Chapter II: A pontificating man with his arms outstretched in the shape (2)

In order to secure that general style and bearing for which Foreign Affairs are so remarkable, the mind must be carefully divested of divers incompatible qualitiessuch as self-respect, the sense of shame, the reverential instinct, and that of conscience, as certain feelings are termed. It must also be relieved of any inconvenient weight of knowledge under which it may labour; though these directions are perhaps needless, as those who have any inclination to form themselves after the pattern of Foreign Affairs, are not very likely to have any such moral or intellectual disqualifications to get rid of. However, it would only be necessary to become conversant with the Affairs themselves, in order, if requisite, to remove all difficulties of the sort. There is a thing, reader, which thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name of pitch; we need not finish the quotation.

To defend the preceding observations from misconstruction, we will make, in conclusion, one additional remark; Foreign Affairs are one thingForeign Gentlemen another.

[pg 43] PUNCHS PENCILLINGSNo. IV. Sketches of people on the top half of the image, and a crowd of fashionable people on the bottom. Signed by John Leach and E. Landells. FOREIGN AFFAIRS by An ink bottle

[pg 45] THE MINTO-HOUSE MANIFESTO Some of our big mothers of the broad- sheet have expressed their surprise that Lord John Russell should have penned so long an address to the citizens of London, only the day before his wedding. For ourselves, we think, it would have augured a far worse compliment to Lady John had he written it the day after. These gentlemen very properly look upon marriage as a most awful ceremony, and would, therefore, indirectly compliment the nerve of a statesman who pens a political manifesto with the torch of Hymen in his eyes, and the whole house odorous of wedding-cake. In the like manner have we known the last signature of an unfortunate gentleman, about to undergo a great public and private change, eulogized for the firmness and clearness of its letters, with the perfect mastery of the supplementary flourish. However, what is written is written; whether penned to the rustling of bridesmaids satins, or the surplice of the consolatory ordinarywhether to the anticipated music of a marriage peal, or to the more solemn accompaniment of the bell of St. Sepulchres.

Ha! Lord John, had you only spoken out a little year agohad you only told her Majestys Commons what you told the Livery of Londonthen, at this moment, you had been no moribund ministerthen had Sir Robert Peel been as far from St. Jamess as he has ever been from Chatham. But so it is: the Whig Ministry, like martyr Trappists, have died rather than open their mouths. They would not hear the counsel of their friends, and they refused to speak out to their enemies. They retire from office with, at least, this distinctionthey are henceforth honorary members of the Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb!

Again, the Whigs are victims to their inherent sense of politenessto their instinctive observance of courtesy towards the Tories. There has been no bold defianceno challenge to mortal combat for the cause of public good; but when Whig has called out Tory, it has been in picked and holiday phrase

As if a brother should a brother dare,

To gentle exercise and proof of arms.

For a long time the people have expected to see cracked crowns and bloody noses, and at length, with true John Bull disgust, turned from the ring, convinced that the Whigs, whatever play they might make, would never go in and fight.

But have the Tories been correspondingly courteous? By no means; the generosity of politeness has been wholly with the Whigs. They, like frolicsome youths at a carnival, have pelted their antagonists with nothing harder than sugar-plumswith egg-shells filled with rose-water; while the Tories have acknowledged such holiday missiles with showers of brickbats, and eggs not filled with aromatic dew. What was the result? The Tories increased in confidence and strength with every new assault; whilst the battered Whigs, from their sheer pusillanimity, became noisome in the nostrils of the country.

At length, the loaves and fishes being about to be carried off, the Whigs speak out: like sulky Master Johnny, who, pouting all dinner-time, with his finger in his mouth, suddenly finds his tongue when the apple- dumplings are to be taken from the table. Then does he advance his plate, seize his ivory knife and fork, put on a look of determined animation, and cry aloud for plenty of paste, plenty of fruit, and plenty of sugar! And then Mrs. Tory (it must be confessed a wicked old Mother Cole in her time), with a face not unlike the countenance of a certain venerable paramour at a baptismal rite, declares upon her hopes of immortality that the child shall have nothing of the sort, there being nothing so dangerous to the constitution as plenty of flour, plenty of fruit, and plenty of sugar. Therefore, there is a great uproar with Master Johnny: the House, to use a familiar phrase, is turned out of the windows; the neighbourhood is roused; Master Johnny rallies his friends about him, that is, all the other boys of the court, and the fight begins. Johnny and his mates make a very good fight, but certain heavy Buckinghamshire countrymenfellows of fifty stoneare brought to the assistance of that screaming beldame Mother Tory, and poor Master Johnny has no other election than to listen to the shouts of triumph that declare there never shall be plenty of flour, plenty of sugar, or, in a word, plenty of pudding.

However, Lord Russell is not discouraged. No; he says there shall be cakes and ale, and ginger shall be hot i the mouth, too! We only trust that his Lordships manifesto is not tinged by those feelings of hope (and in the case of his lordship we may add, resignation) that animate most men about to enter wedlock. We trust he does not confound his own anticipations of happiness with the prospects of the country; for in allusion to the probable policy of the Tories, he saysReturned to officethey may adopt our measures, and submit to the influence of reason. Reason from the Stanleysreason from the Goulburnsreason from the Aberdeens! When the Marquis of Londonderry shall have discovered the longitude, and Colonel Sibthorp have found out the philosophers stone, we may then begin to expect the greater miracle.

The Whigs, according to Lord Russells letter, have really done so much when out of power, andas he insinuates, are again ready to do so much the instant they are expelled the Treasurythat for the sake of the country, it must be a matter of lamentation if ever they get in again.

