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Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 1, December 18, 1841

Author: Various

Release date: February 7, 2005 [eBook #14941]
                Most recently updated: December 19, 2020

Language: English

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


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOLUME 1, DECEMBER 18, 1841 ***




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






PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 1.



FOR THE WEEK ENDING DECEMBER 18, 1841.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE PHYSIOLOGY OF THE LONDON MEDICAL STUDENT.

12.--OF THE COLLEGE, AND THE CONCLUSION.

[Illustration: O]Our hero once more undergoes the process of grinding
before he presents himself in Lincoln's-inn Fields for examination at the
College of Surgeons. Almost the last affair which our hero troubles
himself about is the Examination at the College of Surgeons; and as his
anatomical knowledge requires a little polishing before he presents
himself in Lincoln's-inn Fields, he once more undergoes the process of
grinding.

The grinder for the College conducts his tuition in the same style as the
grinder for the Hall--often they are united in the same individual, who
perpetually has a vacancy for a resident pupil, although his house is
already quite full; somewhat resembling a carpet-bag, which was never yet
known to be so crammed with articles, but you might put something in
besides. The class is carried on similar to the one we have already
quoted; but the knowledge required does not embrace the same multiformity
of subjects; anatomy and surgery being the principal points.

Our old friends are assembled to prepare for their last examination, in a
room fragrant with the amalgamated odours of stale tobacco-smoke,
varnished bones, leaky preparations, and gin-and-water. Large anatomical
prints depend from the walls, and a few vertebræ, a lower jaw, and a
sphenoid bone, are scattered upon the table.

"To return to the eye, gentlemen," says the grinder; "recollect the
Petitian Canal surrounds the Cornea. Mr. Rapp, what am I talking about?"

Mr. Rapp, who is drawing a little man out of dots and lines upon the
margin of his "Quain's Anatomy," starts up, and observes--"Something about
the Paddington Canal running round a corner, sir."

"Now, Mr. Rapp, you must pay me a little more attention," expostulates the
teacher. "What does the operation for cataract resemble in a familiar
point of view?"

"Pushing a boat-hook through the wall of a house to pull back the
drawing-room blinds," answers Mr. Rapp.

"You are incorrigible," says the teacher, smiling at the simile, which
altogether is an apt one. "Did you ever see a case of bad cataract?"

"Yes, sir, ever-so-long ago--the Cataract of the Ganges at Astley's. I
went to the gallery, and had a mill with--"

"There, we don't want particulars," interrupts the grinder; "but I would
recommend you to mind your eyes, especially if you get under Guthrie. Mr.
Muff, how do you define an ulcer?"

"The establishment of a raw," replies Mr. Muff.

"Tit! tit! tit!" continues the teacher, with an expression of pity. "Mr.
Simpson, perhaps you can tell Mr. Muff what an ulcer is?"

"An abrasion of the cuticle produced by its own absorption," answers Mr.
Simpson, all in a breath.

"Well. I maintain it's easier to say a _raw_ than all that," observes Mr.
Muff.

"Pray, silence. Mr. Manhug, have you ever been sent for to a bad incised
wound?"

"Yes, sir, when I was an apprentice: a man using a chopper cut off his
hand."

"And what did you do?"

"Cut off myself for the governor, like a two-year old."

"But now you have no governor, what plan would you pursue in a similar
case?"

"Send for the nearest doctor--call him in."

"Yes, yes, but suppose he wouldn't come?"

"Call him out, sir."

"Pshaw! you are all quite children," exclaims the teacher. "Mr. Simpson,
of what is bone chemically composed?"

"Of earthy matter, or _phosphate of lime_, and animal matter, or
_gelatine_."

"Very good, Mr. Simpson. I suppose you don't know a great deal a bout
bones, Mr. Rapp?"

"Not much, sir. I haven't been a great deal in that line. They give a
penny for three pounds in Clare Market. That's what I call popular
osteology."

"Gelatine enters largely into the animal fibres," says the leader,
gravely. "Parchment, or skin, contains an important quantity, and is used
by cheap pastry-cooks to make jellies."

"Well, I've heard of eating your _words_," says Mr. Rapp, "but never your
_deeds_."

"Oh! oh! oh!" groan the pupils at this gross appropriation, and the class
getting very unruly is broken up.

The examination at the College is altogether a more respectable ordeal
than the jalap and rhubarb botheration at Apothecaries' Hall, and _par
conséquence_, Mr. Muff goes up one evening with little misgivings as to
his success. After undergoing four different sets of examiners, he is told
he may retire, and is conducted by Mr Belfour into "Paradise," the room
appropriated to the fortunate ones, which the curious stranger may see
lighted up every Friday evening as he passes through Lincoln's-inn Fields.
The inquisitors are altogether a gentlemanly set of men, who are willing
to help a student out of a scrape, rather than "catch question" him into
one: nay, more than once the candidate has attributed his success to a
whisper prompted by the kind heart of the venerable and highly-gifted
individual--now, alas! no more--who until last year assisted at the
examinations.

Of course, the same kind of scene takes place that was enacted after going
up to the Hall, and with the same results, except the police-office, which
they manage to avoid. The next day, as usual, they are again at the
school, standing innumerable pots, telling incalculable lies, and singing
uncounted choruses, until the Scotch pupil who is still grinding in the
museum, is forced to give over study, after having been squirted at
through the keyhole five distinct times, with a reversed stomach-pump full
of beer, and finally unkennelled. The lecturer upon chemistry, who has a
private pupil in his laboratory learning how to discover arsenic in
poisoned people's stomachs, where there is none, and make red, blue, and
green fires, finds himself locked in, and is obliged to get out at the
window; whilst the professor of medicine, who is holding forth, as usual,
to a select very few, has his lecture upon intermittent fever so strangely
interrupted by distant harmony and convivial hullaballoo, that he finishes
abruptly in a pet, to the great joy of his class. But Mr. Muff and his
friends care not. They have passed all their troubles--they are regular
medical men, and for aught they care the whole establishment may blow up,
tumble down, go to blazes, or anything else in a small way that may
completely obliterate it. In another twelve hours they have departed to
their homes, and are only spoken of in the reverence with which we regard
the ruins of a by-gone edifice, as bricks who were.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our task is finished. We have traced Mr. Muff from the new man through the
almost entomological stages of his being to his perfect state; and we take
our farewell of him as the "general practitioner." In our Physiology we
have endeavoured to show the medical student as he actually exists--his
reckless gaiety, his wild frolics, his open disposition. That he is
careless and dissipated we admit, but these attributes end with his
pupilage; did they not do so spontaneously, the up-hill struggles and
hardly-earned income of his laborious future career would, to use his own
terms, "soon knock it all out of him;" although, in the after-waste of
years, he looks back upon his student's revelries with an occasional
return of old feelings, not unmixed, however, with a passing reflection
upon the lamentable inefficacy of the present course of medical education
pursued at our schools and hospitals, to fit a man for future practice.

We have endeavoured in our sketches so to frame them, that the general
reader might not be perplexed by technical or local allusions, whilst the
students of London saw they were the work of one who had lived amongst
them. And if in some places we have strayed from the strict boundaries of
perfect refinement, yet we trust the delicacy of our most sensitive reader
has received no wound. We have discarded our joke rather than lose our
propriety; and we have been pleased at knowing that in more than one
family circle our Physiology has, now and then, raised a smile on the lips
of the fair girls, whose brothers were following the same path we have
travelled over at the hospitals.

We hope with the new year to have once more the gratification of meeting
our friends. Until then, with a hand offered in warm fellowship,--not only
to those composing the class he once belonged to, but to all who have been
pleased to bestow a few minutes weekly upon his chapters,--the Medical
Student takes his leave.

       *       *       *       *       *


A CON. THAT OUGHT TO HAVE BEEN THE COLONEL'S.

When does a school-boy's writing-book resemble the Hero of Waterloo?--When
it's a _Well ink'd'un_ (Wellington).

       *       *       *       *       *


THE "PUFF PAPERS."

CHAPTER III.

On my next visit I found Mr. Bayles in full force, and loud in praise of
some eleemosynary entertainment to which he had been invited. Having
exhausted his subject and a tumbler of toddy at the same time, Mr. Arden
"availed himself of the opportunity to call attention to the next tale,"
which was found to be


A FATAL REMEMBRANCE.

I was subaltern of the cantonment main-guard at Bangalore one day in the
month of June, 182-. Tattoo had just beaten; and I was sitting in the
guard-room with my friend Frederick Gahagan, the senior Lieutenant in the
regiment to which I belonged, and manager of the amateur theatre of the
station.

Gahagan was a rattling, care-for-nothing Irishman, whose chief
characteristic was a strong propensity for theatricals and practical
jokes, but withal a generous, warm-hearted fellow, and as gallant a
soldier as ever buckled sword-belt. In his capacity of manager, he was at
present in a state of considerable perplexity, the occasion whereof was
this.

