A youth is plunged into a river by two women.A COMPANION OF THE BATH.
A COMPANION OF THE BATH.
Michelly, of theMorning Post, was boasting to Westmacott of his intimate connexion with the aristocracy. “Thearea-stocracy, more likely,” replied the ex-editor of theArgus.
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How often are we—George Stephens-like—to be called upon to expend our invaluable breath in performing Eolian operations upon our own cornopean! Here have we, at an enormous expense and paralysing peril, been obliged to dispatch our most trusty and well-beloved reporter, to the fens in Lincolnshire, stuffed with brandy, swathed in flannel, and crammed with jokes; from whence he, at the cost of infinite pounds, unnumbered rheumatisms, and a couple of agues, caught, to speak vulgarly, “in a brace of shakes,” has forwarded us the following authentic account of the august proceedings which took place in that county on the anniversary of the great St. Michaelmas.
Tuesday night.—Depths of the fens—just arrived—only time to state all muck—live eels and festivity—Sibthorp in extra force—betting 6 to 4 “he cooks everybody’s goose”—no takers—D’Israeli says it’s a gross want of sympathy—full account to-morrow—expect rare doings—must conclude—whrr-rh-h—tertian coming on—promises great shakes.
I am, sincerely and shiveringly,
YOUR OWN CORRESPONDENT.
Wednesday morning.—The day dawned like a second deluge, and the various volunteerdramatis personæseemed like the spectres of the defunct water-dogs of Sadler’s Wells. An eminent tallow-chandler from the east end of Whitechapel contracted for the dripping, and report says he found it a very swimming speculation. Life-preservers, waterproof and washable hats, were on the ground, which, together with Macintoshes and corks, formed a pleasing and varied group. The grand stand was graced by several eminent and capacious geese; nor was the infantine simplicity of numerous promising young goslings wanting to complete the delightfulensemble.
The business of the day commenced with a grand commemorative procession of homage to the prize goose, the representative of whom, we are proud to say, fell by election to the envied lot of the gallant, jocose, andJoe Millertary Colonel Sibthorp.
Trumpeter in Ordinary to “all the geese,” and
himself in particular,
On his extraordinary Pegasus, beautifully represented by a Jackass,
Idealised with magnificent goose’s wings.
Mr. GEORGE STEPHENS, Grand Master of Hanky-panky.
Balancing on the Pons Asinorum of his Nose the Identical goose-quill
with which he indited the Wondrous Tale of Alroy,
Mr. BEN D’ISRAELI (much admired).
The great Stuffer and Crammer, bearing a stupendous dish
Of Sage and Onions,
Seated in a magnificent Sauce-boat, supported on either side by
Two fly pages bearing Apple-sauce,
And a train-bearer distributing mustard,
SIR EDWARD GEORGE ERLE LYTTON BULWER.
Grand Officiating Gravy Spoon,
A character admirably sustained, and
supported to the life, by
PETER BORTHWICK, M.P. and G.O.G.S.
Drawer and Carver-in-Chief,
Bearing some splendidly-dissected giblets, with gilt gizzard under his
right arm, and plated liver under his left,
Surgeon WAKLEY, M.P.
Hereditary Champion of the Pope’s Nose,
Bearing the dismembered Relic enclosed in a beautifully-enamelled
Dutch oven,
DANIEL O’CONNELL, M.P.
The grand Prize Goose,
Reclining on a splendid willow-pattern well dish,
Colonel WALDO SIBTHORP!
Supported by CHARLES PEARSON, and Sir PETER LAURIE,
With flowery potatoes and shocking greens.
Grand Accountant-General,
With a magnificent banner, bearing an elaborate average rate of the price
of geese.
And the cheapest depôts for the same,
JOSEPH HUME, M.P.
This imposing procession having reached the grand kitchen, which had been erected for the occasion, the festivities instantly commenced by the Vice-Goose, Sir EDWARD LYTTON ERLE BULWER, proposing the health of the gallant Chairman, the Great-grand Goose:—
“Mr. Chairman and prize goose,—The feelings which now agitate my sensorium on this Michaelmasian occasion stimulate the vibratetiuncles of the heartiean hypothesis, so as to paralyse the oracular and articulative apparatus of my loquacious confirmation, overwhelming my soul-fraught imagination, as the boiling streams of liquid lava, buried in one vast cinereous mausoleum—the palace-crowded city of the engulphed Pompeii. (Immense cheers.)—I therefore propose a Methusalemic elongation of the duration of the vital principle of the presiding anserian paragon.” (Stentorian applause, continued for half-an-hour after the rising of the Prize Goose) who said—
“Fellow Geese and Goslings,—Julius Cæsar, when he laid the first stone of the rock of Gibraltar—Mr. Carstairs, the celebrated caligrapher, when he indited the inscription on the Rosetta stone—Cleopatra, when she hemmed Anthony’s bandanna with her celebrated needle—the Colossus of Rhodes, when he walked and won his celebrated match against Captain Barclay—Galileo, when he discovered and taught his grandmother the mode of sucking eggs—could not feel prouder than I do upon the present occasion. (Cheers.) These reminiscences, I can assure you, will ever stick in my grateful gizzard.”
