Chapter II: Part 2

Having, we trust, remedied the evils of the mason's strike--having shewn that the fitness of things calls upon the Commons, in the present dilemma, to build their own house--we should feel it unjust to the government not to acknowledge the good taste which, as we learn, has directed that an estimate be taken of the disposable space on the walls of the new buildings, to be devoted to the exalted work of the historical painter. Records of the greatness of England are to endure in undying hues on the walls of Parliament.

This is a praiseworthy object, but to render it important and instructive, the greatest judgment must be exercised in the selection of subjects; which, for ourselves, we would have to illustrate the wisdom and benevolence of Parliament. How beautifully would several of the Duke of WELLINGTON'S speeches paint! For instance, his portrait of a famishing Englishman, the drunkard and the idler, no other man (according to his grace) famishing in England! And then the Duke's view of the shops of butchers, and poulterers, and bakers--all in the Dutch style--by which his grace has lately proved, that if there be distress, it can certainly not be for want of comestibles! But the theme is too suggestive to be carried out in a single paper.

We trust that portraits of members will be admitted. BURDETT and GRAHAM, half-whig, half-tory, in the style of Death and the Lady, will make pretty companion pictures.

To do full pictorial justice to the wisdom of the senate, Parliament will want a peculiar artist: that gifted man CAN be no other than the artist to PUNCH!

Q.

* * * * *

PUNCH'S PENCILLINGS.--No. XIV.

* * * * *

THE PHYSIOLOGY OF THE LONDON MEDICAL STUDENT.

III.--OF HIS GRADUAL DEVELOPMENT.

For the first two months of the first winter session the fingers of the new man are nothing but ink-stains and industry. He has duly chronicled every word that has fallen from the lips of every professor in his leviathan note book; and his desk teems with reports of all the hospital cases, from the burnt housemaid, all cotton-wool and white lead, who set herself on fire reading penny romances in bed, on one side of the hospital, to the tipsy glazier who bundled off his perch and spiked himself upon the area rails on the other. He becomes a walking chronicle of pathological statistics, and after he has passed six weeks in the wards, imagines himself an embryo Hunter.

To keep up his character, a new man ought perpetually to carry a stethoscope--a curious instrument, something like a sixpenny toy trumpet with its top knocked off, and used for the purpose of hearing what people are thinking about, or something of the kind. In the endeavour to acquire a perfect knowledge of its use he is indefatigable. There is scarcely a patient but he knows the exact state of their thoracic viscera, and he talks of enlarged semilunar valves, and thickened ventricles with an air of alarming confidence. And yet we rather doubt his skill upon this point; we never perceived anything more than a sound and a jog, something similar to what you hear in the cabin of a fourpenny steam-boat, and especially mistrusted the "metallic tinkling," and the noise resembling a blacksmith's bellows blowing into an empty quart-pot, which is called the _bruit de soufflet_. Take our word, when medicine arrives at such a pitch that the secrets of the human heart can be probed, it need not go any further, and will have the power of doing mischief enough.

The new man does not enter much into society. He sometimes asks a few other juniors to his lodgings, and provides tea and shrimps, with occasional cold saveloys for their refection, and it is possible he may add some home-made wine to the banquet. Their conversation is exceedingly professional; and should they get slightly jocose, they retail anatomical paradoxes, technical puns, and legendary "catch questions," which from time immemorial have been the delight of all new men in general, and country ones in particular.

But diligent and industrious as the new man may be, he is mortal after all, and being mortal, is not proof against temptation--at least, after five or six weeks of his pupilage have passed. The good St. Anthony resisted all the endeavours of the Evil One to lure him from the proper path, until the gentleman of the discoloured _cutis vera_ assumed the shape of a woman. The new man firmly withstands all inducements to irregularity until his first temptation appears in the form of the Cyder-cellars--the convivial Rubicon which it is absolutely necessary for him to pass before he can enrol himself as a member of the quiet, hard-working, modest fraternity of the Medical Student of our London Hospitals.

