I saw at Lord George’srout,Amid a blaze ofton;And such atournurene’er “came out”For Maradon Carson!For who that mark’d that sylph-like graceThat full Canova hip,That robe of rich Chantilly lace,That faultless satin slip,Could doubt that she would bethe belleTo make a thousand waistcoats swell?I saw her seated by my lord,Asjoli comme un ange;She took somepate perigord.And after thatblanc mange:A glass of Moyse’s pink champagneLent lustre toses eux.And then—I heard a Grisian strain—It was her sweetadieux;And I—my friend the butler sought,To slake with stout each burning thought.
I saw at Lord George’srout,Amid a blaze ofton;And such atournurene’er “came out”For Maradon Carson!For who that mark’d that sylph-like graceThat full Canova hip,That robe of rich Chantilly lace,That faultless satin slip,Could doubt that she would bethe belleTo make a thousand waistcoats swell?
I saw at Lord George’srout,
Amid a blaze ofton;
And such atournurene’er “came out”
For Maradon Carson!
For who that mark’d that sylph-like grace
That full Canova hip,
That robe of rich Chantilly lace,
That faultless satin slip,
Could doubt that she would bethe belle
To make a thousand waistcoats swell?
I saw her seated by my lord,Asjoli comme un ange;She took somepate perigord.And after thatblanc mange:A glass of Moyse’s pink champagneLent lustre toses eux.And then—I heard a Grisian strain—It was her sweetadieux;And I—my friend the butler sought,To slake with stout each burning thought.
I saw her seated by my lord,
Asjoli comme un ange;
She took somepate perigord.
And after thatblanc mange:
A glass of Moyse’s pink champagne
Lent lustre toses eux.
And then—I heard a Grisian strain—
It was her sweetadieux;
And I—my friend the butler sought,
To slake with stout each burning thought.
It is at length decided that Aldgate pump is to be painted, but the vestry have not yet determined what the colour is to be. It is thought, to suit the diversity of opinions in the parish cabinet, that it will be painted in a harlequin pattern.
It is seriously contemplated to attempt the removal of the ancient “Hot Codlings” stand from the west-end of Temple Bar. The old woman who at present occupies the premises is resolved to resist to the utmost so unjust an aggression.
The Corporation of the City of London have, in the most liberal manner, given a plot of ground, eighteen by thirteen and a half-inches, for the erection of a pickled whilks and pennywinkle establishment, at the corner of Newgate-street and the Old Bailey. This will be a valuable boon to the Blue-coat boys, and will tend to cause a brisk influx of loose coppers to this hitherto much-neglected spot.
The disgraceful state of the gutter-grating in Little Distaff-lane has, at length, awakened the attention of the parish authorities. For several days past it has been choked by an accumulation of rubbish, but we are now enabled, on good authority, to state that the parish-beadle has been directed to poke it with his staff, which it is hoped will have the effect of removing the obstruction.
The Commissioners of Woods and Forests have ordered plans and estimates to be laid before them for the erection of a duck-house on the island of the pond in St. James’s Park.
It has been decided that the exhibition of fancy paper on the boards of the enclosure of Trafalgar-square is to continue open to the public till further notice.
By a recent Act of Parliament, foot passengers crossing Blackfriars-bridge are allowed to walk on whichever side of it they like best.
For “Sir James Graham denied that he everchangedhis friends or his principles,” read “hangedhis friends or his principles.”
For “Lord John Russell said that he had strenuously endeavoured to keeppacewith the march of Reform,” read “keepplacewith the march of Reform.”
For “though Sir Robert Peel is the ostensiblehead, the Duke of Wellington holds thereinsof the present administration,” read “the Duke of Wellington holds thebrainsof the present administration.”
For “Colonel Sibthorp said he despised the man who suffered himself be made thetoolof a party,” read “thefoolof a party.”
[pg 142]
A buccolic scene in a wreath forms a letter O.
Our lively neighbours on the opposite side of thePas de Calais(as they are pleased, in a spirit of patriotic appropriation, to translate the Straits of Dovor), have lately shot off a flight of small literary rockets about Paris, which have exploded joyously in every direction, producing all sorts of fun and merriment, termedLes Physiologies—a series of graphic sketches, embodying various every-day types of characters moving in the French capital. In the same spirit we beg to bring forward the following papers, with the hope that they will meet with an equally favourable reception.
We are about to discuss a subject as critical and important to take up as the abdominal aorta; for should we offend the class we are about to portray, there are fifteen hundred medical students, arrived this week in London, ripe and ready to avenge themselves upon our devoted cranium, which, although hardened throughout its ligneous formation by many blows, would not be proof against their united efforts. And we scarcely know how or where to begin. The instincts and different phases, under which this interesting race appears, are so numerous, that far from complaining of the paucity of materials we have to work upon, we are overwhelmed by mental suggestions, and rapidly-dissolving views, of the various classes from Guy’s to the London University, from St. George’s to the London Hospital, perpetually crowding upon our brains (if we have any), and rendering our ideas as completely muddled as those of a “new man” who has, for the first week of October, attended every single lecture in the day, from the commencement of chemistry, at nine in the morning, to the close of surgery, at eight in the evening. Lecture! auspicious word! we have a beginning prompted by the mere sound. We will address you, medical students, according to the style you are most accustomed to.