Here the gallant Colonel sat down, overcome by his feelings and several glasses of Betts’ best British brandy.
Song—“Goosey, goosey gander.”
Mr. D’ISRAELI then rose, and said,—“Chair, and brethren of the quill, I feel, in assuming the perpendicular, like the sun when sinking into his emerald bed of western waters. Overcome by emotions mighty as the impalpable beams of the harmonious moon’s declining light, and forcibly impressed as the trembling oak, girt with the invisible arms of the gentle loving zephyr; the blush mantles on my cheek, deep as the unfathomed depths of the azure ocean. I say, gentlemen, impressed as I am with a sense—with a sense, I say, with a sense—” Here the hon. gentleman sat down for want of a termination.
Song—“No more shall the children of Judah sing.”
Mr. PETER BORTHWICK (having corked himself a handsome pair of mustachios), next rose, and said,—“Most potent, grave, and reverend signors, and Mr. Chairman,—if it were done, when ‘tis done, then ‘twere well it were done quickly’—in rising to drink—‘my custom always of an afternoon’—the health of Sir Peter Laurie, and whom I can ask, in the language of the immortal bard, ‘where gottest thou that goose look,’ I can only say, ‘had Heaven made me such another,’ I would not”— Then Peter Borthwick sat down, evidently indisposed, exclaiming—“The drink, Hamlet, the drink!!!”
Here our reporter left the meeting, who were vociferously chanting, by way of grace, previous to the attack on the “roast geese,” the characteristic anthem of the “King of the Cannibal Islands.”
It has been rumoured that Mr. Bernal, the new member, has been for some weeks past suffering from a severe attack of scarlet fever, caused by his late unparliamentary conduct in addressing the assembled legislators as—gentlemen. We are credibly informed that this unprecedented piece of ignorance has had the effect, as Shakspere says, of
A man gets money from a chubby soldier.“MAKING THE GREEN ONE RED.”—Macbeth.
“MAKING THE GREEN ONE RED.”—Macbeth.
Roebuck, the ex-attorney, and member for Bath, who has evinced a most commendable love of his parents, from his great-grandfather upwards, seeing the utter impossibility of carrying through the “whole hog” conviction of their respectability, and finding himself in rather an awkward “fix,” on the present occasion begs to inform the editor of theTimes, that he will be most happy to accept a compromise, on their literary and scientific attainments, at the very reasonable rate of
A man sits in a chicken coop.SIX-AND-EIGHTPENCE IN THE POUND.
SIX-AND-EIGHTPENCE IN THE POUND.
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Of the early history of England nothing is known. It was, however, invaded by theNormans; but whether they were any relations of the once celebratedNormanthe pantaloon, we have no authentic record. The kingdom had at one time seven kings—two of whom were probably the two well-known kings of Brentford. Perhaps, also, the king of Little Britain made a third; while old king Cole may have constituted a fourth; thus leaving only a trifling balance of three to be accounted for.
Alfred the Great is supposed to have been originally a baker, from his having undertaken the task of watching the cakes in the neat-herd’s oven; and Edward the Black Prince was probably a West Indian, who found his way to our hospitable shores at an early period.
We now come to King John, who ascended the throne after putting out his nephew’s eyes with a pair of curling-irons, and who is the first English Sovereign who attempted to write his own name; for the scrawl is evidently something more than his mark, which is attached to Magna Charta.
We need say nothing of Richard the Third, with whom all our play-going friends are familiar, and who made the disgraceful offer, if Shakspeare is to be believed, of parting with the whole kingdom for a horse, though it does not appear that the disreputable bargain was ever completed.
The wars of York and Lancaster, which, though not exactlycouleur de rose, were on the subject of white and red roses (that is to say, China and cabbage), united the crown in the person of Henry the Seventh, known to the play-going public as the Duke of Richmond, and remarkable for having entered the country by the Lincolnshire fens; for he talks of having got into “the bowels of the land” immediately on his arrival.
Henry the Eighth, as everybody knows, was the husband of seven wives, and gave to Mr. Almar (the Sadler’s Wells Stephens) the idea of his beautiful dramatic poem of the Wife of Seven Husbands.
Elizabeth’s reign is remarkable for having produced a mantle which is worn at the present day, it having been originally made for one Shakspeare; but it is now worn by Mr. George Stephens, for whom, however, it is a palpable misfit, and it sits upon him most awkwardly.
Charles the First had his head cut off, and Mr. Cathcart acted him so naturally in Miss Mitford’s play that one would have thought the monarch was entirely without a head all through the tragedy.