_Facilis descensus Averni._--The steps that lead from Maiden-lane to the Cyder-cellars are easy of descent, although the return is sometimes attended with slight difficulty. Not that we wish to compare our favourite _souterrain_ in question to the "Avernus" of the Latin poet; oh, no! If AEneas had met with roast potatoes and stout during his celebrated voyage across the Styx to the infernal regions, and listened to songs and glees in place of the multitude of condemned souls, "horrendum stridens," we wager that he would have been in no very great hurry to return. But we have arrived at an important point in our physiology--the first launch of the new man into the ocean of his London life, and we pause upon its shore. He has but definite ideas of three public establishments at all intimately connected with his professional career--the Hall, the College, and the Cyder-cellars. There are but three individuals to whom he looks with feelings of deference--Mr. Sayer of Blackfriars, Mr. Belfour of Lincoln's-inn-fields, and Mr. Rhodes of Maiden-lane. These are the impersonation of the Fates--the arbitrators of his destinies.

As it is customary that an attendance in the Theatre of Lectures should precede the student's determination to "have a shy at the College," or "go up to the Hall," so is it usual for a visit to one of the theatres to be paid before going down to the Cyder-cellars. The new man has been beguiled into the excursion by the exciting narratives of his companions, and beginning to feel that he is behind the other "chaps" (a new man's term) in knowledge of the world, he yields to the attraction held out; not because he at first thinks it will give him pleasure so to do, as because it will put him on a level with those who have been, on the same principle as our rambling compatriots go to Switzerland and the Rhine. His Mentor is ready in the shape of a third-season man, and under his protecting influence he sallies forth.

The theatres have concluded; every carriage, cab, and "coach 'nhired" in their vicinity is in motion; venders of trotters and ham-sandwiches are in full cry; the bars of the proximate retail establishments are crowded with thirsty gods; ruddy chops and steaks are temptingly displayed in the windows of the supper-houses, and the turnips and carrots in the freshly-arrived market-carts appear astonished at the sudden confusion by which they are surrounded. Amidst this confusion the new man and his friends arrive beneath the beacon which illumines the entrance of the tavern. He descends the stairs in an agony of anticipation, and feverishly trips up the six or eight succeeding ones to arrive at the large room. A song has just concluded, and he enters triumphantly amidst the thunder of applause, the jingling of glasses, the imperious vociferations of fresh orders, and an atmosphere of smoke that pervades the whole apartment, like dense clouds of incense burning at the altar of the genius of conviviality.

The new man is at first so bewildered, that it would take but little extra excitement to render him perfectly unconscious as to the probability of his standing upon his _occipito-frontalis_ or _plantar fascia_. But as he collects his ideas, he contrives to muster sufficient presence of mind to order a Welsh rabbit, and in the interim of its arrival earnestly contemplates the scene around him. There is the room which, in after life, so vividly recurs to him, with its bygone _souvenirs_ of mirth, when he is sitting up all night at a bad case in the mud cottage of a pauper union. There are its blue walls, its wainscot and its pillars, its lamps and ground-glass shades, within which the gas jumps and flares so fitfully; its two looking-glasses, that reflect the room and its occupants from one to the other in an interminable vista. There also is Mr. Rhodes, bending courteously over the backs of the visiters' chairs, and hoping everybody has got everything to their satisfaction, or bestowing an occasional subdued acknowledgment upon an _habitue_ who chances to enter; and the professional gentlemen all laying their heads together at the top of the table to pitch the key of the next glee; and the waiters bustling up and down with all sorts of tempting comestibles; and the gentleman in the Chesterfield wrapper smoking a cigar at the side of the room, while he leans back and contemplates the ceiling, as if his whole soul was concentrated in its smoke-discoloured mouldings.

The new man is in ecstasies; he beholds the realization of the Arabian Nights, and when the harmony commences again, he is fairly entranced. At first, he is fearful of adding the efforts of his laryngeal "little muscles with the long names" to swell the chorus; but, after the second glass of stout and a "go of whiskey," he becomes emboldened, and when the gentleman with the bass voice sings about the Monks of Old, what a jovial race they were, our friend trolls out how "they laughed, ha, ha!" so lustily, that he gets quite red in the face from obstructed jugulars, and applauds, when it has concluded, until everything upon the table performs a curious ballet-dance, which is only terminated by the descent of the cruets upon the floor.