Gentlemen,—Your attention is to be this morning directed to an important part of your course on physiology, which your various professors, at two o’clock on Saturday afternoon, will separately tell you is derived from two Greek words, so that we have no occasion to explain its meaning at present. Magendie, Müller, Mayo, Millengen, and various other M’s, have written works upon physiology, affecting the human race generally; you are now requested to listen to the demonstration of one species in particular—the Medical Student of London.
Lay aside your deeper studies, then, and turn for a while to our lighter sketches; forget the globules of the blood in the contemplation of red billiard balls; supplant thetunica arachnoideaof the brain by a gossamer hat—therete mucosumof the skin by a pea-jacket; the vital fluid by a pot of half-and-half. Call into play the flexor muscles of your arms with boxing-gloves and single-sticks; examine the secreting glands in the shape of kidneys and sweetbreads; demonstrate other theories connected with the human economy in an equally analogous and pleasant manner; lay aside your crib Celsus and Steggall’s Manual for our own more enticing pages, and find your various habits therein reflected upon paper, with a truth to nature only exceeded by the artificial man of the same material in the Museum of King’s College. Assume for a time all this joyousness. PUNCH has entered as a pupil at a medical school (he is not at liberty to say which), on purpose to note your propensities, and requests you for a short period to look upon him as one of your own lot. His course will commence next week, and “The New Man” will be the subject.
A tableau with a tankard, a pipe, cards, etc.
Every one knows that about this time of the year geese are in their prime, and are particularly good when stuffed with sage; which accounts for the fact, that Sibthorp has made some sage remarks, so that he may not lose by comparison with the “foolish birds,” with whom he feels a natural sympathy.
We have never been able to discover the connexion between geese and Michaelmas. There is a reason for associating ducks with Midsummer: we can understand the meaning of poultry at Christmas, forbirdsare appropriate to a period when every one sends inhis bill; but why poor St. Michael should be so degradingly associated with a goose is beyond our comprehension, and baffles our ingenuity. If St. Michael had been a tailor, or an actor, or an author, we could have understood howgoosemight have applied to him; but as he was neither one nor the other, we really are at a loss to conceive why a goose should have become so intimately associated with his name and character.
Among other curious incidents, it may be remarked that, with an instinctive dread ofgoose, the redoubtableMartinuzzidrew in his horns, just on the eve of Michaelmas, and theSyncreticshave just shut up shop in time to avoid the “compliments of the season” that they had every right and every reason to anticipate would be bestowed, if not with a “liberal hand,” at least with “a lavish mouth,” by their audience.
It must be remembered by all the geese against whom PUNCH thinks proper to indulge his wit, that at this season of the year they must expect to be roasted. Upon the whole, however, we have a high respect for “the foolish bird,” and when it is remembered that the geese saved Rome, we do not think we are wrong in suggesting the possibility of England being yet saved by Lord Coventry, or any other cackler in either house of Parliament.
Admiral Napier observed that “retired lawyers got better paid than retired admirals.” A gross injustice, as their vocations bear an extraordinary similarity; par example—both areattachésof the Fleet: in an action, both know the necessity of being bailed out to prevent swamping. One service is distinguished by its “davits,” the other by its “affidavits;” and they are mutually and equally admired for, and known by, their craft. The only difference between them being, that the lawyer serves “two masters”—the admiral, invariably, three masters. If the same remark applies to the members of the army-list, as well as to those of the navy and law, we must say that it is an extremely shabby method of
A man picks the pocket of a soldier.“RELIEVING GUARD.”
“RELIEVING GUARD.”
The following list of outrages, recently perpetrated in the vicinity of a notoriously bad house near Westminster Abbey, has not appeared in any of the daily papers:—
LORD MELBOURNE—frightfully beaten, and turned out of his house by a gang of Peelites.
LORD JOHN RUSSELL—struck on the head by a large majority, and flung into a quandary.
LORD COTTENHAM—tripped up by a well-known member of the swell mob, and robbed of his seals.
MR. ROEBUCK—stripped and treated with barbarous inhumanity by a notorious bruiser named theTimes. The unfortunate gentleman lies to the present momentspeechlessfrom the injuries he has sustained.
LORD NORMANBY—stabbed with some sharp instrument, supposed to be Lord Stanley’s tongue.
LORD MORPETH—struck in the dark by an original idea, from the effects of which he has not yet recovered.
Roebuck, in complaining of the stigmas cast by theTimesupon his pedigree, and vehemently insisting on the character of his family tree, was kindly assisted by Tom Duncombe, who declared the genus indisputable, as nobody could look in Roebuck’s face without perceiving his family tree must have been the “plane-tree.”
[pg 143]
You say I have forgot the vowI breath’d in days long past;But had I faithful been, that thouHadst loved me to the last.Withoutme, e’en a throne thou’dst scorn—Withme, contented beg!False maid! ’tis not that I’m forsworn,—The boot’s on t’other leg.Amidst the revel thou wast gay,The blithest with the song!Though thou believ’dst me far away,An exile at Boulogne.’Twas then, and not till then, my heartTo love thee did refuse;My vows became (false that thou art!)—Another pair of shoes!