Cromwell next obtained the chief authority. This man was a brewer, who did not think “small beer” of himself, and inundated his country with “heavy wet,” in the shape of tears, for a long period.
Charles the Second, well known as the merry monarch, is remarkable only for his profligacy, and for the number of very bad farces in which he has been the principal character. His brother James had a short reign, but not a merry one. He is the only English sovereign who may be said to haveamputated his bludgeon; which, if we were speaking of an ordinary man and not a monarch, we should have rendered by the familiar phrase of “cut his stick,” a process which was soon performed by his majesty.
The crown now devolved upon William and Mary, upon whom half-a crown a-piece was thus settled by the liberality of Parliament. William wasPrince of Orange, a descendant probably of the great KingPippin.
Anne of Denmark comes next on our list, but of her we shall say nothing; and as the Georges who followed her are so near own time, we shall observe, with regard to them, an equally impenetrable mystery.
TheBritish Critic, the high church, in fact, steeple Tory journal, tells its readers, “if we strike out the first person of Robert’s speeches, ay, out of his whole career, they become a rope untwisted,” &c. &c. &c. This excited old lady is evidently anxious to disfigure the head of the government, by scratching Sir Robert Peel’s I’s out.
Muntz, in rigging Wakley upon the late article in theExaminer, likening the member for Finsbury, in his connexion with Sir Robert Peel, “to the bird which exists by picking the crocodile’s teeth,” jocularly remarked, “Well, I never had any body to pick my teeth.” “I should think not, or they would have chosen a much better set.”
READER, did you ever want twenty pounds? You have—you have!—I see it—I know it! Nay, never blush! Your hand—your hand!
READER.—Sir, I—
Silence!—nonsense—stuff; don’t, don’t prevaricate—own it as I do,—own it and rejoice.
READER.—Really, sir, this conduct—
Is strange. Granted; don’t draw back; come, a cordial gripe. We are friends; we have both suffered from the same cause. There, that’s right—honest palm to palm. Now, how say you—have you ever wanted twenty pounds?
READER.—Frankly, then, I have.
Mind to mind, as hand to hand. Have you felt as I did? Did its want cloud the sun, wither the grass, and blight the bud?
READER.—It did.
But how, marry, how? What! you decline confession—so you may—I’ll be more explicit. I was abroad, far from my “father-land”—there’s a magic in the word!—the turf we’ve played on, the hearts we love, the graves we venerate—all, all combine to concentrate its charm.
READER.—You are digressing.
Thank you, I am; but I’ll resume. While I could buy them, friends indeed were plenty. Alas! prudence is seldom co-mate with youth and inexperience. The golden dream was soon to end—end even with the yellow dross that gave it birth. Fallacious hopes of coming “posts,” averted for a time my coming wretchedness—three weeks, and not a line! The landlord suffered from an intermitting affection, characteristic of the “stiff-necked generation;”—he bowed to others—galvanism could not have procured the tithe of a salaam for me. His till was afflicted with a sort of sinking-fundishness. I was the contractor of “the small bill,” whose exact amount would enable him to meet a “heavy payment;” my very garments were “tabooed” from all earth’s decencies; splashes seemed to have taken a lease of the bottoms of my trousers. My boots, once objects of the tenderest care of their unworthy namesake, seemed conscious of the change, and drooped in untreed wretchedness, desponding at the wretched wrinkles now ruffling the once smooth calf! My coat no more appeared to catch the dust; as if under the influence of some invisible charm, its white-washed elbows never struck upon the sight of the else all-seeing boots; spider never rushed from his cell with the post-haste speed with which he issued from his dark recess, to pick the slightest cobweb that ever harnessed Queen Mab’s team, fromothercoats; a gnat, a wandering hair left its location, swept by the angry brush from the broad-cloth of those who paid their bills—as far as I was concerned—all were inoculated with this strange blindness. It was an overwhelming ophthalmia! The chambermaid, through its fatality, never discovered that my jugs were empty, my bottle clothed with slimy green, my soap-dish left untenanted. A day before this time had been sufficient service for my hand-towel; now a week seemed to render it less fit to taste the rubs of hands and soap. Dust lost its vice, and lay unheeded in the crammed corner of my luckless room.
READER.—I feel for you.
Silence! the worst is yet to come. At dinner all things changed—soup, before too hot to drink, came to my lips cool as if the north wind had caressed it; number was at an end; I ranked no longer like a human being; I was a hugeought—a walking cypher—a vile round O. I had neither beginning nor end. Go where I would—top, bottom, sides, ‘twas all the same. Bouilli avoided me—vegetables declined growing under my eyes—fowls fled from me. I might as well have longed for ice-cream in Iceland—dessert in a desert. I had no turn—I was thelast man. Nevertheless, dinner was a necessary evil.
READER.—And tea?