The precise hour at which the new man arrives at home, after this eventful evening, has never been correctly ascertained; having a latch-key, he is the only person that could give any authentic information upon this point; but, unfortunately, he never knows himself. Some few things, however, are universally allowed, namely, that in extreme cases he is found asleep on the rug at the foot of the stairs next morning, with the rushlight that was left in the passage burnt quite away, and all the solder of the candlestick melted into little globules. More frequently he knocks up the people of the neighbouring house, under the impression that it is his own, but that a new keyhole has been fitted to the door in his absence; and, in the mildest forms of the disease, he drinks up all the water in his bed-room during the night, and has a propensity for retiring to rest in his pea-coat and Bluchers, from the obstinate tenacity of his buttons and straps. The first lecture the next morning fails to attract him; he eats no breakfast, and when he enters the dissecting-room about one o'clock, his fellow-students administer to him a pint of ale, warmed by the simple process of stirring it with a hot poker, with some Cayenne pepper thrown into it, which he is assured will set to rights the irritable mucous lining of his stomach. The effect of this remedy is, to send him into a sound sleep during the whole of the two o'clock anatomical lecture; and awakened at its close by the applause of the students, he thinks he is still at the Cyder-cellars, and cries out "Encore!"

* * * * *

RECOMMENDATIONS FOR THE PREVENTION OF RAILWAY ACCIDENTS.

Having been particularly struck by the infernal smashes that have recently taken place on several railroad lines, and having been ourselves forcibly impressed by a tender, which it must be allowed was rather hard (coming in collision with ourselves), we have thought over the subject, and have now the following suggestions to offer:--

Behind each engine let there be second and third class carriages, so that, in the event of a smash, second and third class lives only would be sacrificed.

Let there be a van full of stokers before the first class carriages; for, as the directors appear to be liberal of the stokers' lives, it is presumed that every railway company has such a glut of them that they can be spared easily.

As some of the carriages are said to oscillate, from being too heavy at the top, let a few copies of "Martinuzzi" be placed as ballast at the bottom.

In order that the softest possible lining may be given to the carriages, let the interior be covered with copies of Sibthorp's speeches as densely as possible.

We have not yet been able to find a remedy for the remarkable practice which prevails in some railways of sending a passenger, like a bank-note, _cut in half_, for better security.

* * * * *

THE POLITICAL EUCLID.--NO. 2.

PROP. I.--PROBLEM.

_To describe an Independent Member upon a given indefinite line of
politics._

Let C R, or Conservative Reform, be the given indefinite line--it is required to describe on C R an independent member.

With the centre Reform, and at the distance of Conservatism, describe G B and M--or Graham, Brougham, and Melbourne--the extremes of the Whig Administration of 1834.

With the centre Conservatism, and at the distance of Reform, describe G B and P--or Graham, Buckingham, and Peel--the extremes of the Tory Administration of 1841.

From the point Graham, where the administrations cut one another, draw the lines Graham and Reform, and Graham and Conservatism.

Then Graham and Conservative Reform is an independent member.

For because Reform was the centre of the Whig Administration, Graham, Brougham, and Melbourne

Therefore Graham and Reform was the same as Reform with a shade Conservatism.

And because Conservatism is the centre of the Tory Administration, Graham, Buckingham, and Peel

Therefore Graham and Conservatism is the same as Conservatism with a shade Reform

Therefore Graham and Conservatism is the same as Graham and Reform

Therefore Graham is either a Conservative or a Reformer, as the case may require.

And therefore he is a Conservative Reformer--

Wherefore, having three sides, which are all the same to him--viz. Reform, Conservatism, and himself--he is an independent member, and has been described as a Conservative Reformer.

_Quod erat_ double-_face-iendum_.

PROP. II.--PROBLEM.

_From a given point to draw out a Radical Member to a given length._

Let A or his ancestors be the given point, and an A s s the given length; it is required to draw out upon the point of his ancestors a Radical member equal to an A s s.

Connect the A s s with A, his ancestors.

