a summer house with a

central octagon room. In view of _Punch's_ persistent attacks on the

Court for neglecting native talent, it should be recorded that the task

of filling the eight lunettes below the cornice with frescoes was

entrusted to eight British artists, including Stanfield, Landseer, and

Maclise, and that the subjects were all suggested by passages from

Milton's _Comus_. On Wyatt's unfortunate colossal statue of the Duke of

Wellington, erected opposite Apsley House in 1846, and replaced by

Boehm's smaller equestrian statue in 1883, _Punch_ heaped unstinted

ridicule with pen and pencil. Nor was he less hostile in his criticisms

on the "hideous models" submitted for the proposed memorial to the Iron

Duke, when these designs were exhibited in 1857, describing them as

"Nemesis in Plaster of Paris," and representing the French Ambassador

as telegraphing to his Government: "Waterloo is avenged."

The New Billingsgate buildings merely serve as an excuse for some

jocular remarks on their supposed humanizing influence on the

Billingsgate dialect.

But a good deal of space is devoted to Big Ben, his name and note (E

natural), and the vicissitudes which attended his hanging in the Clock

Tower. Of the references which abound in 1856, perhaps the most notable

is the suggestion that the clapper should be named Gladstone, "as,

without doubt, his is the loudest tongue in Parliament". The

announcement in 1857 that a crack had been discovered in Big Ben led to

an epigram in disparagement of Mr. Gladstone's rival, so _Punch_ was

able to have it both ways:--

Big Ben is cracked, we needs must own;

Small Ben is sane, past disputation;

Yet we should like to know whose tone

Is most offensive to the nation.

[Sidenote: _The Filthy Thames_]

The late Mr. Henry Jephson, L.C.C., published in 1907 an exhaustive work

on "The Sanitary Evolution of London." He quotes Dickens's terrible

description of one of the old intramural churchyards, but makes no

mention of _Punch's_ services in the cause of London sanitation. They

certainly deserved and deserve recognition, for he spared no effort to

bring home to a wider public than that reached by Blue Books and Reports

the intimate and deadly connexion between dirt and disease. As early as

the year 1842 we find in his pages this gruesome but unexaggerated

pen-picture of the Thames and its tributaries:--

Vauxhall contributes lime, Lambeth pours forth a rich amalgam from

the yards of knackers and bone-grinders, Horseferry liberally gives

up all its dead dogs, Westminster empties its treasures into the

mighty stream by means of a common sewer of uncommon dimensions,

the Fleet-ditch bears in its inky current the concentrated essences

of Clerkenwell, Field-lane, Smithfield, Cowcross--and is, by means

of its innumerable branches, augmented by the potent ingredients

of St. Giles's, Somers-town, Barbican, St. Luke's, and the

surrounding districts. The fluids of the Whitechapel

slaughter-houses call in their transit through the Minories for the

contributions of Houndsditch, Ratcliff Highway, Bevis Marks, and

Goodman's Fields, and thus richly laden pour their delicious slime

into the Thames by means of the Tower-ditch. Finally, the Surrey

side yields the refuse of tar-works and tan-yards, and it is

allowed by all, that the people of Deptford, Woolwich, and those

situated in the lower course of the stream, get the Thames water

(which here sustains six different characters) in the highest

perfection.

[Illustration: THE "SILENT HIGHWAY"-MAN]

The cartoon, The "Silent Highway"-Man, was published in 1858, but it is,

perhaps, the best of the many pictorial comments on the above text. The

noisome state of the Serpentine--"a lake of mere manure"--constantly

affronted _Punch's_ sensitive nose. Insanitary Smithfield and squalid

Covent Garden elicit dishonourable mention from the early 'forties

onward. But it was in 1849, the year of the cholera and typhus

visitation, that his crusade against London filth--"Plague, Pestilence

and Co."--began in earnest. The evil is traced to the triple source of

bad drainage, overcrowded intramural burial grounds, and the unchecked

pollution of the river. _Punch_ salutes Mr. G. A. Walker, the author of

"Gatherings from Graveyards," as a public benefactor for his zeal in

endeavouring to secure the abolition of intramural interments, and tilts

savagely at obstructive Boards of Guardians, vestry clerks, and

extortionate undertakers, who profited by the maintenance of the abuse.