Was excluded from the calendar. Night came, but no rest—all things had forgotten their office. The sheets huddled in undisturbed selfishness, like knotted cables, in one corner of the bed; the blankets, doubtless disgusted at their conduct, sought refuge at the foot; and the flock, like most other flocks, without a directing hand, was scattered in disjointed heaps.
READER.—Did not you complain?
I did—imprimis—to boots—boots scratched his head; ditto waiter—waiter shook his; the chambermaid, strange to say, was suddenly deaf.
READER.—And the landlord?
Did nothing all day; but when I spoke, was in a hurry, “going to his ledger,” Had I had as many months as hydra, that would have stopped them all.
READER.—You were to bepitied.
I was. I rose one morning with the sun—it scorched my face, but shone not. Nature was in her spring-time to all others, though winter to me. I wandered beside the banks of the rapid Rhine, I saw nothing but the thick slime that clogged them, and wondered how I could have thought them beautiful; the pebbles seemed crushed upon the beach, the stream but added to their lifelessness by heaping on them its dull green slime; the lark, indeed, was singing—Juliet was right—its notes were nothing but “harsh discords and unpleasing sharps”—a rainbow threw its varied arch across the heavens—sadness had robbed it of its charm—it seemed a visionary cheat—a beautiful delusion.
READER.—I feel with you.
I thank you. I went next day.
READER.—What then?
The glorious sun shed life and joy around—the clear water rushed bounding on in glad delight to the sweet music of the scented wind—the pebbly beach welcomed its chaste cool kiss, and smiled in freshness as it rolled again back to its pristine bed. The buds on which I stepped, elastic with high hope, sprung from the ground my foot had pressed them to—the lark—
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READER.—You can say nothing new about that.
You are right. I’ll pass it, and come at once to an end. My boots stood upright, conscious of their glare; a new spring rushed into my bottles; Flora’s sweets were witnessed in my dress; a mite, a tiny mite, might have made progress round my room, nor found a substance larger than itself to stop its way. My lips at dinner were scalded with the steaming soup; the eager waiters, rushing with the choicest sauce, in dread collision met, and soused my well-brushed coat. I was once more number one!—all things had changed again.
READER—Except the rainbow.
Ay, even that.
READER,—Indeed! how so?
If still impalpable to the gross foot of earth, it seemed to the charmed mind a glowing passage for the freed spirit to mount to bliss!
READER.—May I ask what caused this difference?
You may, and shall be answered. I had received—
READER.—What?
TWENTY POUNDS!
FUSBOS.
There is a large class of people in the world—the business of whose lives is to hunt after and collect trifling curiosities; who go about like the Parisianchiffonniers, grubbing and poking in the highways and byeways of society, for those dearly-prized objects which the generality of mankind would turn up their noses at as worthless rubbish. But though the tribe of curiosity-hunters be extremely numerous, Nature, by a wise provision, has bestowed on them various appetites, so that, in the pursuit of their prey, they are led by different instincts, and what one seizes with avidity, another rejects as altogether unworthy of notice.
The varieties of the species are interminable; some of them are well known, and need no description—such as the book-worm, the bird-stuffer, the coin-taster, the picture-scrubber, &c.; but there are others whose tastes are singularly eccentric: of these I may mention the snuff-box collector, the cane-fancier, the ring-taker, the play-bill gatherer, to say nothing of one illustrious personage, whose passion for collecting a library of Bibles is generally known. But there is another individual of the species that I have not yet mentioned, whose morbid pleasure in collecting relics and memorials of the most revolting deeds of blood and crime is too well authenticated to be discredited. I believe that this variety, which I term “The Criminal Curiosity Hunter,” is unknown to every country in the world, except England.
How such a horrible taste should have been engendered here, is a question not easily solved. Physiologists are inclined to attribute it to our heavy atmosphere, which induces gloomy thoughts and fancies; while moralists assign as its cause, the sanguinary spirit of our laws, our brutal exhibitions of hanging, drawing and quartering, of gibbettings, whippings, brandings, and torturings, which degrade men’s natures, and give them a relish for scenes of blood and cruelty.
It happened that I had occasion to call on one of those “Criminal Curiosity Hunters” lately. He received me with extreme urbanity, and pointing to an old-fashioned-looking arm-chair, requested me to be seated.—I did so.
“I suppose, sir,” said he, with an air of suppressed triumph, “that you have no idea that you are now sitting in a remarkable chair?”
I assured him I was totally unconscious of the fact.
“I can tell you, then,” he replied, “that it was in that chair Fauntleroy, the banker, who was hanged for forgery, was sitting when he was arrested.”
“Indeed!”
“Fact, sir! I gave ten guineas for it. I thought also to have obtained the night-cap in which he slept the night before his execution, but another collector was beforehand with me, and bribed the turnkey to steal it for him.”
“I had no idea there could be any competition for such an article,” I observed.