You say I have forgot the vowI breath’d in days long past;But had I faithful been, that thouHadst loved me to the last.Withoutme, e’en a throne thou’dst scorn—Withme, contented beg!False maid! ’tis not that I’m forsworn,—The boot’s on t’other leg.
You say I have forgot the vow
I breath’d in days long past;
But had I faithful been, that thou
Hadst loved me to the last.
Withoutme, e’en a throne thou’dst scorn—
Withme, contented beg!
False maid! ’tis not that I’m forsworn,—
The boot’s on t’other leg.
Amidst the revel thou wast gay,The blithest with the song!Though thou believ’dst me far away,An exile at Boulogne.’Twas then, and not till then, my heartTo love thee did refuse;My vows became (false that thou art!)—Another pair of shoes!
Amidst the revel thou wast gay,
The blithest with the song!
Though thou believ’dst me far away,
An exile at Boulogne.
’Twas then, and not till then, my heart
To love thee did refuse;
My vows became (false that thou art!)—
Another pair of shoes!
DEAR TOM,—Everything is going on gloriously—the British arms are triumphant—and we now only require the Emperor of China’s consent to our taking possession of his territory, which I am sorry to say there is at present no likelihood of obtaining. However, there is little doubt, if we be not all swept off by ague and cholera, that we shall be able to maintain our present position a few months longer. Our situation here would be very comfortable if we had anything to eat, except bad beef and worse biscuit; these, however, are but trifling inconveniences; and though we have no fresh meat, we have plenty of fish in the river. One of our men caught a fine one the other day, which was bought and cooked for the officers’ mess, by which means we were all nearly destroyed—the fish unfortunately happening to be of a poisonous nature; in consequence of which a general order was issued the next day, forbidding the troops to catch or eat any more fish. The country around the factory is beautiful; but we deem it prudent to keep within the walls, as the Chinese are very expert at picking up stragglers, whom they usually strangle. Beyond this we cannot complain of our situation; fowls are extremely abundant, but I have not seen any, the inhabitants having carried them up the country along with their cattle and provisions of every description. The water here is so brackish that it is almost impossible to drink it; there are, however some wells of delicious water in the neighbourhood, which would be a real treasure to us if the Chinese had not poisoned them. Notwithstanding these unavoidable privations, the courage of our troops is indomitable; a detachment of the ——th regiment succeeded last week in taking possession of an island in the river, nearly half an acre in extent; it has, however, since been deemed advisable to relinquish this important conquest, owing to the muddy nature of the soil, into which several of our brave fellows sank to the middle, and were with difficulty extricated. A gallant affair took place a few days ago between two English men-of-war’s boats and a Chinese market junk, which was taken after a resolute defence on the part of the Chinaman and his wife, who kept up a vigorous fire of pumpkins and water-melons upon our boats, until their supply was exhausted, when they were forced to surrender to British valour. The captured junk has since been cut up for the use of the forces. Though this unpleasant state of affairs has interrupted all formal intercourse between the Chinese and English, Captain Elliot has given a succession of balls to the occupants of a small mud fort near the shore, which I fear they did not relish, as several of them appeared exceedingly hurt, and removed with remarkable celerity out of reach of the Captain’s civilities. Thus, instead of opening the trade, this proceeding has only served to open the breach. The Emperor, I hear, is enraged at our successes, and has ordered the head and tail of the mandarin, Keshin, to be sent in pickle to the imperial court at Pekin. A new mandarin has arrived, who has presented a chop to Captain Elliott, but I hope, where there is so much at stake, that he will not be put off with a chop. There is no description of tea to be had in the market now but gunpowder, which, by the last reports, is going off briskly. Our amusements are not very numerous, being chiefly confined to yawning and sleeping; of this latter recreation I must confess that we enjoy but little, owing to the mosquitos, who are remarkably active and persevering in their attacks upon us. But with the exception of these tormenting insects, and a rather alarming variety of centipedes, scorpions, and spiders, we have no venomous creatures to disturb us. The weather is extremely hot, and the advantages of the river for bathing would be very great if it were not so full of sharks. I have much more to relate of our present cheering prospects and enviable situation, but a ship is on the point of sailing for England, so must conclude in haste.
Ever, dear Tom, yours,R.B.
TheExaminerobserves, in speaking of the types of the new premier’s policy,—“The state, I am the state,” said the most arrogant of French monarchs. “The administration, I am the administration,” would seem to say Sir Robert Peel. In the speech explanatory of his views, which cannot be likened to Wolsey’s “Ego et Rex meus,” because the importance of theegois not impaired by any addition.—This literally amounts to a conviction, on the part of the editor of theExaminer, that the premier’s expression is all in his “I.”
“HUMMING” BIRDS.—With Memoir and Portraits of Peel, Stanley and Aberdeen.
BIRDS OF THE “GAME” KIND.—Portrait and Memoir of Mr. Gully.
FISHES OF THE “PERCH” GENUS.—Biographical notices of the late Ministry.
RUMINATING ANIMALS, Vol. 1.—Contents:Goats, &c. Portrait of Mr. Muntz.
RUMINATING ANIMALS, Vol. 2.—Contents: Deer, Antelopes, &c. Portrait of Mr. Roebuck.
