LONDON

Man on tricycle attending a huntThe Cover Side. 10.45 a.m. Spriggins comes up with the Hunt on his favourite "Rantoone."

The Cover Side. 10.45 a.m. Spriggins comes up with the Hunt on his favourite "Rantoone."

The hunt moves off10.50. "For'ard Away!" Spriggins gets along famously.

10.50. "For'ard Away!" Spriggins gets along famously.

The tricycle runs out of control10.55. "Tally-Ho!" Spriggins realizes the sensation of being "run away with."

10.55. "Tally-Ho!" Spriggins realizes the sensation of being "run away with."

Rider falls from tricycle10.56. "Yoicks!" Spriggins learns what a "cropper" means.

10.56. "Yoicks!" Spriggins learns what a "cropper" means.

Rider with damaged trike11.56. Five miles from everywhere.

11.56. Five miles from everywhere.

Telegraph wires first began to spread their overhead network in London in 1859; the District Telegraph Company was started in 1860. Ten years laterPunchcelebrates the reduction of the fee for a twenty-word telegram to one shilling. Of the use of telegraphy in war he expressed considerable scepticism, on the ground that it would lead to endless contradictory rumours.

Man fleeing from shadowy figureAWFUL SUMMUTThat Tummas met as he was a-comin' whoam—"Ta looked like a man a ridin' 'pon nawthin'!"

AWFUL SUMMUT

That Tummas met as he was a-comin' whoam—"Ta looked like a man a ridin' 'pon nawthin'!"

The Atlantic Cable

The most notable advance in telegraphy, however, was that of the long-distance cables. The year 1858 abounds in references to the second and third attempts to span the Atlantic. Frequent failures delayed the achievement of the enterprise for several years. In 1865Punchpublished a series of reportspurporting to come from theGreat Eastern, then engaged in laying the cable, but it was not until the summer of 1866 that he was able to record the completion of the task:—

A Parliamentary week never ended with a more gratifying incident. A Minister, Mr. Hunt, stated that the Atlantic Telegraph had been laid to America, an ex-Minister, Mr. Childers, confirmed the fact, and an Honourable Member held in his hand a signal that had just arrived.Mr. Punchinstantly sent Mr. Johnson a peremptory signal to liquor severely.

Undoubtedly the record of the marvels of applied science kept byPunch, and the forecasts of further extension in which he indulged, come home to us more closely in connexion with inventions for use in warfare. The unrealized projects of Captain Warner have been described in the previous volume. A liquid-fire bomb or incendiary shell, and an incendiary rifle-bullet attracted attention early in 1859. But the lessons of the American War of 1861-1865 gavePunchoccasion to think sometimesseriously, and even with flashes of remarkable insight, on the possibilities of future warfare. His old distrust of armoured ships as "ferreous freaks" was not entirely dispelled by the triumph of the monitor; he gives us a picture of a new iron-clad mistaken for a Noah's Ark, and speaks of the new types as flat-irons. He admits that the action between theMerrimacand theMonitorconclusively proves that one iron-clad ship is a match for several wooden ships carrying more and heavier guns; but if there are to be no ships of war but iron ships, and iron ships are mutually shot-proof, he is impelled to the further conclusion that naval war in the future may end in an inconclusive stalemate:—

Ships being rendered practically invulnerable, any two vessels of war belonging to hostile nations will, hereafter, meeting on the high seas, each find itself unable to injure the other and therefore be obliged to part in peace, the result of their collision having been as nearly as possible the opposite to that of the conflict between the Kilkenny Cats.

From such a prospectPunchprofesses to derive hope; but there is more sagacity in the "Farewell to the Fleet" which followed three weeks later, a valediction which in its last stanza crudely anticipates the pre-and post-war warnings of Admiral Sir Percy Scott:—

Now farewell, my trim three-decker,Sails and spars and all farewell;Iron's proved of wood a wrecker,Where 'twill steer us who can tell?In glorious Nelson's days, d'ye mind them,Our tars were sailors every inch:Stout hearts, with pigtails stout behind them,And ne'er a man to skulk or flinch.But now—my dear eyes! British sailorsHalf soldiers and half stokers are;And if we manned the fleet with tailors,'Twould in a month be fit for war.

Now farewell, my trim three-decker,Sails and spars and all farewell;Iron's proved of wood a wrecker,Where 'twill steer us who can tell?

Now farewell, my trim three-decker,

Sails and spars and all farewell;

Iron's proved of wood a wrecker,

Where 'twill steer us who can tell?

In glorious Nelson's days, d'ye mind them,Our tars were sailors every inch:Stout hearts, with pigtails stout behind them,And ne'er a man to skulk or flinch.

In glorious Nelson's days, d'ye mind them,

Our tars were sailors every inch:

Stout hearts, with pigtails stout behind them,

And ne'er a man to skulk or flinch.

But now—my dear eyes! British sailorsHalf soldiers and half stokers are;And if we manned the fleet with tailors,'Twould in a month be fit for war.

But now—my dear eyes! British sailors

Half soldiers and half stokers are;

And if we manned the fleet with tailors,

'Twould in a month be fit for war.

Bomb-proof, hull-sunk, iron-roofed, we steam on,Nor ball nor boarder fear we now;And when our foe we run abeam on,He sinks at once beneath our prow.Them Yankee swabs, from shot a-shrinking:Fight under water, so they tells;Dear eyes! our Navy soon, I'm thinking,Will be a fleet of diving bells.

Bomb-proof, hull-sunk, iron-roofed, we steam on,Nor ball nor boarder fear we now;And when our foe we run abeam on,He sinks at once beneath our prow.

Bomb-proof, hull-sunk, iron-roofed, we steam on,

Nor ball nor boarder fear we now;

And when our foe we run abeam on,

He sinks at once beneath our prow.

Them Yankee swabs, from shot a-shrinking:Fight under water, so they tells;Dear eyes! our Navy soon, I'm thinking,Will be a fleet of diving bells.