PUNCH AND SIR JOHN POLLEN. Punch, we regret to state, was taken into custody on Monday night at a late hour, on a warrant, for the purpose of being bound over to keep the peace towards Sir John Pollen, Bart. The circumstances giving rise to this affair will be better explained by a perusal of the following correspondence, which took place between ourselves and Sir John, on the occasion, a copy of which we subjoin:

Wellington Street, July 30, 1841.

SIR,I have this moment read in the Morning Chronicle, the correspondence between you and Lord William Paget, wherein you are reported to say, that your recent defeat at the Andover election was effected by tampering with some of the smaller voters, who would have voted for Punch or any other puppet; and that such expressions were not intended to be personally offensive to Lord William Paget! The members of her Majestys puppetry not permitting derogatory conclusions to be drawn at their expense, I call upon you to state whether the above assertions are correct; and if so, whether, in the former case, you intended to allude personally to myself, or my friend Colonel Sibthorp; or, in the latter, to infer that you considered Lord W. Paget in any way our superior.

I have the honour to be, Sir, your obedient servant, PUNCH.

Sir John Pollen, Bart.

Redenham, July 30, 1841.

SIGNOR,I have just received a note in which you complain of a speech made by me at Andover. I have sent express for my Lord Wilkshire, and will then endeavour to recollect what I did say.

I have the honour to be, your admirer, JOHN POLLEN.

To Signor Punch.

White Hart.

SIGNOR,My friend Lord Wilkshire has just arrived. It is his opinion that: I did use the terms Punch, or any other puppet; but I intended them to have been highly complimentary, as applied to Lord William Paget.

I have the honour to be, your increased admirer, JOHN POLLEN.

To Signor Punch.

Wellington Street.

SIR,I and the Colonel are perfectly satisfied. Yours ever,

PUNCH

Wellington Street.

MY LORD,It would have afforded me satisfaction to have consulted the wishes of Sir John Pollen in regard to the publication of this correspondence. The over-zeal of Sir Johns friends have left me no choice in the matter, I shall print.

Your obedient servant, PUNCH.

Earl of Wilkshire.

Thus ended this

A man looks into a dressing mirror, and his reflection shows a devil's head. CURIOUS CORRESPONDENCE.

HUMFERY CHEAT-EM.(Vide Ainsworths Guy Fawkes.)

A city friend met us the other morning: Hark ee, said he, Alderman Humfery has been selling shares of the Blackwall Railway, which were not in his possession; and when the directors complained, and gave him notice that they would bring his conduct before a full meeting, inviting him at the same time to attend, and vindicate or explain his conduct as he best might, he not only declined to do so, but hurried off to Dublin. Now, I want to know this, and he took me by the button, why was Alderman Humfery, when he ran away to Dublin, like the boy who ripped up his goose which laid golden eggs?We were fain to give it up.Because, said he, with a cruel dig in the ribs, because he cut his lucky!

[pg 46] THE BOY JONESS LOG. PICKED UP AT SEA. The following interesting narrative of the sufferings of the youth Jones, whose indefatigable pursuit of knowledge, under the most discouraging circumstances, has been the cause of his banishment to a distant shore, was lately picked up at sea, in a sealed bottle, by a homeward-bound East Indiaman, and since placed in our hands by the captain of the vessel; who complimented us by saying, he felt such confidence in PUNCHS honour and honesty! (these were his very words), that he unhesitatingly confided to him the precious document, in order that it might be given to the world without alteration or curtailment.

We hasten to realise the captains flattering estimate of our character.

At see, on board the ship Apollo.

June 30.So soon as the fust aggytation of my mind is woar off, I take up my pen to put my scentiments on peaper, in hops that my friends as nose the misfortin wich as oc-curd to me, may think off me wen Im far a whey. Halass! sir, the wicktim of that crewel blewbeard, Lord Melbun, who got affeard of my rising poplarity in the Palass, and as sent me to see for my peeping, though, heaven nose, I was acktyated by the pewrest motiffs in what I did. The reel fax of the case is, Im a young man of an ighly cultiwated mind and a very ink-wisitive disposition, wich naturally led me to the use of the pen. I ad also bean in the abit of reading Jak Sheppard, and I may add, that I O all my eleygant tastes to the perowsal of that faxinating book. O! wot a noble mind the author of these wollums must have!what a frootful inwention and fine feelings he displays!what a delicat weal he throws over the piccadillys of his ero, making petty larceny lovely, and burglarly butiful.

However, I dont mean now to enter into a reglar crickitism of this egxtrornary work, but merely to observe, when I read it fust I felt a thust for literrerry fame spring up in my buzzem; and I thort I should to be an orthor. Unfortinnet delusion!that thort has proved my rooin. It was the bean of my life, and the destroyer of my pease. From that moment I could think of nothink else; I neglekted my wittles and my master, and wanderd about like a knight-errand-boy who had forgotten his message. Sleap deserted my lowly pillar, and, like a wachful shepherd, I lay all night awake amongst my flocks. I had got hold of a single idearit was the axle of my mind, and, like a wheelbarrow, my head was always turning upon it. At last I resolved to rite, and I cast my is about for a subjectthey fell on the Palass! Ear, as my friend Litton Bulwer ses, ear was a field for genus to sore into;ear was an area for fillophosy to dive into;ear was a truly magnificient and comprehensive desine for a great nash-ional picture! I had got a splendid title, toonot for myselfIve a sole above such trumperrybut for my book. Boox is like humane beingsa good title goes a grate way with the crowd:the one I ad chose for my shed-oove, was Pencillings in the Palass; or, a Small Voice from the Royal Larder, with commick illustriations by Fiz or Krokvill. Mr. Bentley wantid to be engaged as monthly nuss for my expected projeny; and a nother genleman, whose name shall be never heard, offered to go shears with me, if Id consent to cut-uup the Cort ladies. No, ses I, indignantly, I leave Cort scandle to my bettersI go on independent principals into the Palass, and thats more than Lord Melbun, or Sir Robert Peal, or any one of the insiders or outsiders ever could or ever can say of theirselves.