On the A s s and A his ancestors, describe an independent member S R I, Sir Robert Inglis.

Then with S R I, Sir Robert Inglis, draw out the A s s to G L and S A, or great literary and scientific attainments.

And with S R I, Sir Robert Inglis, let R Roebuck, be got into a line upon A, his ancestors.

With the A s s in the middle, describe the circulation of T N, or "Times" newspaper.

And with SRI, Sir Robert Inglis, as the centre, describe the Circle of the H of C, or House of Commons.

Then R A, or Roebuck on his ancestors, equals an A s s.

For because the A s s was in the middle of T N, or "Times" newspaper.

Therefore the rhodomontade of G L and S A, or great literary and scientific attainments, was equal to the braying of an A s s.

And because S R I, or Sir Robert Inglis, was in the centre of H C, or House of Commons.

Therefore S R I on G L and S A, or Sir Robert Inglis on the great literary and scientific attainments, was only to be equalled by S R I and R, or Sir Robert Inglis and Roebuck.

But Sir R I is always equal to himself.

Therefore the remainder, A R, or Roebuck on his ancestors, is equal to the remaining G L and S A, or great literary and scientific attainments.

But G L and S A, or the great literary and scientific attainments, have been shown to be equal to those of an A s s.

And therefore R A, or Roebuck on his ancestors, is equal to an A s s.

Wherefore, from a given point, A, his ancestors, has been drawn out a Radical member, R, Roebuck, equal to an A s s.

_Quod erat_ sheep-_face-iendum_.

PROP. III.--PROBLEM

_From the greater opposition of two members to a given measure to
cut, off a part, so as it may agree with the less._

Let P C and W R, or Peel the Conservative and Wakley the Radical, represent their different oppositions to the New Poor Law, to which that of W R, or Wakley the Radical, is greater than that of Peel the Conservative--it is required to cut off from W R, or Wakley the Radical's opposition a part, so that it may agree with that of P C, or Peel the Conservative.

From W, or Wakley, draw W T, or Wakley the Trimmer, the same as P C, or Peel the Conservative.

With the centre W or Wakley, and to the extremity of T trimming, describe the magic circle P L A C E.

Cutting W R or Wakley the Radical in B P, his Breeches Pocket.

Then W B P or Wakley and his Breeches Pocket, agrees with Peel the Conservative.

For because the circle P L A C E is described about W or Wakley

Therefore W B P or Wakley and his Breeches Pocket, is of the same opinion as W T or Wakley the Trimmer.

But W T or Wakley the Trimmer, agrees with Peel the Conservative.

Therefore W B P or Wakley and his Breeches Pocket, agrees with P C or Peel the Conservative.

Wherefore, from the greater opposition of W R, Wakley the Radical, to the New Poor Law, is cut off, W B P, Wakley and his Breeches Pocket, which exactly coincides with the minor opposition of P C or Peel the Conservative.

_Quod erat_ brazen-_face-iendum_.

* * * * *

THE VALUE OF STOCKS--LAST QUOTATION.

During a rural ramble, the ex-premier was diverted from the mental Shakesperian sustenance derived from "chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy," by an importunate appeal from a reckless disorderly, who was doing penance for his anti-teetotal propensities, by performing a two hours' quarantine in the village stocks. So far from sympathising with the fast-bound sufferer, his lordship, in a tone of the deepest regret, deplored, that he had himself not been so tightly secured in his place, as, had that been the case, he would still have been provided with

* * * * *

THE LINEN-DRAPER OF LUDGATE.

Shop fronts are daily "higher" raised.
Our master's "ire" as often;
Would they but raise _our_ "hire" a bit,
'Twould much our mis'ries soften!

THE SHOPMEN--POOR DEVILS

* * * * *

SPANISH POLITICS.

(FROM OUR SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT.)

"_Pampeluna, Oct. 1._

"An event has just occurred which will doubtless change the dynasty of the Spanish succession before I have finished my letter. At eleven o'clock this morning, several officers were amusing themselves at picquet in a coffee-house. One having played the king, another cried out, 'Ay, the king! _Vivat_! Down with the Queen! Don Carlos for ever!' This caused a frightful sensation, and the National Guards are now on their way to blockade the house.