Them Yankee swabs, from shot a-shrinking:

Fight under water, so they tells;

Dear eyes! our Navy soon, I'm thinking,

Will be a fleet of diving bells.

Sailors in suits of armourTHE "BRITISH TAR" OF THE FUTURE

THE "BRITISH TAR" OF THE FUTURE

The Navy of the Future

But by far the best illustration of the way in which the course of the war causedMr. Punchto think furiously, fantastically, but by no means foolishly, is to be found in the fantasy headed, "A Flying Island wanted":—

Will somebody please invent for us an Island of Laputa?It would save a mint of money in plated ships, and Armstrong guns, and Shoeburyness experiments. Although we are at peace, a most expensive war is raging between gunmakers and shipbuilders, and so far as one can learn, there seem but little hopes of stoppingit. First the guns will gain the day, and then the ships will be built stronger until they are ball-proof, then bigger guns will come, and then still stronger ships; and so the battle will go on, and victories alternately be won by either side, and the Queen's powder be burnt at a most tremendous rate, so long as Mr. Bull agrees to stand the shot.If the Invention War goes on much longer than it has done, we quite expect to hear of the construction of a cannon that shall throw a ball as big as the Ball upon St. Paul's, and of a mortar that shall pitch a shell as large round as the dome. Indeed, we fancy that in course of time conical shot will equal the Big Pyramid of Egypt, and that guns will be invented of sufficient power to throw such shot across from Brighton to Boulogne.Now, if somebody would just invent a Flying Island, and present us with the patent, this costly fight between artillerists and shield-makers would probably soon cease. There would be no need then of our Army and our Navy, our big guns and our block ships, our field pieces and forts. Whenever any nation dared to pick a quarrel with us, all that we should have to do would be to let our Flying Island drop upon their heads, and squash their fleets and forces flat at one fell swoop.

Will somebody please invent for us an Island of Laputa?

It would save a mint of money in plated ships, and Armstrong guns, and Shoeburyness experiments. Although we are at peace, a most expensive war is raging between gunmakers and shipbuilders, and so far as one can learn, there seem but little hopes of stoppingit. First the guns will gain the day, and then the ships will be built stronger until they are ball-proof, then bigger guns will come, and then still stronger ships; and so the battle will go on, and victories alternately be won by either side, and the Queen's powder be burnt at a most tremendous rate, so long as Mr. Bull agrees to stand the shot.

If the Invention War goes on much longer than it has done, we quite expect to hear of the construction of a cannon that shall throw a ball as big as the Ball upon St. Paul's, and of a mortar that shall pitch a shell as large round as the dome. Indeed, we fancy that in course of time conical shot will equal the Big Pyramid of Egypt, and that guns will be invented of sufficient power to throw such shot across from Brighton to Boulogne.

Now, if somebody would just invent a Flying Island, and present us with the patent, this costly fight between artillerists and shield-makers would probably soon cease. There would be no need then of our Army and our Navy, our big guns and our block ships, our field pieces and forts. Whenever any nation dared to pick a quarrel with us, all that we should have to do would be to let our Flying Island drop upon their heads, and squash their fleets and forces flat at one fell swoop.

The development of long-range artillery has fulfilledPunch'sfancy. And we have become a flying island; but, unfortunately, the power of swooping from the skies is shared by other countries. As for ascents into the upper air, it was in the same year (1862) that the long unbroken record in altitude was made by Coxwell and Glaisher in the old-fashioned balloon. There is a reference to the Aeronautical Exhibition held at the Crystal Palace in 1868; but the disaster which befell the Belgian, de Groof, in July, 1874, while attempting to descend from a balloon in a newly invented parachute, elicited a decidedly obscurantist comment:—

DE GROOF(Killed in attempting to Fly, July 9, 1874)

He who provides for all beneath the sky,Made men to walk, as He made birds to fly;Then let man stick to earth, and have the senseNot to fly in the face of Providence!

He who provides for all beneath the sky,

Made men to walk, as He made birds to fly;

Then let man stick to earth, and have the sense

Not to fly in the face of Providence!

The Coming of the Typewriter

Cigarettes had come in with the Crimean War. In 1858Punchsuggested an improved passport with a photograph. Tothe same year belong the introduction of the word "dipsomaniac," spirit-drawing (a forerunner of spirit-photographs),Punch'sfirst mention of Schweppe's soda water and of synthetic substitutes for food, and his prediction of the formation of a Camel Corps. Aerated bread, and the magnetic hair brush—supposed to restore the pigment to grey hair by drawing out the iron in the blood—were among the novelties of 1860; hair-brushing by machinery was introduced in 1864, and the sewing machine makes its debut inPunchin 1866. An even more epoch-making invention, which ranks among the most momentous products of the age in its far-reaching results on commerce, journalism, literature and the whole social system, was the type-writer, exhibited in London in 1867:—

GOOD NEWS FOR BAD WRITERSIt is surprising what discoveries are made in the dead season. Here is one, for instance, the account of which has recently been snipped out by the scissors of many a sub-editor:—"Writing superseded. Mr. Pratt, of Alabama, is the inventor of a typewriting machine, lately exhibited to the London Society of Arts, which is said to print a man's thoughts twice as fast as he can write them with the present process. By a sort of piano arrangement the letters are brought in contact with carbonized paper, which is moved by the same manipulation."Every author his own printer! What a happy state of things! No more struggles to write legibly with nibless tavern-pens; no more labour in deciphering the hieroglyphs of hasty writers. Literary work will be in future merely play—on the piano. The future Locke may write his essays by a touch upon the keys.In this inventive age there really is no saying where discovery will stop. Now that authors are to put their thoughts in print with twice the pace that they can write them, perhaps ere long they will be able to put their works in type without so much as taking the trouble to compose them. A thought-hatching easy chair may very likely be invented, by the help of which an author may sit down at his ease before his thought-printing piano, and play awayad libitumwhatever may occur to him. Different cushions may be used for different kinds of composition, some stuffed with serious thoughts, fit for sermons or reviews, and others with light fancies, fit for works of fiction, poetry, or fun. By a judicious choice of cushions an author will be able to sit down to his piano, and play a novel in three volumes twice or thrice a week, besides knocking off a leader everymorning for a newspaper, and issuing every fortnight a bulky epic poem, or a whole encyclopædia complete within a month.