He gives us an "Elegy written in a London Churchyard," on a victim of an

epidemic brought on by preventable dirt; he exhibits "the water that

John drinks"; he represents Hamlet soliloquizing in a London graveyard;

and in 1849 he suggests the revision of street nomenclature in

accordance with official acquiescence in the then existing dominion of

dirt.

Though by no means an enthusiastic admirer of the Duke of Wellington,

_Punch_ confesses that he would like to see him appointed Sanitary

Dictator. The Thames, with its "acres of cesspool," is likened to "a

fetid Dead Sea." Yet _Punch_ refused to lay the blame at the door of

Lord John Russell or the Government, who were held guilty by the

_Morning Herald_ for the twelve thousand deaths from cholera in London.

The real criminals were to be found elsewhere. The ravages of typhus and

cholera in 1849 have been surpassed in recent years by those of

influenza, but the toll was heavy, and heaviest among the poor:--

For three sad months Britannia mourned her children night and day,

For three sad months she strove in vain the pestilence to stay;

Medicine, helpless, groped and guessed, and tried all arts to save,

But the dead carried with them their secret to the grave.

Death sat at the gaunt weaver's side, the while he plied the loom;

Death turned the wasting grinder's wheel, as he earn'd his bread and

doom;

Death, by the wan shirtmaker, plied the fingers to the bone;

Death rocked the infant's cradle, and with opium hushed its moan.

[Illustration: THE POOR CHILD'S NURSE]

[Sidenote: _King Cholera's Friends_]

The Metropolitan Internments Bill, introduced in 1850, was a much-needed

reform, and furnished _Punch_ with an occasion for free-spoken

denunciation of "King Cholera's friends," Boards of Guardians, and other

obstructives who "laugh to scorn doctors and drains, and uphold the

great cause of dirt." His method of dealing with the offenders is

generally direct: sometimes it takes the form of extravagant irony, as

in the "account of my travels in search of self-government":--

What is it to _me_ that fever is never absent from these

places--that infants do not rear, and men die before their

time--that sickness engenders pauperism--that filth breeds

depression, and depression drives to drink? What do you mean by

telling me that cholera slew in Rotherhithe its 205 victims in

every 10,000, in St. Olave's its 181, in St. Saviour's its 153, in

Lambeth its 120, while in the Strand it carried off only 35, in

Kensington 33, in Marylebone 17, and in Hampstead 8, out of the

same number? Still, British landlords did what they liked with

their own, and self-government is unimpaired. The satellites and

slaves of an encroaching centralization are kept at arm's length,

and if they have succeeded in putting down sewers, at least we have

triumphed in not laying our house-drains into 'em.

It is with pride, therefore, I repeat, that whatever may be the

case in the country (where I regret to see the hateful Public

Health Act seems to be extending its ravages), in London we are

still enjoying the enormous, the invaluable privileges of

self-government, and that if Epidemic Cholera should visit us

again, we may confidently show him to his old haunts in 1832 and

1849, and so convince him that, in this free country, _he_, too, is

at liberty "TO DO WHAT HE LIKES WITH HIS OWN."

[Illustration: THE END OF GOG AND MAGOG; OR, THINGS VERY BAD IN THE

CITY]

_Punch_ naturally applauded the Bill brought in by Sir George Grey, in

1856, to reform the Corporations of London, but would have preferred a

more drastic measure, and warned the unrepentant City Fathers of the

dangers of refusing to accept the liberal terms offered them.

[Sidenote: _London's Vanished Glories_]

Among the features of vanishing and now vanished London, the Fleet

Prison has already been noticed. It passed "unwept, unhonoured, and

unsung," save in the ironical valediction pronounced by _Punch_ on the

occasion of the sale of the materials of the prison in 1846. Holywell

Street, swept away by recent improvements, was still reckoned as one of

London's lions, though a dingy one at best. The glories of Vauxhall

Gardens were expiring, and the Colosseum in Regent's Park, which, with

its Panorama of London, statues, works of dubious art and Swiss scenery,

was a precursor of the Earl's Court Exhibitions, had fallen on evil

days, and was sold in 1843 by the famous George Robins, the "Cicero of

auctioneers." For the splendour of Astley's Circus in the 'forties,

_Punch_ forms a useful commentary on the delightful mock ballads of _Bon

Gaultier_. Gomersal, the famous equestrian impersonator of Napoleon, was

going strong in 1844. His retirement to a hostelry at Hull in 1849 is

attributed by _Punch_ to disgust at the failure of Imperialism.