"_One o'clock_, P.M.--The National Guards have joined the Carlists, and the regulars are at this moment flying to arms.

"_Two o'clock_.--The royal troops are defeated, and Don Carlos is now being proclaimed King of Spain, &c."

(FROM ANOTHER CORRESPONDENT.)

"_Madrid, Oct. 2._

"The nominal reign of Don Carlos, commenced at Pampeluna, has been but of short duration. A diversion has taken place in favour of the husband of the Queen Regent--Munos, who, having been a private soldier, is thought by his rank and file camaradoes to have a prior claim to Don Carlos. They have revolted to a man, and the Carlists tremble in their boots.

"_Six o'clock_, A.M.--The young Queen has fled the capital--Munos is our new King, and his throne will no doubt be consolidated by a vigorous ministry.

"_Seven o'clock_, A.M.--News has just arrived from Pampeluna that the Carlists are so disgusted with the counter-revolution, that a counter-counter-revolution having taken place amongst the shopkeepers, in favour of the Queen Regent, the Carlists have joined it. After all, the Queen Mother will doubtless permanently occupy the throne--at least for a day or two.

"_Eight o'clock_.--News has just arrived from Biscay of a new revolt, extending through all the Basque provinces; and they are only waiting for some eligible pretender to come forward to give to this happy country another ruler. Advices from all parts are indeed crowded with reports of a rebellious spirit, so that a dozen revolutions a-week may be assuredly anticipated during the next twelvemonth."

* * * * *

SONGS OF THE SEEDY.--No. 4.

And must we part?--well, let it be;
'Tis better thus, oh, yes, believe me;
For though I still was true to thee,
Thou, faithless maiden, wouldst deceive me.
Take back this written pledge of love,
No more I'll to my bosom fold it;
The ring you gave, your faith to prove,
I can't return--because I've sold it!

I will not ask thee to restore
Each _gage d'armour_, or lover's token,
Which I had given thee before
The links between us had been broken.
They were not much, but oh! that brooch,
If for my sake thou'st deign'd to save it,
For that, at least, I must encroach,--
It wasn't mine, although I gave it.

The gem that in my breast I wore,
That once belonged unto your mother
Which, when you gave to me, I swore
For life I'd love you, and no other.
Can you forget that cheerful morn,
When in my breast thou first didst stick it?--
I can't restore it--it's in pawn;
But, base deceiver--that's the ticket.

Oh, take back all, I cannot bear
These proofs of love--they seem to mock it;
There, false one, take your lock of hair--
Nay, do not ask me for the locket.
Insidious girl! that wily tear
Is useless now, that all is ended:
There is thy curl--nay, do not sneer,
The locket's--somewhere--being mended.

The dressing-case you lately gave
Was fit, I know, for Bagdad's caliph;
I used it only once to shave,
When it was taken by the bailiff.
Than thou didst give I bring back less;
But hear the truth, without more dodging--
The landlord's been with a distress,
And positively cleared my lodging.

* * * * *

CONS. BY O CONNELL.

What English word expresses the Latin for cold?--"Jelly"-does (_Gelidus_).

Why is a blackleg called a sharper?--Because he's less blunt than other men.

Why is a red-herring like a Mackintosh?--Because it keeps one _dry_ all day.

* * * * *

PUNCH'S THEATRE.

OLD MAIDS.