Thats what I said then,but now I think, what a cussed fool I was. All my eye-flown bubbles were fated to be busted and melted, like the wigs, into thin hair.

Nong port! We gets wiser as we gets

Genteel Reader,I beg your parding. Im better now. Bless me, how the ship waggles! Its reelly hawful; the sailors only laff at it, but I suppose as theyre all tars they dont mind being pitched a little.

The capting tells me we are now reglarly at see, having just passt the North 4 land; so, ackording to custom, I begin my journal, or, as naughtical men call itto keep my log.

12 oclock.Wind.All in my eye. Mate said we had our larburd tax aboardnever herd of that tax on shore. Told me I should learn to box the compasstried, but couldnt do itso boxt the cabbing boy insted. Capting several times calld to a man who was steeringPort, port; but though he always anserd, Eye, eye, sir, he didnt bring him a drop. The black cook fell into the hold on the topp of his hed. Everybody sed he was gone to Davy Joness locker; but he warnt, for he soon came to again, drank 1/2 a pint of rumm, and declared it was

A black man applies Marrens Jet shoe polish to his face. THE REAL BLACK REVIVER.

Saw a yung salor sitting on the top of one of the maststhort of Dibdings faymos see-song, and asked if he warnt

The sweet little cherub that sits up aloft?

Man laffd, and said it wor only Bill Junk clearing the pennant halliards.

1 oclock.Thort formerly that every sailer wore his pigtale at the back of his head, like Mr. Tippy Cookfind I labored under a groce mistakethey all carry their pigtale in their backy-boxes. When I beheld the sailors working and heaving, and found that I was also beginning to heave-too, I cuddnt help repeting the varse of the old songwhich fitted my case egsactly:

Theres the captn he is our kimmander,

Theres the bosn and all the ships crew,

Theres the married men as well as the single,

Ken-ows what we poor sailors goes through.

However, I made up my mind not to look inward on my own wose any longer, so I put my head out of a hole in the side of the shipand, my wiskers! how she did whizz along. Saw the white cliffs of Halbion a long way off, wich brought tiers in my i, thinking of those I had left behind, particular Sally Martin the young gal I was paying my attentions to, who gave me a lock of her air when I was a leaving of the key. Oh! Lord Melbun, Lord Melbun! how can you rest in youre 4-post bed at nite, nowing you have broke the tize of affexion and divided 2 fond arts for hever! This mellancholly reflexion threw me into a poeticle fitte, and though I was werry uneasy in my stommik, and had nothing to rite on but my chest. I threw off as follows in a few 2nds, and arterards sung it to the well-none hair of Willy Reilly:

Oakum to me33. The nautical mode of writingOh! come to me.PRINTERS DEVIL., ye sailors bold,

Wot plows upon the sea;

To you I mean for to unfold

My mournful histo-ree.

So pay attention to my song,

And quick-el-ly shall appear,

How innocently, all along,

I vos in-weigle-ed here.

One night, returnin home to bed,

I walkd through Pim-li-co,

And, twigging of the Palass, sed,

Im Jones and In-i-go.

But afore I could get out, my boys

Pollise-man 20 A,

He caught me by the corderoys,

And lugged me right a-way.

My cuss upon Lord Melbun, and

On Jonny Russ-all-so,

That forcd me from my native land

Across the vaves to go-o-oh.

But all their spiteful arts is wain,

My spirit down to keep;

I hopes Ill soon git back again,

To take another peep.

2 oclock.Bell rung for all hands to come down to dinner. Thought I never saw dirtier hands in my life. They call their dinner a mess on broad ship, and a preshious mess it did lookno bread but hard biskit and plenty of ships rolls, besides biled pork and P-soopboth these articles seemed rayther queerfelt my stommick growing quear toogot on deck, and asked where we werewas told we were in the Straits of Dover. I never was in such dreadful straits in my lifeship leaning very much on one side, which made me feel like a man

A man falling backwards off of a steep roof. GOING OFF IN A RAPID DECLINE.

3 oclock.Weather getting rather worse than better. Mind very uneasy. Capting says we shall have plenty of squalls to-night; and I heard him just now tell the mate to look to the main shrouds, so I spose its all dickey with us, and that this log will be my sad epilog. The idear of being made fish meat was so orrible to my sensitive mind, that I couldnt refrain from weaping, which made the capting send me down stairs, to vent my sorros in the cable tiers.

5 oclock.Im sure we shant srwive this night, therefore I av determined to put my heavy log into an M T rum-bottle, and throw it overbord, in bops it may be pickd up by some pirson who will bare my sad tail to my dear Sally. And now I conclewd with this short advice:Let awl yung men take warning by my crewel fate. Let them avide bad kumpany and keep out of the Palass; and above all, let them mind their bissnesses on dri land, and never cast their fortunes on any main, like their unfortinet

Servant, THE BOY JONES.

[pg 47] Two men in kilt costume: one is standing haughtily upright, the other is hunched over. They are tied together with a sash that reads 'Hay Market'. THE TWO MACBETHS. OR THE HAY MARKET GEMINI. O, Gemini-

Crimini!

Nimini-

Pimini

Representatives of the Tartan hero,

Who wildly tear a passion into rags

More ragged than the hags

That round about the cauldron go!

Murderers! who murder Shakspeare so,

That stead of murdering sleep, ye do not do it;

But, vice versa, send the audience to it.

