Chapter I: The Author Dedicates His Work to the Fairer Half of the (2)

To Lucius Junius Brutus Brown, the Marsh-gate turnpike ticket for Christmas-dayof which an early copy has been most handsomely presented by the contractor. This useful and interesting document has been given for the best designupon 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 hes 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.)

WELL 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 mistresss 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,Im the boy for bewitching them

Whisht, ye divils, now cant you be aisy,

Like a cat whin shes licking the crame.

And Ill sing ye a song just to plase you,

About myself, Dermot Macshane.

Youll own, whin Ive tould ye my story.

And the janius adorning my race,

Although Ive no brass in my pocket,

Mushagra! Ive got lots in my face.

For in rainy or sunshiny weather,

Im full of good whiskey and joy;

And take me in parts altogether,

By the powrs Im 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 ofjust 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

Im famous for drinking that same.

And Im 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 murderd the boy.

For in rainy, &c.

A fine architict was my father,

As ever walkd over the sea;

He built Teddy Murphys mud cabin

And didnt 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 Id scorn to be rude to a lady,

Miss Fortune and I cant 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 Ill snap;

Im as rich as a Jew without money,

And free as a mouse in a trap.

For in rainy, &c.

[pg 270] 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 sizean 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 silverhis 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 Waleswe at once, and in the most liberal manner, give the child his titlehas 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 propositionit is knownhas 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 scalesweighed, 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 offalagainst 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 OCONNOR, VINCENT, and PINKETHLIE, throw away their weapons for a knife and fork? Is not this the way to make the weight of royalty easyoh, most easy!to a burthened people? The beef-and-pudding representatives of His Royal Highness, preaching upon every poor mans table, would carry the consolations of loyalty to every poor mans 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 LAURIEan 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 PETERS 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 bodiesby all individuals blessed with aught to give. Let the physical weight of all corporationsall 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, whichwhen we are given away gratis in the streetsmay 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.

[pg 271] PUNCHS PENCILLINGS.No. XXIII. A man sits looking at a piece of paper. THE POLITICIAN PUZZLED;

OR,

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

[pg 273] THE CHEROOT. An excellent thing it is, when you get it genuinenone 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 others 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 neer 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 Lincolns 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

Ive sat in that Court where the fig-tree dont grow

And wonderd how I, without money, should pay

The little account to my laundress below!

And when I have heard a quick step on the stair,

Ive thought which of twenty rich duns it could be,

I have rushd to the door in a fit of despair,

Andreceived 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 thats found.

When venting in verse our despondence and grief;

But the pen of the poet was neer, Ill 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 actyesof signing a plea.

CHORUS.Signing a plea, signing a plea!

Die in the actyesof signing a plea.

A CUT BY SIR PETER. A man looks in a mirror with a surprised look. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ANACREON, PETRONIUS, CERVANTES, HUDIBRAS, AND PUNCH. A CASE IN POINT, FROM ANACREON. ???S ???????. ?????s? a? ???a??e?

??a????? ????? e?

?aß?? ?s?pt??? ???e?

??µa? µ?? ????t? ??sa?

????? d? se? µ?t?p??.

A FREE TRANSLATION BY PUNCHTHE CUTTEE. Oft by the women I am told

Tomkins, my boy, youre 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-ish11. This is a graceful as well as a literal rendering of the bard of Teos. The word ????? signifying nudus, inanis, envis, fatuus; Anglice,Sir Peter Laurie-ish ED. OF PUNCH. now.

A TRIBUTE BY PETRONIUS. Quod summum formæ decus est, cecidere capilli,

Vernantesque comas tristis abegit hyems

Nunc umbra nudata sua jam tempora mrent,

Areaque attritis nidet adusta pilis.

O fallax natura Deum! quæ prima dedisti

Ætati nostræ gaudia, prima rapis.

Infelix modo crinibus nitebas,

Phbo pulchrior, et sorore Phbi:

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, youre dishd! 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 youre sure to cut again.

Unhappy Tomkins! late thy ringlets rare,

Een Wombwells self to rival might despair.

Now with thy smooth crown, nor the fledglings chops,

Nor East-born Mechis 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 oer your morn.

