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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 1.
FOR THE WEEK ENDING AUGUST 21, 1841.
* * * * *
THE WIFE-CATCHERS.
A LEGEND OF MY UNCLE'S BOOTS.
_In Four Chapters._
CHAPTER IV.
[Illustration: T]The conversation now subsided into "private and
confidential" whispers, from which I could learn that Miss O'Brannigan had
consented to quit her father's halls with Terence that very night, and,
before the priest, to become his true and lawful wife.
It had been previously understood that those of the guests who lived at a
distance from the lodge should sleep there that night. Nothing could have
been more favourable for the designs of the lovers; and it was arranged
between them, that Miss Biddy was to steal from her chamber into the yard,
at daybreak, and apprise her lover of her presence by flinging a handful of
gravel against his window. Terence's horse was warranted to carry double,
and the lady had taken the precaution to secure the key of the stable where
he was placed.
It was long after midnight before the company began to separate;--cloaks,
shawls, and tippets were called for; a jug of punch of extra strength was
compounded, and a _doch an dhurris_[1] of the steaming beverage
administered to every individual before they were permitted to depart. At
length the house was cleared of its guests, with the exception of those who
were to remain and take beds there. Amongst the number were the haberdasher
and your uncle. The latter was shown into a chamber in which a pleasant
turf fire was burning on the hearth.
[1] A drink at the door;--a farewell cup.
Although Terence's mind was full of sweet anticipations and visions of
future grandeur, he could not avoid feeling a disagreeable sensation
arising from the soaked state of his boots; and calculating that it still
wanted three or four hours of daybreak, he resolved to have us dry and
comfortable for his morning's adventure. With this intention he drew us
off, and placed us on the hearth before the fire, and threw himself on the
bed--not to sleep--he would sooner have committed suicide--but to meditate
upon the charms of Miss Biddy and her thousand pounds.
But our strongest resolutions are overthrown by circumstances--the ducking,
the dancing, and the _potteen_, had so exhausted Terence, that he
unconsciously shut, first, one eye, then the other, and, finally, he fell
fast asleep, and dreamed of running away with the heiress on his back,
through a shaking bog, in which he sank up to the middle at every step. His
vision was, however, suddenly dispelled by a smart rattle against his
window. A moment was sufficient to recall him to his senses--he knew it was
Miss Biddy's signal, and, jumping from the bed, drew back the cotton
window-curtains and peered earnestly out: but though the day had begun to
break, it was still too dark to enable him to distinguish any person on the
lawn. In a violent hurry he seized on your humble servant, and endeavoured
to draw me on; but, alas! the heat of the fire had so shrank me from my
natural dimensions, that he might as well have attempted to introduce his
leg and foot into an eel-skin. Flinging me in a rage to the further corner
of the room, he essayed to thrust his foot into my companion, which had
been reduced to the same shrunken state as myself. In vain he tugged,
swore, and strained; first with one, and then with another, until the
stitches in our sides grinned with perfect torture; the perspiration rolled
down his forehead--his eyes were staring, his teeth set, and every nerve in
his body was quivering with his exertions--but still he could not force us
on.
"What's to be done!" he ejaculated in despairing accents. A bright thought
struck him suddenly, that he might find a pair of boots belonging to some
of the other visitors, with which he might make free on so pressing an
emergency. It was but sending them back, with an apology for the mistake,
on the following day. With this idea he sallied from his room, and groped
his way down stairs to find the scullery, where he knew the boots were
deposited by the servant at night. This scullery was detached from the main
building, and to reach it it was necessary to cross an angle of the yard.
Terence cautiously undid the bolts and fastenings of the back door, and was
stealthily picking his steps over the rough stones of the yard, when he was
startled by a fierce roar behind him, and at the same moment the teeth of
Towser, the great watch-dog, were fastened in his nether garments. Though
very much alarmed, he concealed his feelings, and presuming on a slight
previous intimacy with his assailant, he addressed him in a most familiar
manner, calling him "poor fellow" and "old Towser," explained to him the
ungentlemanly liberty he was taking with his buckskins, and requested him
to let go his hold, as he had quite enough of that sport. Towser was,
however, not to be talked out of his private notions; he foully suspected
your uncle of being on no good design, and replied to every remonstrance he
made with a growl and a shake, that left no doubt he would resort to more
vigorous measures in case of opposition. Afraid or ashamed to call for
help, Terence was kept in this disagreeable state, nearly frozen to death
with cold and trembling with terror, until the morning was considerably
advanced, when he was discovered by some of the servants, who released him
from the guardianship of his surly captor. Without waiting to account for
the extraordinary circumstances in which he had been found, he bolted into
the house, rushed up to his bed-chamber, and, locking the door, threw
himself into a chair, overwhelmed with shame and vexation.
But poor Terence's troubles were not half over. The beautiful heiress,
after having discharged several volleys of sand and small pebbles against
his window without effect, was returning to her chamber, swelling with
indignation, when she was encountered on the stairs by Tibbins, who, no
doubt prompted by the demon of jealousy, had been watching her movements.
He could not have chosen a more favourable moment to plead his suit; her
mortified vanity, and her anger at what she deemed the culpable
indifference of her lover, made her eager to be revenged on him. It
required, therefore, little persuasion to obtain her consent to elope with
the haberdasher. The key of the stable was in her pocket, and in less than
ten minutes she was sitting beside him in his gig, taking the shortest road
to the priest's.