GOOD NEWS FOR BAD WRITERS

It is surprising what discoveries are made in the dead season. Here is one, for instance, the account of which has recently been snipped out by the scissors of many a sub-editor:—

"Writing superseded. Mr. Pratt, of Alabama, is the inventor of a typewriting machine, lately exhibited to the London Society of Arts, which is said to print a man's thoughts twice as fast as he can write them with the present process. By a sort of piano arrangement the letters are brought in contact with carbonized paper, which is moved by the same manipulation."

Every author his own printer! What a happy state of things! No more struggles to write legibly with nibless tavern-pens; no more labour in deciphering the hieroglyphs of hasty writers. Literary work will be in future merely play—on the piano. The future Locke may write his essays by a touch upon the keys.

In this inventive age there really is no saying where discovery will stop. Now that authors are to put their thoughts in print with twice the pace that they can write them, perhaps ere long they will be able to put their works in type without so much as taking the trouble to compose them. A thought-hatching easy chair may very likely be invented, by the help of which an author may sit down at his ease before his thought-printing piano, and play awayad libitumwhatever may occur to him. Different cushions may be used for different kinds of composition, some stuffed with serious thoughts, fit for sermons or reviews, and others with light fancies, fit for works of fiction, poetry, or fun. By a judicious choice of cushions an author will be able to sit down to his piano, and play a novel in three volumes twice or thrice a week, besides knocking off a leader everymorning for a newspaper, and issuing every fortnight a bulky epic poem, or a whole encyclopædia complete within a month.

On the whole, this is not a bad though fantastic summary of the possibilities of a machine which, whatever its influence on the manufacture of novels, the multiplication of unnecessary books, and the art of letter-writing, has at least proved a wonderful time-saver and revolutionized the prospects of the "superfluous woman." In spite of its terrible ticking, it has proved a great lubricator of life; and,à proposof lubricants, we have to note the advent in the early 'seventies of synthetic butter, under its modern name:—

There are probably very few members of that generally bread-and-butter-eating community, the British Public, who have not frequently partaken, without knowing it, of the article described in the following extract from a letter of theMorning Post'sCorrespondent at Paris:—"Butter, like all alimentary substances, has vastly increased in price. An enterprising merchant exhibits what he calls 'Produit nouveau, Margarine Mouriès, remplaçant le beurre pour la cuisine. Economie incontestable sur le beurre; il coûte moitié moins cher, et on en use moitié moins.' This butter is made from the fat of beef, and costs 10d. per pound."In merry England, however, this article does not merely replace Butter for the kitchen, but also for the breakfast-parlour, where it is eaten, not under the name of Margarine, in bread-and-margarine, but that of Butter, in bread-and-butter. It is bought for Butter, and it is sold for Butter; only the buyer believes it to be what it is sold for, whereas the seller well knows that it is a product of beef-suet; and he serves his customer with the latter commodity at the price of the former. The "enterprising merchant" of Paris, who sells Margarine as a substitute for Butter, and does not sell his customers by selling it as Butter, and at Butter's value, has very likely found honesty to be the best policy. That policy might, perhaps, be adopted with advantage by an enterprising British Cheesemonger.

"Butter, like all alimentary substances, has vastly increased in price. An enterprising merchant exhibits what he calls 'Produit nouveau, Margarine Mouriès, remplaçant le beurre pour la cuisine. Economie incontestable sur le beurre; il coûte moitié moins cher, et on en use moitié moins.' This butter is made from the fat of beef, and costs 10d. per pound."

In merry England, however, this article does not merely replace Butter for the kitchen, but also for the breakfast-parlour, where it is eaten, not under the name of Margarine, in bread-and-margarine, but that of Butter, in bread-and-butter. It is bought for Butter, and it is sold for Butter; only the buyer believes it to be what it is sold for, whereas the seller well knows that it is a product of beef-suet; and he serves his customer with the latter commodity at the price of the former. The "enterprising merchant" of Paris, who sells Margarine as a substitute for Butter, and does not sell his customers by selling it as Butter, and at Butter's value, has very likely found honesty to be the best policy. That policy might, perhaps, be adopted with advantage by an enterprising British Cheesemonger.

Beef-fat is, we fear, a euphemism for the principal ingredient in the synthesis of margarine as originally compounded, and it was a consciousness of this fact that more than anything else prompted the dishonesty of the British cheesemonger.

The list of useful novelties may be completed with postcards,which date from the year 1870.Punchrecognized their drawbacks, and recommended people who used them to write in cypher or in Greek characters, which was less a counsel of perfection fifty years ago than it would be to-day.

England's debt to America in the domain of invention was not confined to mechanical labour-saving appliances. The inventiveness of the American journalist repeatedly extorts the reluctant admiration ofPunchfrom 1857 onwards. In the summer of 1858 he culls a gorgeous example of the high art of sensational reporting from a New York paper in which it was stated that six people were butchered by a man who blew his brains out, yet "at the latest date all the sufferers were in a fair way of recovery." Yet in their own way the English penny-a-liners were capable of fine work. In December of the same yearPunchquotes the following from the account of an agricultural show in a daily paper:—

"Yesterday the gold medal pen of pigs was denuded of one of its finest specimens, one of those most extraordinary animals having expired from its obesity during the previous night. There were other demises from apoplexy amongst the porcine confraternity during the show."