And, oh!

But no

Illustrious Mac-

Beth, or -ready,

And thou, small quack,

Of plaudits greedy!

Our pen, deserted by the tuneful Muses,

To write on such a barren theme refuses.

THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE, POLITICAL PROMENADE AND CONSERVATIVE CONCERTS. The most splendid night of the season! Friday, the 20th of August.

CAPTAIN ROUSS NIGHT! British Champagne and the British Constitution!The Church, the State, and Real Turtle!

The performances will commence with

FISH OUT OF WATER, Sam SavoryCaptain Rous, R.N. After which,

HIS FIRST CHAMPAGNE; Which will embrace the whole strength of THE STEWARDS.

In the course of the Evening, the ENLIGHTENED

LICENSED VICTUALLERS, (Those zealous admirers of true British spirit) will parade the room amid

A GRAND DISPLAY OF ELECTION ACCOUNTS. To be followed by a GRAND PANTOMIME, called

HARLEQUIN HUMBUG; OR, BRAVO ROUS! OLD GLORY (afterwards Pantaloon) SIR F. BURDETT,

who has kindly offered his services on this occasion.

HARRY HUMBUG (a true British Sailor, afterwards Harlequin), CAPT. ROUS.

DON WHISKERANDOS (afterwards Clown), COL. SIBTHORPE.

The whole to conclude with a grand mélange of

HATS, COATS, AND UMBRELLAS. TICKETS TO BE HAD AT ANY PRICE. Stretchers to be at the doors at half-past 2, and policemen to take up with their heads towards Bow-street.

VIVAT REGINA.

THE ADVANTAGES OF ANIMAL MAGNETISM. The experiments of M. Delafontaine having again raised an outcry against this noble science, from the apparent absence of any benefit likely to arise from it, beyond converting human beings into pincushions and galvanic dummies. We, who look deeper into things than the generality of the world, hail it as an inestimable boon to mankind, and proceed at once to answer the numerous enquirers as to the cui bono of this novel soporific.

By a judicious application of the mesmeric fluid, the greatest domestic comfort can be insured at the least possible trouble. The happiest Benedict is too well aware that ladies will occasionally exercise their tongues in a way not altogether compatible with marital ideas of quietude. A few passes of the hand (in the way of kindness for he who would, &c. vide Tobin) will now silence the most powerful oral battery; and Tacitus himself might, with the aid of mesmerism, pitch his study in a milliners work-room. Hen-pecked husbands have now other means at their command, to secure quiet, than their razors and their garters. We have experimentalised upon our Judy, and find it answer to a miracle. Mrs. Johnson may shut up her laboratory for American Soothing Syrup; mesmerism is the only panacea for those morning and evening infantile ebullitions which affectionate mammas always assign to the teeth, the wind, or a pain in the stomach, and never to that possible cause, a pain in the temper. Mesmerism is the real blessing to mothers, and Elliotson the Mrs. Johnson of the day. We have tried it upon our Punchininny, and find it superior to our old practice of throwing him out of the window.

Lovers, to you it is a boon sent by Cupid. Mammas, who will keep in the room when your bosoms are bursting with adorationfathers, who will wake on the morning of an elopement, when the last trunk and the parrot are confided to you from the windowbailiffs, who will hunt you up and down their bailiwick, even to the church-door, though an heiress is depending upon your character for weekly paymentsall are rendered powerless and unobtrusive by this inexplicable palmistry. Candidates, save your money; mesmerise your opponents instead of bribing them, and you may become a patriot by a show of hands.

These are a few of its social advantagesits political uses are unbounded. Why not mesmerise the Chinese? and, as for the Chartists, call out Delafontaine instead of the magistratesa few mesmeric passes would be an easy and efficient substitute for the Riot Act. Then the powers of clairvoyancethe faculty of seeing with their eyes shutthat it gives to the patient. Mrs. Ratsey, your royal charge might be soothed and instructed at the same time, by substituting a sheet of PUNCH for the purple and fine linen of her little Royal Highnesss nautilus-shell.

Lord John Russell, the policy of your wily adversary would no longer be concealed. Jealous husbands, do you not see a haven of security, for brick walls may be seen through, and letters read in the pocket of your rival, by this magnetic telescope? whilst studious young gentleman may place Homer under their arms, and study Greek without looking at it.

A man reads in front of a bench full of sleeping people. MESMERISM.

FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE. The Marquis of Waterford and party visited Vauxhall Gardens on Monday. The turnpike man on the bridge was much struck by their easy manner of dealing with their inferiors.

Alderman Magnay laid the first shell of an oyster grotto one night this week in the Minories. There was a large party of boys, who, with the worthy Alderman, repaired to a neighbouring fruit-stall, where the festivity of the occasion was kept up for several minutes.

The New Cut was, as usual, a scene of much animation on Saturday last, and there was rather a more brilliant display than customary of new and elegant baked-potato stands. The well-known turn-out, with five lanterns and four apertures for the steam, was the general admiration of the host of pedestrians who throng the Cut between the hours of eight and twelve on Saturday.

A BITTER DRAUGHT. SIR R. PEEL, in the celebrated medicinal metaphor with which he lately favoured his constituents at Tamworth, concludes by stating, that he really believes he does more than any political physician ever did by referring to the prescriptions which he offered in 1835 and 1840, and by saying that he sees no reason to alter them. This is, to carry out the physical figure, only another version of the mixture as before. We are afraid there are no hopes of the patient.

Why are the Whigs like the toes of a dancing-master?Because they must be turned out.

Why are Colonel Sibthorp and Mr. Peter Borthwick like the covering of the dancing-masters toes?Because they are a pair of pumps.