“Ah! sir,” said he, with a deep sigh, “you don’t know the value of these interesting relics. I have been for upwards of thirty years a collector of them, and I have now as pretty a museum of Criminal Curiosities as you could desire to see.”
“It seems you have been indefatigable in your pursuit,” said I.
“Yes,” he replied, “when a man devotes himself to a great object, he must go to it heart and soul. I have spared neither time nor money inmypursuit; and since I became a collector, I have attended the execution of every noted malefactor throughout the kingdom.”
Perceiving that my attention was drawn to a common rope, which served as a bell-pull, he said—
“I see you are remarking my bell-cord—that is the identical rope, sir, which hanged Bellingham, who shot Mr. Perceval in the House of Commons. I offered any sum for the one in which Thistlewood ended his life to match it—but I was unfortunately disappointed; and the laws have now become so disgracefully lenient, that I fear I shall never have an opportunity of procuring a respectable companion rope for the other side of my mantel-piece. And ‘tis all owing to the rascally Whigs, sir—they have swept away all our good old English customs, and deprived us of our national recreations. I remember, sir, when Monday was called ‘hanging day’ at the Old Bailey; on that morning a man might he certain of seeing three or four criminals swung off before his breakfast. ‘Tis a curious study, sir, that of hanging—I have seen a great many people suffer in my time: some go off as quiet as lambs, while others die very reluctantly. I have remarked, sir, that ‘tis very difficult to hang a Jew pedlar, or a hackney-coachman—there’s something obstinate in their nature that won’t let them die like other men. But, as I said before, the Whigs and reformers have knocked up the hanging profession; and if it was not for the suicides, which, I am happy to say, are as abundant as ever, I don’t know what we should do.”
After my friend’s indignation against the anti-hanging principles of Reform had subsided a little, he invited me to examine his curiosities, which he had arranged in an adjoining room.
“I have not,” said he, as we were proceeding thither, “confined my collection to objects connected with capital offenders only; it comprehends relics of every grade of crime, from murder to petty larceny. In that respect I am liberal, sir.”
We had now reached the door of the apartment, when my conductor, seizing my arm suddenly, pointed to the door-mat upon which I had just set my foot, and said, “Observe that mat, sir; it is composed of oakum picked by the fair fingers of the late Lady Barrymore, while confined in the Penitentiary.”
I cast a glance at this humble memorial of her late ladyship’s industry, and passed into the museum. In doing so, I happened to stumble over a stable-bucket, which my friend affirmed was the one from which Thurtell watered his horse on his way to Probert’s cottage. Opening a drawer, he produced a pair of dirty-looking slippers, the authentic property of the celebrated Ikey Solomons; and along with them a pair of cotton hose, which he assured me he had mangled with his own hands in Sarah Gale’s mangle. In another drawer he directed my attention to a short clay pipe, once in the possession of Burke; and a tobacco-stopper belonging to Hare, the notorious murderer. He had also preserved with great care Corder’s advertisement for a wife, written in his own hand, as it appeared in the weekly papers, and a small fragment of a tile from the Red Barn, where Maria Martin was murdered by the same Corder. He also possessed the fork belonging to the knife with which some German, whose name I forget, cut his wife’s and children’s throats; and a pewter half-quartern measure, used at the Black Lion, in Wych-street, by Sixteen-string Jack.
There were, likewise, in the collection several interesting relics of humorous felony; such as the snuff-box of the Cock-lane ghost—the stone thrown by Collins at William the Fourth’s head—a copy of Sir Francis Burden’s speech, for which he was committed to the Tower—an odd black silk glove, worn by Mr. Cotton, the late ordinary of Newgate—Barrington’s silver tooth-pick—and a stay-lace of Miss Julia Newman.
These were but a small portion of the contents of the museum; but I had seen enough to make me sick of the exhibition, and I withdrew with the firm resolution never again, during my life, to enter the house of aCriminal Curiosity Hunter.
X.
We had intended to have arranged, for the use of future syncretics, a system of coincidences, compiled from the plots of those magnificent soul-stirring extravaganzas produced and acted at the modern temples of the drama—the chaste Victoria—the didactic Sadler’s Wells—and the tramontane Pavilion: but we have found the subject too vast for comprehension, and must content ourselves with noting some of the more exorbitant and refined instances of genius and hallucination displayed in those mighty works. Among these the following are pre-eminent:—
It is a remarkable thing that mothers are always buried on the tops of inaccessible mountains, and that, when it occurs to their afflicted daughters to go and pray at their tombs, they generally choose a particularly inclement night as best adapted for that purpose. It is convenient, too, if any murder took place exactly on the spot, exactly twenty years before, because in that case it is something agreeable to reflect upon and allude to.
It is remarkable that people never lie down but to dream, and that they always dream quite to the purpose, and immediately on having done dreaming, they wake and act upon it.
It is remarkable that young men never know definitely whose sons they are, and generally turn out to belong to the wrong father, and find that they have been falling in love with their sisters, and all that sort of thing.