Widdecomb, the illustrious ring-master, and the subject of many of

_Punch's_ pleasantries, earned the distinction of a mention by Browning,

who refers to him as resembling Tom Moore, with his "painted cheeks and

sham moustache," and he finds a niche in the Pantheon of the D.N.B.

Astley's is the mere shadow of a name to the present generation, and

only elderly Londoners can recall the delights of the Polytechnic as a

place more of entertainment than instruction, with the tank and diving

bell and electrifying apparatus, dear to mid-Victorian schoolboys in

their Christmas holidays. These are duly chronicled by _Punch_ along

with the attractions of Rosherville Gardens, then presided over by Baron

Nathan, one of the irregular _impresario_ peers who do not appear in

"Debrett," of whom the last representative was Lord George Sanger. Baron

Nathan catered for a mixed audience, but as a director of dances he

appealed to a fashionable _clientèle_. When Burnand wrote the libretto

of _Cox and Box_ in 1866, Rosherville was the paradise of the City

clerk, witness Cox's song,

My aged employer, his whole physiognomy

Shining with soap like a star in astronomy,

Said "Mr. Cox, you'll oblige me and honour me

If you will take this as your holiday!"

Then visions of Brighton and back and of Rosherville--

Feeling the rain put on my mackintosh I vill, etc.

Brighton already justified its title of "London-on-Sea," and the volume

of excursion traffic had begun to provoke complaints from the residents

as likely to impair the amenities of the place. These complaints the

democratic _Punch_ denounced as snobbish; and he speaks of Brighton in

1841 as the home of half-pay officers with dyed whiskers. Later on,

however, he takes a somewhat different view in his realistic pictures of

the Semitic invaders.

[Sidenote: _Burlington Arcadia_]