_Sir Philip Brilliant_ is a gentleman of exquisite breeding--a man of fashion, with a taste for finery, and somewhat of a fop. He reveals his pretty figure to us, arrayed in all the glories of white and pink satins, embellished with flaunting ribbons, and adorned with costly jewels. His servant is performing the part of mirror, by explaining the beauties of the dress, and trying to discover its faults: his researches for flaws are unavailing, till his master promises him a crown if he can find one--nine valets out of ten would make a misfit for half the money; and _Robert_ instantly pays a tribute to the title of the play by discovering a _wrinkle_--equally an emblem of an "Old Maid" and an ill-fitting vest. This incident shows us that _Sir Philip_ is an amateur in dress; but his predilection is further developed by his exit, which is made to scold his goldsmith for the careless setting of a lost diamond. The next scene takes us to the other side of Temple-bar; in fact, upon Ludgate-hill. We are inside the shop of the goldsmith, _Master Blount_, most likely the founder of the firm now conducted by Messrs. Rundell and Bridge. He has two sons, who, being brought up to the same trade, and always living together, are, of course, eternally quarrelling. Both have a violent desire to cut the shop; the younger for glory, ambition, and all that (after the fashion of all city juveniles, who hate hard work), the elder for ease and elegance. The papa and mamma have a slight altercation on the subject of their sons, which happily, (for family quarrels seldom amuse third parties) is put an end to by a second "shine," brought about by the entrance of _Sir Philip Brilliant_, to make the threatened complaint about bad workmanship. The younger and fiery _Thomas Blount_ resents some of _Sir P.B._'s expressions to his father; this is followed by the usual _badinage_ about swords and their use. We make up our minds that the next scene is to consist of a duel, and are not disappointed.

Sure enough a little rapier practice ends the act; the shopman is wounded, and his adversary takes the usual oath of being his sworn friend for ever.

The second act introduces a new class of incidents. A great revolution has taken place in the private concerns of the family Blount. _Thomas_, the younger, has become a colonel in the army; John, having got possession of the shop, has sold the stock-in-trade, fixtures, good-will, &c.; doubtless, to the late _Mr. Rundell's_ great-grandfather; and has set up for a private gentleman. For his introduction into genteel society he is indebted to _Robert_, whom he has mistaken for a Baronet, and who presents him to several of his fellow-knights of the shoulder-knot, all dubbed, for the occasion, lords and ladies, exactly as it happens in the farce of "High Life Below Stairs."

But where are the "Old Maids" all this time? Where, indeed! _Lady Blanche_ and _Lady Anne_ are young and beautiful--exquisitely lovely; for they are played by Madame Vestris and Mrs. Nisbett. It is clear, then, that directly they appear, the spectator assures himself that they are _not_ the "Old Maids." To be sure they seem to have taken a sort of vow of celibacy; but their fascinating looks--their beauty--their enchanting manners, offer a challenge to the whole bachelor world, that would make the keeping of such a vow a crime next to sacrilege. One does not tremble long on that account. _Lady Blanche_, has, we are informed, taken to disguising herself; and some time since, while rambling about in the character of a yeoman's daughter, she entered _Blount's_ shop, and fell in love with _Thomas_: at this exact part of the narrative _Colonel Blount_ is announced, attended by his sworn friend, _Sir Philip Brilliant_. A sort of partial recognition takes place; which leaves the audience in a dreadful state of suspense till the commencement of another act.

_Sir Philip_, who has formerly loved _Lady Blanche_ without success, now tries his fortune with _Lady Anne_; and at this point, dramatic invention ends; for, excepting the mock-marriage of _John Blount_ with a lady's-maid, the rest of the play is occupied by the vicissitudes the two pair of lovers go through--all of their own contrivance, on purpose to make themselves as wretched as possible--till the grand clearing up, which always takes place in every last scene, from the "Adelphi" of Terence (or Yates), down to the "Old Maids" of Mr. Sheridan Knowles.

* * * * *

COCORICO, OR MY AUNT'S BANTAM.

Since playwrights have left off plotting and under-plotting on their own account, and depend almost entirely upon the "French," managers have added a new member to their establishments, and, like the morning papers, employ a Paris correspondent, that French plays, as well as French eggs, may be brought over quite fresh; though from the slovenly manner in which they (the pieces, not the eggs) are too often prepared for the English market, they are seldom _neat_ as imported.

The gentleman who "does" the Parisian correspondence for the Adelphi Theatre, has supplied it with a vaudeville bearing the above title; the fable, of which, like some of AEsop's, principally concerns a hen, that, however, does not speak, and a smart cockscomb who does--an innocent little fair who has charge of the fowl--a sort of _Justice Woodcock_, and a bombardier who, because he is in the uniform of a drum or bugle-major, calls himself a serjeant. To these may be added, Mr. Yates in his own private character, and a few sibilants in the pit, who completed the poultry-nature of the piece by playing the part of geese.