N.B. Wanted, a new catastrophe for these incidents, as suicide is going out of fashion.
It is remarkable that whenever people are in a particular hurry to be off, they make a point of singing a song to put themselves in spirits, and as an effectual method of concealing their presence from their enemies, who are always close at hand with knives.
It is remarkable that things always go wrong until the last scene, and then there is such hurry and bustle to get them right again, that no one would ever believe it could be done in the time; only they know it must be, and make up their minds to it accordingly.
One word more. Like St. Dunstan’s feet, which possessed the sacred virtue of self-multiplication, and of which there existed three at one time, it appears to be a prerogative of epithets of the superlative degree to attach themselves to any number of substantives. Thus the most popular comedian of the day is five different men—the most beautiful drama ever produced is two farces—an opera and a tragedy—and the most decided hit in the memory of man is the “Grecian Statues”—“The Wizard of the Moon”—“The Devil’s Daughter”—“Martinuzzi”—and “The Refuge for the Destitute.”
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“There has for the last few days been a smile on the faceof every well-dressed gentleman, andof every well-to-do artisan, who wend their way along the streets of this vast metropolis. It is caused by the opposition exhibition of Friday night in the House of Commons.”
Such is the comfortable announcement of a Tory morning paper,—the very incarnation of spiteful imbecility. Such is the self-complacency of the old Tory hag, that in her wildest moments would bite excessively,—if she only had teeth. She has, however, in the very simplicity of her smirking, let out the whole secret—has, in the sweet serenity of her satisfaction, revealed the selfishness, the wickedness of her creed.Toryism believes only in the well-dressed and the well-to-do. Purple and fine linen are the instrumental parts of her religion. She subscribes, in fact, to forty-three points; four meals a day being added to her Christian Thirty-nine Articles. Her faith is in glossy raiment and a full belly. She has such a reverence for the loaves and fishes, that in the fulness of her devotion, she would eat them—as the author of theAlmanach des Gourmandsadvises the epicure to eat a certain exquisite dainty—“on her knees.” She would die a martyr at the fire;—but then it must be lighted in the kitchen.
The parliamentary exhibition which, according to theSycoraxof Toryism—aSycoraxwith double malice, but no potency—has set all the well-dressed and well-to-do part of “this vast metropolis” off in one simultaneous simper, took place on the following motion made by Mr. FIELDEN:—
“Resolved,—That the distress of the working people at the present time is so great through the country, but particularly in the manufacturing districts, that it is the duty of this House to make instant inquiry into the cause and extent of such distress, and devise means to remedy it; and, at all events, to vote no supply of money until such inquiry be made.”—(Hear, hear.)
This motion was negatived by 149 to 41; and it is to this negative that, according to the avowal of our veracious contemporary, we owe the radiant looks that have lighted up the streets of London for the past few days. In the same sense of the writer, but in the better words of the chorus ofTom Thumb—
“Nature seemed to wear a universal grin!”
“Nature seemed to wear a universal grin!”
“Nature seemed to wear a universal grin!”
It being always premised and settled that the term nature only comprehends the people with sleek coats and full stomachs. Nature abhors a vacuum,—therefore has nought to do with empty bellies. Happy are the men whose fate, or better philosophy, has kept them from the turnips and the heather—fortunate mortals, who, banned from the murder of partridges and grouse, have for the last few days of our contemporary, been dwellers in merry London! What exulting faces! What crowds of well-dressed, well-fedMalvolios, “smiling” at one another, though not cross-gartered! To a man prone to ponder on that many-leaved, that scribbled, blurred and blotted volume, the human face,—that mysterious tome printed with care, with cunning and remorse,—that thing of lies, and miseries, and hypocritic gladness,—that volume, stained with tears, and scribbled over and over with daily wants, and daily sufferings, and daily meannesses;—to such a reader who, from the hieroglyphic lines of feigned content, can translate the haggard spirit and the pining heart,—to such a man too often depressed and sickened by the contemplation of the carnivorous faces thronging the streets of London—faces that look as if they deemed the stream of all human happiness flowed only from the Mint,—to such a man, how great the satisfaction, how surpassing the enjoyment of these “last few days!” As with the Thane of Cawdor, every man’s face has been a book; but, alas! luckier thanMacbeth, that book has been—Joe Miller!
Every well-dressed gentleman has smiled, but then the source of his satisfaction has been the rags fluttering on the human carcases in the manufacturing districts. Every well-to-do artisan has wended his way along the streets showing his teeth, but then at his own sweet will he can employ those favoured instruments on roast or boiled: hence his smile for those who, gifted with the like weapons, bear them as men bear court swords, for ornament, not use. Alas! the smirk of the well-dressed may be struck into blank astonishment by the fluttering of rags—by a standard of tatters borne by a famine-maddened myriad; the teeth of the dragon want may be sown, and the growth may, as of old, be armed men.