Tomkins, youre dishd! 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 dye call him, green as a fig, should appear no better than an ass in your worships eyes? By the Lord, Ill 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?

[pg 274] 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

A boy runs off with the cane of a man seated with his bandaged foot on a stool. 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 earlycarriage paid.

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

Turkeysfor which PUNCH undertakes to find cuts, and platesunlimited.

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

Mince Pies, per dozenthirteen 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

A man chases after another with a stick. 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. A gentleman leans against a letter A. ll 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, whenbang!a tall, whiskered fellow, who, rumour has whispered, is the ladys 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 agonyremarks on the sultriness of the weather, though the thermometer is below the freezing point; and commits a thousand gaucheriestoo 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, youthyouth! 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 passesthe 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 [pg 275]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 returnshe flies to his mistressshe 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 fieldsalone, or in companyhe 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 beingher 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 organs solemn peal, pours forth its rich treasures in silent and grateful adoration.

A woman kneels on a prayer stool. At thirty, a man takes a more decidedI wish I could add a more amiablecharacter 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 womans 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 idolisesrank, 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, howeverin justice to our sexprovided 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 dinnerthe 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 timehe 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

A toddler in Napoleonic hat and sash. A WATCHFUL SENTINEL.

A signature of 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

A man runs through a fence as a bull chases him. 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 Ill let you see you are wrong, as

A man hangs from the neck. A GRAMMARIAN DECLINING TO BE.

[pg 276] PUNCHS 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.

PUNCHS THEATRE. THE UNITED SERVICE. The man who wishes to study an epitome of human characterwho wants to behold choice samples of all sorts and conditions of mento read out of a small, a duodecimo edition of the great book of lifemust take a seasons 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 crewmixed up with everyday sort of people, sharpers, schemers, adventurers, fortune-hunters, male and femalewidows, 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 boarderto 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 legssuch 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. Woodpeckers 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. Walkers 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 Ws. 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 waves, 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. Stephens. 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 husbandfrom a boat to a baronetcyfrom 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 Whistleboroughs 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 stupidwhether it ought to have been damned outright, or to supersede the Christmas pantomimewhether the actors played well or played the deucewhether 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 PUNCHS United Service.

I have been running ever since I was born and am not tired nowas the brook said to Captain Barclay.

Hookeyas the carp said, when he saw a worm at the end of a line.

Nothing is certainas the fisherman said, when he always found it in his nets.

Brief let it beas the barrister said in his conference with the attorney.

He is the greatest liar on (H) earthas 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 kettleYes, I can manage to get over a few bars.Bah, exclaimed the teapot.

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 1. DECEMBER 25, 1841. [pg 277] HOW MR. CHOKEPEAR KEEPS A MERRY CHRISTMAS. Mr. CHOKEPEAR is, to the finger- nails, a respectable man. The tax-gatherer was never known to call at his door a second time for the same rate; he takes the sacrament two or three times a year, and has in his cellar the oldest port in the parish. He has more than once subscribed to the fund for the conversion of the Jews; and, as a proof of his devotion to the interests of the established church, it was he who started the subscription to present the excellent Doctor MANNAMOUTH with a superb silver tea-pot, cream-jug, and spoons. He did this, as he has often proudly declared, to show to the infidel world that there were some men in the parish who were true Christians. He has acquired a profound respect for Sir PETER LAURIE, since the aldermans judgments upon the starving villains who would fly in the face of their Maker; and, having a very comfortable balance at his bankers, considers all despair very weak, very foolish, and very sinful. He, however, blesses himself that for such miscreants there is Newgate; and morethere is Sir PETER LAURIE.

Mr. CHOKEPEAR loves Christmas! Yes, he is an Englishman, and he will tell you that he loves to keep Christmas-day in the true old English fashion. How does he keep it?

It is eight oclock, and Mr. CHOKEPEAR rises from his goose-down. He dresses himself, says his short morning thanksgiving, and being an economist of time, unconsciously polishes his gold watch-chain the while. He descends to the breakfast parlour, and receives from lips of ice, the wishes of a happy Christmas, pronounced by sons and daughters, to whom, as he himself declares, he is the best of fathersthe most indulgent of men.

