Punch having been chosen by the unanimous voice of the public--the
_arbiter elegantiarum_ in all matters relating to science, literature, and
the fine arts--and from his long professional experience, being the only
person in England competent to regulate the public amusements of the
people, the Lord Mayor of London has confided to him the delicate and
important duty of deciding upon the claims of the several individuals
applying for licenses to open show-booths during the approaching
Bartholomew Fair. Punch, having called to his assistance Sir Peter Laurie
and Peter Borthwick, proceeded, on last Saturday, to hold his inquisition
in a highly-respectable court in the neighbourhood of West Smithfield.
The first application was made on behalf of _Richardson's Booth_, by two
individuals named Melbourne and Russell.
PUNCH.--On what grounds do you claim?
MEL.--On those of long occupancy and respectability, my lord.
RUSS.--We employs none but the werry best of actors, my lud--all "bould
speakers," as my late wenerated manager, Muster Richardson, used to call
'em.
MEL.--We have the best scenery and decorations, the most popular
performances--
RUSS.--Hem! (_aside to_ MEL.)--Best say nothing about our performances,
Mel.
PUNCH.--Pray what situations do you respectively hold in the booth?
MEL.--_I_ am principal manager, and do the heavy tragedy business. My
friend, here, is the stage-manager and low comedy buffer, who takes the
kicks, and blows the trumpet of the establishment.
PUNCH.--What is the nature of the entertainments you have been in the
habit of producing?
RUSS.--Oh! the real legitimate drammar--"A New Way to Pay Old Debts,"
"Raising the Wind," "A Gentleman in Difficulties," "Where shall I dine?"
and "Honest Thieves." We mean to commence the present season with "All in
the wrong," and "His Last Legs."
PUNCH.--Humph! I am sorry to say I have received several complaints of the
manner in which you have conducted the business of your establishment for
several years. It appears you put forth bills promising wonders, while
your performances have been of the lowest possible description.
RUSS.--S'elp me, Bob! there ain't a word of truth in it. If there's
anything we takes pride on, 'tis our gentility.
PUNCH.--You have degraded the drama by the introduction of card-shufflers
and thimble-rig impostors.
RUSS.--We denies the thimble-rigging in totum, my lud; that was brought
out at Stanley's opposition booth.
PUNCH.--At least you were a promoter of state conjuring and legerdemain
tricks on the stage.
RUSS.--Only a little hanky-panky, my lud. The people likes it; they loves
to be cheated before their faces. One, two, three--presto--begone. I'll
show your ludship as pretty a trick of putting a piece of money in your
eye and taking it out of your elbow, as you ever beheld. _Has_ your
ludship got such a thing as a good shilling about you? 'Pon my honour,
I'll return it.
PUNCH.--Be more respectful, sir, and reply to my questions. It appears
further, that several respectable persons have lost their honesty in your
booth.
RUSS.--Very little of that 'ere commodity is ever brought into it, my lud.
PUNCH.--And, in short, that you and your colleagues' hands have been
frequently found in the pockets of your audience.
RUSS.--Only in a professional way, my lud--strictly professional.
PUNCH.--But the most serious charge of all is that, on a recent occasion,
when the audience hissed your performances, you put out the lights, let in
the swell-mob, and raised a cry of "No Corn Laws."
RUSS.--Why, my lud, on that p'int I admit there was a slight row.
PUNCH.--Enough, sir. The court considers you have grossly misconducted
yourself, and refuses to grant you license to perform.
MEL.--But, my lord, I protest _I did_ nothing.
PUNCH.--So everybody says, sir. You are therefore unfit to have the
management of (next to my own) the greatest theatre in the world. You may
retire.
MEL. (_to_ RUSS.)--Oh! Johnny, this is your work--with your confounded
hanky-panky.
RUSS.--No--'twas you that did it; we have been ruined by your laziness.
What _is_ to become of us now?
MEL.--Alas! where shall we dine?
* * * * *
The next individual who presented himself, to obtain a license for the
Carlton Club Equestrian Troop, was a strange-loooking character, who gave
his name as Sibthorp.
PUNCH.--What are you, sir?
SIB.--Clown to the ring, my lord, and principal performer on the Salt-box.
I provide my own paint and pipe-clay, make my own jokes, and laugh at them
too. I do the ground and lofty tumbling, and ride the wonderful
donkey--all for the small sum of fifteen bob a-week.
PUNCH.--You have been represented as a very noisy and turbulent fellow.
SIB.--Meek as a lamb, my lord, except when I'm on the saw-dust; there I
acknowledge, I do crow pretty loudly--but that's in the way of
business,--and your lordship knows that we public jokers must pitch it
strong sometimes to make our audience laugh, and bring the _browns_ into
the treasury. After all, my lord, I am not the rogue many people take me
for,--more the other way, I can assure you, and
"Though to my share some human errors fall,
Look in my face, and you'll forget them all."
PUNCH.--A strong appeal, I must confess. You shall have your license.
The successful claimant having made his best bow to Commissioner Punch,
withdrew, whistling the national air of
[Illustration: "BRITONS, STRIKE HOME."]
* * * * *
A fellow named Peel, who has been for many years in the habit of
exhibiting as a quack-doctor, next applied for liberty to vend his
nostrums at the fair. On being questioned as to his qualifications, he
shook his head gravely, and, without uttering a word, placed the following
card in the hands of Punch.