Why are the Whigs and Tories like the scarlet fever and the measles?Because theres no telling which is the worst.

[pg 48] A HINT TO THE UGLY. My uncle Septimus Snagglegrable is no more! Excellent old man! no one knew his worthiness whilst he was of the living, for every one called him a scoundrel.

It is reserved for me to do justice to his memory, and one short sentence will be sufficient for the purposehe has left me five thousand pounds! I have determined that his benevolence shall not want an imitator, and I have resolved, at a great personal sacrifice, to benefit that portion of my fellow creatures who are denominated ugly. I am particularly so. My complexion is a bright snuff-colour; my eyes are grey, and unprotected by the usual verandahs of eye-lashes; my nose is retroussé, and if it has a bridge, it must be of the suspension order, for it is decidedly concave. I wish Rennie would turn his attention to the state of numerous noses in the metropolis. I am sure a lucrative company might he established for the purpose of erecting bridges to noses that, like my own, have been unprovided by nature. I should be happy to become a director. Revenons nousmy mouth is decidedly large, and my teeth singularly irregular. My father was violently opposed to Dr. Jenners repeal of the small-pox,44. Baylis. and would not have me vaccinated; the consequence of which has been that my chin is full of little dells, thickly studded with dark and stunted bristles. I have bunions and legs that (as the right line of beautys a curve) are the perfection of symmetry. My poor mother used to lament what she, in the plenitude of her ignorance, was pleased to denominate my disadvantages. She knew not the power of genius. To me thesewell, Ill call them defectshave been the source of great profit. For years I have walked about the great metropolis without any known or even conjectural means of subsistence; my coat has always been without a patchmy linen without spot!

Ugly brothers, I am about to impart to you the secret of my existence! I have lived by the fine artsyes, by sitting as

A model for door-knockers and cherubim for tomb-stones.

The latter may perhaps surprise you, but the contour of my countenance is decidedly infantilefor when had a babby a bridge?and the addition of a penny trumpet completes the full-blown expression of the light- headed things known to stone-masons as cherubim.

But it is to the art of knocker-designing that I flatter myself I have been of most service. By the elevation of my chin, and the assistance of a long wig, I can present an excellent resemblance of a lion, with this great advantage over the real animalI can vary the expression according to circumstances

As mild as milk, or raging as the storm.

So that nervous single ladies need not be terrified out of their senses every time they knock at their door, by the grim personification of a Nero at feeding time; or a tender-hearted poor-law guardian be pestered during dinner by invitations afforded to the starving poor by the benevolent expression of his knocker.

Ugly ones! I have now imparted to you my secret.

ON THE POPULARITY OF MR. CHS KN. Oh, Mr. Punch! what glorious times

Are these, for humbly gifted mimes;

When, spite of each detracter,

Paternal name and filial love,

Assisted by the powers above,

Have made Cs Kn an actor!

Tis true, his generous patrons say,

Of genius he neer had a ray;

Yet, all his faults to smother,

The youth inherits, from his sire,

A name which all the world admire,

And dearly loves his mother!

Strippd of his adventitious aid,

He neer ten pounds a week had made;

Yet every Thespian brother

Is now kept down, or put to flight,

While he gets fifty pounds a night,

Becausehe loves his mother!

Though Im, in heart and soul, a friend

To genuine talent, Heaven forefend

That I should raise a pother,

Because the philanthropic folks

Wink and applaud a pious hoax,

For one wholoves his mother!

No! Heaven prolong his parents life

And grant that no untimely strife

May wean them from each other!

For soon hed find the golden fleece

Slip from his grasp, should he eer cease

To keep andlove his mother!

A CON. BY COLONEL SIBTHORP. Why is a chesnut horse, going at a rapid pace up an inclined plane, like an individual in white trousers presenting a young lady in book muslin with an infantine specimen of the canine species?Because he is giving a gallop up (a girl a pup).

THE DRAMA. ASTLEYS COMPANY AT THE OLYMPIC. The distresses of actors distress nobody but themselves. A tale of woe told off the stage by a broad comedian, begets little sympathy; and if he is in the heavy line, people say he is used to it, and is only actingplaying off upon you a melancholy joke, that he may judge how it will tell at night. Thus, when misfortune takes a benefit, charity seldom takes tickets; for she is always sceptical about the so-called miseries of the most giddy, volatile, jolly, careless, uncomplaining (where managers and bad parts are not concerned) vainest, and apparently, happiest possible members of the community, who are so completely associated with fiction, that they are hardly believed when telling the truth. Par exemplenothing can be more true than that Astleys Theatre was burnt down the other day; that the whole of that large establishment were suddenly thrown out of employ; that their wardrobes were burnt to rags, their properties reduced to a cinder, and their means of subsistence roasted in a too rapid fire. True also is it, that to keep the wolf from their own doors, those of the Olympic have been opened, where the really dismounted cavalry of Astleys are continuing their campaign, having appealed to the public to support them. Judging from the night we were present, that support has been extended with a degree of lukewarmness which is exactly proportionate to the effect produced by the appeals of actors when misfortune overtakes them.

But, besides public sympathy, they put forth other claims for support. The amusements they offer are of extraordinary merit. The acting of Mr. H. Widdicomb, of Miss Daly, and Mr. Sidney Forster, was, in the piece we sawThe Old House at Homefull of nature and quiet touches of feeling scarcely to be met with on any other stage. Still these are qualifications the general do not always appreciate; though they often draw tears, they seldom draw money. Very well, to meet that deficiency, other and more popular actors have come forward to offer their aid. Mr. T.P. Cooke has already done his part, as he always does it, nobly. The same may be said of Mr. Hammond. When we were present, Mrs. H.L. Grattan and Mr. Balls appeared in the Lady of Munster. Mr. Sloan, a popular Irish comedian from the provinces, has lent a helping hand, by coming out in a new drama. Mr. Keeley is also announced.