MARSUPIALS, OR “POUCHED” ANIMALS.—With manyplates. Portrait and Memoir of Daniel O’Connell, Esq.
BRITISH BUTTERFLIES.—Portrait and Memoir of Sir E. Lytton Bulwer.
COMPLETION OF THE WORK.—Considerable progress has been making in the concluding volume of the series.Rats, with portraits of Burdett, Gibson, Wakley,et genus omne; but the subject is so vast that no definite time can be fixed for its publication.
MR. WAKLEY begs to inform the Lords of the Treasury, the editor of theTimes, and the Master of the Mint, that ever anxious to rise in the world, he has recently been induced to undertake the sweeping of Conservative flues, and the performance of any dirty work which his Tory patrons may deem him worthy to perform. Certain objections having been made as to his qualifications for a climbing boy, Mr. W. pledges himself to undergo any course of training, to enable him to get through the business, and to remove any apprehension of his ever becoming
A small black man standing in a bag, holding a brush.A POTTED BLOATER.
A POTTED BLOATER.
SIR PETER LAURIE, in commenting upon the late case of false imprisonment, where two young men had been unjustifiably handcuffed by the police, delivered himself of the following exquisite piece of rhetoric:—“He did not think it possible that such a case of abuse could pass unnoticed as that he had just heard. The general conduct of the police was, he believed, good; but the instances of arbitrary conduct and overbearing demeanourset to flight all the ancient examples brought forward to enrich by contrast the serious parts of the glorious genius of Shakspeare.” We never understood or imagined there was an Anacreon among the aldermen, a Chaucer in the common council, or a Moliere at the Mansion-house. We have now discovered the Peter Lauriate of the City—the poet of the Poultry. Who, in the face of the above sentence, can deny his right to these titles, if, like ourselves, they are
A tough-looking man.OPEN TO CONVICTION!
OPEN TO CONVICTION!
A clergyman, lately preaching to a country congregation, used the following persuasive arguments against the vice of swearing:—“Oh, my brethren, avoid this practice, for it is a great sin, and, what is more, it isungenteel!”
[pg 144]
The family of the “Sponges” distributes itself over the entire face of society—its members are familiar with almost every knocker, and with nearly everybody’s dinner-hour. They not unfrequently come in with the eggs, and only go out with the last glass of negus. They seem to possess the power of ubiquity; for, go where you will, your own especial sponge (and everybody with more than two hundred a-year has one), is sure to present himself. He is ready for anything, especially where eating, love, duelling, or drinking, is concerned. To oblige you, he will breakfast at supper-time, or sup at breakfast-time; he will drink any given quantity, at any time, and will carry any number of declarations of love to any number of ladies, or of challenges to whole armies of rivals: thus far he is useful; for he is obliging, and will do anything—but pay.
When he has absorbed all the moisture his victims are able to supply, he may be seen walking about in moody solitude in the parks, where he sponges upon the ducks, and owes for the use of the chairs. In this dry and destitute condition, behold the sponge of the Covent-Garden Comedy—Captain Tarradiddle. He is in St. James’ Park; for, possessing imaginary rather than substantial claims to military rank, he flits about the Horse-Guards to keep up his character. A person is already upon the stage, for whom you instinctively shudder—you perceive, at once, that he is “in” for dinner, wine, theatre, and supper—you pity him; you see the sponge, speciously, but surely, fasten himself upon his victim like a vampire.Mr. Pye Hilary, being a barrister and a man of the world, resigns himself, however, to his fate. As to shaking off his leech, he knows that to be impossible; and he determines to make what use of him he can. There is a fine opportunity, forMr. Pye Hilaryis in love, in despair, and in waiting: he expects his mistress’s abigail; in negociating with whom, he conceivesTarradiddlewill be a valuable assistant.Mrs. Tattlearrives. Preliminaries having been duly settled, articles offensive and defensive are entered into, to carry out a plan by which the lover shall gain an interview with the mistress; and the treaty is ratified by a liberal donation, which theCaptainmakes to the maid out of his friend’s purse. The servant is satisfied, and goes off in the utmost agitation, forMiss Mayleyand her guardian are coming; and she dreads being caught in the fact of bribery.Mr. Hilarytrembles; so does the young lady, when she appears; and the agitation of all parties is only put an end to by the fall of the act-drop.
If any class of her Majesty’s subjects are more miserable than another, it is that of gentlemen’s servants. One of these oppressed persons is revealed to us in the next act. Poor fellow! he has nothing to do but to sit in the hall, and nothing to amuse him but the newspaper. But his misfortunes do not end here: as if to add insult to injury, the family governess presumes to upbraid him, and actually insists upon his taking a letter to the post.Mr. Nibbledeclines performing so undignified a service, in the most footman-like terms; but unfortunately, as it generally happens, in families where there are pretty governesses and gallant sons,Miss de Verehas a protector in theHon. Charles Norwold, who overhears her unreasonable demand, and with a degree of injustice enough to make the entire livery of London rave with indignation, inflicts upon his father’s especial livery, andNibble’sillustrious person, a severe caning. The consequence of this “strike” is, thatNibblegives warning,LordandLady Norwoldare paralysed at this important resignation; for by it they discover that a secret coalition has taken place between their son and the governess—they are man and wife! Good heavens! the heir of all the Norwolds marry a teacher, who has nothing to recommend her but virtue, talent, and beauty! Monstrous!—“What will the world say?”
