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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, December 11, 1841

Author: Various

Release date: February 7, 2005 [eBook #14940]
                Most recently updated: December 19, 2020

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Syamanta Saikia, Jon Ingram, Barbara Tozier and the PG
        Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOLUME 1, DECEMBER 11, 1841 ***




Produced by Syamanta Saikia, Jon Ingram, Barbara Tozier and the PG
Online Distributed Proofreading Team






PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 1.



FOR THE WEEK ENDING DECEMBER 11, 1841.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE PHYSIOLOGY OF THE LONDON MEDICAL STUDENT.

11.--HOW MR. MUFF CONCLUDES HIS EVENING.

[Illustration: E]Essential as sulphuric acid is to the ignition of the
platinum in an hydropneumatic lamp; so is half-and-half to the proper
illumination of a Medical Student's faculties. The Royal College of
Surgeons may thunder and the lecturers may threaten, but all to no effect;
for, like the slippers in the Eastern story, however often the pots may be
ordered away from the dissecting-room, somehow or other they always find
their way back again with unflinching pertinacity. All the world inclined
towards beer knows that the current price of a pot of half-and-half is
fivepence, and by this standard the Medical Student fixes his expenses. He
says he has given three pots for a pair of Berlin gloves, and speaks of a
half-crown as a six-pot piece.

Mr. Muff takes the goodly measure in his hand, and decapitating its
"spuma" with his pipe, from which he flings it into Mr. Simpson's face,
indulges in a prolonged drain, and commences his narrative--most probably
in the following manner:--

"You know we should all have got on very well if Rapp hadn't been such a
fool as to pull away the lanthorns from the place where they are putting
down the wood pavement in the Strand, and swear he was a watchman. I
thought the crusher saw us, and so I got ready for a bolt, when Manhug
said the blocks had no right to obstruct the footpath; and, shoving down a
whole wall of them into the street, voted for stopping to play at _duck_
with them. Whilst he was trying how many he could pitch across the Strand
against the shutters opposite, down came the _pewlice_ and off we cut."

"I had a tight squeak for it," interrupts Mr. Rapp; "but I beat them at
last, in the dark of the Durham-street arch. That's a dodge worth being up
to when you get into a row near the Adelphi. Fire away, Muff--where did
you go?"

"Right up a court to Maiden-lane, in the hope of bolting into the
Cider-cellars. But they were all shut up, and the fire out in the kitchen,
so I ran on through a lot of alleys and back-slums, until I got somewhere
in St. Giles's, and here I took a cab."

"Why, you hadn't got an atom of tin when you left us," says Mr. Manhug.

"Devil a bit did that signify. You know I only took the _cab_--I'd nothing
at all to do with the driver; he was all right in the gin-shop near the
stand, I suppose. I got on the box, and drove about for my own
diversion--I don't exactly know where; but I couldn't leave the cab, as
there was always a crusher in the way when I stopped. At last I found
myself at the large gate of New Square, Lincoln's Inn, so I knocked until
the porter opened it, and drove in as straight as I could. When I got to
the corner of the square, by No. 7, I pulled up, and, tumbling off my
perch, walked quietly along to the Portugal-street wicket. Here the other
porter let me out, and I found myself in Lincoln's Inn Fields."

"And what became of the cab?" asks Mr. Jones.

"How should I know!--it was no affair of mine. I dare say the horse made
it right; it didn't matter to him whether he was standing in St. Giles's
or Lincoln's Inn, only the last was the most respectable."

"I don't see that," says Mr. Manhug, refilling his pipe.

"Why, all the thieves in London live in St. Giles's."

"Well, and who live in Lincoln's Inn?"

"Pshaw! that's all worn out," continues Manhug. "I got to the College of
Surgeons, and had a good mind to scud some oyster shells through the
windows, only there were several people about--fellows coming home to
chambers, and the like; so I pattered on until I found myself in
Drury-lane, close to a coffee-shop that was open. There I saw such a jolly
row!"

Mr. Muff utters this last sentence in the same ecstatic accents of
admiration with which we speak of a lovely woman or a magnificent view.

"What was it about?" eagerly demand the rest of the circle.

"Why, just as I got in, a gentleman of a vivacious turn of mind, who was
taking an early breakfast, had shied a soft-boiled egg at the gas-light,
which didn't hit it, of course, but flew across the tops of the boxes, and
broke upon a lady's head."

"What a mess it must have made?" interposes Mr. Manhug. "Coffee-shop eggs
are always so very albuminous."

"Once I found some feathers in one, and a foetal chick," observes Mr.
Rapp.

"Knock that down for a good one!" says Mr. Jones, taking the poker and
striking three distinct blows on the mantel-piece, the last of which
breaks off the corner. "Well, what did the lady do?"

"Commenced kicking up an extensive shindy, something between crying,
coughing, and abusing, until somebody in a fustian coat, addressing the
assailant, said, 'he was no gentleman, whoever he was, to throw eggs at a
woman; and that if he'd come out he'd pretty soon butter his crumpets on
both sides for him, and give him pepper for nothing.' The master of the
coffee shop now came forward and said, 'he wasn't a going to have no
uproar in his house, which was very respectable, and always used by the
first of company, and if they wanted to quarrel, they might fight it out
in the streets.' Whereupon they all began to barge the master at
once,--one saying 'his coffee was all snuff and duckweed,' or something of
the kind; whilst the other told him 'he looked as measly as a mouldy
muffin;' and then all of a sudden a lot of half-pint cups and pewter
spoons flew up in the air, and the three men began an indiscriminate
battle all to themselves, in one of the boxes, 'fighting quite permiscus,'
as the lady properly observed. I think the landlord was worst off though;
he got a very queer wipe across the face from the handle of his own
toasting-fork."

"And what did you do, Muff?" asks Mr. Manhug.

"Ah, that was the finishing card of all. I put the gas out, and was
walking off as quietly as could be, when some policemen who heard the row
outside met me at the door, and wouldn't let me pass. I said I would, and
they said I should not, until we came to scuffling, and then one of them
calling to some more, told them to take me to Bow-street, which they did;
but I made them carry me though. When I got into the office they had not
any especial charge to make against me, and the old bird behind the
partition said I might go about my business; but, as ill luck would have
it, another of the unboiled ones recognised me as one of the party who had
upset the wooden blocks--he knew me again by my d--d Taglioni."

"And what did they do to you?"

"Marched me across the yard and locked me up; when to my great consolation
in my affliction, I found Simpson, crying and twisting up his
pocket-handkerchief, as if he was wringing it; and hoping his friends
would not hear of his disgrace through the _Times_."

"What a love you are, Simpson!" observes Mr. Jones patronisingly. "Why,
how the deuce could they, if you gave a proper name? I hope you called
yourself James Edwards."

Mr. Simpson blushes, blows his nose, mutters something about his card-case
and telling an untruth, which excites much merriment; and Mr. Muff
proceeds:--

"The beak wasn't such a bad fellow after all, when we went up in the
morning. I said I was ashamed to confess we were both disgracefully
intoxicated, and that I would take great care nothing of the same
humiliating nature should occur again; whereupon we were fined twelve pots
each, and I tossed sudden death with Simpson which should pay both. He
lost and paid down the dibs. We came away, and here we are."

The mirth proceeds, and, ere long, gives place to harmony; and when the
cookery is finished, the bird is speedily converted into an anatomical
preparation,--albeit her interarticular cartilages are somewhat tough, and
her lateral ligaments apparently composed of a substance between leather
and caoutchouc. As afternoon advances, the porter of the dissecting-room
finds them performing an incantation dance round Mr. Muff, who, seated on
a stool placed upon two of the tressels, is rattling some halfpence in a
skull, accompanied by Mr. Rapp, who is performing a difficult concerto on
an extempore instrument of his own invention, composed of the Scotchman's
hat, who is still grinding in the Museum, and the identical thigh-bone
that assisted to hang Mr. Muff's patriarchal old hen!

       *       *       *       *       *


SIGNS OF THE TIMES.

"The times are hard," say the knowing ones. "Hard" indeed they must be
when we find a DOCTOR advertising for a situation as WET-NURSE. The
following appeared in the _Times_ of Wednesday last, under the head of
"Want Places." "As wet-nurse, a respectable person. Direct to DOCTOR
P----, C---- Common, Surrey." What next?

       *       *       *       *       *


THE "PUFF PAPERS."

CHAPTER II.


The Giant's Stairs.

(CONTINUED.)

"'Well,' says he, 'you're a match for me any day; and sooner than be shut
up again in this dismal ould box, I'll give you what you ask for my
liberty. And the three best gifts I possess are, this brown cap, which
while you wear it will render you invisible to the fairies, while they are
all visible to you; this box of salve, by rubbing some of which to your
lips, you will have the power of commanding every fairy and spirit in the
world to obey your will; and, lastly, this little _kippeen_[1], which at
your word may be transformed into any mode of conveyance you wish. Besides
all this, you shall come with me to my palace, where all the treasures of
the earth shall be at your disposal. But mind, I give you this caution,
that if you ever permit the brown cap or the _kippeen_ to be out of your
possession for an instant, you'll lose them for ever; and if you suffer
any person to touch your lips while you remain in the underground kingdom,
you will instantly become visible, and your power over the fairies will be
at an end.'