The pieces we saw were well got up and carefully acted; so that the patrons of the drama need not dread that, in this instance, the Astleyan-Olympic actors believe that charity covers a multitude of sins. They dont care who sees their faultsthe more the better.

BEHIND THE SCENES. When a certain class of persons, whose antipathy to gratis sea-voyages is by no means remarkable, are overtaken by the police and misfortune; when the last legal quibble has been raised upon their case and failed; when, indeed, to use their own elegant phraseology, they are regularly stumped and done up; thenand, to do them justice, not till thenthey resort to confession, and to turning kings evidence against their accomplices.

This seems to be exactly the case with the drama, which is evidently in the last stage of decline; the consumption of new subjects having exhausted the supply. The French has been taken from till it has nothing more to give; the Newgate Calendar no longer affords materials; for an entire dramatic edition of it might be collected (a valuable hint this for the Syncretic Society, that desperate association for producing un-actable dramas)the very air is exhausted in a theatrical sense; for life in the clouds has been long voted law; whilst the play-writing craft have already robbed the regions below of every spark of poetic fire; devils are decidedly out of date. In short, and not to mince the matter, as hyenas are said to stave off starvation by eating their own haunches, so the drama must be on its last legs, when actors turn kings evidence, and exhibit to the public how they flirt and quarrel, and eat oysters and drink porter, and scandalise and make funhow, in fact, they disport themselves Behind the Scenes.

A visit to the English Opera will gratify those of the uninitiated, who are anxious to get acquainted with the manners and customs of the ladies and gentlemen of the corps dramatique at the wing. Otherwise than as a sign of dramatic destitution, the piece called Behind the Scenes is highly amusing. Mr. Wilds acting displays that happy medium between jocularity and earnest, which is the perfection of burlesque. Mrs. Selby plays the leading lady without the smallest effort, and invites the first tragedian to her treat of oysters and beer with considerable empressement, though supposed to be labouring at the time under the stroke of the headsmans axe. Lastly, it would be an act of injustice to Mr. Selby to pass his Spooney Negus over in silence. PUNCH has too brotherly an affection for his fellow-actors, to hide their faults; in the hope that, by shewing them veluti in speculum, they may be amended. In all kindness, therefore, he entreats Mr. Selby, if he be not bent upon hastening his own ruin, if he have any regard for the feelings of unoffending audiences, who always witness the degradation of human nature with painhe implores him to provide a substitute for Negus. Every actor knows the difference between portraying imbecility and being silly himselfbetween puerility, as characteristic of a part in posse, and as being a trait of the performer in esse. To this rule Mr. Selby, in this part, is a melancholy exception; for he seems utterly ignorant of such a distinction, broad as it ishe is silly himself, instead of causing silliness in Spooney. This is the more to be regretted, as whoever witnessed, with us, the first piece, saw in Mr. Selby a respectable representative of an old dandy in Barnaby Rudge. Moreover, the same gentleman is, we understand, the adapter of the drama from Bozs tale. That too proves him to be a clever contriver of situations, and an ingenious adept with the pen and scissors.

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 1. [pg 49] AUGUST 14, 1841. THE WIFE CATCHERS. A LEGEND OF MY UNCLES BOOTS. In Four Chapters. CHAPTER III. Two slender men are shaking hands. Their bodies form the letter H. aberdashers, continued my friend the boot, are wonderful people; they make the greatest show out of the smallest stockwhether of brains or ribbonsof any men in the world. A stranger could not pass through the village of Ballybreesthawn without being attracted by a shop which occupied the corner of the Market-square and the main street, with a window looking both ways for custom. In these windows were displayed sundry articles of use and ornamenttoys, stationery, perfumery, ribbons, laces, hardware, spectacles, and Dutch dolls.

In a glass-case on the counter were exhibited patent medicines, Birmingham jewellery, court-plaister, and side-combs. Behind the counter might be seen Mr. Matthew Tibbins, quite a precedent for country shop- keepers, with uncommonly fair hair and slender fingers, a profusion of visible linen, and a most engaging lisp. In addition to his personal attractions, Tibbins possessed a large stock of accomplishments, which, like his goods, might safely challenge competition. He was an acknowledged wit, and retailed compliments and cotton balls to the young ladies who visited his emporium. As a poet, too, his merits were universally known; for he had once contributed a poetic charade to the Ladies Almanack. He, moreover, played delightfully on the Jews-harp, knew several mysterious tricks in cards, and was an adept in the science of bread and butter-cutting, which made him a prodigious favourite with maiden aunts and side-table cousins. This was the individual whom fate had ordained to cross and thwart Terence in his designs upon the heart of Miss Biddy OBrannigan, and upon whom that young lady, in sport or caprice, bestowed a large dividend of those smiles which Terence imagined should be devoted solely to himself.

The man of small wares was, in truth, a dangerous rival, from his very insignificance. Had he been a man of spirit or corporal consideration, Terence would have pistolled or thrashed him out of his audacious notions; but the creature was so smiling and submissive that he could not, for the life of him, dirty his fingers with such a contemptible wretch. Thus Tibbins continued flattering and wriggling himself into Miss Biddys good graces, while Terence was fighting and kissing the way to her heart, till the poor girl was fairly bothered between them.

Miss Biddy OBrannigan, I should have told you, sir, was an heiress, valued at one thousand pounds in hard cash, living with an old aunt at Rookawn Lodge, about six miles from Ballybreesthawn; and to this retreat of the loves and graces might the rival lovers be seen directing their course, after mass, every Sunday;the haberdasher in a green gig with red wheels, and your uncle mounted on a bit of blood, taking the coal off Tibbinss pipe with the impudence of his air, and the elegant polish of your humble servants.