The treaty formed betweenMistress TattleandMr. Pye Hilaryis in the next act being acted upon. We beholdCaptain Tarradiddle, as one of the high contracting parties’ ambassador, taking lodgings in a house exactly opposite to that in whichMiss Mayleyresides. Of course nothing so natural as that the Captain should indulge his friend with a visit for a few days, or, if possible, for a few weeks. It is also natural that the host, under the circumstances, should wish to know something of the birth, parentage, and education of his guest, of which, though an old acquaintance; he is, as yet, entirely ignorant. Now, if it be possible to affront a real sponge (but there is nothing more difficult), such inquiries are likely to produce that happy consummation.Tarradiddle, however, gets over the difficulty with the tact peculiar to his class, and is fortunately interrupted by the announcement thatTattleis in the parlour, duly keeping her agreement, by bringing her mistress’s favourite canary, which, having flown away quite by accident, under her guidance, has chosen to perch inHilary’snew lodging, on purpose to give him the opportunity of returning it, and of obtaining an interview withMiss Mayley. The expedient succeeds in the next scene; the lover bows and stammers—as lovers do at first interviews—the lady is polite but dignified, andTarradiddle, who has been angling for an invitation, has his hopes entirely put to flight by the entrance of the lady’s guardian,Mr. Warner, who very promptly cuts matters short by ringing the bell and saying “Good evening,” in that tone of voice which always intimates a desire for a good riddance. This hint is too broad ever to be mistaken; so the sponge and his victim back out.
Mr. Warneris a merchant, and all merchants in plays are the “noblest characters the world can boast,” and very rich. Thus it has happened thatWarnerhas, through a money-agent, oneGrub, been enabled to lend, at various times, large sums of money, toLady Norwold—her ladyship being one of those who, dreading “what will the world say?” is by no means an economist, and prefers “ruin to retrenchment.” As security for these loans, the lady deposits her jewels, suite by suite, till the great object of allWarner’sadvances gets into his possession—namely, a bracelet, which is a revered relic of the Norwold family. So farWarner, in spite of a troublesome ward, and his late visitors, is happy; but he soon receives a letter, which puts his happiness to flight. His daughter, who has been on a visit in Paris, became, he now learns, united some months before, toCharles Norwold, and a governess in his father’s family. By further inquiries, he learns that the son is discarded, and is, with his wife, consigned to beggary, for fear of—“what will the world say?”
The fourth act exhibits one of the scenes of human life hitherto veiled from the eyes of the most prying—a genuine specimen of the sponge species—at home! Actually living under a roof that he calls his own; in company with a wife who is certainly nobody else’s. She is ironing—Tarradiddleis smoking, and, like all smokers, philosophising. Here we learn theHonourable Charles Norwoldand his wife have taken lodgings; hither they are pursued byHilary, who has managed to ingratiate himself withWarner, and undertaken to trace the merchant’s lost daughter; here, toPye’sastonishment, he finds his friend and sponge. Some banter ensues, not always agreeable to the Captain, but all ends very pleasantly by the entrance ofWarner, who discovers his daughter, and becomes a father-in-law with a good grace.
The denouement is soon told:—Warner, having received his daughter and her husband, gives a party at whichLady, and afterwardsLord Norwold, are present. Here Warner’s anxiety to obtain the bracelet is explained. He reminds his lordship that he once accused his elder brother of stealing that very bauble; and the consequence was, that the accused disappeared, and was never after heard of.Warneravows himself to be that brother, but declines disturbing the rights or property of his lordship, if he will again receive his son. This is, of course, done.Hilaryjokes himself intoMiss Mayley’sgood graces, andTarradiddle, in all the glories of a brown coat, and an outrageously fine waistcoat, enters to make the scene complete, and to help to speak the tag, in which all the characters have a hand; Mrs. Glover ending by making a propitiatory appeal to the audience in favour of the author, who ought to be very grateful to her for the captivating tones in which she asked for an affirmative answer to the question—
“What will the world say?”
“What will the world say?”
“What will the world say?”
Circumstances prevent us from giving any opinion whatever, except upon the scenery, the appointments, and the acting. The first is beautiful—the second appropriate and splendid—the last natural, pointed, and in good taste.
A clergyman was explaining to the gallant officer the meaning of the phrase “born again;” but it was quite unintelligible to Sib., who remarked that he knew no one who couldbearhim even once.
“Do you read the notice to correspondents in PUNCH?” quoth Sib.—“I do,” replied Hardinge, “and I wonder people should send them such trash.”—“Pooh!” retorted the punster—“Pooh! you know that wherever PUNCH is to be found, there are always plenty ofspoonsafter it.”
“It’s a wonder you’re not drunk,” said Sibthorp to Wieland—“a great wonder, because—do you give it up?—Because you’rea tumbler full of spirits.”
The correspondent of a London paper, writing from Sunderland respecting the report that Lord Howick had been fired at by some ruffian, says, with greatnaïveté, “a gun was certainly pointed at his lordship’s head, but it is generally believed there was nothing in it.”—We confess we are at a loss to know whether the facetious writer alludes to thegunor thehead.