There chanced then to be on a visit at Bangalore a particular ally of
Fred's, who was leading tragedian of the Chowringhee theatre in Calcutta;
and it was in contemplation to get up Macbeth, in order that the aforesaid
star might exhibit in his crack part as the hero of that great tragedy.
Fred was to play Macduff; and the "blood-boltered Banquo" was consigned to
my charge. The other parts were tolerably well cast, with the exception of
that of Lady Macbeth, which indeed was not cast at all, seeing that no
representative could be found for it. It must be stated that, as we had no
actresses amongst us, all our female characters, as in the times of the
primitive drama, were necessarily performed by gentlemen. Now in general
it was not difficult to command a supply of smooth-faced young ensigns to
personate the heroines, waiting-maids, and old women, of the comedies and
farces to which our performances had been hitherto restricted. But Lady
Macbeth was a very different sort of person to Caroline Dormer and Mrs.
Hardcastle; and our _ladies_ accordingly, one and all, struck work,
refusing point blank to have anything to say to her.

The unfortunate manager, who had set his heart upon getting up the piece,
was at his wits' end, and had bent his footsteps towards the main guard,
to advise with me as to what should be done in this untoward emergency. I
endeavoured to console him as well as I could, and suggested, that if the
worst came to the worst, the part might be read. But, lugubriously shaking
his caput, Fred declared that would never do; so, after discussing
half-a-dozen Trichinopoly cheroots, with a proportionate quantum of brandy
_pani_, he departed for his quarters. "disgusted," as he said, "with the
ingratitude of mankind," whilst I set forth to go my grand rounds.

Next morning, having been relieved from guard, I had returned home, and
was taking my ease in my camp chair, luxuriously whiffing away at my
after-breakfast cheroot, when who should step gingerly into the room but
Manager Fred Gahagan. The clouds of the previous evening had entirely
disappeared from his ingenuous countenance, which was puckered up in the
most insinuating manner, with what I was wont to call his 'borrowing
smile;' for Fred was oftentimes afflicted with impecuniosity--a complaint
common enough amongst us subs;--and when the fit was on him, in the spirit
of true friendship, he generally contrived to disburthen me of the few
remaining rupees that constituted the balance of my last month's pay.

Fred brought himself to an anchor upon a bullock trunk, and, after my boy
had handed him a cheroot, and he had disgorged a few puffs of smoke, thus
delivered himself--

"This is a capital weed, Wilmot. I don't know how it is, but you always
manage to have the best tobacco in the cantonment."

"Hem," said I, drily. "Glad you like it."

"I say, Peter, my dear fellow," quoth he, "Fitzgerald, Grimes, and I, have
just been talking over what we were discussing last night, about Lady
Macbeth you know."

"Yes," said I, somewhat relieved to find the conversation was not taking
the turn I dreaded.

"Well, sir," continued Fred, plunging at once "in medias res,"and speaking
very fast, "and we have come to the conclusion that you are the only
person to relieve us from all difficulty on the subject; Fitzgerald will
take your part of Banquo; and you shall have Lady Macbeth, a character for
which every one agrees you are admirably fitted."

"I play Lady Macbeth!" cried I, "with my scrubbing-brush of a beard, and
whiskers like a prickly-pear hedge; why, you mast be all mad to think of
such a thing."

"My dear friend," remarked Gahagan mildly, "you know I have always said
that you had the Kemble eye and nose, and I'm sure you won't hesitate
about cutting off your whiskers when so much depends upon it; they'll soon
grow again you know, Peter; as for your dark chin that don't matter a
rush, as Lady Macbeth is a dark woman."

The reader will agree with me in thinking that friendship can sometimes be
as blind as love, when I say with respect to my "Kemble eye and nose,"
that the former has been from childhood affected with a decided tendency
to strabismus, and the latter bears a considerably stronger resemblance to
a pump-handle than it does to the classic profile of John Kemble or any of
his family.

"Lieutenant Gahagan," said I, solemnly, "do you remember how, some six
years ago at Hydrabad, when yet beardless and whiskerless, the only hair
upon my face being eyebrows and eyelashes, at your instigation and
'suadente diabolo,' I attempted to perform Lydia Languish in 'The Rivals?'
and hast thou yet forgotten, O son of an unsainted father, how my
grenadier stride, the fixed tea-pot position of my arms, to say nothing of
the numerous other solecisms in the code of female manners which I
perpetrated on that occasion, made me a laughing-stock and a by-word for
many a long day afterwards! All this, I say, must be fresh in your
recollection, and yet you have the audacity to ask me to expose myself
again in a similar manner."

"Pooh, pooh!" laughed Gahagan, "you were only a boy then, now you have
more experience in these matters; besides, Lydia Languish was a part quite
unworthy of your powers; Lady Macbeth is a horse of another colour."

"Why, man, with what face could I aver that

  'I have given suck, and know
  How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me.'

That would certainly draw tears from the audience, but they would be tears
of laughter, not sympathy, I warrant you. No, no, good master Fred, it
won't do, I tell you; and in the words of Lady Macbeth herself, I say--

  'What beast was't, then,
  That made you break this enterprise to me?'

And now oblige me by walking your body off, for I have got my yesterday's
guard report to fill up and send in, in default of which I shall be sure
to catch an 'official' from the Brigade-Major."

But Fred not only did not walk his body off, but harping on the same
string, pertinaciously continued to ply me with alternate arguments and
intreaties, until at last fairly wearied out, and more, I believe, with
the hope of getting rid of the "importunate chink" of the fellow's
discourse, than anything else, in an evil moment I consented! hear it not,
shade of Mrs. Siddons! to denude myself of the bushy honours of my cheeks,
and tread the boards of the Bangalore stage as the wife of that atrocious
usurper "King Cawdor Glamis!"

Fred marched himself away, elated at having carried his point; and I,
after sundry dubious misgivings anent the rash promise I had made, ended
by casting all compunctious visitings to the winds, and doughtily
resolved, as I was in for the business, to "screw my courage to the
sticking-place,' and go through with it as boldly as I might.

By dint of continually studying my rôle, my dislike to it gradually
diminished, nay, at length was converted into positive enthusiasm. I
became convinced that I should make a decided hit, and cover my temples
with unfading laurel. I rehearsed at all times, seasons, and places, until
I was a perfect nuisance to everybody, and my acquaintance, I am sure, to
a man, wished both me and her bloodthirsty ladyship, deeper than plummet
ever sounded, at the bottom of the sea. Even the brute creation did not
escape the annoyance. One morning my English pointer "Spot" ran yelping
out of the room, panic-stricken by the vehement manner with which I
exclaimed, "Out damned _spot_, out, I say!" and with the full conviction,
which the animal probably entertained to the day of his death, that the
said anathema had personal reference to himself.

The evening big with my fate at last arrived. The house was crammed,
expectation on tiptoe, and the play commenced. The first four acts went
off swimmingly, my performance especially was applauded to the echo, and
there only wanted the celebrated sleeping scene, in which I flattered
myself to be particularly strong, to complete my triumph. Triumph, did I
say!

I must here explain, for the benefit of those who have never rounded the
Cape, that the extreme heat of an Indian climate is so favourable to the
growth of hair as to put those wights who are afflicted with dark
_chevelures_, which was my case, to the inconvenient necessity of
chin-scraping twice on the game day, when they wish to appear particularly
spruce of an evening. Now I intended to have shaved before the play began,
but in the hurry of dressing had forgotten all about it; and upon
inspecting my visage in a glass, after I had donned Lady Macbeth's
night-gear, the lower part of it appeared so swart in contrast with the
white dress, that I found it would be absolutely necessary to pass a razor
over it before going on with my part.

The night was excessively warm, even for India; and as the place allotted
to us for dressing was very small and confined, the bright thought struck
me that I should have more air and room on the stage, whither I
accordingly directed my servant to follow me with the shaving apparatus.

I ensconced myself behind the drop-scene, which was down, and was in the
act of commencing the tonsorial operation, when, _horresco referens_, the
prompter's bell rang sharply, whether by accident or design I was never
able to ascertain, but have grievous suspicions that Fred Gahagan knew
something about it--up flew the drop-scene like a shot, and discovered the
following _tableau vivant_ to the astounded audience:--

Myself Lady Macbeth, with legs nearly a yard asunder--face and throat
outstretched, and covered with a plentiful white lather--right arm
brandishing aloft one of Paget's best razors, and left thumb and
forefinger grasping my nose. In front of me stood my faithful Hindoo
valet, Verasawmy by name, with a soap-box in one hand, while his other
held up to his master's gaze a small looking-glass, over the top of which
his black face, surmounted by a red turban, was peering at me with grave
and earnest attention.