I cannot attempt to describe the rage that Terence flew into, as soon as he
learned the trick he had been served; he vowed to be the death of Tibbins,
and it is probable he would have carried his threat into effect, if the
haberdasher had not prudently kept out of his way until his anger had grown
cool.
"So," said I, addressing the narrator, "you lost the opportunity of
figuring at Miss Biddy's wedding?"
"Yes," replied the 'wife-catcher;' "but Terence soon retrieved his credit,
for in less than three months after his disappointment with the heiress, we
were legging it as his wedding with Miss Debby Doolan, a greater fortune
and a prettier girl than the one he had lost: and, by-the-bye, that reminds
me of a funny scene which took place when the bride came to throw the
stocking--hoo! hoo! hoo! hoo!"
Here my friends, the boots, burst into a long and loud fit of laughter;
while I, ignorant of the cause of their mirth, looked gravely on, wondering
when it would subside. Instead, however, of their laughter lessening, the
cachinnations became so violent that I began to feel seriously alarmed.
"My dear friends!" said I.
"Hoo! hoo! hoo! hoo! hoo!" shouted the pair.
"This excessive mirth may be dangerous"--
A peal of laughter shook their leathern sides, and they rolled from side to
side on their chair. Fearful of their falling, I put out my hand to support
them, when a sense of acute pain made me suddenly withdraw it. I started,
opened my eyes, and discovered that I had laid hold of the burning remains
of the renowned "wife-catchers," which I had in my sleep placed upon the
fire.
As I gazed mournfully upon the smoking relics of the ancient allies of our
house, I resolved to record this strange adventure; but you know I never
had much taste for writing, Jack, so I now confide the task to you. As he
concluded, my uncle raised his tumbler to his lips, and I could perceive a
tear sparkling in his eye--a genuine tribute of regard to the memory of the
venerated "_Wife Catchers_."
* * * * *
CORRESPONDENCE EXTRAORDINARY.
Wrote Paget to Pollen,
With face bright as brass,
"T'other day in the Town Hall
You mention'd an ass:
"Now, for family reasons,
I'd like much to know,
If on me you intended
That name to bestow?"
"My lord," says Jack Pollen,
"Believe me, ('tis true,)
I'd be sorry to slander
A donkey or you."
"Being grateful," says Paget,
"I'd ask you to lunch;
But just, Sir John, tell me.
Did you call me PUNCH?"
"In wit, PUNCH is equalled,"
Says Pollen, "by few;
In naming him, therefore,
I couldn't mean you,"
"Thanks! thanks! To bear malice,"
Save Paget, "I'm loath;
Two answers I've got, and I'm
Charm'd with them both."
* * * * *
EPIGRAMS.
1.--THE CAUSE.
Lisette has lost her wanton wiles--
What secret care consumes her youth,
And circumscribes her smiles?--
_A spec on a front tooth!_
2.--PRIDE.
Fitzsmall, who drinks with knights and lords,
To steal a share of notoriety,
Will tell you, in important words,
He _mixes_ in the best society.
* * * * *
ENGLISH AND AMERICAN PRODUCE.
We find, by the _Times_ of Saturday, the British _teasel_ crops in the
parish of Melksham have fallen entirely to the ground, and from their
appearance denote a complete failure. Another paragraph in the same paper
speaks quite as discouragingly of the appearance of the American _Teazle_
at the Haymarket.
* * * * *
NURSERY EDUCATION REPORT.--No. 2.
THE ROYAL RHYTHMICAL ALPHABET,
_To be said or sung by the Infant Princess._
[Illustration]
A stands for ARISTOCRACY, a thing I should admire;
[Illustration]
B stands for a BISHOP, who is clothed in soft attire;
[Illustration]
C beginneth CABINET, where Mamma keeps her _tools_;
[Illustration]
D doth stand for DOWNING-STREET, the "Paradise of Fools;"
[Illustration]
E beginneth ENGLAND, that granteth the supplies;
[Illustration]
F doth stand for FOREIGNERS, whom I should patronize;
[Illustration]
G doth stand for GOLD--good gold!--for which man freedom barters;
[Illustration]
H beginneth HONORS--that is, ribbons, stars, and garters;
[Illustration]
I stands for my INCOME (several thousand pounds per ann.);
[Illustration]
J stands for JOHNNY BULL, a soft and easy kind of man;
[Illustration]
K beginneth KING, who rules the land by "right divine;"
[Illustration]
L's for MRS. LILLY, who was once a nurse of mine.
[Illustration]
M beginneth MELBOURNE, who rules _the roast_ and State;
[Illustration]
N stands for a NOBLEMAN, who's _always_ good and great.
[Illustration]
O is for the OPERA, that I should only grace;
[Illustration]
P stands for the PENSION LIST, for "servants out of place."
[Illustration]
Q's the QUARTER'S SALARY, for which true patriots long;
[Illustration]
R's for MRS. RATSEY, who taught _me_ this pretty song;
[Illustration]
S stands for the SPEECH, which Mummy learns to say;
[Illustration]
T doth stand for TAXES, which the people ought to pay;
[Illustration]
U's for the UNION WORK-HOUSE, which horrid paupers shun;
[Illustration]
V is for VICTORIA, "the Bess of forty-one;"
[Illustration]
W stands for WAR, the "noble game" which Monarchs play;
[Illustration]
X is for the TREBLE X--Lilly drank three times a day;
[Illustration]
And Y Z's for the WISE HEADS, who admire all I say.
* * * * *
THE GENTLEMAN'S OWN BOOK.
A COMPLETE ENCYCLOPÆDIA OF ALL THE REQUISITES, DECORATIVE, EDUCATIONAL, AND
RECREATIVE, FOR GENTILITY.