The church-bell tolls, and the CHOKEPEARS, prepare for worship. What meekness, what self-abasement sits on the Christian face of TOBIAS CHOKEPEAR as he walks up the aisle to his cosey pew; where the woman, with turned key and hopes of Christmas half-crown lighting her withered face, sinks a curtsey as she lets the miserable sinner in; having carefully pre-arranged the soft cushions and hassocks for the said sinner, his wife, his sons, and daughters. The female CHOKEPEARS with half the produce of a Canadian winters hunting in their tippets, muffs, and dresses, and with their noses, like pens stained with red ink,prepare themselves to receive the religious blessings of the day. They then venture to look around the church, and recognising CHOKEPEARS of kindred nature, though not of name, in pews(none of course among the most miserable sinners on the bare benches)they smile a bland salutation, andbut hush! the service is about to begin.

And now will TOBIAS CHOKEPEAR perform the religious duties of a Christian! Look at him, how he feeds upon every syllable of the minister. He turns the Prayer-book familiarly, as if it were his bank account, and, in a moment, lights upon the prayers set apart for the day. With what a composed, assured face he listens to the decaloguehow firm his voice in the responsesand though the effrontery of scandal avows that he shifts somewhat from Mrs. CHOKEPEARS eye at the mention of the maid-servantwe do not believe it.

It is thus CHOKEPEAR begins his Christmas-day. He comes to celebrate the event of the Incarnation of all goodness; to return his most humble and hearty thanks for the glory that Providence has vouchsafed to him in making him a Christian. HeTobias CHOKEPEARmight have been born a Gentoo! Gracious powers! he might have been doomed to trim the lamps in the Temple of Juggernauthe might have come into this world to sweep the marble of the Mosque at Meccahe might have been a faquir, with iron and wooden pins stuck in his mortified bare fleshhe might, we shudder to think upon the probability, have brandished his club as a New Zealander; and his stomach, in a state of heathen darkness to the humanising beauties of goose and apple-sauce, might, with unblessed appetite, have fed upon the flesh of his enemies. He might, as a Laplander, have driven a sledge, and fed upon walrus-blubber; and now is he an Englishmana Christiana carriage holder, and an eater of venison!

It is plain that all these thoughtscalled up by the eloquence of Doctor MANNAMOUTH, who preaches on the occasionare busy in the bosom of CHOKEPEAR; and he sits on his soft cushion, with his eyelids declined, swelling and melting with gratitude for his blissful condition. Yes; he feels the glorious prerogative of his birththe exquisite beauty of his religion. He ought to feel himself a happy man; and, glancing round his handsomely-appointed pewhe does.

A sweet discoursea very sweet discourse, says CHOKEPEAR to several respectable acquaintance, as the organ plays the congregation out; and CHOKEPEAR looks round about him airily, contentedly; as though his conscience was as unseared as the green holly that decorates the pews; as though his heart was fresh, and red, and spotless as its berries.

Well, the religious ceremonies of the day being duly observed, CHOKEPEAR resolves to enjoy Christmas in the true old English fashion. Oh! ye gods, that bless the larders of the respectable,what a dinner! The board is enough to give Plenty a plethora, and the whole house is odoriferous as the airs of Araby. And then, what delightful evidences of old observing friendship on the table! There is a turkeyonly a little lower than an ostrichdespatched all the way from an acquaintance in Norfolk, to smoke a Christmas salutation to good Mr. CHOKEPEAR. Another county sends a gooseanother pheasantsanother brawn; and CHOKEPEAR, with his eye half slumbering in delight upon the gifts, inwardly avows that the friendship of friends really well to do is a fine, a noble thing.

The dinner passes off most admirably. Not one single culinary accident has marred a single dish. The pudding is delicious; the custards are something better than mannathe mince pies a conglomeration of ambrosial sweets. And then the Port! Mr. CHOKEPEAR smacks his lips like a whip, and gazes on the bees wing, as HERSCHELL would gaze upon a new-found star, swimming in the blue profound. Mr. CHOKEPEAR wishes all a merry Christmas, and tosses off the wine, its flavour by no means injured by the declared conviction of the drinker, that there isnt such another glass in the parish!