The Press Surpasses Itself

It was in the Victorian age, again—though unknown toPunch—that the reporter of an Irish paper concluded his description of a burglary with the words, "after a fruitless search, all the money was recovered except one pair of boots." But the supremacy of the New World in this field was conclusively established in the year 1869, theannus mirabilisfor ever memorable by its association with the greatest of all American advertisements. Fragments of this classic are familiar even to the present generation, but we are, thanks toPunch, able to give the original text in its entirety:—

Among those of our institutions that are especially getting Americanized is a part of our Press, professing to afford us information which it calls "reliable" and also abounding in announcements on which we may rely if their phraseology strikes us as the language of truth and honesty. Some of these notifications are formed on models, whereof a contemporary quotes an example:—"A wonderful Medicine. The following advertisement is from a recent issue of a New York paper:—'If you want a really pure unsophisticated "family pill," buy Dr. R——'s liver-encouraging, kidney-persuading, silent perambulator—twenty-seven in a box. This pill is as mild as a pet-lamb, and as searching as a small tooth-comb. It don't go fooling about, but strictly attends to business, and is as certain as an alarm clock.'"Puffery, resembling, if not quite equalling, that above instanced, in wit and humour, is fast gaining ground among us. America has taught us how to advertise. Thank Barnum. We have been, and are continuing to be, Americanized. We are progressing.

"A wonderful Medicine. The following advertisement is from a recent issue of a New York paper:—'If you want a really pure unsophisticated "family pill," buy Dr. R——'s liver-encouraging, kidney-persuading, silent perambulator—twenty-seven in a box. This pill is as mild as a pet-lamb, and as searching as a small tooth-comb. It don't go fooling about, but strictly attends to business, and is as certain as an alarm clock.'"

Puffery, resembling, if not quite equalling, that above instanced, in wit and humour, is fast gaining ground among us. America has taught us how to advertise. Thank Barnum. We have been, and are continuing to be, Americanized. We are progressing.

Lady eavesdroppingSCIENCE APPLIED TO ARTAngelina Squills (the doctor's daughter) by a judicious use of her father's stethoscope, is able to detect and enjoy the delicate tenor voice of the interesting young curate who lodges next door.

SCIENCE APPLIED TO ART

Angelina Squills (the doctor's daughter) by a judicious use of her father's stethoscope, is able to detect and enjoy the delicate tenor voice of the interesting young curate who lodges next door.

One is glad thatPunchrecognized the "wit and humour" of this unique document, though he says nothing of its magical choice of words. Dr. R—— was Dr. Rumbold. But whether or no he composed the advertisement I have not been able to discover—or, indeed, anything about him. Perhaps it was his swan-song; like the Old Masters, who according to Artemus Ward executed the execrable paintings exhibited at his lectureas their crowning and final achievement: "they did them and then they died."

The Next Generation

Sufficient materials have already been accumulated to enable the reader to form an estimate ofPunch'scredentials as a prophet or "intelligent anticipator." They would not, however, be complete without the "Forecast of the Next Generation" which appeared in 1872, and which is interesting not so much from its prophecies as from its comprehensive catalogue of Victorian shortcomings, failings and abuses:—

The next generation will possess an army properly clothed.The next generation will all be able to read and write.The next generation will wear light clothes in summer.The next generation will remove some of the public-statues and edifices which their predecessors have erected.The next generation will find life supportable without so many Vestries.The next generation will not make calls.The next generation will ride to and fro in decent cabs.The next generation will have other sorts of fish in daily consumption besides red herrings.The next generation will speak French and German, and, possibly, know something of their own language and literature.The next generation will not wear high black hats in the month of July.The next generation will see the officers of the army walking about the streets in uniform.The next generation will have other public places of amusement open to them on Sundays, besides public-houses.The next generation will be better cooks.The next generation will have no theatres with fees.The next generation will leave the table with the ladies.The next generation will not avoid Hotels.The next generation will find they can get on pretty comfortably without the Lord Privy Seal, the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, the Judge Advocate General, etc.The next generation will not be ashamed of Leicester Square.The next generation will be able to cross the Channel with less bodily discomfort.The next generation will journey by railway more safely and more punctually.The next generation will still have the National Debt, duns, dentists, domestics, humbugs, quacks, impostors, absurd fashions, adulteration, swindlers, and the Income Tax.

The next generation will possess an army properly clothed.

The next generation will all be able to read and write.

The next generation will wear light clothes in summer.

The next generation will remove some of the public-statues and edifices which their predecessors have erected.

The next generation will find life supportable without so many Vestries.

The next generation will not make calls.

The next generation will ride to and fro in decent cabs.

The next generation will have other sorts of fish in daily consumption besides red herrings.

The next generation will speak French and German, and, possibly, know something of their own language and literature.

The next generation will not wear high black hats in the month of July.

The next generation will see the officers of the army walking about the streets in uniform.

The next generation will have other public places of amusement open to them on Sundays, besides public-houses.

The next generation will be better cooks.

The next generation will have no theatres with fees.

The next generation will leave the table with the ladies.

The next generation will not avoid Hotels.

The next generation will find they can get on pretty comfortably without the Lord Privy Seal, the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, the Judge Advocate General, etc.

The next generation will not be ashamed of Leicester Square.

The next generation will be able to cross the Channel with less bodily discomfort.

The next generation will journey by railway more safely and more punctually.

The next generation will still have the National Debt, duns, dentists, domestics, humbugs, quacks, impostors, absurd fashions, adulteration, swindlers, and the Income Tax.

[10]In January, 1868, reference is made to carriages with circular holes between the compartments in order to facilitate communication.

[11]The scheme was originally proposed by a French engineer named Mathieu in the very beginning of the century, and taken up in 1833 by Thomé de Gamond, who worked at it for more than twenty years until an International Committee was formed. Operations were interrupted by the Franco-Prussian War, but resumed in earnest in 1872. M. de Gamond died in poverty in 1876.