A Tory evening paper tells its readers that Sir Robert Peel expects a harassing opposition from the late ministry, but that he is prepared for them onall points. This reminds us of the defensive expedient of the hedgehog, which, conscious of its weakness, rolls itself into a ball, to be prepared for its assailants onall points.
Mister F. &c. &c. &c. Bayley is anxious to treat for a course of lessons in the purest Irish. None but such as will conceal a West Indian patois will be of the slightest use. For particulars, and cards to view, apply to Mr. Catnach, Music and Marble Warehouse, Seven-dials.
[pg 145]
“In the king’s name,Let fall your swords and daggers.”—CRITIC.
“In the king’s name,Let fall your swords and daggers.”—CRITIC.
“In the king’s name,
Let fall your swords and daggers.”—CRITIC.
A hunter with a rifle in front of two leaning trees forms a letter A.
Amelo-drama is a theatrical dose in two or three acts, according to the strength of the constitution of the audience. Its component parts are a villain, a lover, a heroine, a comic character, and an executioner. These having simmered and macerated through all manner of events, are strained off together into the last scene; and the effervescence which then ensues is called thedénouement, and thedénouementis the soul of the drama.
Dénouementsare of three kinds:—The natural, the unnatural, and the supernatural.
The “natural” is achieved when no probabilities are violated;—that is, when the circumstances are such as really might occur—if we could only bring ourselves to think so—as, (ex. gr.)
When the villain, being especially desirous to preserve and secrete certain documents of vital importance to himself and to the piece, does, most unaccountably, mislay them in the most conspicuous part of the stage, and straightway they are found by the very last member of thedram. pers.in whose hands he would like to see them.
When the villain and his accomplice, congratulating each other on the successful issue of their crimes, and dividing the spoil thereof (which they are always careful to do in a loud voice, and in a room full of closets), are suddenly set upon and secured by the innocent yet suspected and condemned parties, who are at that moment passing on their way to execution.
When the guiltless prisoner at the bar, being asked for his defence, and having no witnesses to call, produces a checked handkerchief, and subpoenas his own conscience, which has such an effect on the villain, that he swoons, and sees demons in the jury-box, and tells them that “he is ready,” and that “he comes,” &c. &c.
When the deserter, being just about to be shot, is miraculously saved by his mistress, who cuts the matter very fine indeed, by rushing in between “present” and “fire;” and, having ejaculated “a reprieve!” with all her might, falls down, overcome by fatigue—poor dear! as well she may—having run twenty-three miles in the changing of a scene, and carried her baby on her arm all the blessed way, in order to hold him up in the tableau at the end.
N.B.—Whenever married people rescue one another as above, the “dénouement” belongs to the class “unnatural;” which is used when the author wishes to show the intensity of his invention—as, (ex. gr.again)
When an old man, having been wounded fatally by a young man, requests, as a boon, to be permitted to examine the young man’s neck, who, accordingly unloosing his cravat, displays a hieroglyphic neatly engraved thereon, which the old man interprets into his being a parricide, and then dies, leaving the young man in a state of histrionic stupor.
When a will is found embellished with a Daguerréotype of four fingers and a thumb, done in blood on the cover, and it turns out that the residuary legatee is no better than he should be—but, on the contrary, a murderer nicely ripe for killing.
The “supernatural”dénouementis the last resource of a bewildered dramatist, and introduces either an individual in green scales and wings to match, who gives the audience to understand that he is a fiend, and that he has private business to transact below with the villain; who, accordingly, withdraws in his company, with many throes and groans, down the trap.
Or a pale ghost in dingy lawn, apparently afflicted with a serious haemorrhage in the bosom, who appears to a great many people, running, in dreams; and at last joins the hands of the young couple, and puts in a little plea of her own for a private burial.
And there are many other variations of the three great classes ofdénouements; such as the helter-skelter nine-times-round-the-stage-combat, and the grandmêléein which everybody kills everybody else, and leaves the piece to be carried on by their executors; but we dare unveil the mystery no further.
“Well,” said Roebuck to O’Connell, “despite Peel’s double-face propensities, he is a great genius.” “A greatJanusindeed,” answered theliberathor.
The political pugilistic scrimmage which recently took place in the House of Congress so completely coincides with the views and propensities of the “universal scrimmage” member for Bath, that he intends making a motion for the erection of a twenty-four-foot-ring on the floor of the House, for the benefit of opposition members. The Speaker, says Roebuck, will, in that case, be enabled to ascertain whether the “noes” or “ayes” have it, without tellers.
If you are either in a great hurry, or tired of life, book yourself by the Brighton railroad, and you are ensured one of two things—arrival in two hours, or destruction by that rapid process known in America as “immortal smash,” which brings you to the end of your journey before you get to the terminus. Should you fortunately meet with the former result, and finish your trip without ending your mortal career, you find the place beset with cads and omnibuses, which are very convenient; for if your hotel or boarding-house be at the extremity of the town, you would have to walk at least half a mile but for such vehicles, and they only charge sixpence, with the additional advantage of the great chance of your luggage being lost. If you be a married man, you will go to an hotel where you can get a bed for half-a-guinea a night, provided you do not want it warmed, and use your own soap; but it is five shillings extra if you do. Should you be a bachelor, or an old maid, you, of course, put up at a boarding-house, where you see a great deal of good society at two guineas a week; for every third man is a captain, and every fifth woman “my lady.” There, too, you observe a continual round of courtship going on; for it comes in with the coffee, and continues during every meal. “Marriages,” it is said, “are made in heaven”—good matches are always got up at meal-times in Brighton boarding-houses.