The Pantheon in Oxford Street, where in its first phase as a theatre

Miss Stephens, afterwards Countess of Essex, made her _début_ on the

stage, had since 1834 been reconstructed as a bazaar and picture

gallery. _Punch_ describes it in 1842 as a Zoo and National Gallery

combined, with its conservatory, aviary, statues, and pictures. It was a

pleasant cut for idlers in wet weather from Oxford Street to Marlborough

Street. But its glories were but a pale reflex of the days when the

building excited Walpole's enthusiasm, and Gibbon was a regular

attendant of its "splendid and elegant" masquerades. After various

vicissitudes the Pantheon was closed in 1867, and is now a wine

warehouse. The Lowther Arcade, from the Strand to King William Street,

was consecrated to the sale of toys. The present writer can remember it

in the 'seventies, with stout and bearded shopmen blowing on tin

trumpets and spinning tops for the allurement of passers by. It has

disappeared, but the Burlington Arcade remains. Under the heading of

"The Haunts of the Regent Street Idler," _Punch_ gives a detailed

account of its attractions in 1842:--

The covered passage through which the overland journey from

Burlington Gardens to Piccadilly is generally performed so abounds

in objects of amusement to the lounger that, in point of cheap

happiness, it becomes a perfect Burlington Arcadia. He can pass a

whole afternoon therein, with the additional comfortable feeling

of security from any unexpected shower. First of all he makes a

regular inspection of every article in Delaporte's windows--from

Gavarni's _Charivari_ sketches, which have been there as far as the

memory of the oldest lounger can reach, to the droll _Diableries_,

and the _Dames et Seigneurs de la Cour du Moyen Age_, who rushed

into publicity at the first whisper of the Queen's Fancy Ball. Then

he listens to the dulcet notes of an accordion, which is

perpetually playing in this favoured thoroughfare, whilst he

saunters on to the fancy stationer's, and criticizes the

water-colour albumified views of Venice and Constantinople, all

neutral tint and burnt sienna; or falls in love with the

impassioned head of La Esmeralda, and regrets such symmetrical

young ladies do not dance about the streets at the present day; his

attention only being withdrawn from the beautiful gipsy by two

portraits of mortal angels in _very_ low dresses, one of whom is

asleep at one corner of the window, and the second combing her hair

at the other. He peers into all the artificial flower shops, to see

what hidden divinities are therein concealed by the bowers of

tinted gauze and tinsel; and having admired the languishing ladies

and very nice gentlemen in the hairdressers' windows, finally loses

himself in an earthly paradise of painted snuff-boxes, parasols,

popular music and perfumery, together with certain articles of

ladies' dress, like dolls' pillows in convulsions, the display of

which has always struck us as being a profane revelation of the

arcana pertaining to the toilet of a beauty.

Covent Garden Theatre, as we know it, was not opened till May, 1858. Of

its predecessors on the same site two were destroyed by fire, one in

1808, and the next in May, 1856, after a somewhat orgiastic _bal masqué_

organized by Anderson, "the Wizard of the North," Gye's tenant at the

time. This, by the way, was the third theatre burned down during

Anderson's engagements, and the disaster led to a picture in _Punch_

representing Mario, the famous tenor, mourning amid the ruins of the

scenes of his many triumphs--an ingenious adaptation of the episode of

Marius sitting as a refugee amid the ruins of Carthage. _Punch_ was no

lover of _bals masqués_, reckoning them among the things which they

manage better abroad. Nor was he a friendly critic of Madame Tussaud,

modestly housed at the Bazaar in Baker Street until the erection of the

present building in 1884. _Punch_ owned that admission to her show was a

test of popularity, but he condemned the Chamber of Horrors as

ministering to the cult of monstrosity, and compared Madame Tussaud in

1849--the year before her death--to the witches who made wax models of

those whom they wished to injure.

[Illustration: THE HAPPY FAMILY]

Chelsea buns are still with us, though it is declared in _London Past

and Present_ that the tradition of making them is lost; the "Original

Bun House," at the bottom of Jews' Row, was taken down in 1839, but its

memories linger in the early volumes of _Punch_. There is a good series

entitled "The Gratuitous Exhibitions of London," one of which, "The

Happy Family," lasted for forty years later. The present writer well

remembers in his schoolboy days the wire safe on wheels, stationed at

the corner of Trafalgar Square, near Hampton's shop, containing cats,

mice, pigeons, rabbits, and small birds, very much as in _Punch's_

picture. The nearest survival is the cage of fortune-telling birds one

sees now and again. A charge of twopence was made for admission to St.

Paul's Churchyard, and this was a non-gratuitous exhibition which

_Punch_ bitterly resented, even to the extent of comparing it with

Wombwell's Menagerie. The occasional raids of the aristocracy on

Cremorne Gardens--which stood a little west of Battersea Bridge--have

been described elsewhere. The gardens, which competed with Vauxhall as a

scene for dancing, fireworks and various exhibitions--"The Siege of

Gibraltar" was pyrotechnically reproduced in 1851--were not closed till

1877, soon after which date the house, built by the Earl of Huntingdon,

and occupied as a private house by Lord Cremorne in the Regency, was

pulled down and the grounds built over.

[Sidenote: _The Dominion of Din_]

_Punch_ had a friendly feeling for the London street arab, whose sayings

so often enliven his pages, and calls him the "small olive-branch of the

great unwashed." But he was somewhat impatient of the tyranny of the

tip-cat, battledore and shuttlecock, hopscotch and all street games

which imperilled the safety of the elderly foot passenger. Professional

mendicants he regarded with abhorrence, and waged unceasing war on

Italian organ-grinders as an insolent and irremovable nuisance, as well

as on German bands and all who maintained the dominion of unnecessary

din. He would gladly have seen all street-cries abolished: the "elfin

note of the milkman" had no charm for him. Here perhaps the

sensitiveness and sufferings of John Leech were responsible for his

antipathy. Mark Lemon wrote a letter to Mr. M. T. Bass, M.P., who

brought in a Bill to regulate street music, in which he traced Leech's

fatal illness to the disturbance of his nervous system by "the continual

visitation of street bands and organ-grinders." Those readers who take

an interest in the evolution of musical taste may be interested to know

that in 1856 the popular tunes on the street organs were "The

Ratcatcher's Daughter," "Annie Laurie," the serenade from Verdi's

"Trovatore" and "The Red, White and Blue," a selection admirably

representative of sport, sentiment, the prevalent Italianation of opera,

and patriotism.