Foul State of the Thames

Though nothing comparable to the Hausmannizing of Paris by systematized and uniform reconstruction was accomplished in London in the mid-Victorian period, great changes and improvements were introduced. Bridges were built, the river was partially purified and the Thames Embankment carried out. The state of the "ancient river, shining as he goes, mail-clad in morning to the ancient sea" of Henley's phrase, was a hideous scandal in the 'fifties. Father Thames may on occasion have appealed to the eye, but he continually affronted the nose. In 1858 the growth of London was estimated to reach 5,816,900 by 1901. Yes, saysPunch, but what if the Thames is not purified? In June of that year the nuisance, aggravated by a dry summer, was painfully brought home to legislators in session at Westminster. Constant protests were raised in both Houses, and when Lord John Manners asserted that the Central Board of Works stopped the way,Punchwould have liked to see Thwaites—the chairman—and his "gabbling colleagues" committed to prison until they had purged their contempt for our river.

A month later the drought and the bad drainage produced a regular panic, and on July 15 Disraeli introduced a Bill authorizing the cleansing of the Thames and giving the Board of Works power to raise a special rate (whichPunchcalled the Stinking Fund) and a free hand in construction. The stench of the river continued to inspire a succession of poems, paragraphs and articles throughout the rest of the year, including an address to the Thames (after Tennyson), and beginning,

Bake, bake, bake,O Thames, on thy way to the sea!And I would that thy stink could poisonA Bishop, Peer or M.P.

Bake, bake, bake,

O Thames, on thy way to the sea!

And I would that thy stink could poison

A Bishop, Peer or M.P.

The subsequent discontinuance of these tirades is a tolerably safe indication that the nuisance was being seriously grappled with. Eight years later, in the autumn of 1866, Father Thames, though still a disreputable figure, is allowed byPunchto use thetu quoqueargument against a Parliamentary critic at a time when electoral corruption was calling loudly for reform.

CartoonBRIBERY AND CORRUPTIONHon. Member(on Terrace of Parliament Palace): "O, you horrid, dirty old river!"Father Thames: "Don'tyoutalk, Mister Whatsyername! Which of us has the cleaner hands, I wonder?"

BRIBERY AND CORRUPTION

Hon. Member(on Terrace of Parliament Palace): "O, you horrid, dirty old river!"

Father Thames: "Don'tyoutalk, Mister Whatsyername! Which of us has the cleaner hands, I wonder?"

The new suspension bridge in St. James's Park is attacked in 1857 for its ugliness. "We can't make a monument, and now it seems we can't make a bridge." The new erection isdescribed as a grotesque failure, but at least the ornamental water had been purified.Punchwas more hopeful of the new Blackfriars Bridge, built by Cubitt, when he attended the ceremony of laying the foundation-stone in July, 1865, and when it was opened in November, 1869—just a hundred years after the opening of Mylne's bridge—he celebrated the event in an imaginary dialogue between the Queen, Mr. Cubitt and Dr. Johnson. The introduction of Johnson was thoroughly appropriate, for the doctor had attacked Mylne's bridge, or the "Pitt Bridge," as it was originally called, as contravening sound principles of engineering, and events proved that he was right. Over the new Westminster Bridge, begun in May, 1854, and opened at 4 a.m. on the morning of May 24, 1862—the day and hour on which Queen Victoria was born—Punchabandoned his pessimism, pronounced Page's design beautiful, and scouted the suggestion of a fussy M.P. who wished to have palisades erected to prevent would-be suicides from jumping over. It was this bridge to which another M.P., Sir W. Fraser, was anxious that the name Sebastopol should be attached.

London Statues

Statues are a subject of mixed comment, mostly unflattering. But a good point was scored in 1858 at the expense of Tom Duncombe, the eccentric Radical M.P. and man of fashion, who was incensed at the erection of a statue to Jenner in Trafalgar Square, and sneered in the House at the "Berkeley cow-pox-doctor":—

Mr. Punchcannot conceive what the veteran dandy Tom was thinking about. Could he be aware that the discovery of vaccination, which has saved myriads on myriads of lives, and which Parliament rewarded, in 1802 and 1807, with grants of £10,000 and £20,000, has the still higher merit of preserving a face from ravages very inimical to lady-killing?

The Guards' Memorial, unveiled in February, 1861, is only faintly praised:—

It is no worse and perhaps it is a trifle better than the many statuesque caricatures that, in the name of Art, are supposed to adorn our much-abused London. The truth is, that the Englishsculptors have already displayed such a cruel affection for the Metropolis, that it has been quite a spoiled child with them.

When a fine memorial was made, we were not able to keep it; andPunchgreatly regrets in 1873 that Foley's statue of Outram, temporarily erected in Waterloo Place before its removal to India, was not allowed to remain there, as it was "the finest statue, the only fine statue ever erected in London."Punch, however, had forgotten that ten years earlier he had applied the epithet "fine" to Joseph Durham's statue of the Prince Consort in the Royal Horticultural Society's garden.

But of all London statues the most unfortunate and the most ignominiously treated was that of George I in Leicester Square. The Square throughout the 'sixties was a standing eyesore; an unkempt wilderness, where garbage of every kind was shot. The dilapidated condition of the statue in 1865 harmonized with its dingy surroundings and prompted a parody of Cowper:—

I am Monarch of all I survey,My right leg is minus a foot,My left has been taken away,And another they haven't yet put.

I am Monarch of all I survey,

My right leg is minus a foot,

My left has been taken away,

And another they haven't yet put.

In the "Lay of Leicester Square"Punch, after a survey of the great days of Leicester House, where "Prince Fred 'gainst Bubb Dodington once held the stakes," describes its lamentable condition at the moment he wrote:—

In dirt and neglect Soho's Slums I outvieThan my seediest foreigner seedier am I.

In dirt and neglect Soho's Slums I outvie

Than my seediest foreigner seedier am I.

Things had come to such a pass that "well bred spectres" no longer could haunt Leicester Square:—

I, Leicester Square garden, so called from the daysWhen my beds were made, shrubs pruned, and grass duly mown,In my dirt and disorder maintain the old ways—While my leg-less lead King, from his war-horse o'erthrown,Proclaims in his downfall that highest of laws,"Vested rights are still rights, whate'er nuisance they cause."