Yet can we wonder at the jocoseness of those arrayed in lawn and broad-cloth—can we marvel at the simper of the artisan fresh from his beef and pudding, solaced with tobacco and porter? Surely not; for the smile breaks under the highest patronage; nay, even broad grins would have the noblest warranty, for his Grace the Duke of Wellington has pronounced rags to be the livery only of wilful idleness—has stamped on the withering brow of destitution the brand of the drunkard. Therefore, clap your hands to your pulpy sides, oh well-dressed, well-to-do London, and disdaining the pettiness of a simper, laugh an ogre’s laugh at the rags of Manchester—grin like a tickled Polyphemus at the hunger of Bolton!
Our babbling, anile friend, in the very looseness of her prating has let out the truth. Or rather—a common custom with her—she has talked in her sleep. Her very weakness has, however, given a point to her revelation.
“Diamonds dart their brightest lustre,from a palsy-shaken head!”
“Diamonds dart their brightest lustre,from a palsy-shaken head!”
“Diamonds dart their brightest lustre,
from a palsy-shaken head!”
In the midst of her snores she has but revealed the plot entered into between those most respectable conspirators, Broad Cloth and Beef, against those old offenders, those incorrigible miscreants, Rags and Want! The confederacy is, to be sure, older than the crucified thieves; but then it has not been so undisguisedly avowed. Broad Cloth has, on the contrary, affected a sympathy with tatters, though with a constancy of purpose has refused an ell from its trailing superfluity to solace the wretchedness; the tears of Beef dropt on the lank abdomen of Starvation, are ancient as post diluvian crocodiles.—but it has spared no morsel to the object of its hypocritic sorrow. Now, however, even the decency of deceit is to be dropt, and Broad Cloth is to make sport with the nakedness of the land, and merry Beef is to roar like the bulls of Bashan at the agonies of famine!
As the winter approaches we are promised increasing sources of amusement from the manufacturing districts. What sunny faces will break though the fogs of November—what giggling will drown the cutting blasts of January! Eschewing the wise relaxation of pantomimes, we shall be taught to consult the commercial reports in the newspapers as the highest and fullest source of salutary laughter. How we shall simper when mills are stopped—how crow with laughter when whole factories are silent and deserted! How reader—(for we acknowledge none who are not well-dressed and well-to-do)—how you will scream with joy when banks break!—and how consult the list of bankrupts as the very spirit and essence of the most consummate fun. Insolvency shall henceforth be synonymous with repartee—and compositions with creditors practicalbons mots.
Oh! reader—(but mind, youmust, we say, to be our reader, be well-dressed and well-to-do; for though we owe the very paper beneath your eye to rags, we trust we are sufficiently in the mode to laugh contemptuously at such abominations)—oh! reader, quit your lighter recreations; seek not for merriment in fictitious humour; it is a poor, unsatisfactory diet, weak and watery; but find substantial drollery from the fluttering of tatters—laugh, and with the crowing joy, grow sleek and lusty at the writhings and the lamentations of want!
We have, however, a recent benevolent instance of the political and social power of dress—an instance gathered from the Court of Spain. The organ (or rather barrel-organ of Toryism, for it has only a set number of tunes) which played our opening quotation, also grinds the following:—
“The Regent Espartero, and the tutor Arguelles, are doing all in their power to keep the young Queen and the Infantain good humour, encouraging the Princesses in many little indulgences suitable to their age and sex,especially in the article of dress, in which their royal mother was more than inattentive.This line of conduct, coupled with the expected arrival of the Infant, Don Francisco de Paula and his family, who are to be received with every mark of respect, indicates that the present rulers of Spain, aware of their critical situation, wish to strengthen themselves by the support of the great majority of the royal family.”
Thus, if the royal family of Spain have an excess of courtesy and benevolence towards the people, such blessings will drop upon them from the fringed petticoats of the little sovereign. Thus curiously considered, may we not trace a bounteous political measure to the lace veil of a Queen, and find a great national benefit in the toe of a slipper?
Happy Spaniards! Give fine clothes toyourrulers, and they yearn with benevolence towards the donors.Theydo not walk about the streets of Madrid, smiling in the strength of their wardrobe at the nakedness of those who have subscribed the bravery. Oh, ye “well-dressed gentlemen,” and oh, ye “well-to-do artisans!”—be instructed by the new petticoats of Queen Isabella, and smile no at rags and famine.
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A group of peacocks with men's faces look down on a blackbird with a man's face.THE TORY PEACOCKS AND THE FINSBURY DAW.
THE TORY PEACOCKS AND THE FINSBURY DAW.
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There is not a more interesting science than geology, which, as our readers are aware, treats principally of mud and minerals. The association at Hookham-cum-Snivey has been very active during the summer, and may be said to have been up to its knees in dirt and filth, gravel and gypsum, coal, clay and conglomerate, for a very considerable period.