[Illustration: TASTE

SHOP GIRL (who had been expected to procure Tennyson's "Miller's

Daughter"): "No, Miss! We've not got the Miller's, but here's the

'Ratcatcher's Daughter,' just published!"]

[Sidenote: _Beadles, Broadsheets and Advertisements_]

The Zoological Gardens had been opened in 1828 and were already a most

popular resort; the hippopotamus at one time almost rivalling "General"

Tom Thumb as the most run-after celebrity. "Good David Mitchell," who

was secretary to the Zoological Society from 1847 to 1859, was a prime

favourite with _Punch_, and is never mentioned without a friendly word.

But of all officials concerned with the administration of London none

stood higher in his esteem than Sir Benjamin Hall, M.P. for Marylebone

from 1837 to 1859, when he was created Lord Llandovery, President of the

Board of Health in 1854, and Chief Commissioner of Works from 1855 to

1858. "Ben Hall's" services in adding to the amenities of the parks and

introducing bands on Sundays were celebrated by _Punch_ in prose and

verse. It was he who brought in a Bill for the sorely needed better

management of the Metropolis in March, 1855, and _Punch_ more than once

applauded him for castigating the follies of the Central Metropolitan

Board, whose vagaries in suggesting names for streets roused _Punch's_

special ire in 1856. A nomenclator like the late Sir Laurence Gomme, who

combined official authority with a fine historical sense, only emerges

once in a century. Among the minor officials of the time beadles were

conspicuous. _Punch_ devotes a special article to those of the

Burlington and Lowther Arcades, the Quadrant and the British Museum, but

these gorgeous uniformed functionaries, splendid in scarlet and gold,

are now only memories of the elderly or the aged. Gone, too, are the

broadsheets, "dying speeches" and ballads of Catnach, the Seven Dials

bookseller; gone also are the "mock auctions" which were held in the

Strand up to the war. London had no picture-palaces in the 'forties and

'fifties, but there was an abundance of panoramas, which _Punch_ noted

as a reaction against the cult of dwarfs. The fogs cannot have been

worse than those which prevailed for nearly a week one winter at the

close of the 'nineties, but the smoke nuisance was perhaps more acute

because entirely unregulated. _Punch_ defended the intermission of

postal deliveries on Sunday, on the ground that it promoted the blessed

dullness of that day, and here at least the chronicler has no change to

record. On the growth of the great modern art of advertising _Punch_ is

a most instructive commentator. As early as December, 1842, he printed

an essay on its theory and practice in which the following passage

occurs:--

The _Kentish Herald_ lately contained the following notice:

"Ranelagh Gardens, Margate--last night of Mount Vesuvius, in

consequence of an engagement with the Patagonians." This is

tragical enough; but _The Times_ outdoes it in horror by informing

us that "The Nunhead Cemetery is now open for _general_ interment";

and immediately afterwards comes an advertisement of "The London

General Mourning Warehouse, Oxford Street"; and then, to crown all,

Mr. Simpson, of Long Acre, declares himself ready to make

"Distresses in Town and Country, so as to give general

satisfaction."

In 1847 _Punch_ recurs to the subject in a spirit foreshadowing the

activities of that excellent society which of late years has striven to

restrain the excesses of the advertiser:--

Advertisements are spreading all over England--they have crept

under the bridges--have planted themselves right in the middle of

the Thames--have usurped the greatest thoroughfares--and are now

just on the point of invading the omnibuses. Advertising is

certainly the great vehicle for the age. Go where you will, you are

stopped by a monster cart running over with advertisements, or are

nearly knocked down by an advertising house put upon wheels, which

calls upon you, when too late, not to forget "Number One." These

vehicles, one would think, were more than enough to satisfy the

most greedy lover of advertisements, but it seems that there is

such an extraordinary run for them that omnibuses are to be lined

and stuffed with nothing else.

We have long acquiesced in this invasion of the sanctity of the omnibus.

It is the desecration of the countryside that chiefly disgusts the

fastidious of to-day.