The plot would have been without interest, but for the accidental introduction of the last two characters,--or the geese and the cock-of-the-walk. The pittites, affronted at the extreme puerility of some of the incidents, and the inanity of all the dialogue, hissed. This raffled the feathers of the cock-of-the-walk, who was already on, or rather at, the wing; and he flew upon the stage in a tantrum, to silence the geese. Mr. Yates spoke--we need not say how or what. Everybody knows how he of the Adelphi shrugs his shoulders, and squeezes his hat, and smiles, and frowns, and "appeals" and "declares upon his honour" while agitating the buttons on the left side of his coat, and "entreats" and "throws himself upon the candour of a British public," and puts the stamp upon all he has said by an impressive thump of the foot, a final flourish of the arms, and a triumphal exit to poean-sounding "bravoes!" and to the utter confusion of all dis--or to be more correct, hiss--sentients.

In the end, however, the latter triumphed; and _Cocorico_ deserved its fate in spite of the actors. Mrs. Grattan played the chief character with much tact and cleverness, singing the vaudevilles charmingly--a most difficult task, we should say, on account of the adapter, in putting English words to French music, having ignorantly mis-accentuated a large majority of them. Miss Terrey infused into a simple country girl a degree of character which shews that she has not yet fallen into the vampire-trap of too many young performers--stage conventionalism, and that she copies from Nature. It is unfortunate for both these clever actresses that they have been thrust into a piece, which not even their talents could save from partial ----, but it is a naughty word, and Mrs. Judy has grown very strict. The piece wants _cur_-tailment; which, if previously applied, will increase the interest, and make it, perhaps, an endurable dramatic

* * * * *

PROMENADE CONCERTS.

The conductor of these concerts has not a single requisite for his office--he is several degrees less personable than M. Jullien--he does not even wear moustaches! and to suppose that a man can beat time properly without them is ridiculous. He looks a great deal more like a modest, respectable grocer, than a man of genius; for he neither turns up his eyes nor his cuffs, and has the indecency to appear without white gloves! His manners, too, are an insult to the lovers of the thunder and lightning school of music; he neither conducts himself, nor his band, with the least grace or _eclat_. He does not spread out both arms like a goose that wants to fly, while hushing down a _diminuendo_; nor gesticulate like a madman during the fortes; in short, he only gives out the time in passages where the players threaten unsteadiness; and as that is very seldom, those amateurs who pay their money only for the pleasure of seeing the _baton_ flourished about, are defrauded of half their amusement. M. Musard takes them in--for it must be evident, even to them, that what we have said is true, and that he possesses scarcely a qualification for the office he holds--if we make one trifling exception (hardly worth mentioning)--for he is nothing more than, merely, a first-rate musician. With this single accomplishment, it is like his impudence to try and foist himself upon the Cockney _dilettanti_ after M. Jullien, who possessed every other requisite for a conductor _but_ a knowledge of the science; which is, after all, a paltry acquirement, and purely mechanical.

On the evening PUNCH was present, the usual dose of quadrilles and waltzes was administered, with an admixture from the dull scores of Beethoven. Disgusted as we were at the humbug of performing the works of this master without blue-fire, and an artificial storm in the flies, yet--may we confess it?--we were nearly as much charmed by the "Andante" from his Symphonia in A, as if the lights had been put out to give it effect. We blush for our taste, but thank our _stars_ (Jullien included) that we have the courage to own the soft impeachment in the face of an enlightened Concert d'Ete patronising public. In sober truth, we were ravished! The pianos of this movement were so exquisitely kept, the _ensemble_ of them was so complete, the wind instruments were blown so exactly in tune, so evenly in tone, that the whole passion of that touching andante seemed to be felt by the entire band, which _went_ as one instrument. The subject--breaking in as it does, when least expected, and worked about through nearly every part of the score, so as to produce the most delicious effects--was played with equal delicacy and feeling by every performer who had to take it up; while the under-current of accompaniment was made to blend with it with a masterly command and unanimity of tone, that we cannot remember to have heard equalled.