Brighton is decidedly a fishing-town, for besides the quantity of John Dorys caught there, it is a celebrated place for pursey half-pay officers to angle in for rich widows. The bait they generally use consists of dyed whiskers, and a distant relationship to some of the “gentles” or nobles of the land. The town itself is built uponthe downs—a series of hills, which those in the habit of walking over them are apt to call “ups and downs.” It consists entirely of hotels, boarding-houses, and bathing-machines, with a pavilion and a chain-pier. The amusements are various, and of a highly intellectual character: the chief of them being a walk from the esplanade to the east cliff, and a promenade back again from the east cliff to the esplanade. Donkey-races are in full vogue, insomuch that the highways are thronged with interesting animals, decorated with serge-trappings and safety-saddles, and interspersed with goat-carts and hired flys. There is a library, where the visiters do everything but read; and a theatre, where—as Charles Kean is now playing there—they do anything but act. The ladies seem to take great delight in the sea-bath, and that they may enjoy the luxury in the most secluded privacy, the machines are placed as near to the pier as possible. This is always crowded with men, who, by the aid of opera glasses, find it a pleasing pastime to watch the movements of the delicate Naiads who crowd the waters.
Those to whom Brighton is recommended for change of air and of scene get sadly taken in, for here the air—like that of a barrel-organ—never changes, as the wind is always high. In sunshine, Brighton always looks hot; in moonshine, eternally dreary; the men are yawning all day long, and the women sitting smirking in bay-windows, or walking with puppy-dogs and parasols, which last they are continually opening and shutting. In short, when a man is sick of the world, or a maiden of forty-five has been so often crossed in love as to be obliged to leave off hoping against hope, Brighton is an excellent place to prepare him or her for a final retirement from life—whether that is contemplated in the Queen’s Bench, a convent, a residence among the Welsh mountains, or the monastery of La Trappe, a month’s probation in Brighton, at the height of the season, being well calculated to make any such change not only endurable, but agreeable.
For sale, Thorwaldsen’s Byron, rich in beauty,Because his country owes, and will not pay, “duty.”
For sale, Thorwaldsen’s Byron, rich in beauty,Because his country owes, and will not pay, “duty.”
For sale, Thorwaldsen’s Byron, rich in beauty,
Because his country owes, and will not pay, “duty.”
[pg 146]
A shepherd sits under a tree, forming a letter E.
Entirely disgusted with his unsuccessful appeal to the enlightened British public assembled in the front of his residence, and which had produced effects so contrary to what he had conceived would be the result, Agamemnon called a committee of his household, to determine on the most advisable proceedings to be adopted for remedying the evils resulting from the unexpected pyrotechnic display of the morning. The carpet was spoiled—the house was impregnated with the sooty effluvia, and the company was expected to arrive at nine o’clock. What was to be done? Betty suggested the burning of brown paper and scrubbing the carpet; John, assafœtida and sawdust; Mrs. Waddledot, pastilles and chalking the floor. As the latter remedies seemed most compatible with the gentility of their expected visiters, immediate measures were taken for carrying them into effect. A dozen cheese-plates were disposed upon the stairs, each furnished with little pyramids of fragrance; old John, who was troubled with an asthma, was deputed to superintend them, and nearly coughed himself into a fit of apoplexy in the strenuous discharge of his duty.
Whilst these in-door remedial appliances were in progress, Agamemnon was hurrying about in a hack cab to discover a designer in chalk, and at length was fortunate enough to secure the “own artist” of the celebrated “Crown and Anchor.” Mr. Smear was a shrewd man, as well as an excellent artist; and when he perceived the very peculiar position of things, he forcibly enumerated all the difficulties which presented themselves, and which could only be surmounted by a large increase of remuneration.
“You see, sir,” said Mr. Smear, “that wherever that ere waterhasbeen it’s left a dampness ahind it; the moistur’ consekent upon such a dampness must be evaporated by ever-so-many applications of the warming-pan. The steam which a rises from this hoperation, combined with the extra hart required to hide them two black spots in the middle, will make the job come to one-pund-one, independently of the chalk.”
Agamemnon had nothing left but compliance with Mr. Smear’s demand; and one warming and three stew-pans, filled with live coals, were soon engaged in what Mr. Smear called the “ewaporating department.” As soon as the boards were sufficiently dry, Mr. Smear commenced operations. In each of the four corners of the room he described the diagram of a coral and bells, connecting them with each other by graceful festoons of blue-chalk ribbon tied in large true-lover’s knots in the centre. Having thus completed a frame, he proceeded, after sundry contortions of the facial muscles, to the execution of the great design. Having described an ellipse of red chalk, he tastefully inserted within it a perfect representation of the interior of an infant’s mouth in an early stage of dentition, whilst a graceful letterAseemed to keep the gums apart to allow of this artistical exhibition. Proudly did Mr. Smear cast his small grey eyes on Agamemnon, and challenge him, as it were, to a laudatory acknowledgment of his genius; but as his patron remained silent, Mr. Smear determined to speak out.