INTRODUCTION.
A popular encyclopædia of the requisites for gentility--a companion to the
toilet, the _salons_, the Queen's Bench, the streets, and the
police-stations, has long been felt to be a desideratum by every one
aspiring to good-breeding. The few works which treat on the subject have
all become as obselete as "hot cockles" and "crambo." "The geste of King
Horne," the "[Greek: BASILIKON]" of King Jamie, "Peacham's Complete
Gentleman," "The Poesye of princelye Practice," "Dame Juliana Berners' Book
of St. Alban's," and "The Jewel for Gentrie," are now confined to
bibliopoles and bookstalls. Even more modern productions have shared the
same fate. "The Whole Duty of Man" has long been consigned to the
trunk-maker, "Chesterfield's Letters" are now dead letters, and the "Young
Man" lights his cigar with his "Best Companion." It is true, that in lieu
of these, several works have emanated from the press, adapted to the change
of manners, and consequently admirably calculated to supply their places.
We need only instance "The Flash Dictionary," "The Book of Etiquette," "A
Guide to the Kens and Cribs of London," "The whole Art of Tying the
Cravat," and "The Hand-book of Boxing;" but it remains for us to remove the
disadvantages which attend the acquirement of each of these noble arts and
sciences in a detached form.
The possessor of an inquiring and genteel mind has now to wander for his
politeness to Paternoster-row[2]; to Pierce Egan, for his knowledge of men
and manners; and to Owen Swift, for his knightly accomplishments, and
exercises of chivalry.
[2] "Book of Etiquette." Longman and Co.
We undertake to collect and condense these scattered radii into one
brilliant focus, so that a gentleman, by reading his "own book," may be
made acquainted with the best means of ornamenting his own, or disfiguring
a policeman's, person--how to conduct himself at the dinner-table, or at
the bar of Bow-street--how to turn a compliment to a lady, or carry on a
chaff with a cabman.
These are high and noble objects! A wider field for social elevation cannot
well be imagined. Our plan embraces the enlightenment and refinement of
every scion of a noble house, and all the junior clerks in the government
offices--from the happy recipient of an allowance of 50£ per month from
"the Governor," to the dashing acceptor of a salary of thirty shillings a
week from a highly-respectable house in the City--from the gentleman who
occupies a suite of apartments in the Clarendon, to the lodger in the
three-pair back, in an excessively back street at Somers Town.
With these incentives, we will proceed at once to our great and glorious
task, confident that our exertions will be appreciated, and obtain for us
an introduction into the best circles.
PRELUDE.
We trust that our polite readers will commence the perusal of our pages
with a pleasure equal to that which we feel in sitting down to write them;
for they call up welcome recollections of those days (we are literary and
seedy now!) when our coats emanated from the laboratory of Stultz, our
pantaloons from Buckmaster, and our boots from Hoby, whilst our glossy
beaver--now, alas! supplanted by a rusty goss--was fabricated by no less a
thatcher than the illustrious Moore. They will remind us of our Coryphean
conquests at the Opera--our triumphs in Rotten row--our dinners at Long's
and the Clarendon--our nights at Offley's and the watch-house--our glorious
runs with the Beaufort hounds, and our exhilarating runs from the sheriffs'
officers--our month's sporting on the heathery moors, and our day rule when
rusticating in the Bench!
We are in "the sear and yellow leaf"--there is nothing green about us now!
We have put down our seasoned hunter, and have mounted the winged Pegasus.
The brilliant Burgundy and sparkling Hock no longer mantle in our glass;
but Barclay's beer--nectar of gods and coalheavers--mixed with
hippocrene--the Muses' "cold without"--is at present our only beverage. The
grouse are by us undisturbed in their bloomy mountain covert. We are now
content to climb Parnassus and our garret stairs. The Albany, that
sanctuary of erring bachelors, with its guardian beadle, are to us but
memories, for we have become the denizens of a roomy attic (ring the top
bell twice), and are only saluted by an Hebe of all-work and our printer's
devil!
ON DRESS IN GENERAL.--_L'habit fait le moine_.--It has been laid down by
Brummel, Bulwer, and other great authorities, that "the tailor makes the
man;" and he would be the most daring of sceptics who would endeavour to
controvert this axiom. Your first duty, therefore, is to place yourself in
the hands of some distinguished schneider, and from him take out your
patent of gentility--for a man with an "elegant coat" to his back is like a
bill at sight endorsed with a good name; whilst a seedy or ill-cut garment
resembles a protested note of hand labelled "No effects." It will also be
necessary for you to consult "The Monthly Book of Fashions," and to
imitate, as closely as possible, those elegant and artistical productions
of the gifted _burin_, which show to perfection "What a piece of work is
man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties!" &c.--You must not
consult your own ease and taste (if you have any), for nothing is so vulgar
as to suit your convenience in these matters, as you should remember that
you dress to please others, and not yourself. We have heard of some
eccentric individuals connected with noble families, who have departed from
this rule; but they invariably paid the penalty of their rashness, being
frequently mistaken for men of intellect; and it should not be forgotten,
that any exercise of the mind is a species of labour utterly incompatible
with the perfect man of fashion.
The confiding characters of tailors being generally acknowledged, it is
almost needless to state, that the _faintest_ indication of seediness will
be fatal to your reputation; and as a presentation at the Insolvent Court
is equally fashionable with that of St. James, any squeamishness respecting
your inability to pay could only be looked upon as a want of moral courage
upon your part, and
[Illustration: UTTERLY UNWORTHY OF A GENTLEMAN.]