It having been determined to open a sewer where the old Hookham-road meets with the ancient Roman footpath at Snivey, the junction of which gives name to the modern town, the Geological Association passed a strong resolution, in which it was asserted, that the opportunity had at length arrived for solving the great doubt that had long perplexed the minds of the inhabitants as to whether the soil in the neighbourhood was crustaceous or carboniferous. Thecrustaceous party had been long triumphing in the fact, that a mouldy piece of bread had been found at two feet below the surface, when digging for the foundation of a swing erected in a garden in the neighbourhood; but thecarboniferous enthusiasts had been thrown into ecstacies, by the sexton having come upon a regularstrataof undoubted cinders, in clearing out a piece of ground at the back of the parson’s residence. Some evil-disposed persons had the malice to say that the spot had been formerly the site of a subsequently-filled-up dusthole; but thecrustaceous party, depending as they did upon a single piece of bread—all crumbtoo—however genuine, could not be said to have so much to go upon as thecarboniferous section, with their heap of cinders, the latter being large in quantity, though of doubtful authority.
However, the opening of the sewer was looked forward to with intense interest, as being calculated to decide the great question, and all the principal geologists were on the spot several hours before operations commenced, for the purpose of inspecting the surface of the ground before it was disturbed by the spade and pickaxe of the labourer.
It was found that the earth consisted of an outer coat of dust, amongst which were several stones, varying in size, with here and there a bone picked exceedingly clean, and evidently belonging to a sheep; all of which facts gave promise of most gratifying results to the true lover of geology. At length the labourer came in sight, and was greeted with loud cheers from the crustaceous party, which were ironically echoed by the disciples of the carboniferous school, and a most significant “hear, hear,” proceeded from an active partisan of the latter class, when the first stroke of the pickaxe proclaimed the commencement of an operation upon which so much was known to depend for the interests of geology. The work had proceeded for some time amid breathless interest, interrupted only by sneers, cheers, jeers, and cries of “Oh, oh!” or “No, no!” As the throwing up of a shovelful of earth excited the hopes of one party, or the fears of the other, when a hard substance was struck upon, which caused a thrilling sensation among the bystanders. The pressure of the geologists, all eager to inspect the object that had created so much curiosity, could hardly be restrained, and the president was thrown, with great violence, into the hole that had been dug, from which he was pulled with extraordinary strength of body, and presence of mind, by the honorary treasurer.
The hard substance was found to consist of a piece of iron, of which it appeared a vein, or rather an artery, ran both backwards and forwards from the spot where it was first discovered. The confusion was at its height, for it was supposed a mine had been discovered, and a long altercation ensued; the town-clerk claiming it in the name of the lord of the manor, while the beadle, with a confused idea about mines being royal property, leaped into the hole, and, in the Queen’s name, took possession of everything. A desperate struggle ensued, in which several geologists were laid straight upon thestrata, and were converted into secondary deposits on the surface of the earth; when the lamplighter, coming by, recognised the hard iron substance as the large main of the Equitable Company. It became therefore necessary to relinquish any further investigation on the spot originally chosen, and the matter was postponed to another day, so that the great crustaceous and carboniferous question remains exactly where it did, to the great injury of the harmony and good feeling that has never yet prevailed, though it is hoped it some time or other may prevail, among the inhabitants.
But though public investigation of geological truth is for a time at a stand-still, we are glad to be able to record the following remarkable instance of private enterprise:—
A very active member of the association—the indefatigable Mr. Grubemup—determined to leave no stone unturned for the purpose of making observations, went out, attended by a single assistant, and made a desperate attempt to turn the mile-stone in the Kensington-road, in the hope of finding some geological facts at the bottom of it. After several hours’ labour before day-break, to avoid interruption from the police, he succeeded in introducing the point of a pickaxe beneath the base of the stone; and eventually he had the satisfaction of removing it from its position, when he made the following geological observations:—He found a primary deposit of dark soil, and, on putting his spectacles to his eyes, he distinctly detected a common worm in a state of high salubrity. This clearly proved to him that there must formerly have been a direct communication between Hookham-cum-Snivey and the town of Kensington, for the worm found beneath the milestone exactly resembled one now in the Hookham-cum-Snivey Museum, and which is known as thevermis communis, or earth-worm, and which has always excited considerable interest among the various visitors. Mr. Grubemup, encouraged by this highly satisfactory result, proceeded to scratch up with his thumb-nail a portion of the soil, and his geological enterprise was speedily rewarded by a fossil of the most interesting character. Upon close inspection it proved to be a highly crystallised rat’s-tail, from which the geologist inferred that there were rats on the Kensington-road at a much earlier period than milestones. We have not heard that the ingenious gentleman carried his examination further, but in the present state of geology, any contribution to the science, however small, will be thankfully received by the knowledge-loving community.