A wondering pause of a few seconds prevailed, and then one loud, rending,
and continuous peal of laughter and screams shook the universal house.

As if smitten with sudden catalepsy, I was without power to move a single
muscle of my body, and for the space of two minutes remained in a stupor
in the same attitude--immovable, rooted, frozen to the spot where I stood.
At length recovering at once my senses and power of motion, I bounded like
a maniac from the stage, pursued by the convulsive roars of the
spectators, and upsetting in my retreat the unlucky Verasawmy, who rolled
down to the footlights, doubled up, and in a paroxysm of terror and
dismay.

Lieutenant Frederick Gahagan had good reason to bless his stars that in
that moment of frenzy I did not encounter him, the detestable origin of
the abomination that had just been heaped upon my head. I am no two-legged
creature if I should not have sacrificed him on the spot with my razor,
and so merited the gratitude of his regimental juniors by giving them a
step.

I have never since, either in public or private life, appeared in
petticoats again.

       *       *       *       *       *


SONGS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL.--No. 14.

  Oft have I fondly heard thee pour
    Love's incense in mine ear!
  Oft bade thy lips repeat once more
    The words I deemed sincere!
  But--though the truth this heart may break--
  I know thee false "_and no mistake!_"

  My fancy pictured to my heart
    Thy boasted passion, pure;
  Dreamed thy affection, void of art,
    For ever would endure.
  Alas! in vain my woe I smother!
  I find thee very much "more t'other!"

  'Twas sweet to hear you sing of _love_,
    But, when you talk of _gold_,
  Your sordid, base design you prove,
    And--for it _must_ be told--
  Since from my soul the truth you drag--
  "You let the cat out of the bag!"

       *       *       *       *       *


STARVATION STATISTICS FOR SIR ROBERT PEEL

That the people of this country are grossly pampered there can be no
doubt, for the following facts have been ascertained from which it will be
seen that there have been instances of persons living on much coarser fare
than the working classes in England.

In 1804, a shipwrecked mariner, who was thrown on to the celebrated
mud-island of Coromandel, lived for three weeks upon his own wearing
apparel. He first sucked all the goodness out of his jacket, and the
following day dashed his buttons violently against the rock in order to
soften them. He next cut pieces from his trousers, as tailors do when they
want cabbage, and found them an excellent substitute for that salubrious
vegetable. He was in the act of munching his boots for breakfast one
morning, when he was fortunately picked up by his Majesty's schooner
_Cutaway_.

In the year '95, the crew of the brig _Terrible_ lost all their
provisions, except a quantity of candles. After these were gone, they took
a plank out of the side of the vessel and sliced it, which was their board
for a whole fortnight.

After these startling and particularly well-authenticated facts, it would
be absurd to deny that there is no reason for taking into consideration
the comparatively trifling distress that is now prevalent.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE FASTEST MAN.

"A person named Meara," says the _Galway Advertiser_, "confined for debt
some time since in our town jail, fasted sixteen days!"

Sibthorp says this is an excellent illustration of hard and fast, and
entitles the gentleman to be placed at

[Illustration: THE SUMMIT OF HIS PROFESSION.]

       *       *       *       *       *


SIBTHORPS CON. CORNER.

Dear PUNCH,--Have you seen the con. I made the other day? I transcribe it
for you:--

  "Though Wealth's neglect and Folly's taunt
    Conspire to distress the poor,
  Pray can you tell me why _sharp_ want
    Can ne'er approach the pauper's door"

D'Orsay has rhymed the following answer:--

  "The merest child might wonder how
  The pauper e'er _sharp_ wants can know,
  When, spite of cruel Fortune's taunts,
  _Blunt_ is the _sharpest_ of his wants."

Yours sincerely and comically,

SIBTHORP.

P.S.--Let BRYANT call for his Christmas-box.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE COPPER CAPTAIN.

At the public meeting at Hammersmith for the purpose of taking into
consideration the propriety of lighting the roads, in the midst of a most
animated discussion, Captain Atcherly proposed an adjournment of the said
meeting; which proposition being strongly negatived by a small individual,
Captain Atcherly quietly pointed to an open window, made a slight allusion
to the hardness of the pavement, and finally achieved the exit of the
dissentient by whistling

[Illustration: MY FRIEND AND PITCHER.]

       *       *       *       *       *


"TAKE CARE OF HIM."

"Take care of him!" That sentence has been my ruin; from my cradle upwards
it has dogged my steps and proved my bane! Fatal injunction! Little did my
parents think of the miseries those four small monosyllables have entailed
upon their hapless son!

My first assertion of infantine existence, that innocent and feeble wail
that claimed the name of life, was met by the command, "Take care of him!
take care of him!" said my mother to the doctor; "Take care of him!" said
the doctor to the nurse; and "Take care of him!" added my delighted father
to every individual of the rejoicing household.

The doctor's care manifested itself in an over-dose of castor oil; the
nurse, in the plenitude of her bounty, nearly parboiled me in an
over-heated bath; my mother drugged me with a villanous decoction of
soothing syrup, which brought on a slumber so sound that the first had
very nearly proved my last; and the entire household dandled me with such
uncommon vigour that I was literally tossed and "Catchee-catchee'd" into a
fit of most violent convulsions. As I persisted in surviving, so did I
become the heir to fresh torments from the ceaseless care of those by whom
I was surrounded. My future symmetry was superinduced by bandaging my
infant limbs until I looked like a miniature mummy. The summer's sun was
too hot and the winter's blast too cold; wet was death, and dry weather
was attended with easterly winds. I was "taken care of." I never breathed
the fresh air of Heaven, but lived in an artificial nursery atmosphere of
sea-coal and logs.

Young limbs are soon broken, and young children will fall, if not taken
care of; consequently upon any instinctive attempt at a pedestrian
performance I was tied round the middle with a broad ribbon, my unhappy
little feet see-sawing in the air, and barely brushing the ruffled surface
of the Persian carpet, while I appeared like a tempting bait, with which
my nurse, after the manner of an experienced angler, was bobbing for some
of the strange monsters worked into the gorgeous pattern.

Crooked legs were "taken care of" by a brace of symmetrical iron shackles,
and Brobdignag walnut-shells, decorated with flaming bows of crimson
ribbon, were attached to each side of my small face, to prevent me from
squinting. When old enough to mount a pony, I was "taken such care of," by
being secured to the saddle, that the restive little brute, feeling
inclined for a tumble, deliberately rolled over me some half-dozen times
before the astonished stable-boy could effect my deliverance! while the
corks with which I was provided to learn to swim in some three feet square
of water, slipped accidentally down to my toes, and left me submerged so
long that the total consumption of all the salt, and wetting in boiling
water of all the blankets, in the house was found absolutely necessary to
effect my resuscitation.

At school I was once more to be "taken care of;" consequently I pined to
death in a wretched single-bedded room, shuddering with inconceivable
horror at the slightest sound, and conjuring up legions of imaginary
sprites to haunt my couch during my waking hours of dread and misery. O
how I envied the reckless laughter of the gleeful urchins whose unmindful
parents left them to the happy utterance of their own and participation in
their young companions' thoughts!

As a parlour boarder, which I was of course, "to be taken care of," I was
not looked upon as one of the "fellows," but merely as a little
upstart--one who most likely was pumped by the master and mistress, and
peached upon the healthy rebels of the little world.

Christmas brought me no joys. "Taking care of my health" prevented me from
skating and snow-balling; while perspective surfeits deprived me of the
enjoyments of the turkeys, beef, and glorious pudding.

At eighteen I entered as a gentleman commoner at ---- College, Cambridge;
and at nineteen a suit of solemn black, and the possession of five
thousand a year, bespoke me heir to all my father left; and from that hour
have I had cause to curse the title of this paper. Young and
inexperienced, I entered wildly into all the follies wealth can purchase
or fashion justify; but I was still to be the victim of the phrase. "We'll
take care of him," said a knot of the most determined play-men upon town;
and they did. Two years saw my five thousand per annum reduced to one, but
left me with somewhat more knowledge of the world. Even that was turned
against me; and prudent fathers shook their heads, and sagely cautioned
their own young scapegraces "to take care of me."

All was not yet complete. A walk down Bond Street was interrupted by a
sudden cry, "That's him--take care of him!" I turned by instinct, and was
arrested at the suit of a scoundrel whose fortune I had made, and who in
gratitude had thus pointed me out to the myrmidon of the Middlesex
sheriff. I was located in a lock-up house, and thence conveyed to jail. In
both instances the last words I heard in reference to myself were "Take
care of him." I sacrificed almost my all, and once more regained my
liberty. Fate seemed to turn! A friend lent me fifty pounds. I pledged my
honour for its repayment. He promised to use his interest for my future
welfare. I kept my word gratefully; returned the money on the day
appointed. I did so before one who knew me by report only, and looked upon
me as a ruined, dissipated, worthless Extravagant. I returned to an
adjoining room to wait my friend's coming. While there, I could not avoid
hearing the following colloquy--

"Good Heaven! has that fellow actually returned your fifty?"