Matters went on in this way for some timeMiss OBrannigan not having declared in favour of either of her suitorswhen one bitter cold evening, I remember it was in the middle of January, we were whipped off our peg in the hall, and in company with our fellow-labourers, the buckskin continuations, were carried up to your uncle, whom we found busily preparing for a ball, which was to be given that night by the heiress of Rookawn Lodge. I confess that my brother and myself felt a strong presentiment that something unfortunate would occur, and our forebodings were shared by the buckskins, who, like ourselves, felt considerable reluctance to join in the expedition. Remonstrance, however, would have been idle; we therefore submitted with the best grace we could, and in a few minutes were bestriding Terences favourite hunter, and crossing the country over ditch, dyke, and drain, as if we were tallying at the tail of a fox. The night was dark, and a recent fall of rain had so swollen a mountain stream which lay in our road, that when we reached the ford, which was generally passable by foot passengers, Terence was obliged to swim his horse across, and to dismount on the opposite side, in order to assist the animal up a steep clayey bank which had been formed by the torrent undermining and cutting away the old banks.

Although we had received no material damage, you may suppose that our appearance was not much improved by the water and yellow clay into which we had been plunged; and had it been possible, we would have blushed with vexation, on finding ourselves introduced by Terence in a very unseemly state, amidst the titters of a number of young people, into the ball-room at Rookawn Lodge. However, we became somewhat reassured, when we heard the droll manner in which he related his swim, with such ornamental flourishes and romantic embellishments as made him an object of general interest during the night.

Matthew Tibbins had already taken the field in a blue satin waistcoat and nankeen trousers. At the instant we entered the dancing-room, he had commenced lisping to Miss Biddy, in a tender love-subdued tone, a couplet which he had committed to memory for the occasion, when a glance of terrible meaning from Terences eye met histhe unfinished stanza died in his throat, and without waiting the nearer encounter of his dreaded rival, he retreated to a distant corner of the apartment, leaving to Terence the post of honour beside the heiress.

Mr. Duffy, said she, accompanying her words with the blandest smile you can conceive, as he approached, what a wonderful escape you have had. Dear me! I declare you are dripping wet. Will you not change yourclothes? and Miss Biddy glanced furtively at the buckskins, which, like ourselves, had got thoroughly soaked. Oh! by no means, my dear Miss Biddy, replied Terence, gaily; tis only a thrifle of waterthat wont hurt themand then added, in a confidential tone, dont you know Id go through fire as well as water for one kind look from those deludin eyes.

Shame, Mr. Duffy! how can you! responded Miss Biddy, putting her handkerchief to her face to make believe she blushed.

Isnt it the blessed truthand dont you know it is, you darling?Oh! Miss Biddy, Im wasting away like a farthing candle in the dog-daysIm going down to my snug grave through your cruelty. The daisies will be growing over me afore next EastherUghughugh. Ive a murderin cough too, and nothing can give me ase but yourself, Miss Biddy, cried Terence eagerly.

Hush! theyll hear you, said the heiress.

I dont care who hears me, replied Terence desperately; I cant stand dying by inches this way. Ill destroy myself.

Oh, Terence! murmured Miss OBrannigan.

Yes, he continued: I loaded my pistols this morning, and I told Barney MGuire, the dog-feeder, to come over and shoot me the first thing he does in the morning.

Terence, dear, what do you want? What am I to say? inquired the trembling girl.

Say, cried Terence, who was resolved to clinch the business at a word; say that you love me.

The handkerchief was again applied to Miss OBrannigans face, and a faint affirmative issued from the depths of the cambric. Terences heart hopped like a racket-ball in his breast.

Give me your hand upon it, he whispered.

Miss Biddy placed the envied palm, not on his brows, but in his hand, and was led by him to the top of a set which was forming for a country dance, from whence they started off at the rate of one of our modern steam-engines, to the spirit-stirring tune of Haste to the Wedding. There was none of the pirouetting, and chassez-ing, and balancez-ing, of your slip-shod quadrilles in vogue thenit was all life and action: swing corners in a hand gallop, turn your partner in a whirlwind, and down the middle like a flash of lightning.

Terence had never acquitted himself so well; he cut, capered, and set to his partner with unusual agility; we naturally participated in the admiration he excited, and in the fullness of our triumph, while brushing past the flimsy nankeens worn by Tibbins, I could not refrain from bestowing a smart kick upon his shins, that brought the tears to his eyes with pain and vexation.

After the dance had concluded, Terence led his glowing partner to a cool quiet corner, where leaving her, he flew to the side table, and in less time than he would take to bring down a snipe, he was again beside her with a large mugful of hot negus, into which he had put, by way of stiffener, a copious dash of mountain dew.

How do you like it, my darling? asked Terence, after Miss Biddy had read the makers name in the bottom of the mug.

Too strong, Im afraid, replied the heiress.

Strong! Wake as tay, upon my honour! Miss Biddy, cried Mr. Duffy.

(The result of Terence Duffys courtship will be given in the next chapter).

SONGS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL. No. IV. O Dinna paint her charms to me,

I ken that she is fair;

I ken her lips might tempt the bee

Her een with stars compare,

Such transient gifts I neer did prize,

My heart they couldna win;

I dinna scorn my Jeannies eyes

But has she ony tin?

The fairest cheek, alas! may fade

Beneath the touch of years;

The een where light and gladness playd

May soon graw dim wi tears.

I would loves fires should, to the last,

Still burn as they begin;

And beautys reign too soon is past,

Sohas she ony tin?