I, Leicester Square garden, so called from the days

When my beds were made, shrubs pruned, and grass duly mown,

In my dirt and disorder maintain the old ways—

While my leg-less lead King, from his war-horse o'erthrown,

Proclaims in his downfall that highest of laws,

"Vested rights are still rights, whate'er nuisance they cause."

Later on in the year there is a cartoon aimed at Ayrton, the unpopular Chief Commissioner of Works in which "Ayrton the (B)Ædile" is shown pointing to the battered statue from which the figure of the rider had been removed, and saying "Ha! Now that's a style of Art I flatter myself I really do understand."

From this derelict condition Leicester Square was rescued by the enterprise and munificence of Baron Albert Grant, whose chequered career was largely redeemed by an act which gave us the Square as we know it. Under the heading, "Grant in Aid and a Check that wants Crossing,"Punchgratefully records his intervention and the difficulties which delayed the execution of the scheme.

The greatest of all the improvements that belong to this period was the Thames Embankment, which had formed part of Wren's scheme for the rebuilding of London after the Great Fire. Not until nearly two hundred years had elapsed was Parliamentary sanction obtained for carrying out the plan. It was vigorously opposed in the House of Lords by the Duke of Buccleuch, andPunch, on July 5, 1862, published a cartoon with the heading, "Sawney stops the way." John Bull, driving a bus labelled "Embankment," is confronted by a fully armed and kilted Scottish chieftain waving a banner inscribed, "Buccleuch and No Thoroughfare," whilePunchas conductor remarks, "Drive on, John; never mind the Scotchman." John Bull drove on, and early in August, 1868,Punchcelebrated (though somewhat ironically) the completion of the footway opening of the Embankment from Westminster to Essex Street. As Sir Joseph Bazalgette, who was responsible for the plans and their execution, was engineer to the Metropolitan Board of Works,Punchcould not resist the opportunity for ridiculing his oldbête noireSir John Thwaites, the chairman, and his colleagues, thefeu de joieloosed off by a sergeant and two bombardiers R.A., and the subsequent junketings at Woolwich. The Victoria Embankment from Blackfriars to Westminster was not opened to the public till 1870, the Albert Embankment on the south side from Westminster Bridge to Vauxhall in the same year; while the Chelsea Embankment from Battersea Bridgeto Chelsea Bridge was finished in 1874. Taken together they constitute the greatest addition to the amenities of London made in our time, to say nothing of the reclamation of swamp and slime from the river and their conversion into what is perhaps the finest roadway in London. Cleopatra's Needle was originally presented to England by Mehemet Ali in 1819. Engineering difficulties stood in the way of its removal from Egypt for nearly sixty years. The question is discussed byPunchin 1869, but it was not till 1877 that the munificence of Sir Erasmus Wilson and the skill of John Dixon solved the problem of its transportation to its present site.

Women discussing man down inspection holeUNDERGROUND RAILWAYOld Lady: "Well, I'm sure no woman with the least sense of decency would think of going downthatway to it."

UNDERGROUND RAILWAY

Old Lady: "Well, I'm sure no woman with the least sense of decency would think of going downthatway to it."

London Railways

Punchhad no regrets when the old Hungerford Market (built in 1680, rebuilt in 1831), an unsuccessful rival to Covent Garden, was swept away in 1862 to make room for the new Charing Cross Terminus. But he was at best a lukewarm supporter of the extension of London railways, undergroundand suburban. The progress of the excavations and the "horrible mess" in the New Road, elicited a growl at the "Underground" and the delays in the construction of the "Sewer Railway." It was suggested that Dr. Cumming had found out that the opening of the line would bring on the end of the world before the date he had fixed for that catastrophe; that garrotters had found the excavations a convenient hiding-place, and so forth. Blundering, jobbing, squabbling, and litigation are also assigned as reasons for delay. In the following year, 1863, protests against further extensions of the underground trains reach a climax, andPunchdenounces the vandals who want to ravage Sloane Square and Regent Street. In particular the viaduct crossing Ludgate Hill roused his indignation, and the anti-utilitarian point of view is maintained in the illustration of the "Highly ornamental tank" with which the railway company proposed to block out the view of St. Paul's, while the issue of Stanford's Railway Map of London is made the occasion of a vehement tirade against the devastation of London: "The railway man shall not be monarch of all he surveys."Punch, we may add, admitted the decrease in railway accidents, but attributed it to the pressure of public opinion and the penalties exacted from companies for negligence in safeguarding passengers from loss of life and limb.

Eheu Fugaces!

The pulling down of historic buildings or the removal of historic landmarks invariably movedPunchto regret or indignation. He cordially approved, it is true, of the relief of the Park Lane block in 1864 by the cutting of Hamilton Place, and the removal of the narrowest and most dangerous bottle-neck in the streets of London. And he acquiesced in the removal of Charterhouse School to the country in the interests of the boys, publishing, without fully endorsing, the arguments of those who prophesied that in its new surroundings the school would come to be known as Magna Charterhouse. But in general he lamented the demolitions and destructions which accompanied the triumphal march of commerce. Even the dismantling of the Colosseum in Regent's Park in 1868 evoked a melodious lament:—

I remember, I remember,When I was a little boy,How I came home in DecemberMy fond parents to annoy.But my pretty maiden AuntyWas kind and gave to meA sort of show galantyA funny thing to see.I remember, I was takenBy my Aunt's peculiar cabby,For to hear the rafters shakenBy the Choir in the Abbey.Nor the service, nor Te DeumNor the sights of Christmas time,Could approach the Colosseum,Save, perhaps, the Pantomime.I remember, I remember,All those Ruins in the grounds,And the classic broken pillars(Sold for something like three pounds.)And the statues! One of JasonWas a noble work of art;They were knocked down to a mason,Who removed them in his cart.