[The subject of _dress in particular_ will form the subject of our next
chapter.]
* * * * *
IF I HAD A THOUSAND A-YEAR.
A BACHELOR'S LYRIC.
If I had a thousand a-year,
(How my heart at the bright vision glows!)
I should never be crusty or queer,
But all would be _couleur de rose_.
I'd pay all my debts, though _outré_,
And of duns and embarrassments clear,
Life would pass like a bright summer day,
If I had a thousand a-year.
I'd have such a spicy turn-out,
And a horse of such mettle and breed--
Whose points not a jockey should doubt,
When I put him at top of his speed.
On the foot-board, behind me to swing,
A tiger so small should appear,
All the nobs should protest "'twas the thing!"
If I had a thousand a-year.
A villa I'd have near the Park,
From Town just an appetite-ride;
With fairy-like grounds, and a bark
O'er its miniature waters to glide.
There oft, 'neath the pale twilight star,
Or the moonlight unruffled and clear,
My meerschaum I'd smoke, or cigar,
If I had a thousand a-year.
I'd have pictures and statues, with taste--
Such as ladies unblushing might view--
In my drawing and dining-rooms placed,
With many a gem of virtù.
My study should be an affair
The heart of a book-worm to cheer--
All compact, with its easy spring chair,
If I had a thousand a-year.
A cellar I'd have quite complete
With wines, so _recherché_, well stored;
And jovial guests often should meet
Round my social and well-garnish'd board.
But I would have a favourite few,
To my heart and my friendship _more_ dear;
And I'd marry--I mustn't tell who--
If I had a thousand a-year.
With comforts so many, what more
Could I ask of kind Fortune to grant?
Humph! a few olive branches--say four--
As pets for my old maiden aunt.
Then, with health, there'd be nought to append.
To perfect my happiness here;
For the _utile et duloc_ would blend.
If I had a thousand a-year.
* * * * *
MY UNCLE BUCKET.
The Buckets are a large family! I am one of them--my uncle Job Bucket is
another. We, the Buckets, are atoms of creation; yet we, the Buckets, are
living types of the immensity of the world's inhabitants. We illustrate
their ups and downs--their fulness and their emptiness--their risings and
their falling--and all the several goods and ills, the world's denizens in
general, and Buckets in particular, are undoubted heirs to.
It hath ever been the fate of the fulness of one Bucket to guarantee the
emptiness of another; and (mark the moral!) the rising Bucket is the
richly-stored one; its sinking brother's attributes, like Gratiano's wit,
being "an infinite deal of nothing." Hence the adoption of our name for the
wooden utensils that have so aptly fished up this fact from the deep well
of truth.
There be certain rods that attract the lightning. We are inclined to think
there be certain Buckets that invite kicking, and our uncle Job was one of
them. He was birched at school for everybody but himself, for he never
deserved it! He was plucked at college--because some practical joker placed
a utensil, bearing his name, outside the door of the examining master, and
our uncle Job Bucket being unfortunately present, laughed at the consequent
abrasion of his, the examining master's, shins. He was called to the bar.
His first case was, "Jane Smith _versus_ James Smith" (no relations). His
client was the female. She had been violently assaulted. He mistook the
initial--pleaded warmly for the opposing Smith, and glowingly described the
disgraceful conduct of the veriest virago a legal adviser ever had the pain
of speaking of. The verdict was, as he thought, on his side. The lady
favoured him with a living evidence of all the attributes he was pleased to
invent for her benefit, and left him with a proof impression of her nails
upon his face, carrying with her, by way of _souvenir_, an ample portion of
the skin thereof. Had the condensed heels of all the horses whose
subscription hairs were wrought into his wig, with one united effort
presented him with a kick in his abdominals, he could not have been more
completely "knocked out of time" than he was by the mistake of those cursed
initials. "_What about Smith?_" sent him out of court! At length he
"Cursed the bar, and declined."
He next turned his attention to building. Things went on swimmingly during
the erection--so did the houses when built. The proprietorship of the
ground was disputed--our uncle Job had paid the wrong person. The buildings
were knocked down (by Mr. Robins), and the individual who had benefited by
the suppositionary ownership of the acres let on the building lease "bought
the lot," and sent uncle Job a peculiarly well-worded legal notice,
intimating, "his respectable presence would, for the future, approximate to
a nuisance and trespass, and he (Job) would be proceeded against as the
statutes directed, if guilty of the same."
It is impossible to follow him through all his various strivings to do
well: he commenced a small-beer brewery, and the thunder turned it all into
vinegar; he tried vinegar, and nothing on earth could make it sour; he
opened a milk-walk, and the parish pump failed; he invented a waterproof
composition--there was fourteen weeks of drought; he sold his patent for
two-and-sixpence, and had the satisfaction of walking home for the next
three months wet through, from his gossamer to his _ci-devant_ Wellingtons,
now literally, from their hydraulic powers, "_pumps_."
He lost everything but his heart! And uncle Bucket was all heart! a red
cabbage couldn't exceed it in size, and, like that, it seemed naturally
predestined to be everlastingly in a pickle! Still it was a heart! You were
welcomed to his venison when he had it--his present saveloy was equally at
your service. He must have been remarkably attached to facetious elderly
poultry of the masculine gender, as his invariable salute to the tenants of
his "heart's core" was, "How are you, my jolly old cock?" Coats became
threadbare, and defunct trousers vanished; waistcoats were never replaced;
gossamers floated down the tide of Time; boots, deprived of all hope of
future renovation by the loss of their _soles_, mouldered in obscurity; but
the clear voice and chuckling salute were changeless as the statutes of the
Medes and Persians, the price and size of penny tarts, or the accumulating
six-and-eightpences gracing a lawyer's bill.