The evening comes on. Cards, snap-dragons, quadrilles, country-dances, with a hundred devices to make people eat and drink, send night into morning; and it may be at six or seven on the twenty-sixth of December, our friend CHOKEPEAR, a little mellow, but not at all too mellow for the season, returns to his sheets, and when he rises declares that he has passed a very merry Christmas. If the human animal were all stomachall one large paunchwe should agree with CHOKEPEAR that he had passed a merry Christmas: but was it the Christmas of a good man or a Christian? Let us see.

We have said all CHOKEPEARS daughters dined with him. We forgot: one was absent. Some seven years ago she married a poorer husband, and poverty was his only, but certainly his sufficient fault; and her father vowed that she should never again cross his threshold. The Christian keeps his word. He has been to church to celebrate the event which preached to all men mutual love and mutual forgiveness, and he comes home, and with rancour in his heartkeeps a merry Christmas!

We have briefly touched upon the banquet spread before CHOKEPEAR. There is a poor debtor of his in Horsemonger-lane prisona debtor to the amount of at least a hundred shillings. Does he dine on Christmas-day? Oh! yes; Mr. CHOKEPEAR will read in The Times of Monday how the under- marshal served to each prisoner a pound of beef, a slice of pudding, and a pint of porter! The man might have spent the day in freedom with his wife and children; but Mr. CHOKEPEAR in his pew thought not of his debtor, and the creditor at leastkept a merry Christmas!

How many shivering wretches pass CHOKEPEARS door! How many, with the wintry air biting their naked limbs, and freezing within them the very springs of human hope! In CHOKEPEARS house there are, it may be, a dozen coats, nay, a hundred articles of cast-off dress, flung aside for the mothpiles of stuff and flannel, that would at this season wrap the limbs of the wretched in comparative Elysium. Does Mr. CHOKEPEAR, the respectable, the Christian CHOKEPEAR, order these (to him unnecessary) things to be given to the naked? He thinks not of them; for he wears fleecy hosiery next his skin, and being in all things dressed in defiance of the seasonkeeps a merry Christmas.

Gentle reader, we wish you a merry Christmas; but to be truly, wisely merry, it must not be the Christmas of the CHOKEPEARS. That is the Christmas of the belly: keep you the Christmas of the heart. Givegive.

Q.

COMMERCIAL PANIC.RUMOURED STOPPAGE IN THE CITY. There is in the city a noted place for deposits, much resorted to by certain parties, who are in the habit of giving drafts upon it very freely, when applied to for payment. We regret to state that if the severity of the weather continues, a stoppage is expected in the quarter hinted at, and as the issues are at all times exceedingly copious, the worst results may be anticipated. Our readers will at once perceive that, in attributing such an effect as total stoppage to such a cause as continued frost, we can only point to one quarter which is in the habit of answering drafts; and, as further delicacy would be useless, we avow at once that Aldgate Pump is here alluded to. We understand that, as the customers are chiefly people of straw, it is intended to see what effect straw will have in averting the calamity. We were sorry to see the other day a very large bill upon a quarter hitherto so respectable. We are aware that its exposed condition gives every one a handle against it, and we are, therefore, the more circumspect in giving currency to every idle rumour. We should be no less sorry to see Aldgate Pump stop from external causes, than to know that it had been swamped by its own excessive issues. Though as yet quite above water, it is feared that it will soon be in an-ice predicament.

FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE. Arrivals.Jack Frost, from the North.

Departures.Several members of the Swellmobocracy have, within the last few days, quitted Deptford for South Australia. The periods of their intended sojourn are various.

Changes.Ned Morris has changed his collar, but continues his shirt for the present. Among the other changes we have to record one effected by Sam Smasher, of a counterfeit sovereign.

It is a remarkable fact that the weathercocks have recently changed their quarters, and have left the West in favour of the East: a predilection of astounding vulgarity.

Timothy Tomkins has had another splendid turn-out from his lodgings, the landlord having complained of want of punctuality in payments.

[pg 278] A LETTER FROM AN OLD FRIEND, SHOWING HOW HE IS GETTING ON. Clodpole, Dec. 23, 1841.

MY DEAR PUNCH,