    [1] A little stick.

"'Well,' thinks I, 'there's nothing so very difficult in _that_.' So
having got the cap, the _kippeen_, and the box of salve, into my
possession, I opened the box, and out jumped the little fellow.

"'Now, Felix,' says he, 'touch your lips with the salve, for we are just
at the entrance of my dominions.'

"I did as he desired me, and, _Dharra Dhie!_ if the little chap wasn't
changed into a big black-looking giant, sitting afore my eyes on a great
rock.

"'Lord save us!' says I to myself, 'it's a marcy and a wondher how he ever
squeezed himself into that weeshy box.' 'Why thin, Sir,' says I to him,
'maybe your honour would have the civilitude to tell me your name.'

"'With the greatest of pleasure, Felix,' says he smiling; 'I'm called
Mahoon, the Giant.'

"'Tare an' agers! are you though? Well, if I thought'--but he gave me no
time to think; for calling on me to follow him, he began climbing up the
_Giant's Stairs_ as asy as I'd walk up a ladder to the hay-loft. Well, he
was at the top afore you could cry 'trapstick,' and it wasn't long till I
was at the top too, and there we found a gate opening into the hill, and a
power of lords and ladies waiting to resave Mahoon, who I larned was their
king, and who had been away from his kingdom for twenty years, by rason of
his being shut up in the box by some great fairy-man.

"Well, when we got inside the gates, I found myself in a most beautiful
city, where nobody seemed to mind anything but diversion. The music was
the most illigant thing you ever hard in your born days, and there wasn't
one less than forty Munster pipers playing before King Mahoon and his
friends, as they marched along through great broad streets,--a thousand
times finer than Great George's-street, in Cork; for, my dears, there was
nothing to be seen but goold, and jewels, and guineas, lying like sand
under our feet. As I had the little brown cap upon my head, I knew that
none of the fairy people could see me, so I walked up cheek by jowl with
King Mahoon himself, who winked at me to keep my toe in my brogue, which
you may be sure I did, and so we kept on until we came to the king's
palace. If other places were grand, this was ten times grander, for the
very sight was fairly taken out of my eyes with the dazzling light that
shone round about it. In we went into the palace, through two rows of most
engaging and beautiful young ladies; and then King Mahoon took his sate
upon his throne, and put upon his head a crown of goold, stuck all over
with di'monds, every one of them bigger than a sheep's heart. Of coorse
there was a dale of compliments past amongst the lords and ladies till
they got tired of them; and then they sat down to dinner, and,
_nabocklish!_ wasn't there rale givings-out there, with _cead mille
phailtagh_[2]. The whiskey was sarved out in tubs and buckets, for they'd
scorn to drink ale or porter; and as for the ating, there was laygions of
fat bacon and cabbage for the sarvants, and a throop of legs of mutton for
the king and his coort. Well, after we had all ate till we could hould no
more, the king called out to clear the flure for a dance. No sooner had he
said the word, than the tables were all whipped away,--the pipers began to
tune their chaunters. The king's son opened the ball with a mighty
beautiful young crather; but the mirinit I laid my eyes upon her I knew
her at once for a neighbour's daughter, one Anty Dooley, who had died a
few months before, and who, when she was alive, could beat the whole
county round at any sort of reel, jig, or hornpipe. The music struck up
'Tatter Jack Walsh,' and maybe it's she that didn't set, and turn, and
_thrush_ the boords, until the young prince hadn't as much breath left in
his body as would blow out a rushlight, and he was forced to sit down
puffing and panting, and laving his partner standing in the middle of the
room. I couldn't stand that by no means; so jumping upon the flure with a
shilloo, I flung my cap into the air:--the music stopped of a sudden, and
I then recollected that, by throwing off the cap, I had become visible,
and had lost one of Mahoon's three gifts.

    [2] A hundred thousand welcomes.

"Divil may care! as Punch said when he missed mass; I'll have my dance out
at any rate, so rouse up 'The Rakes of Mallow,' my beauties. So to it we
set; and when the _cailleen_ was getting tired well becomes myself, but I
threw my arm around her slindher waist and took such a smack of her sweet
lips, that the hall resounded with the report.

"'Fetch me a glass of the best,' says I to a little fellow who was hopping
about with a tray full of all sorts of dhrink.

"'Fetch it yourself, Felix Donovan. Who's your sarvant now?' says the
chap, docking up his chin as impident as a tinker's dog. I felt my fingers
itching to give the fellow a _polthogue_[3] in the ear; but I thought I
might as well keep myself paceable in a strange place--so I only gave him
a contemptible look, and turned my back upon him.

    [3] A thump.

"'Felix jewel!' whispered Anty in my ear. 'You've lost your power over the
fairies by that misfortunate kiss--'

"'_Diaoul!_--there's two of Mahoon's gifts gone already,' thinks I,

"'If you'll take my advice,' says Anty, 'you'll be off out of this as fast
as you can."

"'The sorra foot I'll stir out of this,' says I 'unless you come along
with me _ma callieen dhas_[4]--'

    [4] My pretty girl.

"I wish you could have seen the deluding look she gave me as leaning her
head upon my shoulder she whispered to me in a voice sweeter than music of
a dream,

"'Felix dear! I'll go with you all the world over, and the sooner we take
to the road the better. Steal you out of the door, and I'll follow you in
a few minutes.'

"Accordingly I sneaked away as quietly as I could; they were all too busy
with their divarsions to mind me--and at the door I met Anty with her
apron full of goold and diamonds.

"'Now,' said she, 'where's the _kippeen_ Mahoon gave you?'

"'Here it is safe enough,' I answered, pulling it out of my breeches
pocket.

"'Well, now tell it to become a coach-and-four.'

"I did as she desired me--and in a moment there was a grand coach and four
prancing horses before us. You may be sure we did not stand admiring very
long, but both stepped in, and away we drove like the wind,--until we came
to a high wall; so high that it tired me to look to the top of it.

"'Step out, now,' says she, 'but mind not to let go your held of the
coach, and tell it to change itself into a ladder.'

"I had my lesson now; the coach became a ladder, reaching to the top of
the wall; so up we mounted, and descended on the other side by the same
means. There was then before us a terrible dark gulf over which hung such
a thick fog that a priest couldn't see to bless himself in it.

"'Call for a winged horse,' whispered Anty.

"I did so, and up came a fine black horse, with a pair of great wings
growing out of his back, and ready bridled and saddled to our hand. I
jumped upon his back, and took Anty up before me; when, spreading out his
wings, he flew--flew, without ever stopping until he landed us safe on the
opposite shore. We were now on the banks of a broad river.

"'This,' said Anty, 'is our last difficulty.'

"The horse was changed into a boat, and away we sailed with a fair breeze
for the opposite shore, which, as we approached, appeared more beautiful
than any country I had ever seen. The shore was crowded with young people
dancing, singing, and beckoning us to approach. The boat touched the land;
I thought all my troubles were past, and in the joy of my heart I leaped
ashore, leaving Anty in the boat; but no sooner had my foot parted from
the gunwale than the boat shot like an arrow from the bank, and drifted
down the current. I saw my young bride wringing her fair hands, weeping at
if her heart would break, and crying--

"'Why did you quit the boat so soon, Felix? Alas, alas! we shall never
meet again!' and then with a wild and melancholy scream she vanished from
my sight. A dizziness came over my senses, I fell upon the ground in a
dead faint, and when I came to myself--I found myself all alone in my
boat, with three tundhering big conger-eels fast upon my lines. And now,
neighbours, you have all my story about the _Giant's Stairs_."

       *       *       *       *       *


DRAW IT GENTLY.

Joseph Hume's attention having been drawn to the great insecurity of
letter envelopes, as they are now constructed, has submitted to the
Post-master-General a specimen of a new safety envelope. He states that
the invention is entirely his own, and that he has applied the principle
with extraordinary success in the case of his own breeches-pocket, from
which he defies the most "artful dodger" in the world to extract anything.
We can add our testimony to the _un-for-giving_ property of Joe's monetary
receptacle, and we trust that his excellent plan may be instantly adopted.
At present there is immense risk in sending inclosures through the
Post-office; for all the letter-carriers are aware that there is nothing
easier than

[Illustration: DRAWING A COVER.]

       *       *       *       *       *


FASHIONABLE MOVEMENTS.

Yesterday Paddy Green, Esquire, called at "The Great Mogul," where he
played two games at bagatelle, and went "Yorkshire" for a pot of dog's
nose. He smoked a short pipe home.

On Tuesday Charles Mears, I.M., accompanied by Jeremiah Donovan, called at
the residence of Paddy Green, Esquire, in Vere-street, to inquire after
the health of Master P. Green.

Master James Marc Anthony George Finch has succeeded Bill Jenkins as
errand-boy at the butter-shop in Great Wild-street. This change had long
been expected in the neighbourhood.

On Friday Paddy Green, Esquire, did not rise till the evening. A slight
disposition to the prevailing epidemic, influenza, is stated to be the
cause. He drank copiously of rum-and-water with a piece of butter in it.

On Thursday last the lady of Paddy Green, personally attended to the
laundry; a fortnight's wash took place, when Mrs. Briggs, the charwoman,
was in waiting. Mrs. P. Green, with her accustomed liberality, sent out
for a quartern of gin and a quarter of an ounce of brown rappee.

Charles Mears, I.M., and Jeremiah Donovan yesterday took a short walk and
a short pipe together.

It is confidently reported that at the close of the present Covent-Garden
season that Mr. Ossian Sniggers will retire from the stage, of which he
has been so long a distinguished ornament. We have it from the best
authority that he purposes going into the retail coal and tater line.

       *       *       *       *       *


LINES ON MISS ADELAIDE KEMBLE.

_By Sir Lumley Skeffington, Bart._

  _Supercelestial_ is the art she practises,
  Transcending far all other living actresses;
  Her father's talent--mother's grace--compose
  This Stephen's figure, with John's Roman nose.

       *       *       *       *       *


PUNCH'S LETTER-WRITER.

DEAR PUNCH! VENERABLE NOSEY!

By the bye, was Publius Ovidius _Nuso_ an ancestor of yours? Talking of
ancestors, why do the Ayrshire folks speak of theirs as _four bears_
(forbears), it sounds very ursine. But to our _muttons_, as my old French
master used to call it. Do you do anything in the classico-historical
line, for the Charivaresque enlightenment of the British public; if so,
here is a specimen of a work in that style, "done out of the original:"--

THE DEATH OF CÆSAR:

A TOUCH OF THE CLASSICAL IN THE VULGAR TONGUE.

When he beheld the hand of him he had so loved raised against him, Cæsar's
heart was filled with anguish, and uttering the deep reproach--"And thou,
too, Brutus!" he shrouded his face in his mantle, and fell at the foot of
Pompey's statue, covered with wounds. Thus, in the zenith of his glory,
perished Caius Julius Cæsar, the conqueror of the world, and the eloquent
historian of his own exploits; spiflicatus est (says my original), he was
done for: he got his gruel, and inserted his pewter in the stucco, B.C.
44.

Perhaps you may not receive the above; but "sticking his spoon in the
wall" reminds me of a hint I have to offer you. Did you ever see any
Apostle spoons--old things with saints carved on their handles, which used
to be presented, at christenings, &c. Now I think you might make your
fortune with His Royal Highness of Cornwall, on the occasion of his
christening, by getting together a set of spoons to present to him; and I
would suggest your selection of the most notorious _spoons_, such as the
delectable Saddler Knight, Peter Borthwick, Calculating Joey, _the_
Colonel, Ben D'Israeli, &c. You might even class them, putting Sir Andrew
Agnew in as a grave(y) spoon; a teetotal chief as a _tea_ spoon; Wakley,
being a _deserter_, as a _dessert_ spoon; D'Israeli, being so amazingly
soft, as a _pap_ spoon, &c. &c. Send them with Punch's dutiful
congratulations, and you will infallibly get knighted; but don't take a
baronetcy, my respectable friend, for I hear that, like my friend Sir
Moses, you are inclined to Judyism (Judaism)[5]. May the shadow of your
nose never be less; and Heaven send that you may take this up after
dinner! Farewell!

    [5] Have I "seen that line before?"

POLICHINICULUS.

*** Polichiniculus is a lucky fellow! We opened his letter after the
pleasant discussion of a boiled chicken.--_Ed. of "Punch."_

       *       *       *       *       *


CUPID'S BOW.

SIR JAMES GRAHAM was conversing the other day with D'Israeli on what he
designated "the _crooked_ policy of Lord Palmerston."

"What could you expect but a _warped understanding_," replied the Hebrew
Adonis, "from such

[Illustration: A PERFECT BEAU--(BOW)."]

       *       *       *       *       *


CERTAINLY NOT "BETTER LATE THAN NEVER."

SIR FIGARO LAURIE was condoling with Hobler on the loss of the baronetcy
by the late Lord Mayor.

Hobler replied that the loss of the title was not by the late Lord Mayor
but by the _late_ Prince of Wales. But, as he sagely added,

[Illustration: THERE'S MANY A SLIP, &c.]

Sir Peter has placed Hobler on Truefitt's free list.

       *       *       *       *       *


A SLIGHT CONTRAST!

"LOOK ON THIS PICTURE AND ON THIS!"

THE COUNTERFEIT PRESENTMENT OF

PRINCE ALBERT'S HOUNDS AND THE POOR IN THE SEVENOAKS UNION.

The _sleeping-beds_ which are occupied by the prince's beagles and her
Majesty's _dogs_ are IN FIVE COMPARTMENTS AT THE EXTREMITY OF THE
HOVELS--THE LATTER BEING WELL SUPPLIED WITH WATER AND PAVED WITH ASPHALTE,
THE BOTTOMS HAVING GOOD PALLS, TO ENSURE THEIR DRYNESS AND CLEANLINESS.
The hovels enter into three green yards, roomy and healthy. In the one at
the near end a rustic ornamental seat has been erected, from which her
Majesty and the prince are accustomed to inspect their favourites.

The boiling and distemper houses are now in course of erection, BUT
DETACHED FROM THE OTHER PORTION OP THE BUILDING!--_From the Sporting
Magazine, extracted in the Times of Dec. 3, 1841._

"I KNOW the lying-in ward; there is but ONE, which is small: another room
is used when required. There are two beds in the first. The walls, I
should say, were clean; but at that time they could not he cleansed, as it
was full of women. The room was very smoky and uncomfortable; the walls
were as clean as they could be under the circumstances. I have always felt
dissatisfied with the ward, and many times said it was the most
uncomfortable place in the house; it always looked dirty....

"There have been six women there at one time: two were confined in one
bed....

"It was impossible entirely to shut out the infection. I have known
FIFTEEN CHILDREN SLEEP in two beds!"--_From the sworn evidence of Mrs.
Elizabeth Gain, late matron, and Mr. Adams, late medical attendant, at the
Sevenoaks Union--extracted from the Times of Dec. 2, 1841._

       *       *       *       *       *


ON SNUFF, AND THE DIFFERENT WAYS OF _TAKING_ IT.

Snuff is a sort of freemasonry amongst those who partake of it.

Those who do not partake of it cannot possibly understand those who do. It
is just the same as music to the deaf--dancing to the lame--or painting to
the blind.

Snuff-takers will assure you that there are as many different types of
snuff-takers as there are different types of women in a church or in a
theatre, or different species of roses in the flower-bed of an
horticulturist.

But the section of snuff-takers has, in common with all social categories,
its apostates, its false brethren.

For as sure as you carry about with you a snuff-box, of copper, of
tortoise-shell, or of horn (the material matters absolutely nothing), you
cannot fail to have met upon your path the man who carries no snuff-box,
and yet is continually taking snuff.

The man who carries no snuff-box is an intimate nuisance--a hand-in-hand
annoyance--a sort of authorised Jeremy Diddler to all snuff-takers.

He meets you everywhere. The first question he puts is not how "you do?"
he assails you instantly with "Have you such a thing as a pinch of snuff
about you?"

It is absolutely as if he said, "I have no snuff myself, but I know _you_
have--and you cannot refuse me levying a small contribution upon it."

If it were only _one_ pinch; but it is two--it is four--it is eight; it is
all the week--all the month--it is all year round. The man who carries no
snuff box is a regular Captain Macheath--a licensed Paul Clifford--to
everyone that does. He meets you on the highway, and summonses you to stop
by demanding "Your snuff-box or your life?"

A man can easily refuse to his most intimate friend his purse, or his
razor, or his wife, or his horse; but with what decency can he refuse
him--or to his coolest acquaintance even--a pinch of snuff? It is in this
that the evil _pinches_.

The snuff-taker who carries no snuff-box is aware of this--and woe to the
box into which his fingers gain admission to levy the pinch his nose
distrains upon.

There is no man who has the trick so aptly at his fingers' ends of
absorbing so much in one given pinch, as the man who carries no snuff box.
The quantity he takes proves he is not given to _samples_.

Properly speaking he is the landlord of all the boxes in the kingdom.
Those who carry snuff-boxes are only his tenants; and hold them merely by
virtue of a _rack-rent_, under him.

He is a perpetual plunderer--a petty purloiner--a pinching petitioner _in
forma pauperis_--a contraband dealer in snuff. However, he is in general
noted for his social qualities. He is affable, mild, harmless,
insinuating, yielding, and submissive. He never fails to compliment you
upon your good looks, and wonders in deep interest where you buy such
excellent snuff. He agrees with you that Sir Peter Laurie is the first
statesman of the day, and flies into the highest ecstacies when he learns
that it is some of George the Fourth's sold-off stock. He even
acknowledges that Universal Suffrage is the only thing that can save the
nation, and affects to be quite astonished that he has left his box behind
him. He will beg to be remembered to your wife, and leaves you after
begging for "the favour of another pinch." Where is the man whose nature
would not be susceptible of a _pinch_ when invoked in the name of his
wife?

Goldsmith recommends a pair of boots, a silver pencil, or a horse of small
value, as an infallible specific for getting rid of a troublesome guest.
He always had the satisfaction to find he never came back to return them.

But with the man who carries no snuff-box this specific would lose its
infallibility. It would be folly to lend him your snuff-box, for at this
price snuff would lose all its flavour, all its perfume for him. The best
box to give him would be perhaps a box on the ear.

If he were obliged to buy his own snuff, it would give him no sensation.
The strongest would not make him sneeze, or wring from the sensibility of
his eyes the smallest tribute to its pungency. He would turn up his nose
at it, or, at the best, use it as sand-dust to receipt his washerwoman's
bills with.

These feelings aside, the man who carries no snuff-box is a good member of
society; that is to say, quite as good a one as the man who does carry a
snuff-box. He is in general a good friend (as long as he has the _entrée_
of your box), a good parent, a good tenant, a good customer, a good voter,
a good eater, a good talker, and especially a good judge of snuff. He
knows by one touch, by one sniff, by one _coup d'oeil_, the good from the
bad, the old from the new, the fragrant from the filthy, the colour which
is natural from the colour which is coloured. If any one should want to
lay in a stock of snuff, let him take the man who carries no snuff with
him: his _ipse dixit_ may be relied upon with every certainty. He will
choose it as if he were buying it for himself, and in return will never
forget to look upon it as a property he is entitled to fully as much as
you who have paid for it; for, in fact, would you be in possession of the
snuff if he had not chosen it for you?

As for his complaint, it is like hydrophilia; no remedy has as yet been
invented for it; and we can with comfortable consciences predict that, as
long as snuff is taken, and men continue to carry it about with them in
snuff-boxes, they are sure to be subject to the importunities of the man
who carries no snuff box.

       *       *       *       *       *


BUFFOON'S NATURAL HISTORY.

SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER, who, like Byron, (in this one instance only)
"wanted a hero," had the good fortune to lay his hands upon the history of
the celebrated George Barrington of picking-pocket notoriety. That worthy,
describing the progress he made for the good of his country, related some
strange particulars of a foreign bird, called the Secretary, or
Snake-eater, which Sir Edward, from his knowledge of the natural history
of his friend John Wilson Croker, declares to be the immediate connecting
link between the English Admiralty Secretary, or "Toad-eater."

       *       *       *       *       *


"NOT EXACTLY."

"Have you been much at sea?"

"Why no, _not exactly_; but my brother married an admiral's daughter!"

"Were you ever abroad?"

"No, _not exactly_; but my mother's maiden name was 'French.'"

       *       *       *       *       *


FASHIONS FOR DECEMBER.

    [A letter has found its way into our box, which was evidently
    intended for the Parisian _Courrier des Dames_; but as the
    month is so far advanced, we are fearful that the communication
    will be too late for the purposes of that fashionable journal. We
    have therefore with unparalleled liberality inserted it in PUNCH,
    and thus conferred an immortality on an ephemera! It is worthy of
    remark that the writer adopts the style of our foreign fashionable
    correspondents, who invariably introduce as much English as French
    into their communications.]


_Rue de Dyotte_,

_Derrière les Slommes à Saint Gilles_.


MON JOVIAL ANCIEN COQ.

_Les swelles de Londres_ have now determined upon the winter fashions,
subject only to such modifications as their wardrobes render imperative,
_et y vont comme des Briques_. Butchers' trays continue to be worn on the
shoulders; and sprats may be found very generally upon the heads of the
_poissonnières-faggeuses de la Porte de Billing_. Short pipes are much
patronised by architects' assistants, and are worn either in the hatband
or the side of the mouth, _et point d'erreur_. A few black eyes have been
seen _dans la Rookerie_; but these facial ornaments will not be general
until after boxing-day, _quand ils le deviendront bien forts_. Highlows
and anklejacks[6] are still patronised by _les imaginaires_[7] of both
sexes, the only alteration in the fashion being that the highlow is cut a
little more on the instep, and the anklejack has retrograded a trifle
towards the heel, with those _qui veulent le couper gras_. A great many
muslin caps are seen, frequently with a hole in the crown, through which
the hair protrudes, and gives a _très épiceux et soufflet-haut_
appearance. They are called _les Capoles des Sept-Dialles_.

    [6] For an elaborate description of these elegances, vide PUNCH.

    [7] The _Fancy_, we presume.--_Printer's Devil_.

Others have no opening at the top, but two streamers of the same material
as the cap are allowed to play over the shoulders of _les immenses
Cartes_. The original colour of these _capotes_ is white; but they are
only worn by _les grandes Cigarres_ when the white has been very much
rubbed off.

Furs are much worn, both by the male and female _magnifiques poussières_.
The latter usually carry them suspended from their apron-strings, and
appear to give the preference to hare and rabbit _mantelets_, though
sometimes domestic felines are denuded for the same purpose, _que puisse
m'aider, pomme-de-terre_. The gentlemen, on the other hand, carry their
furs at the end of a long pole, and towards Saturday-night a great number
_de petits pots_[8] may be seen enveloped in this costly _matériel_. The
fantails of the _chapeaux d'Adelphi_ are spread rather broader over the
shoulders, and are sometimes elevated behind, _quand ils veulent le faire
très soufflément_. Pewter brooches are still in great request, as are also
pewter-pots, which are used in the tap-rooms of some _des cribbes
particulièrement flamboyants-haut_.

    [8] Query mugs--_Anglicè_ faces?--_Printer's Devil_.

But I must _fermer ma trappe de pomme-de-terre, et promener mes crayons;
ainsi, adieu, mon joli tromp_.

_Votre chummi dévoué_,

_Jusques tout est bleu_,

ALPHONSE JAMBES D'ARAIGNEE.

       *       *       *       *       *


FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE.

A juvenile party, among whom we noticed the two Biggses, attended in
Piccadilly to inspect the sewer now being made. One of the workmen
employed threw up a quantity of the soil, intending no doubt to give an
opportunity to the party of inspecting its properties; but as it hit some
of them in the eye, they retreated rapidly.

The venerable square-keeper in Golden-square took his usual airing round
the railings yesterday, and afterwards partook of the pleasures of the
chase, by pursuing a boy into John-street. He was attended by his usual
_suite_ of children, who cheered him in his progress, following him as he
ran on, and turning back so as to precede him, when he abandoned the hunt
and resumed his promenade, which he did almost immediately.

Bill Bumpus walked for several hours in the suburbs yesterday. In order to
have the advantage of exercise, he carried a basket on his head, and was
understood to intimate in a loud tone that it contained sprats, which he
distributed to the humbler classes at a penny a plateful.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE HIGH-ROAD TO GENTILITY;

OR

MRS. WOULD-BE'S ADVICE TO HER DAUGHTER.

  Now, Charlotte, dear, attend to me,
    You know you're coming out,
  And in the best society
    Will shine, beyond a doubt.
  Things were not always so with us,--
    But let oblivion's seal
  For ever shut out former days--
    They were so ungenteel.

  And as for country neighbours, child,
    You must forget them all;
  And never visit any place
    That is not Park or Hall.
  But if you know a titled name,
    That knowledge ne'er conceal;
  And mention nothing in the world,
    Except it be genteel.

  But think no more of Henry, child;
    His love is pure, I know;
  He writes delightful verses too;
    But cannot be your _beau_.
  He never as at Almack's, sure,--
    From that there's no appeal;
  For neither gifts nor graces now
    Can make a man genteel.

  You know Lord Worthless,--Charlotte, would
    Not that be quite a match,
  If not so very often in
    The keeping of the watch?
  He paid some damages last year,
    Though slippery as an eel;
  But then such vices in a peer
    Are perfectly genteel.

  And you must cut the Worthies--they're
    No company for you;
  Though all of them are lovely girls,
    And very clever too.
  'Tis true, we found them kind, when all
    The world were cold as steel;
  'Tis true, they were your early friends;
    But, then, they're not genteel.

  There's Lady Waxwork, who, when dressed,
    Has nothing she can say;
  Miss Triffle of her lap-dog's tail
    Will chatter half the day.
  The Honourable Mr. Trick
    At cards can cheat or steal:--
  _These_ are the friends that suit us now,
    For oh! they're _so_ genteel!

  But, Charlotte, dear, avoid the Blues,
    No matter when, or how;
  For literature is quite beneath
    The higher classes now.
  Though Raphael paint, or Homer sing,
    Oh! never seem to feel;
  Young ladies should not have a soul,--
    It's really ungenteel.

       *       *       *       *       *


A NEW WINE.

SIR PETER LAURIE sent an order to a wine-merchant at the West End on
Tuesday last for "six dozen of the _best Ottoman Porte_."

       *       *       *       *       *


LOYALTY AND INSANITY.

"Half the day _at least_"--says the editor of the _Athenæum_--"we are _in
fancy_ at the Palace, taking _our turn_ of loyal watch by the cradle of
the heir-apparent; _the rest_ at our own firesides, in that mood of
_cheerful thankfulness_ which makes fun and frolic welcome!" Half the day,
_at least!_

A stroke of fancy--especially to a heavy man--is sometimes as discomposing
as a stroke of paralysis. Our friend of the _Athenæum_ is not to be
carried away by fancy, cost free: his imaginative watch at the Palace--for
who can doubt that for six hours _per diem_ he is in Buckingham
nursery?--has led him into the perpetration of various eccentricities
which, when we reflect upon the fortune he must have hoarded, and the
innate selfishness of our common nature, may possibly end in a commission
of lunacy. As juries are now-a-days brought together (especially as
Chartists abound), excessive loyalty may be returned--confirmed insanity.
It is, however, our duty as good citizens and fellow-journalists to
protest, in advance, against any such verdict; declaring that whatever may
be adduced by the unreflecting persons in daily intercourse with the
editor--that grave and learned scribe is in the enjoyment--of all the
sense originally vouchsafed to him. We know the stories that are in the
most unfeeling manner told to the disadvantage of the learned and
inoffensive gentleman; we know them, and shall not shrink from meeting
them.

It is said that for one hour a day "at least" since the birth of the
Prince the unfortunate gentleman has been invariably occupied folding and
refolding a copy of the _Athenæum_--now airing it and smoothing it
down--now unfolding and now folding it up again. Well, What of this? The
truth is, our poor friend has only been "taking his turn," arranging "in
fancy" the diaper of the royal nursery. That he should have selected a
copy of the _Athenæum_ as a type of the swaddling cloth bespeaks in our
mind the presence of great judgment. It is madness with very considerable
method.

A printer's devil--sent either for copy or a proof--deposes that our
friend seized him, and laying him in his lap, insisted upon feeding him
with his goose-quill, at the same time dipping that noisome instrument in
his ink-bottle. The said devil declares that with all his experience of
the various qualities of various inks used by gentlemen upon town, he
never met with ink at once so muddy and so sour as the ink of the
_Athenæum_. We do not deny the statement of the devil as to what he calls
the assault committed upon him; but the fact is, the editor was not in his
own study, but was "taking his turn" at the pap-spoon of the Duke of
CORNWALL!

Betty, the editor's housemaid, has given warning, declaring that she
cannot live with any gentleman who insists upon taking her in his arms,
and tossing her up and down as if she was no more than a baby; at the same
time making a chirruping noise with his mouth, and calling her "poppet"
and "chickabiddy." Well, we allow all this, and boldly ask, What of it? We
grant the "poppet;" we concede the "chickabiddy;" and then sternly inquire
if an excess of loyalty is to impugn the reason of the most ratiocinative
editor? Does not the thing speak for itself? If BETTY were not a fool, she
would know that her master--good, regular man!--meant nothing more than,
under the auspices of Mrs. LILLY, to dandle the Duke of CORNWALL.

A taxgatherer, calling upon the editor for the Queen's taxes, could get
nothing out of our respected friend, but "Ride a cock-horse to Bamberry
Cross!" If taxgatherers were not at once the most vindictive and the most
stupid of men (it is said Sir ROBERT has ordered them to be very
carnivorous this Christmas), the fellow would never have called in a
broker to alarm our excellent coadjutor, but would at once have seen that
the genius of the _Athenæum_ was taking his turn in Buckingham Palace,
singing a nursery _canzonetta_ to the Duke of CORNWALL!

And is it for these, to us beautiful evidences of an absorbing loyalty--of
a feeling that is true as truth, for if it was a mere conventional flame
we should take no note of it--that the editor of the _Athenæum_, a most
grave, considerate gentleman, should be cited to Gray's-inn Coffee-house,
and by an ignorant and unimaginative mob of jurymen voted incapable of
writing reviews upon his own books, or the books of other people?

The question that we would here open is one of great and social political
importance. There is an end of personal liberty if the enthusiasm of
loyalty is to be visited as madness. For our part, we have the fullest
belief in the avowal of the poor man of the _Athenæum_, that for half a
day he is--in fancy--watching the little Prince in Buckingham nursery; and
yet we see that men are deprived of enormous fortunes (we tremble for the
copyright of the _Athenæum_) for indulging in stories, with equal
probability on the face of them. For instance, a few days since WEEKS, a
Greenwich pensioner, (being suddenly rich, the reporters call him _Mister_
WEEKS,) was fobbed out of 120,000l. for having boasted (among other
things) that he had had children by Queen ELIZABETH (by the way, the
virginity of Royal BETSY has before been questioned)--that he intended to
marry Queen VICTORIA, and that, in fact, not GEORGE THE THIRD but WEEKS
THE FIRST was the father of Queen CHARLOTTE'S offspring. Now, what is all
this, but loyalty _in excess_? Is it not precisely the same feeling that
takes the editor of the _Athenæum_ half of every day from his family,
spellbinding him at the cradle of the Duke of CORNWALL? Cannot our readers
just as easily believe the pensioner as the editor? We can.

"He told me he was going to marry the Queen" (thus speaks Sir R. DOBSON,
chief medical officer of Greenwich Hospital, of poor WEEKS), "and _I had
him cupped_ and treated as an insane patient!" Can the editor hope to
escape blood-letting and a shaven head? "He told me he was going to dine
to-day at Buckingham Palace." Thus spoke WEEKS. "Half the day at least we
are in fancy at the Palace;" thus boasteth the _Athenæum_. The pensioner
is found "incapable of managing himself or his affairs:" the editor
continues to review books and write articles! "He (WEEKS) also said he had
once horse-whipped a lion until it became afraid of him!" Where is
CARTER--where VAN AMBURGH, if not in Bedlam? Lucky, indeed, is it for the
editor of the _Athenæum_ that his weekly miscellany (wherein he _thinks_
he sometimes horse-whips lions) is not quite worth 120,000l. Otherwise,
certain would be his summons to Gray's-inn.

We have rejoiced, as beseemed us, at the birth of the little Prince; it
now becomes our grave moral duty to read a lesson of forbearance to those
enthusiastic people who--especially if they have money--may by an excess
of the principle of loyalty put in peril their personal freedom. Let them
not take confidence from the safety enjoyed by the _Athenæum_ editor--the
poverty of the press may protect him. If, however, he and other
influential wizards of the broad sheet, succeed in making loyalty not a
rational principle, but a mania--if, day by day, and week by week, they
insist upon deifying poor infirm humanity, exalting themselves in their
own conceit, in their very self-abasement--they may escape an individual
accusation in the general folly. When we are all mad alike--when we all,
with the editor of the _Athenæum_, take our half-day's watch at the little
Prince's cradle--when every man and woman throughout the empire believe
themselves making royal pap and airing royal baby-linen--then, whatever
fortune we may have we may be safe from the fate of poor WEEKS, the
Greenwich pensioner, who, we repeat, is most unjustly confined for his
notions of royalty, seeing that many of our contemporaries are still left
at liberty to write and publish. Poor dear little PRINCE! if fed and
nourished from your cradle upwards upon such stuff as that pressed upon
you since your birth, what deep, what powerful sympathies will be yours
with the natures of your fellow-men--what lofty notions of kingly
usefulness, and kingly duty!

It may be that certain writers think they best oppose the advancing spirit
of the time--questioning as it does the "divinity" that hedges the
throne--by adopting the worse than foolish adulation of a by-gone age. In
a silly flippant book just published--a thing called _Cecil_--the author
speaks of the first appearance of VICTORIA in the House of Lords. He
says--

"An unaccountable feeling _of trust_ rose in my bosom. I speak it not
profanely--[when a writer says this, be sure of it that, as in the present
case, he goes deep as he can in profanation]--when I say _that the idea of
the yet unknown Saviour_, a child among the Doctors of the Temple,
occurred spontaneously to my mind!"

Now this book has been daubed with honey; the writer has been promised "an
European reputation" (Madame LAFFARGE has a reputation equally extensive),
and he is at this moment to be found upon drawing-tables, whose owners
would scream--or affect to scream--as at an adder, at SHELLEY. Nay,
Shelley's publisher is found guilty of blasphemy in the Court of Queen's
Bench; and that within these few months. We should like to know Lord
Denman's opinions of Mr. BOONE. What would he say of Queen Victoria being
compared to the Redeemer--of Lord LONDONDERRY, _et hoc genus omne_, being
"Doctors of the Temple?"

A writer in the _Almanach des Gourmands_ says, in praise of a certain
viand, "this is a dish to be eaten on your knees." There are writers who,
with, goose-quill in hand, never approach royalty, but they--write upon
their knees!

Q.

       *       *       *       *       *


PUNCH'S PENCILLINGS.--No. XXII.

[Illustration: JACK CUTTING HIS NAME ON THE BEAM.]

       *       *       *       *       *


PUNCH'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE.

INTERNATIONAL GEOGRAPHY.

The Fleet is a very peculiar isolated kingdom, bounded on the north by the
wall to the north or north wall; on the south, by the wall to the south or
south wall; on the east, by the wall to the east or east wall; and on the
west, by the wall to the west or west wall. The manners and habits of the
natives are marked with many extraordinary peculiarities; and some of the
local customs are of an exceedingly interesting character.

The derivation of the word "Fleet" has caused many controversies, and we
believe is even now involved in much mystery, and subject to much dispute.

Some commentators have endeavoured to establish an analogy between the
words "_fleet_" and "fast," with the view of showing that these being
nearly synonymous terms, "the fleet is a corruption from the fast, or keep
_fast_." Others again contend the origin to be purely nautical, inasmuch
as this country, like the ships in war time, is mostly peopled with
_pressed men_. While a third class argue that the name was originally one
of warning, traditionally handed down from father to son by the
inhabitants of the surrounding countries (with whom this land has never
been in high favour), and that the addition of the letter _T_ renders the
phrase perfect, leaving the caution thus, _Flee-it_--now contracted and
perverted into the commonly used term of _Fleet_.

As we are only the showmen about to exhibit "the lions and the dogs," we
merely put forward these deductions, and tell our readers they are welcome
to choose "which_h_ever they please, _h_our little dears!" while we will
at once proceed to describe the manners and habits of the natives.

One great peculiarity in connexion with this strange people is, that the
inhabitants are, from the first moment of their appearance, invariably
adults; and we can positively assert the almost incredible fact, that no
_bonâ fide_ occupant of these realms was ever seen in any part of their
domain in the hands of a nurse, enveloped in the long clothes worn by many
of the infants of the surrounding nations. Like the Spartan youths, all
these people undergo a long course of training, and exceed the age of
one-and-twenty before they are deemed worthy of admission into the ranks
of these singular hordes. They have no actual sovereign, but merely two
traditionary beings, to whom they bow with most abject servility. These
imaginary potentates are always alluded to under the fearful names of
"John Doe and Richard Roe;" though they are never seen, still their edicts
are all-powerful, their commands extending to the most distant regions,
and carrying captivity and caption-fees wherever they go. These _firmans_
are entrusted to the charge of a peculiar race of beings, commonly called
officers to the sheriff. There is something exceedingly interesting in the
ceremonious attendant upon the execution of one of these potent fiats: the
manner is as follows. Having received the orders of "John Doe and Richard
Roe," they proceed to the residence of their intended captive, and with
consummate skill, like the Eastern tellers of tales, commence their
business by the repetition of some ingenious story (called in the language
of the captured, _lie_), wherein the Bumme Bayllyffe (such is their title)
artfully represents himself "as a cousin from the country," an "uncle from
town," or some near and dear long expected and anxiously-looked-for
returned-from-abroad friend. Should their endeavours fail in procuring the
desired interview, they frequently have resort to the following practice.
With the right-hand finger and thumb they open a small aperture in the
side of a species of garment, generally manufactured from drab broadcloth,
in which they encase their lower extremities, and having thrust their hand
to the very bottom of the said opening, they produce a peculiarly musical
sound by jingling various round pieces of white money, which so entrances
the feelings of the domestic with whom they are discoursing, that his eyes
become fixed upon the hand of the operater the moment the sound ceases and
it is withdrawn. The Bumme Bayllyffe then winketh his right eye, and with
great rapidity depositeth a curious-looking coin, of the value of five
shillings, in the hand of the domestic, who thereupon pointeth with his
dexter thumb over his left shoulder to a small china closet, in which the
enemy of John Doe and Richard Roe is found, his Wellington boots sticking
out of the hamper, under the straw in which the rest of his person is
deposited.

The Bumme Bayllyffe having called him loudly by his name, showeth his
writ, steppeth up, and tappeth him once gently upon the shoulder,
whereupon the ceremony is completed, and the future inmate of the Fleet
departeth with the Bumme Bayllyffe.

The first thing that attracts the attention of the captured of John Doe
and Richard Roe is the great care with which the entrance to his new
country is guarded. Four officials of the warden or minister of the said
John and Richard alternately remain in actual possession of that
interesting pass, to each of whom the new-comer submits his face and
figure for actual and earnest inspection, for the reason that should the
said new arrival by any means pass their boundary, they themselves would
suffer much disgrace and obliquy; having undergone this inspection, he
then proceeds to the interior of these strange domains.

Walls! walls!! walls!!! meet him on every side; and by some strange manner
of judging the new-comer is immediately known as such.

The costume of the natives differs widely from the usually sported
habiliments of more extended nations; caps worn by small boys in other
climes here decorated the heads of the most venerable elders, and
peculiarly-cut dressing-gowns do duty for the discarded broadcloth of a
Stultz, a Nugee, or a Willis.

The new man's conformity with the various customs of the inmates is one of
the most curious facts on record. We have been favoured with the following
table or scale by which time regulates the gradual advancement to
perfection of a genuine "Fleety":--

_First Week._--Ring; union-pin; watch; straps; clean boots; ditto shirt;
shave; and light waistcoat.

_Second Week._--Slippers in passage; no straps to boots; rub on toe; dirty
hall; fresh dickey; black vest; two days' beard.--[_Exit ring_.]

_Third Week._--Full-bosomed stock; one bracer; indication of white chalk
on seat of duck trousers; blue striped shirt; no vest; shooting jacket;
small imperial.--[_Exeunt union-pin and watch._]

_Fourth Week._--White collar; blue shirt; slippers various; boots a little
over at heel; incipient moustache; silk pocket-handkerchief round neck;
and a fortnight's splashes on trousers.

_Fifth Week._--Red ochre outline of increased whiskers, flourishing
imperial, and chevaux-de-frise moustache; dirty shirt; French cap; Jersey
over-all; one slipper and a boot; meerschaum; dressing-gown; and principal
seat at the free and easy.

_Sixth._--Everything in the "_worser_ line;" called by christian name by
their bed-maker; hold their tongues, in consideration of three weeks'
arrears, at four shillings a week; and then _all's done_, and the
inhabitant is complete.

       *       *       *       *       *


ELEGANT PHRASES.

There are people now-a-days who peruse with pleasure the works of Homer,
Juvenal, and other poets and satirists of the old school; and it is not
unlikely that centuries hence persons will be found turning back to the
pages of the writers of the present day (especially PUNCH), and we rather
just imagine they will be not a little puzzled and flabbergasted to
discover the meaning, or wit, of some of those elegant phrases and figures
of speech so generally used by this enlightened and reformed age! The
following brief elucidation of a few of these may serve for present
ignoramuses, and also for future inquirers.

_That's the Ticket for Soup._--Is one of the commonest, and originated
several years ago, we have discovered, after much study and research, when
a portion of the inhabitants of this wicked lower globe were suffering
under a malady, called by learned and scientific men "poverty," and were
supplied by the rich and benevolent with a mixture of hot water, turnips,
and a spice of beef, under the name of soup. There are two kinds of
tickets for soups in existence in London at present--

1. The Ticket for Turtle Soup, or a ticket to a Lord Mayor's Feast. It is
only necessary to add, these are in much request.

2. The Ticket for Mendicity Society Soup. Beggars and such-like members of
society monopolize these tickets; and it has lately been discovered by a
celebrated philanthropist that no respectable person was ever known to
make use of one of them. This is a remarkable fact, and worthy the
attention of the anti-monopolists. These tickets are bought and sold like
merchandise, and their average value in the market is about one halfpenny.

_How's your Mother._--This affectionate inquiry is generally coupled with

_Has she Sold her Mangle._--"Mangling done here" is an announcement which
meets the eye in several quarters of this metropolis; and when the last
census was taken by the author of the "Lights and Shadows of London Life,"
the important discovery was made that this branch of business is commonly
carried on by old ladies. The importance (especially to the landlord) of
the answer to this query is at once perceivable.

We scarcely expect a monument to be raised to PUNCH for these discoveries;
though if we had our deserts--but _verbum sap_.

       *       *       *       *       *


SONGS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL.--No. 13.

  Yes! we have said the word adieu!
    A blight has fallen on my soul!
  And bliss, that angels never knew,
    Is torn from me, by fate's control!
  And yet the tear I shed at parting,
  Was "all my eye and Betty Martin!"

  And _thou_ hast sworn that never more
    Thy heart shall bow to passion's spell;
  But ever sadly ponder o'er
    The anguish of our last farewell!
  Yet, as you still are in your teens--
  _I_ say, "tell that to the Marines!"

  And still perchance thy faithful heart
    May pine, and break, when I am gone!
  While bitter tears, unbidden, start,
    As oft thou musest--sad and lone!
  I've read such things in many a tale--
  But yet it's "very like a whale!"

       *       *       *       *       *


PEN AND PALETTE PORTRAITS.

(TAKEN FROM THE FRENCH.)

BY ALPHONSE LECOURT.


_Paris, Passage de l'Opéra, Escalier B. au 3ème._

MY DEAR PUNCH,

I salute you with reverence--I embrace you with affection--I thank you
with devout gratitude, for the many delightful moments I have enjoyed in
your society. I regularly read your "London Charivari:" it is
magnificent--superb! What wit--what _agacerie_--what exquisite badinage is
contained in every line of it! You are the veritable monarch of English
humour. Hail, then, great _fun-ambule_, PUNCH THE FIRST! Long may you
live, to flourish your invincible baton, and to increase the number of
your laughing subjects. Your "Physiology of the Medical Student" has been
translated, and the avidity with which it is read here has suggested to me
the idea that sketches of French character might be equally popular
amongst English readers. With this hope I send yon the commencement of a
Physiological and Pictorial Portrait of "THE LOVER." I have chosen him for
my leading character, because his madness will be understood by the whole
world. Love, _mon cher ami_, is not a local passion, it grows everywhere
like--but I am anticipating my subject, which I now commit to your hands.

With sentiments of the profoundest respect and esteem,

ALPHONSE LECOURT.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: PORTRAIT OF THE LOVER.]


CHAPTER I.

THE AUTHOR DEDICATES HIS WORK TO THE FAIRER HALF OF THE CREATION.

[Illustration: G]Gentle woman!--Beautiful enigma!--whose magnetic glances
and countless charms subdue man's sterner nature--to you I dedicate the
following pages. The subject on which I am about to treat is the gravest,
the lightest, the most decided, the most undefined, the most earthly, the
most spiritual, the saddest, and the gayest, the most individual, and at
the same time the most universal you can imagine. To you, ladies, I
address myself. You who form the keys on which the eternal and infinite
gamut of love has been run from creation's first hour till the present
moment--tell me how I may best touch the chords of your hearts? Come
around me, ye earthly divinities of every age, rank, and imaginable
variety! Buds of blushing sixteen, full-blown roses of thirty, haughty
court dames, and smiling city beauties, come like delicious phantoms, and
fill my mind with images graceful as your own forms, and melting as your
own hearts! Thanks, gentle spirits! ye have heard my call, and now,
inspired by you, I seize my pen, and give to my paper the thoughts which
crowd upon my mind.


WHAT IS LOVE?

It is easier to answer this question by a thousand instances, than by one
definition, which can comprehend them all. What is Love? It is anything
you please. It is a prism, through which the eye beholds the same object
in various colours; it is a heaven of bliss, or a hell of torture; a
thirst of the heart--an appetite which we spiritualize; a pure expansion
of the soul, but which sooner or later becomes metamorphosed into an
animal passion--a diamond statue with feet of clay. It is a dream--a
delirium, a desire for danger, and a hope of conquest; it is that which
everyone abjures, and everyone covets; it is the end, the great end, and
the only end of life. Love, in short, is a tyrannical influence which none
can escape; and however metaphysicians may define the passion, it appears
to me that it is wholly dependent on the mysterious

[Illustration: LAWS OF ATTRACTION.]


A FEW WORDS ABOUT YOUNG LADIES.

A young lady, I mean one who has but recently thrown aside her dolls, is a
bashful blushing little puppet, who only acts, speaks, and moves as mama
directs. She is a statue of flesh and blood, not yet animated by the
Promethean fire--a chrysalis, which may one day become a beautiful
butterfly, fluttering on silken wing amidst a crowd of adorers; but she is
yet only a chrysalis, pale and cold, and wrapped up in a thousand
conventional restrictions, like a mummy in its swathes.

The _very_ young lady is usually prodigiously careful of her little self:
she regards men as her natural enemies. Poor innocent!--This absurdity is
the fault of her education. They have made her believe that love is the
most abominable, execrable, infernal thing in existence. They have taught
her to lie and to dissimulate her most innocent emotions. But the time is
not far distant when the natural impulses of her heart will break down the
barriers that hypocrisy has placed around her. Woman was formed to love:
she must obey the imperious law of her being, and will love the moment her
inspirations for the _belle passion_ become stronger than her reason. I
may add, also, that when a young lady discovers a tendency this way, it
may be safely conjectured the object on which she will bestow her favour
is not very distant.


THE AUTHOR'S DIVISION OF HIS SYSTEM.

It has been a long-established axiom that there is but one great principle
of love; but then it assumes various phases, according to the thousands of
circumstances under which it is exhibited, and which, to speak in the
language of philosophy, it would be impossible to synthetise. Time, place,
age, the very season of the year, the ruling passion, peace or war,
education, the instincts of the heart, the health of the body and the mind
(if it be possible for the latter to be in a sane state when we fall in
love), the buoyancy of youth or the decrepitude of old age,--these, and
numerous other causes which I cannot at present enumerate, serve to modify
to infinity the form and character of the sentiment. Thus we do not love
at eighteen as we do at forty, nor in the city as we do in the country,
nor in spring as we do in autumn, nor in the camp as we do in the court;
nor does the ignorant man love like a learned one; the merchant does not
love like the lawyer; nor does the latter love like the doctor. It is upon
these different phases in the character of love that I have founded my
system. Next week I shall endeavour to describe some of the traits which
distinguish "The Lover." Till then, fair readers,--I remain your devoted
slave.

WITNESS MY

[Illustration: HAND AND SEAL.]

[Illustration: Alph. Lecourt]

       *       *       *       *       *


GRANT'S MEDITATIONS AMONG THE COFFEE-CUPS.

We had long considered ourselves the funniest dogs in Christendee; and, in
the plenitude of our vanity, imagined that we monopolised the attention
and admiration of the present and the future. We expected to be deified,
and thus become the founders of a new mythology. PUNCH must be immortal!
But how shorn of his pristine splendour--how denuded of his fancied
glories! for the _John Bull_ has discovered--

GRANT'S LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF LONDON LIFE.

Wretched as we must be at this reflection, we generously resort to--our
scissors, and publish our own discomfiture.

In alluding to the author's description of the London dining-room, the
_John Bull_ remarks:--

It will bring comfort to the savage bosoms of the late Ministry, for whose
especial information we must make a few more extracts, concerning
coffee-houses, or shops, as they are mostly termed.

COFFEE SHOPS.

The second class of coffee-houses, and those I have particularly in my
eye, are altogether different from those I have just mentioned. The prices
are remarkably moderate in most of these places; the charge is no more
than three-halfpence for half a pint of coffee, or _threepence for a whole
pint_. The price of half a pint of tea is twopence, _of a whole pint
fourpence_. If you simply ask bread to your tea or coffee, two large
slices, well buttered, are brought you, for which you are charged
twopence. Or should you prefer having a penny roll, or any other sort of
bread, you can have it at the same price as at the baker's.

In most coffee-houses, you may also have chops or steaks for dinner. If
the party be a _rigid economist(!)_ he may, as regards some of these
_establishments_, purchase his steak or chop himself, and it will be
prepared gratuitously for him; but if that be too much trouble for him to
take, and he prefers ordering it at once, he will get, in many houses, his
chop with bread and potatoes with it for sixpence, and his steak for
ninepence or tenpence.

These coffee-houses have many advantages over hotels, besides the great
difference in the prices charged. In the first place, there is not so much
_formality_ or _affected dignity_ about them, and they are far better
provided with means of rational amusement; and the promptitude with which
a customer is served is really surprising.

Are not these passages declarations of the individual? Winding himself up
with twopenny-worth of cheese! Pleading for the additional penny for the
waitress, whose personal charms and obliging disposition must be
considered to extort the amount! And above all, unable to conceive any
motive, except aversion to trouble, for disliking to carry "his chop" upon
a skewer through the streets of London. How every line revels in the
recollection of having dined, and speaks how seldom! while the
_well-buttered_ bread infers the usual fare. Still it is not meanly
written. There are a glorying and exultation in every word that redeem it,
and show the author is more to be envied than compassionated; though a
little further on we perceive the shifts to which his homeless state has
reduced him.

MEDITATION IN LONDON.

You can order, if you please, a cup of coffee without anything to it; and,
for so doing, you may sit if you wish for five or six hours in succession.

I have said that coffee-houses are excellent places for reading; I might
have added, for _meditation_ also. For unlike public-houses, there are no
noisy discussions and disputes in them. All is calm, tranquil, and
comfortable. The beverage, too, which is drank as a beverage, as I before
remarked in a previous chapter, _cheers, but not inebriates_.

The remarks are generally equally original, and the facts, no doubt in
some degree truths, are all alike humorous; the more so when the aspect of
the book and the names of the respectable publishers suggest the higher
class of readers to whom it is addressed. Little anecdotes are
interspersed, concerning Harriet, of Coventry-street, who didn't mind her
stops; and James, behind the Mansion-house, who knew everybody's appetite,
that enliven the descriptive portions of the work, which is in its very
inappropriateness the more amusing, and cannot be read without reaping
both information and instruction on topics which no other author would
have had the temerity to discuss.

But these are only words. Let PUNCH, the rival of this Caledonian
Asmodeus, do justice to the man whose "character is stamped on every page
(of his own), who yet is above pity; poor, yet full of enjoyment; humble,
yet glorious; ignorant, yet confident."

[Illustration: GRANT'S MEDITATIONS AMONG THE COFFEE-CUPS.]

       *       *       *       *       *


THE MONEY MARKET.

Tin is 14 per cwt. in London, and this, allowing a fraction for wear and
tear, gives an exchange of 94 36-27ths in favour of Hamburgh.

The money market is much easier this week, and bills (play-bills) were to
be had in large quantities. A large capitalist who holds turnpike tickets
to a large amount, caused much confusion by letting some pass from his
hands, when they flew about with alarming rapidity. Several persons seemed
desirous of taking them up, but a rush of bulls (from Smithfield) rendered
this quite impossible.

Whitechapel scrip was done at 000 _premium_; but in the course of the day
00000 discount was freely offered.

This was settling day, when many parties paid the scores they had been
running at the cook-shop opposite. There was only one defaulter, and as it
was not anticipated he would come up to the mark; for he had been chalking
up rather largely of late: nothing was said about it.

       *       *       *       *       *


A DICTIONARY FOR THE LADIES.

PUNCH,

Solicitous to maintain and enhance that reputation for gallantry towards
his fair readers which it has ever been his pride to have merited, has
much pleasure, not unmixed with self-congratulation, in thus announcing to
the loveliest portion of the creation the immediate appearance of

A DICTIONARY ENTIRELY AND EXCLUSIVELY FOR THEIR USE;

in which the signification of every word will he given in a strictly
feminine sense, and the orthography, as a point of which ladies like to be
properly independent, will be studiously suppressed. The whole to be
compiled and edited by

MADAME PUNCH.

To which will be appended a little Manual addressed confidentially by
PUNCH himself to the Ladies, and entitled

TEN MINUTES' ADVICE ON THE CARE AND USE OF A HUSBAND;

or "what to ask, and how to insist upon it, so that the obstreperous
bridegroom may become a meek and humble husband."

SPECIMEN OF THE WORK.

_Husband_.--A person who writes cheques, and dresses as his wife directs.

_Duck_, _in ornithology_.--A trussed bridegroom, with his giblets under his
arm.

_Brute_.--A domestic endearment for a husband.

_Marriage_.--The only habit to which women are constant.

_Lover_.--Any young man but a brother-in-law.

_Clergyman_.--One alternative of a lover.

_Brother_.--The other alternative.

_Honeymoon_.--A wife's opportunity.

_Horrid_; _Hideous_.--Terms of admiration elicited by the sight of a lovely
face anywhere but in the looking-glass.

_Nice_; _Dear_.--Expressions of delight at anything, from a baby to a
barrel-organ.

_Appetite_.--A monstrous abortion, which is stifled in the kitchen, that
it may not exist during dinner.

_Wrinkle_.--The first thing one lady sees in another's face.

_Time_.--What any lady remarks in a watch, but what none detect in the
gross.

       *       *       *       *       *


SOUP, A LA JULIEN.

A correspondent of the _Sunday Times_ proposes to raise ten thousand for
the benefit of the labouring classes, in the following manner:--

"Upon a _prima facie_ view, my suggestion may appear impracticable, but I
am sure the above amount could be raised for the benefit of the labouring
classes by one effort of royalty--an effort that would make our valued
Queen invaluable, and, at the same time, afford the Ministry an
opportunity of making themselves popular in the cause of their country's
good. Westminster Hall is acknowledged to be the largest room in the
empire, and, with very little expense, might be fitted up with a temporary
throne, &c., for promenade concerts, for one, two, or three, days. All the
vocal and instrumental talent of the day would be obtained gratis, and Her
Most Gracious Majesty's presence, for only two hours on each day, with the
admission tickets at one guinea, would produce more money than I have
mentioned." Would the above amiable philanthropist favour us with his
likeness? We imagine it would be a splendid

[Illustration: FANCY PORTRAIT OF HOOKEY WALKER.]

       *       *       *       *       *


POLITICAL INTELLIGENCE.

SIR ROBERT PEEL was observed to put a penny into the hands of the man at
the crossing in Downing-street. It is anticipated, from this trifling
circumstance, that _sweeping_ measures will be introduced on the
assembling of Parliament.

A deputation from the marrow-bones and cleavers waited on Lord Stanley at
the Treasury. His lordship listened attentively for some minutes, and then
abruptly left the apartment in which he had been sitting.

We understand that Colonel Sibthorp intends proposing an economical plan
of church extension, that is to cost nothing to the public; for it
suggests that churches should be built of Indian rubber, by which their
extension would become a matter of the greatest facility.

It is rumoured that the deficiency in the revenue is to be made up by a
tax on the incomes of literary men; and a per-centage on the profits of
_Martinuzzi_ will first be levied by way of experiment. Should it succeed,
a duty will be laid on the produce of _The Cloak and the Bonnet._

       *       *       *       *       *


THE LATE PROMOTIONS.

The whole of the police force take one step forward, on account of the
late very liberal brevet.

Sergeant Snooks, of the Royal Heavy Highlows, to be raised to the Light
Wellingtons.

Policemen K 482,611, to be restored to the staff by having his staff
restored to him, which had been taken from him for misconduct.

Corporal Smuggins, 16th Foot, to be Sergeant by purchase, _vice_ Buggins,
arrested for debt.

All the _post_ captains, who were formerly Twopennies, will take the rank
of Generals.

In the Thames Navy, 2d mate Simpkins, of the _Bachelor_, to be 1st mate,
_vice_ Phunker, fallen overboard and resigned.

All the men who are above the age of 100, and are in the actual discharge
of duty as policemen, are to be immediately superannuated on half-pay--a
liberal arrangement, prompted, it is believed, by the birth of the Prince
of Wales.

       *       *       *       *       *


PUNCH'S THEATRE.

NORMA, OSSIAN, AND PAUL BEDFORD.

A vestal virgin with a husband and two children, a Roman Lothario, with an
Irish friend, a Druidical temple, a gong, and an _auto-da-fé_, mix up
charmingly with Bellini's quadrille-like music to form a pathetic opera;
and sympathetic _dilettanti_ weep over the woes of "Norma," because they
are so exquisitely portrayed by Miss Kemble, in spite of the subject and
the music. Such, indeed, is the power of this lady's genius--which is shed
like a halo over the whole opera--that nobody laughs at the broad Irish in
which _Flavius_ delivers himself and his recitative; few are risibly
affected by the apathetic, and often out-of-tune, roarings of
_Pollio_:--than which stronger testimony could not be cited of the triumph
of Miss Kemble; for solely by her influence do those who go to
Covent-Garden to grin, return delighted.

But Apollo himself could not charm away the rich fun that pervades the
English adaptation; nor the modest humour of its preface. It has been,
hitherto, one characteristic of the lyric drama to consist of verse; rhyme
has been thought not wholly dispensable. Those, however, who are "familiar
with the writings of Ossian," (and the works of the Covent-Garden adapter),
will, according to the preface, at once see the fallacy of this. Rhyme is
mere "jingle,"--rhythm, rhodomontade,--metre, monstrous,--versification,
villanous,--in short, Ossian did not write poetry, neither does this
learned prefacier--so it's all nonsense!

To burlesque such a work as "Norma," then, is to paint the lily, to gild
refined gold, to caricature Lord Morpeth, or to attempt to improve PUNCH.
Yet the opportunity was too tempting to be wholly overlooked, and a hint
having been dropped in one of our "Pencillings," an Adelphi scribe has
acted upon it. An enlarged edition of the work may, therefore, now be had
at half-price. A heroine of six foot two or three in her sandals, with a
bass voice, covers the stage with tremendous strides, and warbles out "her
wood-notes" (being a Druidess she worships the _oak_) "wild," with a
volume of voice which silences the trombone, and makes the ophecleide
sound asthmatic. In short, the great feature is Mr. Paul Bedford. The
children he brings forward are worthy of their parentage. _Pollio_ is made
a most killing Roman _roué_ by Mrs. Grattan; but _Norma's_ attendant does
not speak Irish half so richly as the Covent-Garden _Flavius_.

But, above all, commend we Mr. Wright's _Adelgeisa_. It is a masterpiece;
all the airs and graces of the _prima donna_ he imitates with a true
spirit of burlesque. As to his singing, it astonished everybody, and so
did the introduction of "All round my Hat,"--a most unnecessary
interpolation, for the original music is quite as droll.

       *       *       *       *       *







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