Poor uncle Job Bucket's fortune had driven "him down the rough tide of
power," when first and last we met; all was blighted save the royal heart;
and yet, with shame we own the truth, we blushed to meet him. Why? ay, why?
We own the weakness!--the heart, the goodly heart, was almost cased in
rags!
"Puppy!"
Right, reader, right; we were a puppy. Lash on, we richly deserve it! but,
consider the fearful influence of worn-out cloth! Can a long series of
unchanging kindness balance patched elbows? are not cracked boots receipts
in full for hours of anxious love and care? does not the kindness of a life
fade "like the baseless fabric of a vision" before the withering touch of
poverty's stern stamp? Have you ever felt--
"Eh? what? No--stuff! Yes, yes--go on, go on."
We will!--we blushed for our uncle's coat! His heart, God bless it, never
caused a blush on the cheek of man, woman, child, or even angel, to rise
for that. We will confess. Let's see, we are sixty now (we don't look so
much, but we are sixty). Well, be it so. We were handsome once--is this
vanity at sixty? if so, our grey hairs are a hatchment for the past. We
were "swells once!--hurrah!--we were!" Stop, this is indecent--let us be
calm--our action was like the proceeding of the denuder of well-sustained
and thriving pigs, he who deprives them of their extreme obesive
selvage--_vulgo_, "_we cut it fat_." Bond-street was cherished by our
smile, and Ranelagh was rendered happy by the exhibition of our symmetry.
Behold us hessianed in our haunts, touching the tips of well-gloved fingers
to our passing friends; then fancy the opening and shutting of our back,
just as Lord Adolphus Nutmeg claimed the affinity of "kid to kid," to find
our other hand close prisoner made by our uncle Bucket.
"How are you, old cock?"
"Who's that, eh?"
"A lunatic, my lord (what lies men tell!), and dangerous!"
"Good day! [_Exit my lord_]. This way." We followed our uncle--the end of a
blind alley gave us a resting-place.
"Bravo!" exclaimed our uncle Bucket, "this is rare! I live here--dine with
me!"
A mob surrounded us--we acquiesced, in hopes to reach a place of shelter.
"All right!" exclaimed he of the maternal side, "stand three-halfpence for
your feed."
We shelled the necessary out--he dived into a baker's shop--the mob
increased--he hailed us from the door.
"Thank God, this is your house, then."
"Only my kitchen. Lend a hand!"
A dish of steaming baked potatoes, surmounted by a fractional rib of
consumptive beef, was deposited between the lemon-coloured receptacles of
our thumbs and fingers--an outcry was raised at the court's end--we were
almost mad.
"Turn to the right--three-pair back--cut away while it's warm, and make
yourself at home! I'll come with the beer!"
We wished our _I_ had been in that bier! We rushed out--the gravy basted
our _pants_, and greased our hessians! Lord Adolphus Nutmeg appeared at the
entrance of the court. As we proceeded to our announced
destination,--"Great God!" exclaimed his lordship, "the Bedlamite has
bitten him!" A peal of laughter rang in our ears--we rushed into the wrong
room, and our uncle Job Bucket picked us, the shattered dish, the reeking
potatoes, and dislodged beef, from the inmost recesses of a wicker-cradle,
where, spite the thumps and entreaties of a distracted parent, we were all
engaged in overlaying a couple of remarkably promising twins! We can say no
more on this frightful subject. But--
"Once again we met!"
Our pride wanted cutting, and fate appeared determined to perform the
operation with a jagged saw!
Tom Racket died! His disease was infectious, and we had been the last
person to call upon him, consequently we were mournful. Thick-coming
fancies brooded in our brain--all things conspired against us; the day was
damp and wretched--the church-bells emulated each other in announcing the
mortalities of earth's bipeds--each _toll'd_ its tale of death. We thought
upon our "absent friend." A funeral approached. We were still more gloomy.
Could it be his? if so, what were his thoughts? Could ghosts but speak,
what would he say? The coffin was coeval with us--sheets were rubicund
compared to our cheeks. A low deep voice sounded from its very bowels--the
words were addressed to us--they were, "Take no notice; it's the first
time; it will soon be over!"
"Will it?" we groaned.
"Yes. I'm glad you know me. I'll tell you more when I come back."
"Gracious powers! do you expect to return?"
"Certainly! We'll have a screw together yet! There's room for us both in my
place. I'll make you comfortable."
The cold perspiration streamed from us. Was there ever anything so awful!
Here was an unhappy subject threatening to call and see us at night, and
then screw us down and make us comfortable.
"Will you come?" exclaimed the dead again.
"Never!" we vociferated with fearful energy.
"Then let it alone; I didn't think you'd have cut me now; but wait till I
show you my face."
Horror of horrors!--the pall moved--a long white face peered from it. We
gasped for breath, and only felt new life when we recognised our uncle Job
Bucket, as the author of the conversation, and one of the bearers of the
coffin! He had turned mute!--but that was a failure--no one ever died in
his parish after his adopting that profession!