I remember, I remember,When I was a little boy,How I came home in DecemberMy fond parents to annoy.But my pretty maiden AuntyWas kind and gave to meA sort of show galantyA funny thing to see.

I remember, I remember,

When I was a little boy,

How I came home in December

My fond parents to annoy.

But my pretty maiden Aunty

Was kind and gave to me

A sort of show galanty

A funny thing to see.

I remember, I was takenBy my Aunt's peculiar cabby,For to hear the rafters shakenBy the Choir in the Abbey.Nor the service, nor Te DeumNor the sights of Christmas time,Could approach the Colosseum,Save, perhaps, the Pantomime.

I remember, I was taken

By my Aunt's peculiar cabby,

For to hear the rafters shaken

By the Choir in the Abbey.

Nor the service, nor Te Deum

Nor the sights of Christmas time,

Could approach the Colosseum,

Save, perhaps, the Pantomime.

I remember, I remember,All those Ruins in the grounds,And the classic broken pillars(Sold for something like three pounds.)And the statues! One of JasonWas a noble work of art;They were knocked down to a mason,Who removed them in his cart.

I remember, I remember,

All those Ruins in the grounds,

And the classic broken pillars

(Sold for something like three pounds.)

And the statues! One of Jason

Was a noble work of art;

They were knocked down to a mason,

Who removed them in his cart.

A little less than a year later a similar note is sounded when an announcement appeared advertising the sale of the "Supper Colonnade" at Vauxhall "to be sold cheap, a remnant of the past which has witnessed many a scene of merriment with lords and ladies of high degree." The disposal of relics, even dignified relics, has often been a problem to administrators. Parliament debated in 1860 what was to be done with the Duke of Wellington's funeral car, and it was ultimately stowed away in the crypt of St. Paul's. The old "Star and Garter" at Richmond was burned down in January, 1870, andPunchwas moved to a poetic valediction in the name of the old frequenters who associated it with the days of their courtship. The doom of Temple Bar was pronounced in the same year, butPunchadmits that those who lamented its doom were in "a small and mouldy minority." But there are noreserves in the protest uttered in 1871 against the pulling down of the City churches registered under the heading of "The Pick-axe Age":—

Go ahead, Gentlemen Governors. Pull down any secular building that seems to be in the way, and, as Sir Epicure Mammon says,"Now and then a Church."Temple Bar is doomed. Now Mr. Lowe wants to destroy the Church of St. Clement Danes, where Dr. Johnson used to worship. All right. St. Mary-le-Strand is an obstruction to vans and drays. Let us erase that. More room is wanted in Trafalgar Square, especially as Mr. Bruce hands it over to legislators of the rough kind; down with St. Martin. Then, though St. Margaret's has historical reminiscences, especially of Commonwealth days, and gives scale to the Abbey, there would be room for a large grass-plot for the people, with Ayrton-statues, were St. Margaret's invited to remove. The Abbey itself suggests an extinct superstition, and its architecture insults that of the Houses; do we want the Abbey? Then, what a splendid sweep for the carriages of the "self-made men of the City," civic knights, and the like, if St. Paul's Cathedral no longer blocked the road from Cheapside to Ludgate Hill! Go ahead, Gentlemen Governors. We can't do much in the way of building up fine things, but we are out-and-outers at knocking them down.

Go ahead, Gentlemen Governors. Pull down any secular building that seems to be in the way, and, as Sir Epicure Mammon says,

"Now and then a Church."

Temple Bar is doomed. Now Mr. Lowe wants to destroy the Church of St. Clement Danes, where Dr. Johnson used to worship. All right. St. Mary-le-Strand is an obstruction to vans and drays. Let us erase that. More room is wanted in Trafalgar Square, especially as Mr. Bruce hands it over to legislators of the rough kind; down with St. Martin. Then, though St. Margaret's has historical reminiscences, especially of Commonwealth days, and gives scale to the Abbey, there would be room for a large grass-plot for the people, with Ayrton-statues, were St. Margaret's invited to remove. The Abbey itself suggests an extinct superstition, and its architecture insults that of the Houses; do we want the Abbey? Then, what a splendid sweep for the carriages of the "self-made men of the City," civic knights, and the like, if St. Paul's Cathedral no longer blocked the road from Cheapside to Ludgate Hill! Go ahead, Gentlemen Governors. We can't do much in the way of building up fine things, but we are out-and-outers at knocking them down.

Historic Landmarks

And he returns to the charge a few months later in an ironical plea for the destruction of Wren's churches—St. Mildred's, Poultry; St. Dionis, Backchurch; St. James's, Aldgate; St. Martin's, Outwich, and St. Antholin's, Sise Lane. "Sir Christopher's Cathedral, as it is also a mausoleum, will probably be spared until some railway or tramway shall want the site." When the destruction of Northumberland House was projected in 1873Punch, in a fit of feudal enthusiasm, deplored the vandalism and commercialism of the Philistine Board of Works, and pointed out that there was still time to save the time-honoured house of the Percys. When the demolition was carried out in the following year, and the lion was removed to Syon House, he was consoled by the reflection that it would be at least out of the reach of ignoble and mean-minded vandals. On the other hand, he had rejoiced greatly when in 1866, as theresult of a deputation headed by Lord Stanhope and Dean Stanley, Parliament voted a sum of £7,000 for the restoration of Westminster Chapter House. In 1873 St. John's Gate, Clerkenwell, an inn which had been a favourite resort of Johnson, Garrick and "Sylvanus Urban," was taken over by the order of St. John of Jerusalem, andPunchcompares the public spirit of these Templars favourably with the zeal of the "good Templars" whom he regarded as fussy fanatics. There was no controversial acrimony, however, in his plea for the preservation of the Tabard Inn, Southwark, and the poem "For the Tabard" was written by one who had not merely read but loved his Chaucer.

Men at shooting eventTHE SMALL BORE MAN. WIMBLEDON, 1863Boisterous Relative: "Hullo! Gus, my hearty, why I haven't seen you for ages! How are you? Give us your hand, my——"Gus(alarmed): "Hoy! Keep off! Keep back, stand o' one side! Don't come near me—— How d'e do. Glad 'see you, but keep off at present, will you—— I've just adjusted my sights!"

THE SMALL BORE MAN. WIMBLEDON, 1863

Boisterous Relative: "Hullo! Gus, my hearty, why I haven't seen you for ages! How are you? Give us your hand, my——"

Gus(alarmed): "Hoy! Keep off! Keep back, stand o' one side! Don't come near me—— How d'e do. Glad 'see you, but keep off at present, will you—— I've just adjusted my sights!"

The preservation of the amenities of London and the suburbs found a strong champion inPunch. We note a change of temper in 1864 in his comment on the rowdy behaviour ofmembers of the "lower classes" who frequented St. James's Park, and the suggestion that it should be renamed "St. Giles's." In earlier daysPunchhad warmly resented the exclusion of working-men in fustian from this same park. But no class prejudice impairs his satisfaction in November, 1864, when Wimbledon Common was preserved for the nation and the "small bore man" by the good offices of Lord Spencer:—

WIMBLEDON PRESERVED

There is for us, and shall be, one retreat,If but that only one, saved stucco-free,Wimbledon, evermore for pilgrims' feetKept sacred, noble Spencer, thanks to thee!Thy generous charter gives us scope to fleeStill thither from the hubbub and the heat.

There is for us, and shall be, one retreat,

If but that only one, saved stucco-free,

Wimbledon, evermore for pilgrims' feet

Kept sacred, noble Spencer, thanks to thee!

Thy generous charter gives us scope to flee

Still thither from the hubbub and the heat.

In the following year he appeals to other Commons—Wandsworth, Barnes and Streatham—to follow the lead of Wimbledon, and when in 1866 Victoria Park was threatened with the erection of the Imperial Gas Company's works,Punchwrote:—

Let Companies shape their projects to scrapeUp wealth, and dividends share,But dim their eyes if ever they triesTo rob a poor man of fresh air.

Let Companies shape their projects to scrape

Up wealth, and dividends share,

But dim their eyes if ever they tries

To rob a poor man of fresh air.

Alexandra Palace Destroyed

When the Alexandra Palace on Muswell Hill was opened in the summer of 1873, its gardens, statues and catering were praised in a welcome to "Alexandra" after the manner of the Laureate. Two days after this welcome appeared, the new Palace was destroyed by fire, and on July 5, 1873,Punchrather cruelly published a review of a poem composed on the event by Joseph Gwyer, potato-salesman of Penge. A few of the stanzas are worth rescuing from oblivion if only for their artless simplicity:—

On Muswell Hill there lately stood,The Alexandra Palace great and good,Both to our own and foreign land,It claimed from each a prestige grand.With works of art it did abound,Which were wont the ignorant to astound,The sightly dome for miles was seenSurrounded by the pastures green.But on the 9th of June the palace caught on fire,Each moment seemed to send the flames much higher,Flinging around with consternation spellSuch sad results as no mortal could foretell.The shouts of alarm at this dread afrayMany were stricken and did prostrate lay,As if they'd been wounded by some deadly foe,So painful was the unexpected great blow.While some were witnessing this awful view,Others were anxious as to what they should do,Some it was seen appeared quite romantic,While the poor stall-girls seemed nearly frantic.

On Muswell Hill there lately stood,The Alexandra Palace great and good,Both to our own and foreign land,It claimed from each a prestige grand.

On Muswell Hill there lately stood,

The Alexandra Palace great and good,

Both to our own and foreign land,

It claimed from each a prestige grand.

With works of art it did abound,Which were wont the ignorant to astound,The sightly dome for miles was seenSurrounded by the pastures green.

With works of art it did abound,

Which were wont the ignorant to astound,

The sightly dome for miles was seen

Surrounded by the pastures green.

But on the 9th of June the palace caught on fire,Each moment seemed to send the flames much higher,Flinging around with consternation spellSuch sad results as no mortal could foretell.

But on the 9th of June the palace caught on fire,

Each moment seemed to send the flames much higher,

Flinging around with consternation spell

Such sad results as no mortal could foretell.

The shouts of alarm at this dread afrayMany were stricken and did prostrate lay,As if they'd been wounded by some deadly foe,So painful was the unexpected great blow.

The shouts of alarm at this dread afray

Many were stricken and did prostrate lay,

As if they'd been wounded by some deadly foe,

So painful was the unexpected great blow.

While some were witnessing this awful view,Others were anxious as to what they should do,Some it was seen appeared quite romantic,While the poor stall-girls seemed nearly frantic.

While some were witnessing this awful view,

Others were anxious as to what they should do,

Some it was seen appeared quite romantic,

While the poor stall-girls seemed nearly frantic.

In two short hours it was a blazeWhich took some years to build and raiseGrand Alexandra's noble Dome,Alas! all vanished the Ninth of June.

In two short hours it was a blaze

Which took some years to build and raise

Grand Alexandra's noble Dome,

Alas! all vanished the Ninth of June.

The Pantheon, mentioned in the previous volume, though shorn of its early glories, was still a feature of London in the 'sixties, and "Jack Easel," in January, 1862, describes a visit to the Pantheon, "once dedicated to the Tragic Muse, now a temple of all the gods," combining a bazaar, an aviary and a picture gallery, chiefly frequented by ladies—"Belindas in Balmorals." The pictures were a very mixed lot, including King Alfred and the Cakes, Actæon, and the Dead Body of King Harold. But the Pantheon in its last days was chiefly remarkable for an assemblage of wondrous knick-knacks, cheap bijouterie, antique vases, antimacassars, Buhl caskets,bonbonnières, china candlesticks, cheese-cakes, daguerreotypes, decanters, Gothic go-carts, German glass, rag dolls and ratafia.

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