LADY MORGANS LITTLE ONE. Her ladyship, at her last conversazione, propounded to PUNCH the following classical poser:How would you translate the Latin words, puella, defectus, puteus, dies, into four English interjections? Our wooden Roscius hammered his pate for full five minutes, and then exclaimedA-lass! a-lack! a-well a-day! Her ladyship protested that the answer would have done honour to the professor of languages at the London University.

[pg 50] A Lion and a Unicorn sit with a tankard by a table with legs marked 'Queen,' 'Commons' and 'Lords.' THE ROYAL LION AND UNICORN. A DIALOGUE. GROUND ARMS!Birdcage Walk.

LION.So! how do you feel now?

UNICORN.Considerably relieved. Though you cant imagine the stiffness of my neck and legs. Let me see, how long is it since we relieved the griffins?

LION.An odd century or two, but never mind that. For the first time, we have laid down our chargehave got out of our state attitudes, and may sit over our pot and pipe at ease.

UNICORN.What a fate is ours! Here have we, in our time, been compelled to give the patronage of our countenance to all sorts of rascalityhave been forced to support robbery, swindling, extortionbut it wont do to think ofgive me the pot. Oh! dear, it had suited better with my conscience, had I been doomed to draw a sand-cart!

LION.Come, come, no unseemly affectation. You, at the best, are only a fictiona quadruped lie.

UNICORN.I know naturalists dispute my existence, but if, as you unkindly say, I am only a fiction, why should I have been selected as a supporter of the royal arms?

LION.Why, you fool, for that very reason. Have you been where you are for so many years, and yet dont know that often, in state matters, the greater the lie the greater the support?

UNICORN.Right. When I reflectI have greater doubts of my truth, seeing where I am.

LION.But here am I, in myself a positive majesty, degraded into a petty-larceny scoundrel; yes, all my inherent attributes compromised by my position. Oh, Hercules! when I remember my native Africawhen I reflect on the sweet intoxication of my former libertythe excitement of the chasethe mad triumph of my spring, cracking the back of a bison with one fillip of my pawwhen I think of these thingsof my tawny wife with her smile sweetly ferocious, her breath balmy with new bloodof my playful little ones, with eyes of topaz and claws of pearlwhen I think of all this, and feel that here I am, a damned rabbit-sucker

UNICORN.Dont swear.

LION.Why not? God knows, weve heard swearing enough of all sorts in our time. It isnt the fault of our position, if were not first-rate perjurers.

UNICORN.Thats true: still, though we are compelled to witness all these things in the courts of law, let us be above the influence of bad example.

LION.Give me the pot. Courts of law? Oh, Lord! what places they put us into! And there they expect meme, the king of the animal world, to stand quietly upon my two hind-legs, looking as mildly contemptible as an apoplectic dancing-master,whilst iniquities, and meannesses, and tyranny, andgive me the pot.

UNICORN:Brother, youre getting warm. Really, you ought to have seen enough of state and justice to take everything coolly. I certainly must confess thatlooking at much of the policy of the country, considering much of the legal wickedness of law-scourged Englandit does appear to me a studied insult to both of us to make us supporters of the national quarterings. Surely, considering the things that have been done under our noses, animals more significant of the state and social policy might have been promoted to our places. Instead of the majestic lion and the graceful unicorn, might they not have had thethe

LION.The vulture and the magpie.

UNICORN.Excellent! The vulture would have capitally typified many of the wars of the state, their sole purpose being so many carcaseswhilst, for the courts of law, the magpie would have been the very bird of legal justice and legal wisdom.

LION.Yes, but then the very rascality of their faces would at once have declared their purpose. The vulture is a filthy, unclean wretchthe bird of Marspreying upon the eyes, the hearts, the entrails of the victims of that scoundrel-mountebank, Glory; whilst the magpie is a petty- larceny vagabond, existing upon social theft. To use a vulgar phraseand considering the magistrates we are compelled to keep company with, tis wonderful that we talk so purely as we dotwould have let the cat too much out of the bag to have put the birds where we stand. Whereas, there is a fine hypocrisy about us. Consideram not I the type of heroism, of magnanimity? Well, compelling me, the heroic, the magnanimous, now to stand here upon my hind-legs, and now to crouch quietly down, like a pet kitten over-fed with new milk,any state roguery is passed off as the greatest piece of single-minded honesty upon the mere strength of my characterif I may so say it, upon my legendary reputation. Now, as for you, though you are a lie, you are nevertheless not a bad-looking lie. You have a nice head, clean legs, andthough I think it a little impertinent that you should wear that tuft at the end of your tailare altogether a very decent mixture of the quadrupeds. Besides, lie or not, you have helped to support the national arms so long, that depend upon it there are tens of thousands who believe you to be a true thing.

UNICORN.I have often flattered myself with that consolation.

LION.A poor comfort: for if you are a true beast, and really have the attributes you are painted with, the greater the insult that you should be placed here. If, on the contrary, you are a lie, still greater the insult to leonine majesty, in forcing me for so many, many years to keep such bad company.

UNICORN.But I have a great belief in my reality: besides, if the head, body, legs, tail, I bear, never really met in one animal, they all exist in several: hence, if I am not true altogether, I am true in parts; and what would you have of a thick-and-thin supporter of the crown?

LION.Blush, brother, blush; such sophistry is only worthy of the Common Pleas, where I know you picked it up. To be sure, if both of us were the most abandoned of beasts, we surely should have some excuse for our wickedness in the profligate company we are obliged to keep.

UNICORN.Well, well, dont weep. Take the pot.

LION.Have we not been, ay, for hundreds of years, in both Houses of Parliament?

UNICORN.It cant be denied.