Of course, this piece, though it enchanted the musical part of the audience, disgusted the promenaders, and was received but coldly. This, however, was made up for when the drumming, smashing, and brass-blurting of the overture to "Zampa" was noised forth: this was encored with ecstacies, and so were some of the quadrilles. Happy musical taste! Beethoven's septour, arranged as a set of quadrilles, is a desecration unworthy of Musard. For this piece of bad taste he ought to be condemned to arrange the sailor's hornpipe, as

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THE WAR WITH CHINA.

The celebrated pranks of the "Bull in the China Shop" are likely to be repeated on a grand scale--the part of the Bull being undertaken, on this occasion, by the illustrious John who is at the head of the family.

The Emperor, when the last advices left, was discussing a _chop_, surrounded by all his ministers. The chop, which was dished up with a good deal of Chinese sauce, was ultimately forwarded to Elliot. The custom of sending chops to an enemy is founded on the idea, that the fact of there being a bone to pick cannot be conveyed with more delicacy than "by wrapping it up," as it is commonly termed, as politely as possible.

Our readers will be surprised to hear that the Chinese have attacked our forces with _junk_, from which it has been supposed that our brave tars have been pitched into with large pieces of salt beef, while the English commanders have been pelted with _chops_; but this is an error. The thing called _junk_ is not the article of that name used in the Royal Navy, but a gimcrack attempt at a vessel, built principally of that sort of material, something between wood and paper, of which we in this country manufacture hat-boxes.

The Emperor is such a devil of a fellow, that those about him are afraid to tell him the truth; and though his troops have been most unmercifully wallopped, he has been humbugged into the belief that they have achieved a victory. A poor devil named Ke-shin, who happened to suggest the necessity for a stronger force, was instantly split up by order of the Emperor, who can now and then do things by halves, though such is not his ordinary custom.

We have sent out a correspondent of our own to China, who will supply us with the earliest intelligence.

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TO BENEVOLENT AND HUMANE JOKERS.

CASE OF EXTREME JOCULAR DISTRESS.

The sympathies of a charitable and witty public are earnestly solicited in behalf of

JOHN WILSON CROKER, Esq., late Secretary to the Admiralty, author of the "New Whig Guide," &c., &c., who, from having been considered one of the first wits of his day, is now reduced to a state of unforeseen comic indigence. It is earnestly hoped that this appeal will not be made in vain, and that, by the liberal contributions of the facetious, he will be restored to his former affluence in jokes, and that by such means he may be able to continue his contributions to the "Quarterly Review," which have been recently refused from their utter dulness.

Contributions will be thankfully received at the PUNCH office; by the Hon. and Rev. Baptist Noel; Rogers, Towgood, and Co.; at the House of Commons; and the Garrick's Head.

SUBSCRIPTIONS ALREADY RECEIVED.

Samuel Rogers, Esq.--Ten puns, and a copy of "Italy."

Tom Cooke, Esq.--One joke (musical), consisting of "God save the Queen," arranged for the penny trumpet.

T. Hood, Esq.--Twenty-three epigrams.

Hon. and Rev. Baptist Noel.--A laughable Corn-law pamphlet.

John Poole, Esq.--A new farce, with liberty to extract all the jokes from the same, amounting to two _jeux d'esprit_ and a pun.

Proprietors of PUNCH.--The "copy" for No. 15 of the LONDON CHARIVARI, containing seventeen hundred sentences, and therefore as many jests.

Col. Sibthorp.--A conundrum.

Daniel O'Connell.--An Irish _tail_.

Messrs. Grissel and Peto.--A _strike_-ing masonic interlude, called "The Stone-masons at a Stand-still; or, the Rusty Trowel."

Commissioner Lin.--A special edict.

Lord John Russell.--"A new Guide to Matrimony," and a facetious essay, called "How to leave one's Lodgings."

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LAURIE'S ESSAY ON THE PHARMACOPOEIA.

Sir P. LAURIE begs to inquire of the medical student, whose physiology is recorded in PUNCH, in what part of the country Farmer Copoeia resides, and whether he is for or against the Corn Laws?

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