* * * * *
He has been seen once since in the backwoods of America. His fate seemed
still to follow him, and his good temper appeared immortal--his situation
was more peculiar than pleasant. He was seated on a log, three hundred
miles from any civilised habitation, smiling blandly at a broken axe (his
only one), the half of which was tightly grasped in his right hand,
pointing to the truant iron in the trunk of a huge tree, the first of a
thriving forest of fifty acres he purposed felling; and, thus occupied, a
solitary traveller passed our uncle Job Bucket, serene as the melting
sunshine, and thoughtless as the wild insect that sported round the owner
"of the lightest of light hearts."--PEACE BE WITH HIM. FUSBOS.
* * * * *
IMPORTANT DISCOVERY.
A gentleman of the name of Stuckey has discovered a new filtering process,
by which "a stream from a most impure source may be rendered perfectly
translucent and fit for all purposes." In the name of our rights and
liberties! in the name of Judy and our country! we call upon the proper
authorities to have this invaluable apparatus erected in the lobby of the
House of Commons, and so, by compelling every member to submit to the
operation of filtration, cleanse the house from its present accumulation of
corruption, though we defy Stuckey himself to give it _brightness_.
* * * * *
A THING UNFIT TO A(P)PEAR.
New honours heaped on _roué_ Segrave's name!
A cuckold's horn is then the trump of fame.
* * * * *
FINE ARTS.
EXTERNAL EXHIBITIONS.
Under this head it is our intention, from time to time, to revert to
numberless free exhibitions, which, in this advancement-of-education age,
have been magnanimously founded with a desire to inculcate a knowledge of,
and disseminate, by these liberal means, an increased taste for the arts in
this vast metropolis. We commence not with any feelings of favouritism, nor
in any order of ability, our pleasures being too numerously divided to be
able to settle as to which ought to be No. 1, but because it is necessary
to commence--consequently we would wish to settle down in company with the
amiable reader in front of a tobacconist's shop in the Regent Circus,
Piccadilly; and as the principal attractions glare upon the astonishment of
the spectators from the south window, it is there in imagination that we
are irresistibly fixed. Before we dilate upon the delicious peculiarities
of the exhibition, we deem it absolutely a matter of justice to the
noble-hearted patriot who, imitative of the Greeks and Athenians of old,
who gave the porticoes of their public buildings, and other convenient
spots, for the display of their artists' productions, has most generously
appropriated the chief space of his shop front to the use and advantage of
the painter, and has thus set a bright example to the high-minded havannah
merchants and contractors for cubas and c'naster, which we trust will not
be suffered to pass unobserved by them.
The principal feature, or, rather mass of features, which enchain the
beholder, is a whole-length portrait of a gentleman (_par excellence_)
seated in a luxuriating, Whitechapel style of ease, the envy, we venture to
affirm, of every omnibus cad and coachman, whose loiterings near this spot
afford them occasional peeps at him. He is most decidedly the greatest
cigar in the shop--not only the mildest, if his countenance deceive us not,
but evidently the most full-flavoured. The artist has, moreover, by some
extraordinary adaptation or strange coincidence, made him typical of the
locality--we allude to the Bull-and-Mouth--seated at a table evidently made
and garnished for the article. The said gentleman herein depicted is in the
act of drinking his own health, or that of "all absent friends," probably
coupling with it some little compliment to a favourite dog, one of the true
Regent-street-and-pink-ribbon breed, who appears to be paying suitable
attention. A huge pine-apple on the table, and a champagne cork or two upon
the ground, contribute a gallant air of reckless expenditure to this
spirited work. In reference to the artistic qualities, it gives us
immoderate satisfaction to state that the whole is conceived and executed
with that characteristic attention so observable in the works of this
master[3], and that the fruit-knife, fork, cork-screw, decanter, and
chiaro-scuro (as the critic of the _Art Union_ would have it), are truly
excellent. The only drawback upon the originality of the subject is the
handkerchief on the knee, which (although painted as vigorously as any
other portion of the picture) we do not strictly approve of, inasmuch as it
may, with the utmost impartiality, be assumed as an imitation of Sir Thomas
Lawrence's portrait of George the Fourth; nevertheless, we in part excuse
this, from the known difficulty attendant upon the representation of a
gentleman seated in enjoyment, and parading his bandana, without
associating it with a veritable footman, who, upon the occasion of his
"Sunday out," may, perchance, be seen in one of the front lower tenements
in Belgrave-square, or some such _locale_, paying violent attentions to the
housemaid, and the hot toast, decorated with the order of the handkerchief,
to preserve his crimson plush in all its glowing purity. We cannot take
leave of this interesting work without declaring our opinion that the
composition (of the frame) is highly creditable.
[3] We have forgotten the artist's name--perhaps never knew it; but
we believe it is the same gentleman who painted the great
author of "Jack Sheppard."
Placed on the right of the last-mentioned work of art, is a representation
of a young lady, as seen when presenting a full-blown flower to a favourite
parrot. There is a delicate simplicity in the attitude and expression of
the damsel, which, though you fail to discover the like in the tortuous
figures of Taglioni or Cerito, we have often observed in the conduct of
ladies many years in the seniority of the one under notice, who, ever
mindful of the idol of their thoughts and affections--a feline
companion--may be seen carrying a precious morsel, safely skewered, in
advance of them; this gentleness the artist has been careful to retain to
eminent success. We are, nevertheless, woefully at a loss to divine what
the allegory can possibly be (for as such we view it), what the analogy
between a pretty poll and a pol-yanthus. We are unlearned in the language
of flowers, or, perhaps, might probe the mystery by a little floral
discussion. We are, however, compelled to leave it to the noble order of
freemasons, and shall therefore wait patiently an opportunity of
communicating with his Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex. In the meantime
we shall not he silent upon the remaining qualities of the work as a
general whole--the young lady--the parrot--the polyanthus, and the
chiaro-scuro, are as excellent as usual in this our most amusing painter's
productions.