"Yes. Didn't you see him?"

"Of course I did; but I can scarcely believe my eyes. Oh! he's a deep
one."

"He's a most honourable young man."

"How can you be so green? He has a motive in it."

"What motive?"

"I don't know that. But, old fellow, listen to me. I'm a man of the world,
and have seen something of life; and I'll stake my honour and experience
that that fellow means to do you; so be advised, and--'Take care of him!'"

This was too much. I rushed out almost mad, and demanded an apology, or
satisfaction--the latter alternative was chosen. Oh, how my blood boiled!
I should either fall, or, at length, by thus chastising the impertinent,
put an end to the many meaning and hateful words.

We met; the ground was measured. I thought for a moment of the sin of
shedding human blood, and compressed my lips. A moment I wavered; but the
voice of my opponent's second whispering, "Take care of him," once more
nerved my heart and arm. My adversary's bullet whistled past my ear: _he_
fell--hit through the shoulder. He was carried to his carriage. I left the
ground, glad that I had chastised him, but released to find the wound was
not mortal. I felt as if in Heaven this act would free me from the worldly
ban. A week after, I met one of my old friends; he introduced me by name
to his father. The old gentleman started for a moment, then
exclaimed--"You know my feeling, Sir--you are a duellist! Tom, 'Take care
of him!'"

       *       *       *       *       *


PUNCHLIED.                          SONG FOR PUNCH DRINKERS.

(VON SCHILLER.)                     (FROM SCHILLER.)

  Vier Elemente                       Four be the elements,
    Innig gesellt,                      Here we assemble 'em,
  Bilden das Leben                    Each of man's world
    Bauen die Welt.                     And existence an emblem.

  Presst der Citrone                  Press from the lemon
    Saftigen Stern!                     The slow flowing juices.
  Herb ist des Lebens                 Bitter is life
    Innerster Kern.                     In its lessons and uses.

  Jetzt mit des Zuckers               Bruise the fair sugar lumps,--
    Linderndem Saft                     Nature intended
  Zæhmet die herbe                    Her sweet and severe
    Brennende Kraft!                    To be everywhere blended.

  Gieszet des Wassers                 Pour the still water--
    Sprudelnden Schwall!                Unwarning by sound,
  Wasser umfænget                     Eternity's ocean
    Ruhig das All!                      Is hemming us round!

  Tropfen des Geistes                 Mingle the spirit,
    Gieszet hinein!                     The life of the bowl;
  Leben dem Leben                     Man is an earth-clod
    Gibt er allein.                     Unwarmed by a soul!

  Eh' es verdueftet                   Drink of the stream
    Schoepfet es schnell!               Ere its potency goes!
  Nur wann er gluehet                 No bath is refreshing
    Labet der Quell.                    Except while it glows!

       *       *       *       *       *


THE SCHOOL OF DESIGN AT HOOKAM-CUM-SNIVERY.

Wednesday last was the day fixed for the distribution of the prizes at
this institution, and every arrangement had been made to receive the
numerous visitors. The boards had undergone their annual scrubbing, and
some beautiful devices in chalk added life to the floor, which was
enriched with a scroll-work of whiting, while the arms of
Hookham-cum-Snivery (a nose, _rampant_, with a hand, _couchant_, extending
a thumb, _gules_, to the nostril, _argent_) formed an appropriate
centre-piece.

Seven o'clock was fixed upon for the opening of the doors, at which hour
the committee went in procession, headed by their chairman, to withdraw
the bolts, that the public might be admitted, when a rush took place of
the most frightful and disastrous character. A drove of bullocks that were
being alternately enticed and marling-spiked into a butcher's exactly
opposite, took advantage of the courtesy of the committee, and poured in
with great rapidity to the building, carrying everything--including the
committee--most triumphantly before them. In spite of their unceremonious
entry, some of the animals evinced a disposition to stand upon forms, by
leaping on to the benches, while the committee, who had expected a
deputation of _savans_ from the Hampton-_super_-Horsepond Institution, for
the enlightenment of ignorant octagenarians, and who being prepared to see
a party of donkeys, were not inclined to take the bull by the horns, made
a precipitate retreat into the anteroom.

Order having been at length restored, the intruders ejected, and their
places supplied by a select circle of subscribers, the following prizes
were distributed:--

To Horatio Smith Smith, the large copper medal, bearing on one side the
portrait of George the Third, on the reverse a figure of Britannia,
sitting on a beer barrel, and holding in her hand a toasting fork. This
medal was given for the best drawing of the cork of a ginger-beer bottle.

To Ferdinand Fitz-Figgins, the smaller copper medal, with the head of
William the Fourth, and a reverse similar to that of the superior prize.
This was awarded for the best drawing of a decayed tooth after _Teniers_.

To Sigismond Septimus Snobb, the large willow pattern plate, for the best
model of a national water-butt, to be erected in the Teetotalers' Hall of
Temperance in the _Water_-loo Road.

To Lucius Junius Brutus Brown, the Marsh-gate turnpike ticket for
Christmas-day--of which an early copy has been most handsomely presented
by the contractor. This useful and interesting document has been given for
the best design--upon the river Thames, with the view to igniting it.

The proceedings having been terminated, so far as the distribution was
concerned, the following speeches were delivered:--

The first orator was Mr. Julius Jones, who spoke nearly as follows:--

Mither Prethident and thubtheriberth of the Hookam-cum-Sthnivey Sthchool
of Dethign, in rithing to addreth thuch an afthembly ath thith--

Here the confusion became so general that our reporter could catch nothing
further, and as the partisans of Mr. Jones became very much excited, while
the opposition was equally violent, our reporter fearing that, though he
could not catch the speeches, he might possibly catch something else,
effected his retreat as speedily as possible.

       *       *       *       *       *


QUEER QUERIES.

NOT THE BEST IN THE WORLD.

Why is a man with his eyes shut like an illiterate schoolmaster?--Because
he keeps his pupils in darkness.

BETTER NEXT TIME.

Why is the present Lord Chancellor wickeder than the last?--Because he's
got two more Vices.

FORGIVE US THIS ONCE.

Why are abbots the greatest dunces in the world?--Because they never get
further than their _Abbacy_ (A, B, C.)

WE'LL NEVER DO SO ANY MORE.

Why is an auctioneer like a man with an ugly countenance?--Because he is
always for-_bidding_.

WE REALLY COULD NOT HELP IT.

Why is Mrs. Lilly showing the young Princes like an affected
ladies'-maid?--Because she exhibits her mistress's heirs (airs).

       *       *       *       *       *


IMPORTANT INTELLIGENCE.

A dispatch, bearing a foreign post-mark, was handed very generally about
in the city this morning, but its contents did not transpire. Considerable
speculation is afloat on the subject, but we are unable to give any
particulars.

Downing-street was in a state of great activity all yesterday, and people
were passing to and fro repeatedly. This excitement is generally believed
to be connected with nothing particular. We have our own impression on the
subject, but as disclosures would be premature, we purposely forbear
making any. We can only say, at present, that Sir Robert Peel continues to
hold the office of Prime Minister.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE BROTH OF A BOY.

AN IRISH LYRIC.

AIR,--_I'm the boy for bewitching them_


  Whisht, ye divils, now can't you be aisy,
    Like a cat whin she's licking the crame.
  And I'll sing ye a song just to plase you,
    About myself, Dermot Macshane.
  You'll own, whin I've tould ye my story.
    And the janius adorning my race,
  Although I've no brass in my pocket,
    Mushagra! I've got lots in my face.
      For in rainy or sunshiny weather,
        I'm full of good whiskey and joy;
      And take me in parts altogether,
        By the pow'rs I'm a broth of a boy.

  I was sint on the mighty world one day,
    Like a squeaking pig out of a sack;
  And, och, murder! although it was Sunday,
    Without a clane shirt to my back.
  But my mother died while I was sucking,
    And larning for whiskey to squall,
  Leaving me a dead cow, and a stocking
    Brimful of--just nothing at all.
      But in rainy, &c.

  My ancistors, who were all famous
    At Donnybrook, got a great name:
  My aunt she sould famous good whiskey--
    I'm famous for drinking that same.
  And I'm famous, like Master Adonis,
    With his head full of nothing but curls,
  For breaking the heads of the boys, sirs,
    And breaking the hearts of the girls.
      For in rainy, &c.