“Hart has done her best—language must do the rest. I am now only awaiting for the motter. What shall I say, sir?”
“‘Welcome’ is as good as anything, in my opinion,” replied Collumpsion.
“Welcome!” ejaculated Smear: “a servile himitation of a general ’lumination idea, sir. We must be original. Will you leave it to me?”
“Willingly,” said Agamemnon. And with many inward protestations against parties in general and his own in particular, he left Mr. Smear and his imagination together.
The great artist in chalk paced the room for some minutes, and then slapped his left thigh, in confirmation of the existence of some brilliant idea. The result was soon made apparent on the boards of the drawing-room, where the following inscription attested the immensity of Smear’s genius—
"PARTAKEOFOURDENTAL DELIGHT."
The guinea was instantly paid; but Collumpsion was for a length of time in a state of uncertainty as to whether Mr. Smear’s talents were ornamental or disfigurative. Nine o’clock arrived, and with it a rumble of vehicles, and an agitation of knocker, that were extremely exhilarating to the heretofore exhausted and distressed family at 24.
We shall not attempt to particularise the arrivals, as they were precisely the same set as our readers have invariably met at routs of the second class for these last five years. There was the young gentleman in an orange waistcoat, bilious complexion, and hairà la Petrarch, only gingered; and so also were the two Misses ——, in blue gauze, looped up with coral,—and that fair-haired girl who “detethted therry,” and those black eyes, whose lustrous beauty made such havoc among the untenanted hearts of the youthful beaux;—but, reader, youmustknow the set thatmusthave visited the Applebites.
All went “merry as a marriage bell,” and we feel that we cannot do better than assist future commentators by giving a minute analysis of a word which so frequently occurs in the fashionable literature of the present day that doubtlessly in after time many anxious inquiries and curious conjectures would be occasioned, but for the service we are about to confer on posterity (for the pages of PUNCH are immortal) by a description of
which is a dance particularly fashionable in the nineteenth century. In order to render our details perspicuous and lucid, we will suppose—
The four gentlemen present themselves to the four ladies, and having smirked and “begged the honour,” the four pairs take their station in the room in the following order:
During eight bars of music, tip, crimson, camellia, and wristbands, bow to freckles, slight cast, marabouts, and black satin, who curtsey in return, and then commence
by performing an intersecting figure that brings all parties exactly where they were; which joyous circumstance is celebrated by bobbing for four bars opposite to each other, and then indulging in a universal twirl which apparently offends the ladies, who seize hold of each other’s hands only to leave go again, and be twirled round by the opposite gentleman, who, having secured his partner, promenades her half round to celebrate his victory, and then returns to his place with his partner, performing a similar in-and-out movement as that which commencedla Pantalon.
is a much more respectful operation. Referring to our previous arrangement, wristbands and freckles would advance and retire—then they would take two hops and a jump to the right, then two hops and a jump to the left—then cross over, and there hop and jump the same number of times and come back again, and having celebrated their return by bobbing for four bars, they twirl their partners again, and commence
The crimson waistcoat and marabouts would shake hands with their right, and then cross over, and having shaken hands again with the left, come back again. They then would invite the camellia and the slight cast to join them, and perform a kind of wild Indian dance “all of a row.” After which they all walk to the sides they have no business upon, and then crimson runs round marabout, and taking his partner’s hand,i.e., the slight cast, introduces her to camellia and marabout, as though they had never met before. This introduction is evidently disagreeable, for they instantly retire, and then rush past each other, as furiously as they can, to their respective places.
is evidently intended to “trot out” the dancers. Freckles and black satin shake hands as they did inla Pantalon, and then freckles trots tip out[pg 147]twice, and crosses over to the opposite side to have a good look at him; having satisfied her curiosity, she then, in company with black satin, crosses over to have a stare at the violent wristbands, in contrast with tip who wriggles over, and join him, and then, without saying a word to each other, bob, and are twirled as inl’Eté.
seems to be an inversion ofla Trenise, except that in nineteen cases out of twenty, the waistcoat, tip, camellia and wristbands, seem to undergo intense mental torture; for if there be such a thing as “poetry of motion,”pastoralemust be the “Inferno of Dancing.”
commences with a circular riot, which leads tol’Eté. The ladies then join hands, and endeavour to imitate the graceful evolutions of a windmill, occasionally grinding the corns of their partners, who frantically rush in with the quixotic intention of stopping them. A general shuffling about then takes place, which terminates in a bow, a bob, and “allow me to offer you some refreshment.”
Malheureux!we have devoted so much space to the quadrille, that we have left none for the supper, which being a cold one, will keep till next week.
We are ashamed to ask our readers to refer to our last article under the title of the “Gentleman’s Own Book,” for the length of time which has elapsed almost accuses us of disinclination for our task, or weariness in catering for the amusement of our subscribers. But September—September, with all its allurements of flood and field—its gathering of honest old friends—its tales of by-gone seasons, and its glorious promises of the present—must plead our apology for abandoning our pen and rushing back to old associations, which haunt us like