As a pendant to this, we are favoured with the portrait of a young
gentleman upon a half-holiday--and, equipped with cricket means, his
dexter-hand grasps his favourite bat, whilst the left arm gracefully
encircles a hat, in which is seductively shown a genuine "Duke." The
sentiment of this picture is unparalleled, and to the young hero of any
parish eleven is given a stern expression of Lord's Marylebone ground. We
can already (aided by perspective and imagination) see him before a future
generation of cricketers, "shoulder his bat, and show how games were won."
The bat is well drawn and coloured with much truth, and with that strict
observance of harmony which is so characteristic of the excellences of art.
The artist has felicitously blended the tone and character of the bat with
that of the young gentleman's head. As to the ball, we do not recollect
ever to have seen one in the works of any of the old masters so true to
nature. In conclusion, the buttons on the jacket, and the button-holes,
companions thereto, would baffle the criticism of the most hyper-fastidious
stab-rag; and the shirt collar, with every other detail--never forgetting
the chiaro-scuro--are equal to any of the preceding.
* * * * *
CURIOUS COINCIDENCE.
We had prepared an announcement of certain theatricals extraordinary, with
which we had intended to favour the public, when the following bill reached
us. We feel that its contents partake so strongly of what we had heretofore
conceived the exclusive character of PUNCH, that to avoid the charge of
plagiarism, as well as to prevent any confusion of interests, we have
resolved to give insertion to both.
As PUNCH is above all petty rivalry, we accord our _collaborateurs_ the
preference.
_Red Lion Court, Fleet Street._
SIR,--Allow me to solicit your kindness so far, as to give publicity to
this bill, by _placing it in some conspicuous part of your Establishment_.
The success of the undertaking will prove so advantageous to the public at
large, that I fear not your compliance in so good a cause.
I am, Sir, your's very obediently,
C. MITCHELL
* * * * *
VIVANT REGINA ET PRINCEPS.
THEATRE ROYAL
ENGLISH OPERA HOUSE,
WELLINGTON-STREET NORTH, STRAND.
_Conducted by the Council of the Dramatic Authors' Theatre, established for
the full encouragement of English Living Dramatists._
ADDRESS TO THE PUBLIC.
The generous National feelings of the British Public are proverbially
interested in every endeavour to obtain "a Free Stage and Fair Play." The
Council of the Dramatic Authors' Theatre seek to achieve both, for every
English Living Dramatist. Compelled, by the state of the _Law_, to present
on the Stage a high Tragic Composition IN AN IRREGULAR FORM (in effecting
which, nevertheless, regard has been had to those elements of human nature,
which must constitute the essential principles of every genuine Dramatic
Production), they hope for such kind consideration as may be due to a work
brought forward in obedient accordance with the regulations of _Acts of
Parliament_, though labouring thereby under some consequent difficulties;
the _Law_ for the Small Theatres Royal, and the _Law_ for the Large
Theatres Royal, _not_ being one and the same _Law_. If, by these efforts, a
beneficial alteration in such Law, which presses so fatally on Dramatic
Genius, and which militates against the revival of the highest class of
Drama, should be effected, they feel assured that the Public will
Participate in their Triumph.
On THURSDAY, the 26th of AUGUST, will be presented, for the First Time,
(_Interspersed with Songs and Music_).
MARTINUZZI.
BY GEORGE STEPHENS, ESQ.
Taken by him from his "magnificent" Dramatic Poem, entitled, _The Hungarian
Daughter_.
The Solos, Duets, Chorusses, and every other Musical arrangement the _Law_
may require, by Mr. DAVID LEE.
The following Opinions of the Press on the Actable qualities of the
Dramatic Poem, are selected from a vast mass of similar notices.
"Worthy of _the Stage_ in its best days."--The Courier.
"Effective situations; if well acted, it _could not fail of
success_."--_New Bell's Messenger_.
"The mantle of the Elizabethan Poets seems to have fallen on Mr. Stephens,
for we have scarcely ever met with, in the works of modern dramatists, the
truthful delineations of human passion, the chaste and splendid imagery,
and continuous strain of fine poetry to be found in _The Hungarian
Daughter_."--_Cambridge Journal_.
"Equal to Goethe. All is impassioned and effective. The Poet has availed
himself of every tragic point, and brought together every element; nor,
with the exception, of Mr. Knowles's _Love_, has there been a single Drama,
within the last four years, presented on _the Stage_ at all
comparable."--_Monthly Magazine_.
After which will be performed, also for the First Time, An Original
Entertainment in One Act, Entitled
THE CLOAK AND THE BONNET!
By the Author of _Jacob Faithful_, _Peter Simple_, _&c. &c._
No Orders admitted.--No Free List, the Public Press excepted.
* * * * *
Now for _our_ penny trumpet.
THEATRICALS EXTRAORDINARY.
READER,--Allow us to solicit your kindness so far as to give publicity to
the following announcement, _by buying up and distributing among your
friends the whole of the unsold copies of this number_. The success of this
undertaking will prove so advantageous to the public at large, and of so
little benefit to ourselves, that we fear not your compliance in so good a
cause.
Yours obediently,
PUNCH.
VIVANT KANT ET TOMFOOLERIE.
THEATRE ROYAL
PERIPATETIC,
WELLINGTON-STREET SOUTH, STRAND.