  Och! I trace my discint up to Adam,
    Who was once parish priest in Kildare;
  And uncle, I think, to King David,
    That peopled the county of Clare.
  Sure his heart was as light as a feather,
    Till his wife threw small beer on his joy
  By falling in love with a pippin,
    Which intirely murder'd the boy.
      For in rainy, &c.

  A fine architict was my father,
    As ever walk'd over the sea;
  He built Teddy Murphy's mud cabin--
    And didn't he likewise build me?
  Sure, he built him an illigant pigstye,
    That made all the Munster boys stare.
  Besides a great many fine castles--
    But, bad luck,--they were all in the air.
      For in rainy, &c.

  Though I'd scorn to be rude to a lady,
    Miss Fortune and I can't agree;
  So I flew without wings from green Erin--
    Is there anything green about me?
  While blest with this stock of fine spirits,
    At care, faith, my fingers I'll snap;
  I'm as rich as a Jew without money,
    And free as a mouse in a trap.
      For in rainy, &c.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE "WEIGHT" OF ROYALTY.--THE SOCIAL "SCALE."

The Prince of Wales it is allowed upon all hands is the finest baby ever
sent into this naughty world since the firstborn of Eve. At a day old he
would make three of any of the new-born babes that a month since blessed
the Union bf Sevenoaks. There is, however, a remarkable providence in
this. The Prince of Wales is born to the vastness of a palace; the little
Princes of Pauperdom being doomed to lie at the rate of fifteen in "two
beds tied together," are happily formed of corresponding dimensions,
manufactured of more "squeezeable materials." There is, be sure of it, a
providence watching over parish unions as well as palaces. How, for
instance, would boards of guardians pack their new-born charges, if every
babe of a union had the brawn and bone of a Prince of Wales?

However, we could wish that the little Prince was thrice his size--an
aspiration in which our readers will heartily join, when they learn the
goodly tidings we are about to tell them.

We believe it is not generally known that Sir PETER LAURIE is as profound
an orientalist as perhaps any Rabbi dwelling in Whitechapel. Sir PETER,
whilst recently searching the Mansion House library,--which has been
greatly enriched by eastern manuscripts, the presents of the late Sir
WILLIAM CURTIS, Sir CLAUDIUS HUNTER, and the venerable Turk who is Wont to
sell rhubarb in Cheapside, and supplied dinner-pills to the Court of
Aldermen,--Sir PETER, be it understood, lighted upon a rare work on the
Mogul Country, in which it is stated that on every birth-day of the Great
Mogul, his Magnificence is duly weighed in scales against so much gold and
silver--his precise weight in the precious metals being expended on
provisions for the poor.

Was there ever a happier device to make a nation interested in the
greatness of their sovereign? The fatter the king, the fuller his people!
With this custom naturalised among us, what a blessing would have been the
corpulency of GEORGE THE FOURTH! How the royal haunches, the royal
abdomen, would have had the loyal aspirations of the poor and hungry! The
national anthem would have had an additional verse in thanksgiving for
royal flesh; and in our orisons said in churches, we should not only have
prayed for the increasing years of our "most religious King," but for his
increasing fat!

It is however useless to regret forgotten advantages; let us, on the
contrary, with new alacrity, avail ourselves of a present good.

Our illumination on the christening of the Prince of Wales--we at once,
and in the most liberal manner, give the child his title--has been
generally scouted, save and except by a few public-spirited oil and
tallow-merchants. It has been thought better to give away legs of mutton
on the occasion, than to waste any of the sheep in candles. This
proposition--it is known--has our heartiest concurrence. Here, however,
comes in the wisdom of our dear Sir Peter. He, taking the hint from the
Mogul Country, proposes that the Prince of Wales should be weighed in
scales--weighed, naked as he was born, without the purple velvet and
ermine robe in which his Highness is ordinarily shown in, not that Sir
PETER would sink _that_ "as offal"--against his royal weight in beef and
pudding; the said beef and pudding to be distributed to every poor family
(if the family count a certain number of mouths, his Royal Highness to be
weighed twice or thrice, as it may be) to celebrate the day on which his
Royal Highness shall enter the pale of the Christian Church.

We have all heard what a remarkably fine child his Royal Babyhood is; but
would not this distribution of beef and pudding convince the country of
the fact? How folks would rejoice at the chubbiness of the Prince, when
they saw a evidence of his bare dimensions smoking on their table! How
their hearts would leap up at his fat, when they beheld it typified upon
their platters! How they would be gladdened by prize royalty, while their
mouths watered at prize beef! And how, with all their admiration of the
exceeding lustihood of the Prince of Wales,--how, from the very depths of
their stomachs, would they wish His Royal Highness twice as big!

Is not this a way to disarm Chartism of its sword and pike, making even
O'CONNOR, VINCENT, and PINKETHLIE, throw away their weapons for a knife
and fork? Is not this the way to make the weight of royalty easy--oh, most
easy!--to a burthened people? The beef-and-pudding representatives of His
Royal Highness, preaching upon every poor man's table, would carry the
consolations of loyalty to every poor man's stomach. When the children of
the needy lisped "plum pudding," would they not think of the Prince?

(Now, then, our readers know the obligation of the country to Sir PETER
LAURIE--an obligation which we are happy to state will be duly
acknowledged by the Common Council, that grateful body having already
petitioned the Government for the waste leaden pipes preserved from the
fire at the Tower, that a statue of Sir Peter may be cast from the metal,
and placed in some convenient nook of the Mansion-House, where the Lord
Mayor for the time being may, it is hoped, behold it at least once a-day.)

This happy suggestion of Sir PETER'S may, however, be followed up with the
best national effect. Christmas is fast Approaching: let the fashion set
by the Prince of Wales be followed by all public bodies--by all
individuals "blessed with aught to give." Let the physical weight of all
corporations--all private benefactors of the poor, be distributed in
eatables to the indigent and famishing. When the Alderman, with "three
fingers on the ribs" gives his weight in geese or turkeys to the poor of
his ward, he returns the most pertinent thanks-giving to providence, that
has put money in his pocket and flesh upon his bones. The poor may have an
unexpected cause to bless the venison and turtle that have fattened his
bowels, seeing that they are made the depositories of their weight.

This standard of Christmas benefactions may admit of very curious
illustration. For instance, we would not tie the noble and the
aristocratic to any particular kind of viands, but would allow them to
illustrate their self-value of the "porcelain of all human clay" by the
richness and rarity of their subscriptions. Whilst a SIBTHORP, with a fine
sense of humility, might be permitted to give his weight in calves' or
sheeps' heads (be it understood we must have the _whole_ weight of the
Colonel, for if we were to sink _his_ offal, what in the name of veal
would remain?), a Duke of WELLINGTON should be allowed to weight against
nothing less than the fattest venison and the finest turtle. As the Duke,
too, is _rather_ a light weight, we should be glad if he would condescend
to take a Paisley weaver or two in the scale with him, to make his
subscription of eatables the more worthy of acceptance. All the members of
the present Cabinet would of course be weighed against loaves and fishes
(on the present occasion we would accept nothing under the very finest
wheaten bread and the very best of turbot), whilst a LAURIE, who has
worked such a reform in cut-throats, should be weighed out to his ward in
the most select stickings of beef.

All we propose to ourselves in these our weekly essays is, to give brief
suggestions for the better government of the world, and for the bringing
about the millennium, which--when we are given away _gratis_ in the
streets--may be considered to have arrived. Hence, we cannot follow put
through all its natural ramifications the benevolent proposition here laid
down. We trust, however, we have done enough. It is not necessary that we
should particularise all public men, tying them to be weighed against
specific viands: no, our readers will at once recognise the existence of
the parties, and at once acknowledge their fittest offerings. It may
happen that a peer might very properly be weighed against shin of beef,
and a Christian bishop be popped in the scale against a sack of
perriwinkles; it remains, however, with LONDONDERRY or EXETER to be
weighed if they will against golden pheasants and birds of paradise.

We are perfectly aware that if many of the elect of the land were to weigh
themselves against merely the things they are worth, that a great deal of
the food subscribed would be unfit to be eaten even by the poor. We should
have rats, dogs, snakes, bats, and all other unclean animals; but in
levying the parties to weigh themselves at their own valuation, the poor
may be certain to "sup in the Apollo." On this principle we should have
the weight of a LYNDHURST served to this neighbourhood in the tenderest
house-lamb, and a STANLEY kicking the beam against so many "sucking
doves."

Q.

       *       *       *       *       *


FASHIONS FOR THE MONTH.

Coats are very much worn, particularly at the elbows, and are trimmed
with a shining substance, which gives them a very glossy appearance. A rim
of white runs down the seams, and the covering of the buttons is slightly
opened, so as to show the wooden material under it.

Hats are now slightly indented at the top, and we have seen several in
which part of the brim is sloped off without any particular regard to the
quantity abstracted.

Walking-dresses are very much dotted just now with brown spots of a mud
colour, thrown on quite irregularly, and the heels of the stockings may
sometimes be seen trimmed with the same material. A sort of basket-work is
now a great deal seen as a head-dress, and in these cases it is strewed
over with little silver fish, something like common sprat, which gives it
a light and graceful character.

       *       *       *       *       *


PUNCH'S PENCILLINGS.--No. XXIII.

[Illustration: THE POLITICIAN PUZZLED;

OR,

PEEL ON THE RE-PEAL OF THE CORN-LAWS.]

       *       *       *       *       *


THE CHEROOT.

An excellent thing it is, when you get it genuine--none of your coarse
Whitechapel abominations, but a veritable satin-skinned, brown Indian
beauty; smooth and firm to the touch, and full-flavoured to the taste;
such a one as would be worth a Jewess' eye, with a glass of tawny Port.
But the gratification that we have been wont to derive from our real
Manilla has been sadly disturbed of late by a circumstance which has
caused a dreadful schism in the smoking world, and has agitated every
divan in the metropolis to its very centre. The question is, "Whether
should a cheroot be smoked by the great or the small end?" On this
apparently trivial subject the great body of cheroot smokers have taken
different sides, and divided themselves, as the Lilliputians did in the
famous egg controversy, into the _Big-endians_ and _Little-endians_. The
dispute has been carried on with great vigour on both sides, and several
ingenious volumes have been already written, proving satisfactorily the
superiority of each system, without however convincing a single individual
of the opposite party. The Tories, we have observed, have as usual seized
on the _big end_ of the argument, while the Whigs have grappled as
resolutely by the _little end_, and are puffing away furiously in each
other's eyes. Heaven knows where the contest will end! For ourselves, we
are content to watch the struggle from our quiet corner, convinced,
whichever end gains the victory, that John Bull will be made to smoke for
it; and when curious people ask us if we be _big-endians_ or
_little-endians_, we answer, that, to oblige all our friends, we smoke our
Manillas at _both ends_.

       *       *       *       *       *


BALLADS OF THE BRIEFLESS.

No. 1.--THE RULE TO COMPUTE.

  Oh, tell me not of empires grand,
    Of proud dominion wide and far,
  Of those who sway the fertile land
    Where melons three for twopence are.
  To rule like this I ne'er aspire,
    In fact my book it would not suit!
  The only _rule_ that I desire,
    Is _a rule nisi to compute_.

  Oh speak not of the calm delights,
    That in the fields or lanes we win;
  The field and lane that me invites
    Is Chancery or Lincoln's Inn.
  Yes, there in some remote recess,
    At eve, I practise on my flute,
  Till some attorney comes to bless
    With _a rule nisi to compute_.


No. 2.--SIGNING A PLEA.

  Oh, how oft when alone at the close of the day
    I've sat in that Court where the fig-tree don't grow
  And wonder'd how I, without money, should pay
    The little account to my laundress below!
  And when I have heard a quick step on the stair,
    I've thought which of twenty rich duns it could be,
  I have rush'd to the door in a fit of despair,
    And--_received ten and sixpence for signing a plea_.

CHORUS.--Signing a plea, signing a plea!
         Received ten and sixpence for signing a plea.

  They may talk as they will of the pleasure that's found.
    When venting in verse our despondence and grief;
  But the pen of the poet was ne'er, I'll be bound,
    Half so pleasantly used as in signing a brief.
  In soft declarations, though rapture may lie,
    If the maid to appear to your suit willing be,
  But ah I could write till my inkstand was dry,
    And die in the act--yes--of signing a plea.

CHORUS.--Signing a plea, signing a plea!
         Die in the act--yes--of signing a plea.

       *       *       *       *       *


A CUT BY SIR PETER.

[Illustration]

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ANACREON, PETRONIUS, CERVANTES, HUDIBRAS, AND
"PUNCH."

A CASE IN POINT, FROM ANACREON.

[Greek: EIS HEAUTON.]

  [Greek:
  Degousin ai gunaikes
  Anakreon geron ei
  Labon esoptron athrei
  Komas men ouket ousas
  Psilon de seu metopon.]

A FREE TRANSLATION BY "PUNCH"--

THE CUTTEE.

  Oft by the women I am told
  "Tomkins, my boy, you're growing o!d.
  Look in the glass, and see how bare
  Your poll appears reflected there.
  No ringlets play around your brow;
  'Tis all Sir Peter Laurie-ish[1] now."

    [1] This is a graceful as well as a literal rendering of the bard
        of Teos. The word [Greek: Psilon] signifying _nudus_,
        _inanis_, _'envis_, _fatuus_; Anglice,--_Sir Peter Laurie-ish_
        ED. OF "PUNCH."]

A TRIBUTE BY PETRONIUS.

  Quod summum formæ decus est, cecidere capilli,
    Vernantesque comas tristis abegit hyems
  Nunc umbra nudata sua jam tempora moerent,
    Areaque attritis nidet adusta pilis.
  O fallax natura Deum! quæ prima dedisti
    Ætati nostræ gaudia, prima rapis.
  Infelix modo crinibus nitebas,
  Phoebo pulchrior, et sorore Phoebi:
  At nunc lævior aëre, vel rotundo
  Horti tubere, quod creavit unda,
  Ridentes fugis et times puellas.
  Ut mortem citius venire credas,
  Scito jam capitis perisse partem.

A FREE TRANSLATION BY "PUNCH."

  Tomkins, you're dish'd! thy light luxuriant hair,
  Like "a distress," hath left thy caput bare;
  Thy temples mourn th' umbrageous locks, and yield
  A crop as stunted as a stubble field.
  Rowland and Ross! your greasy gifts are vain,
  You give the hair you're sure to cut again.
  Unhappy Tomkins! late thy ringlets rare,
  E'en Wombwell's self to rival might despair.
  Now with thy smooth crown, nor the fledgling's chops,
  Nor East-born Mechi's magic razor strops,
  Can vie! And laughing maids you fly in dread,
  Lest they should see the horrors of your head!
  Laurie, like death, hath clouded o'er your morn.
  Tomkins, you're dish'd! Your _Jeune France_ locks are shorn.

A SCRAP FROM CERVANTES.

"Deliver me from the devil," cried the Squire, "is it possible that a
magistrate, or what d'ye call him, green as a fig, should appear no better
than an ass in your worship's eyes? By the Lord, I'll give you leave to
pluck off _every hair_ of my beard if that be the case."

"Then I tell thee," said the master, "he is as certainly a _he_ ass as I
am Don Quixote and thou Sancho Panza, at least so he seems to me."--_Don
Quixote_.

A COINCIDENCE FROM BUTLER.

  Shall _hair_ that on a crown has place
  Become the subject of a case?

  The fundamental law of nature
  Be over-ruled by those made after?
       *       *       *       *       *
  'Tis we that can dispose alone
  Whether your heirs (_hairs_) shall be your own.

_Hudibras._


A CLIMAX BY "PUNCH."

Sir Peter Laurie passes so quickly from hyper-loyalty to downright
treason, that he is an insolvable problem. As wigs were once worn out of
compliment to a monarch, so when the Queen expects a _little heir_, Sir
Peter causes a gentleman, over whom he has an accidental influence, to
have a _little hair_ too. But oh the hypocrite! the traitor! he at the
same time gives a shilling to have the _ha(e)ir_ cut off from the _crown_.
It is quite time to look to the

[Illustration: HEIR PRESUMPTIVE.]

       *       *       *       *       *


ANNOUNCEMENT EXTRAORDINARY.

PUNCH begs to state that, owing to the immense press of matter on hand,
the following contributions only can expect insertion in the body of PUNCH
during the whole of next week. Contributors are requested to send
early--carriage paid.

N.B.--PUNCH does not pledge himself for the return of any article.

TURKEYS--for which PUNCH undertakes to find _cuts_, and
_plates_--unlimited.

SAUSAGES, to match the above. Mem.--no undue preference, or Bill Monopoly.
Epping and Norfolk equally welcome.

MINCE PIES, per dozen--thirteen as twelve. No returns.

"OH, THE ROAST BEEF OF OLD ENGLAND," with additional verses, capable of
various encores.

PUDDINGS received from ten till four. PUNCH makes his own sauce; the chief
ingredient is brandy, which he is open to receive per bottle or dozen.

LARGE HAMPERS containing small turkeys, &c., may be pleasantly filled with
lemons, candied citron, and lump sugar.


TO THE LADIES EXCLUSIVELY.

(Private and confidential, quite unknown to Judy.)

BRYANT has had orders to suspend a superb Mistletoe bough in the
publishing-office. PUNCH will be in attendance from daylight till dusk. To
prevent confusion, the salutes will he distributed according to the order
of arrival.

       *       *       *       *       *

TO PUNSTERS AND OTHERS.

PUNCH begs to state he is open to receive tenders for letter-press matter,
to be illustrated by the

[Illustration: FOLLOWING CUT.]

N.B. They must be sent in sealed, and will be submitted to a select
committee, consisting of Peter Laurie, and Borthwick, and Deaf Burke.

N.B. No Cutting-his-Stick need apply.

       *       *       *       *       *


PEN AND PALETTE PORTRAITS.

(TAKEN FROM THE FRENCH.)

BY ALPHONSE LECOURT.

(_Continued._)


PORTRAIT OF THE LOVER.

CHAPTER II.

IN WHICH THE AUTHOR TREATS OF LOVERS IN GENERAL.

[Illustration: A]All lovers are absurd and ridiculous. The passion which
spiritualises woman makes man a fool. Nothing can be more amusing than to
observe a bashful lover in company where the object of his affections is
present. He is the very picture of confusion and distress, looking like a
man who has lost something, and knows not where to seek for it. His eyes
wander from the carpet to the ceiling; at one moment he is engaged in
counting the panes in the window, and the next in watching the discursive
flights of a blue-bottle round the apartment. But while he appears
anxiously seeking for some object on which to fix his attention, he
carefully avoids looking towards his _innamorata_; and should their eyes
meet by chance, his cheeks assume the tint of the beet-root or the turnip,
and his manifest embarrassment betrays his secret to the most
inexperienced persons. In order to recover his confidence, he shifts his
seat, which seems suddenly to have shot forth as many pins as the back of
a hedgehog; but in doing so he places the leg of his chair on the toe of a
gouty, cross old uncle, or on the tail of a favourite lap-dog, and,
besides creating an awful _fracas_, succeeds in making inveterate enemies
of the two brutes for the remainder of their lives.

There are some lovers, who show their love by their affected indifference,
and appear smitten by any woman except the one whom they are devoted to.
This is an ingenious stratagem; but in general it is so badly managed,
that it is more easily seen through than a cobweb. Lastly, there are a
select few, who evince their tender regard by perpetual bickerings and
quarrels. This method will frequently mislead inquisitive aunts and
guardians; but it should only be attempted by a man who has full
confidence in his own powers.

Lovers, as I have observed, are invariably objects of ridicule; timid,
jealous, and nervous, a frown throws them into a state of agony it would
be difficult to describe, and a smile bestowed upon a rival breaks their
rest for a week. Only observe one of them engaged in a quiet, interesting
_tête-à-tête_ with the lady of his choice. He has exerted all his powers
of fascination, and he fancies he is beginning to make a favourable
impression on his companion, when--bang!--a tall, whiskered fellow, who,
rumour has whispered, is the lady's intended, drops in upon them like a
bomb-shell! The detected lover sits confounded and abashed, wishing in the
depths of his soul that he could transform himself into a gnat, and make
his exit through the keyhole. Meantime the new-comer seats himself in
solemn silence, and for five minutes the conversation is only kept up by
monosyllables, in spite of the incredible efforts of all parties to appear
unconcerned. The young man in his confusion plunges deeper into the
mire;--he twists and writhes in secret agony--remarks on the sultriness of
the weather, though the thermometer is below the freezing point; and
commits a thousand _gaucheries_--too happy if he can escape from a
situation than which nothing can possibly be conceived more painful.


THE LOVER AT DIFFERENT AGES.

It would not be easy to determine at what age love first manifests itself
in the human heart; but if the reader have a good memory (I now speak to
my own sex), he may remember when its tender light dawned upon his
soul,--he may recall the moment when the harmonious voice of woman first
tingled in his ears, and filled his bosom with unknown rapture,--he may
recollect how he used to forsake trap-ball and peg-top to follow the idol
he had created in her walks,--how he hoarded up the ripest oranges and
gathered the choicest flowers to present to her, and felt more than
recompensed by a word of thanks kindly spoken. Oh, youth--youth! pure and
happy age, when a smile, a look, a touch of the hand, makes all sunshine
and happiness in thy breast.

But the season of boyhood passes--the youth of sixteen becomes a young man
of twenty, and smiles at the innocent emotions of his uneducated heart. He
is no longer the mute adorer who worshipped in secrecy and in silence.
Each season produces its own flowers. At twenty, the time for mute
sympathy has passed away: it is one of the most eventful periods in the
life of a lover; for should he then chance to meet a heart free to respond
to his ardent passion, and that no cruel father, relentless guardian, or
richer lover interposes to overthrow his hopes, he may with the aid of a
licence, a parson, and a plain gold ring, be suddenly launched into the
calm felicity of married life.

I know not what mysterious chain unites the heart of a young lover to that
of the woman whom he loves. In the simplicity of their hearts they often
imagine it is but friendship that draws them towards each other, until
some unexpected circumstance removes the veil from their eyes, and they
discover the dangerous precipice upon whose brink they have been walking.
A journey, absence, or sickness, inevitably produce a discovery. If a
temporary separation be about to occur, the unconscious lovers feel, they
scarce know wherefore, a deep shade of sadness steal over them; their
adieux are mingled with a thousand protestations of regret, which sink
into the heart and bear a rich harvest by the time they meet again. Days
and months glide by, and the pains of separation still endure; for they
feel how necessary they have become to the happiness of each other, and
how cold and joyless existence seems when far from those we love.

That which may be anticipated, at length comes to pass; the lover
returns--he flies to his mistress--she receives him with blushing cheek
and palpitating heart. I shall not attempt to describe the scene, but
throughout the day and night that succeeds that interview the lover seems
like one distracted. In the city, in the fields--alone, or in company--he
hears nothing but the magic words, "I LOVE YOU!" ringing in his ears, and
feels that ecstatic delight which it is permitted mortals to taste but
once in their lives.

But what are the sensations which enter the heart of a young and innocent
girl when she first confesses the passion that fills her heart? A tender
sadness pervades her being--her soul, touched by the hand of Love,
delivers itself to the influence of all the nobler emotions of her nature;
and borne heavenward on the organ's solemn peal, pours forth its rich
treasures in silent and grateful adoration.

[Illustration]

At thirty, a man takes a more decided--I wish I could add a more
amiable--character than at twenty. At twenty he loves sincerely and
devotedly; he respects the woman who has inspired him with the noblest
sentiment of which his soul is capable. At thirty his heart, hardened by
deceit and ill-requited affection, and pre-occupied by projects of worldly
ambition, regards love only as an agreeable pastime, and woman's heart as
a toy, which he may fling aside the moment it ceases to amuse him. At
twenty he is ready to abandon everything for her whom he idolises--rank,
wealth, the future!--they weigh as nothing in the balance against the
fancied strength and constancy of his passion. At thirty he coldly
immolates the repose and happiness of the woman who loves him to the
slightest necessity. I must admit, however--in justice to our
sex--provided his love does not interfere with his interest, nor his
freedom, nor his club, nor his dogs and horses, nor his _petites liaisons
des coulisses_, nor his hour of dinner--the lover is always willing to
make the greatest sacrifices for her whom he has honoured with his
regards. The man of thirty is, moreover, a man of many loves; he carries
on half-a-dozen affairs of the heart at the same time--he has his
writing-desk filled with _billets-doux_, folded into a thousand fanciful
shapes, and smelling villanously of violets, roses, bergamot, and other
sentimental odours. He has a pocket-book full of little locks of hair, of
all colours, from the light golden to the raven black. In short, the man
of thirty is the most dangerous of lovers. Let my fair readers watch his
approaches with distrust, and place at every avenue of their innocent
hearts

[Illustration: A WATCHFUL SENTINEL.]

[Illustration: Alph. Lecourt]

       *       *       *       *       *


A DEER BARGAIN.

In consequence of an advertisement in the _Sporting Magazine_ for SEVERAL
OLD BUCKS, some daring villains actually secured the following venerable
gentlemen:--Sir Francis Burdett, Lord Palmerston, Sir Lumley Skeffington,
Jack Reynolds, and Mr. Widdicombe. The venison dealer, however, declined
to purchase such very old stock, and the aged captives upon being set at
liberty heartily congratulated each other on their

[Illustration: NARROW ESCAPE.]

       *       *       *       *       *


OUT OF SCHOOL.

An attenuated disciple of the ill-paid art which has been described as one
embracing the "delightful task which teaches the young idea how to shoot,"
in a fit of despair, being but little skilled in the above sporting
accomplishment, endeavoured to cheat nature of its right of killing by
trying the efficacy of a small hanging match, in which he suicidically
"doubled" the character of criminal and Jack Ketch. Upon being asked by
the redoubtable Civic Peter what he meant by such conduct, he attempted to
urge the propriety of the proceeding according to the scholastic rules of
the ancients. "It may," replied Sir Peter, "be very well for those chaps
to hang themselves, as they are out of my jurisdiction; but I'll let you
see you are wrong, as

[Illustration: A GRAMMARIAN DECLINING TO BE.]

       *       *       *       *       *


PUNCH'S LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.

We understand that the Author of "Jack Sheppard," &c., is about to publish
a new Romance, in three volumes, post octavo, to be called "James
Greenacre; or, the Hero of Paddington."

We are requested by Mr. Catnach, of Seven Dials, to state that he has a
few remaining copies of "All round my Hat" on sale. Early application must
be made, to prevent disappointment. Mr. C. has also to inform the public
that an entirely new collection of the most popular songs is now in the
press, and will shortly be published, price One Halfpenny.

Mr. Grant, the author of "Random Recollections," is, it is said, engaged
in writing a new work, entitled "Quacks as they are," and containing
copious extracts from all his former publications, with a portrait of
himself.

"An Essay on False Wigs," written by Lord John Russell, and dedicated to
Mr. Wakley, M.P., may shortly be expected.

       *       *       *       *       *


PUNCH'S THEATRE.

THE UNITED SERVICE.

The man who wishes to study an epitome of human character--who wants to
behold choice samples of "all sorts and conditions of men"--to read out of
a small, a duodecimo edition of the great book of life--must take a
season's lodgings at a Cheltenham, a Harrowgate, or a Brighton
boarding-house. There he will find representatives of all kinds of
eccentricities,--members of every possible lodge of "odd fellows" that
Folly has admitted of her crew--mixed up with everyday sort of people,
sharpers, schemers, adventurers, fortune-hunters, male and female--widows,
wags, and Irishmen. Hence, as the "proper study of mankind is man," a
boarding-house is the place to take lessons;--even on the score of
economy, as it is possible to live decently at one of these refuges for
the destitute for three guineas a-week, exclusive, however, of wine,
servants, flirtation, and other extras.

A result of this branch of study, and an example of such a mode of
studying it, is the farce with the above title, which has been brought out
at Covent Garden. _Mrs. Walker_ (Mrs. Orger) keeps a boarding-house, which
also keeps her; for it is well frequented: so well that we find her making
a choice of inmates by choosing to turn out _Mr. Woodpecker_ (Mr. Walter
Lacy)--a mere "sleeping-apartment" boarder--to make room for _Mrs. Coo_
(Mrs. Glover), a widow, whose demands entitle her to the dignity of a
"private sitting and bedroom" lodger. _Mr. Woodpecker_ is very
comfortable, and does not want to go; but the hostess is obstinate: he
appeals to her feelings as an orphan, without home or domesticity; but the
lady, having been in business for a dozen years, has lost all sympathy for
orphans of six-and-twenty. In short, _Mrs. Walker_ determines he shall
walk, and so shall his luggage (a plethoric trunk and an obese carpet-bag
are on the stage); for she has dreamt even that has legs--such dreams
being, we suppose, very frequent to persons of her name.

You are not quite satisfied that the mere preference for a better inmate
furnishes the only reasons why the lady wants _Mr. Woodpecker's room_
rather than his company. Perhaps he is in arrear; but no, he pays his
bill: so it is not on _that_ score that he is so ruthlessly sent away. You
are, however, not kept long on the tiptoe of conjecture, but soon learn
that _Mrs. W._ has a niece, and you already know that the banished is
young, good-looking, and gay. Indeed, _Mrs. Walker_ having perambulated,
_Miss Fanny Merrivale_ (Miss Lee) appears, and listens very composedly to
the plan of an elopement from _Woodpecker_, but speedily makes her _exit_
to avoid suspicion, and the enemy who has dislodged her lover; before whom
the latter also retreats, together with his bag and baggage.

There are no classes so well represented at boarding-houses as those who
sigh for fame, and those that are dying to be married. Accordingly, we
find in _Mrs. Walker's_ establishment _Captain Whistleborough_ (Mr. W.
Farren), who is doing the extreme possible to get into Parliament, and
_Captain Pacific, R.N._, (Mr. Bartley,) who is crowding all sail to the
port of matrimony. Well knowing how boarding-houses teem with such
persons, two men who come under the "scheming" category are also inmates.
One of these, _Mr. Enfield Bam_ (Mr. Harley), is a sort of parliamentary
agent, who goes about to dig up aspirants that are buried in obscurity,
and to introduce them to boroughs, by which means he makes a very good
living. His present victim is, of course, _Captain Whistleborough_, upon
whom he is not slow in commencing operations.

_Captain Whistleborough_ has almost every requisite for an orator. He is
an army officer; so his manners are good and his self-possession complete.
His voice is commanding, for it has been long his duty to give the word of
command. Above all, he has a mania to become a member. Yet, alas! one
trifling deficiency ruins his prospects; he has an impediment in his
speech, which debars him from the use of the _W's_. Like the French
alphabet, that letter is denied to him. When he comes to a syllable it
begins, he is _spell_-bound; though he longs to go on, he pulls up quite
short, and sticks fast. The first _W_ he meets with in the flowery paths
of rhetoric causes him to be as dumb as an oyster, or as O. Smith in
"Frankenstein." In vain does he try the Demosthenes' plan by sucking
pebbles on the Brighton shore and haranguing the _w_aves, though he is
unable to address them by name. All is useless, and he has resigned
himself to despair and a Brighton boarding-house, when _Mr. Enfield Bam_
gives him fresh hopes. He informs him that the proprietress of a pocket
borough resides under the same roof, and that he will (for the usual
consideration) get the Captain such an introduction to her as shall ensure
him a seat in her good graces, and another in St. Stephen's. _Mr. Bam_,
therefore, goes off to negotiate with _Miss Polecon_ (Mrs. Tayleure), and
makes way for the intrigues of another sort of an agent, who lives in the
house.

This is _Rivet_ (Mr. C. Mathews), a gentleman who undertakes to procure
for an employer anything upon earth he may want, at so much per cent.
commission. There is nothing that this very general agent cannot get hold
of, from a hack to a husband--from a boat to a baronetcy--from a
tortoise-shell tom-cat to a rich wife. Matrimonial agency is, however, his
passion, and he has plenty of indulgence for it in a Brighton
boarding-house. _Captain Pacific_ wants a wife, _Mrs. Coo_ is a widow, and
all widows want husbands. Thus _Rivet_ makes sure of a swingeing
commission from both parties; for, in imagination, and in his own
memorandum-book, he has already married them.

Here are the ingredients of the farce; and in the course of it they are
compounded in such wise as to make _Woodpecker_ jealous, merely because he
happens to find _Fanny_ in the dark, and in _Whistleborough's_ arms; to
cause the latter to negotiate with _Mrs. Coo_ for a seat in Parliament,
instead of a wedding-ring; and _Pacific_ to talk of the probable prospects
of the nuptial state to _Miss Polecon_, who is an inveterate spinster and
a political economist, professing the Malthusian creed. _Rivet_ finding
_Fanny_ and her friend are taking business out of his hands by planning an
elopement _en amateur_, gets himself "regularly called in," and manages to
save _Woodpecker_ all the trouble, by contriving that _Whistleborough_
shall run away with the young lady by mistake, so that _Woodpecker_ might
marry her, and no mistake. _Bam_ bams _Whistleborough_, who ends the piece
by threatening his deceiver with an action for breach of promise of
borough, all the other breaches having been duly made up; together with
the match between _Mrs. Coo_ and _Pacific_.

If our readers want to be told what we think of this farce, they will be
disappointed; if they wish to know whether it is good or bad, witty or
dull, lively or stupid--whether it ought to have been damned outright, or
to supersede the Christmas pantomime--whether the actors played well or
played the deuce--whether the scenery is splendid and the appointments
appropriate or otherwise, they must judge for themselves by going to see
it; because if we gave them our opinion they would not believe us, seeing
that the author is one of our most esteemed (especially over a boiled
chicken and sherry), most merry, most jolly, most clever colleagues; one,
in fine, of PUNCH'S "United Service."

       *       *       *       *       *


"I have been running ever since I was born and am not tired now"--as the
brook said to Captain Barclay.

"Hookey"--as the carp said, when he saw a worm at the end of a line.

"_Nothing is_ certain"--as the fisherman said, when he always found it in
his nets.

"Brief let it be"--as the barrister said in his conference with the
attorney.

"He is the greatest liar on (H) earth"--as the cockney said of the
lapdog he often saw lying before the fire.

When is a hen most likely to hatch? When she is in earnest (her nest).

Why are cowardly soldiers like butter? When exposed to a _fire_ they
_run_.

Do you sing?--says the teapot to the kettle--Yes, I can manage to get over
a few _bars_.--Bah, exclaimed the teapot.

       *       *       *       *       *







*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOLUME 1, DECEMBER 18, 1841 ***


    

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