_Conducted by the Council of the Fanatic Association established for the
full encouragement of Timber Actors and Wooden-headed Dramatists_.
ADDRESS TO THE PUBLIC;
OR, PUNCH BLOWING HIS OWN TRUMPET,
The general National feelings of the British Public are proverbially
interested in every endeavour to obtain "a blind alley, and no Fantoccini."
Compelled by the New Police Act to move on, and so present our high tragic
composition by small instalments (in effecting which, nevertheless, regard
has been had--_This parenthesis to be continued in our next_), we hope for
such kind consideration as may be due, when it is remembered that the _law_
for the _out-door_ PUNCH and the _law_ for the _in-door_ PUNCH is not one
and the same _law_. Oh, law!
On SATURDAY, the 28th of AUGUST, will be presented,
(_Interspersed with Drum and Mouth Organ_),
PUNCHINUZZI,
BY EGO SCRIBLERUS, ESQ.
Taken from his "magnificent" Dramatic Poem, entitled, "PUNCH NUTS UPON
HIMSELF."
The following Opinions on the Actable qualities of _Punchinuzzi_, are
selected from a vast mass of similar notices.
"This ere play 'ud draw at ony fare."--_The late Mr. Richardson_.
"This happy poetic drama would be certain to command crowded and elegant
_courts_."--_La Belle Assemblée_.
"We have read _Punchinuzzi_, and we fearlessly declare that the mantle of
that metropolitan bard, the late Mr. William Waters, has descended upon the
gifted author."--_Observer_.
"Worthy of the _streets_ in their best days."--_Fudge_.
No Orders! No Free List! No Money!!.
* * * * *
THE WHIGS' LAST DYING SPEECH, AS DELIVERED BY THE QUEEN
It is with no common pride that PUNCH avails himself of the opportunity
presented to him, from sources exclusively his own, of laying before his
readers a copy of the original draft of the Speech decided upon at a late
Cabinet Council. There is a novelty about it which pre-eminently
distinguishes it from all preceding orations from the throne or the
woolsack, for it has a purpose, and evinces much kind consideration on the
part of the Sovereign, in rendering this monody on departed Whiggism as
grateful as possible to its surviving friends and admirers.
There is much of the eulogistic fervour of George Robins, combined with the
rich poetic feeling of Mechi, running throughout the oration. Indeed, it
remained for the Whigs to add this crowning triumph to their policy; for
who but Melbourne and Co. would have conceived the happy idea of converting
the mouth of the monarch into an organ for puffing, and transforming
Majesty itself into a _National Advertiser_?
THE QUEEN'S SPEECH.
MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN,
I have the satisfaction to inform you, that, through the invaluable
policy of my present talented and highly disinterested advisers, I
continue to receive from foreign powers assurances of their
amicable disposition towards, and unbounded respect for, my elegant
and enlightened Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, and of
their earnest desire to remain on terms of friendship with the rest
of my gifted, liberal, and amiable Cabinet.
The posture of affairs in China is certainly not of the most
pacific character, but I have the assurance of my infallible Privy
Council, and of that profound statesman my Secretary of State for
Foreign Affairs, in particular, that the present disagreement
arises entirely from the barbarous character of the Chinese, and
their determined opposition to the progress of temperance in this
happy country.
I have also the satisfaction to inform you, that, by the acute
diplomatic skill of my never-to-be-sufficiently-eulogised Secretary
of State for Foreign Affairs, that, after innumerable and
complicated negotiations, he has at length succeeded in seducing
his Majesty the King of the French to render to England the tardy
justice of commemorating, by a _fête_ and inauguration at Boulogne,
the disinclination of the French, at a former period, to invade the
British dominions.
GENTLEMEN OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS,
I have directed the _estimates for the next fortnight_ to be laid
before you, which, I am happy to inform you, will be amply
sufficient for the exigencies of my _present_ disinterested
advisers.
The unequalled fiscal and arithmetical talents of my Chancellor of
the Exchequer have, by the most rigid economy, succeeded in
reducing the revenue very considerably below the actual expenditure
of the state.
MY LORDS AND GENTLEMEN,
Measures will be speedily submitted to you for carrying out the
admirable plans of my Secretary of State for the Colonial
Department, and the brilliant author of "Don Carlos," for the
prevention of apoplexy among paupers, and the reduction of the
present extravagant dietary of the Unions.
I have the gratification to announce that a commission is in
progress, by which it is proposed by my _non_-patronage Ministers
to call into requisition the talents of several literary
gentlemen--all intimate friends or relations of my deeply erudite
and profoundly philosophic Secretary of State for the Home
Department, and author of "Yes and No," (three vols. Colburn) for
the purpose of extending the knowledge of reading and writing, and
the encouragement of circulating libraries all over the kingdom.
My consistent and uncompromising Secretary of State for the
Colonies, having, since the publication of his spirited "Essays by
a gentleman who has lately left his lodgings," totally changed his
opinions on the subject of the Corn Laws, a measure is in the
course of preparation with a view to the repeal of those laws, and
the continuance in office of my invaluable, tenacious, and
incomparable ministry.
CAUTION.--We have just heard from a friend in Somerset House, that it is
the intention of the Commissioners of Stamps, from the glaring puffs
embodied in the above speech, to proceed for the advertisement duty against
all newspapers in which it is inserted. For ourselves, we will cheerfully
pay.
* * * * *
A German, resident in New York, has such a remarkably hard name, that he
spoils a gross of steel pens indorsing a bill.
* * * * *
A NEW VERSION OF BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST.