Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 1, November 27, 1841 by Various
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 1, November 27, 1841
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 1.
FOR THE WEEK ENDING NOVEMBER 27, 1841.
* * * * *
THE PHYSIOLOGY OF THE LONDON MEDICAL STUDENT.
9.--OF THE SEQUEL TO THE HALL EXAMINATION.
[Illustration: W]Whilst Mr. Muff follows the beadle from the funking-room
to the Council Chamber, he scarcely knows whether he is walking upon his
head or his heels; if anything, he believes that he is adopting the former
mode of locomotion; nor does he recover a sense of his true position until
he finds himself seated at one end of a square table, the other three
sides whereof are occupied by the same number of gentlemen of grave and
austere bearing, with all the candles in the room apparently endeavouring
to imitate that species of eccentric dance which he has only seen the
gas-lamps attempt occasionally as he has returned home from his harmonic
society. The table before him is invitingly spread with pharmacopoeias,
books of prescriptions, trays of drugs, and half-dead plants; and upon
these subjects, for an hour and a half, he is compelled to answer
questions.
We will not follow his examination: nobody was ever able to see the least
joke in it; and therefore it is unfitted for our columns. We can but state
that after having been puzzled, bullied, "caught," quibbled with, and
abused, for the above space of time, his good genius prevails, and he is
told he may retire. Oh! the pleasure with which he re-enters the
funking-room--that nice, long, pleasant room, with its cheerful fireplace
and good substantial book-cases, and valuable books, and excellent
old-fashioned furniture; and the capital tea which the worshipful company
allows him--never was meal so exquisitely relished. He has passed the
Hall! won't he have a flare-up to-night!--that's all.
As soon as all the candidates have passed, their certificates are given
them, upon payment of various sovereigns, and they are let out. The first
great rush takes place to the "retail establishment" over the way, where
all their friends are assembled--Messrs. Jones, Rapp, Manhug, &c. A pot of
"Hospital Medoc" is consumed by each of the thirsty candidates, and off
they go, jumping Jim Crow down Union-street, and swaggering along the
pavement six abreast, as they sing several extempore variations of their
own upon a glee which details divers peculiarities in the economy of
certain small pigs, pleasantly enlivened by grunts and whistles, and the
occasional asseveration of the singers that their paternal parent was a
man of less than ordinary stature. This insensibly changes into "Willy
brewed a Peck of Malt," and finally settles down into "Nix my Dolly,"
appropriately danced and chorussed, until a policeman, who has no music in
his soul, stops their harmony, but threatens to take them into charge if
they do not bring their promenade concert to a close.
Arrived at their lodgings, the party throw off all restraint. The table is
soon covered with beer, spirits, screws, hot water, and pipes; and the
company take off their coats, unbutton their stocks, and proceed to
conviviality. Mr. Muff, who is in the chair, sings the first song, which
informs his friends that the glasses sparkle on the board and the wine is
ruby bright, in allusion to the pewter-pots and half-and half. Having
finished, Mr. Muff calls upon Mr. Jones, who sings a ballad, not
altogether perhaps of the same class you would hear at an evening party in
Belgrave-square, but still of infinite humour, which is applauded upon the
table to a degree that flirps all the beer out of the pots, with which Mr.
Rapp draws portraits and humorous conceits upon the table with his finger.
Mr. Manhug is then called upon, and sings
THE STUDENT'S ALPHABET.
Oh; A was an Artery, fill'd with injection;
And B was a Brick, never caught at dissection.
C were some Chemicals--lithium and borax;
And D was a Diaphragm, flooring the thorax.
_Chorus (taken in short-hand with minute accuracy)._
Fol de rol lol,
Tol de rol lay,
Fol de rol, tol de rol, tol de rol, lay.
E was an Embryo in a glass case;
And F a Foramen, that pierced the skull's base.
G was a Grinder, who sharpen'd the fools;
And H means the Half-and-half drunk at the schools.
Fol de rol lol, &c.
I was some Iodine, made of sea-weed;
J was a Jolly Cock, not used to read.
K was some Kreosote, much over-rated;
And L were the Lies which about it were stated.
Fol de rol lol, &c.
M was a muscle--cold, flabby, and red;
And N was a Nerve, like a bit of white thread.
O was some Opium, a fool chose to take;
And P were the Pins used to keep him awake.
Fol de rol lol, &c.
Q were the Quacks, who cure stammer and squint,
R was a Raw from a burn, wrapp'd in lint.
S was a Scalpel, to eat bread and cheese;
And T was a Tourniquet, vessels to squeeze.
Fol de rol lol, &c.
U was the Unciform bone of the wrist.
V was the Vein which a blunt lancet miss'd.
W was Wax, from a syringe that flow'd.
X, the Xaminers, who may be blow'd!
Fol de rol lol, &c.
Y stands for You all, with best wishes sincere;
And Z for the Zanies who never touch beer.
So we've got to the end, not forgetting a letter;
And those who don't like it may grind up a better.
Fol de rol lol, &c.
This song is vociferously cheered, except by Mr. Rapp, who during its
execution has been engaged in making an elaborate piece of basket-work out
of wooden pipe-lights, which having arranged to his satisfaction, he sends
scudding at the chairman's head. The harmony proceeds, and with it the
desire to assist in it, until they all sing different airs at once; and
the lodger above, who has vainly endeavoured to get to sleep for the last
three hours, gives up the attempt as hopeless, when he hears Mr. Manhug
called upon for the sixth time to do the cat and dog, saw the bit of wood,
imitate Macready, sing his own version of "Lur-li-e-ty," and accompany it
with his elbows on the table.
The first symptom of approaching cerebral excitement from the action of
liquid stimulants is perceived in Mr. Muff himself, who tries to cut some
cold meat with the snuffers. Mr. Simpson also, a new man, who is looking
very pale, rather overcome with the effects of his elementary screw in a
first essay to perpetrate a pipe, petitions for the window to be let down,
that the smoke, which you might divide with a knife, may escape more
readily. This proposition is unanimously negatived, until Mr. Jones, who
is tilting his chair back, produces the desired effect by overbalancing
himself in the middle of a comic medley, and causing a compound,
comminuted, and irreducible fracture of three panes of glass by tumbling
through them. Hereat, the harmony experiencing a temporary check, and all
the half-and half having disappeared, Mr. Muff finds there is no great
probability of getting any more, as the servant who attends upon the seven
different lodgers has long since retired to rest in the turn-down bedstead
of the back kitchen. An adjournment is therefore determined upon; and,
collecting their hats and coats as they best may, the whole party tumble
out into the streets at two o'clock in the morning.
"Whiz-z-z-z-z-t!" shouts Mr. Manhug, as they emerge into the cool air, in
accents which only Wieland could excel; "there goes a cat!" Upon the
information a volley of hats follow the scared animal, none of which go
within ten yards of it, except Mr. Rapp's, who, taking a bold aim, flings
his own gossamer down the area, over the railings, as the cat jumps
between them on to the water-butt, which is always her first leap in a
hurried retreat. Whereupon Mr. Rapp goes and rings the house-bell, that
the domestics may return his property; but not receiving an answer, and
being assured of the absence of a policeman, he pulls the handle out as
far as it will come, breaks it off, and puts it in his pocket. After this
they run about the streets, indulging in the usual buoyant recreations
that innocent and happy minds so situated delight to follow, and are
eventually separated by their flight from the police, from the safe plan
they have adopted of all running different ways when pursued, to bother
the crushers. What this leads to we shall probably hear next week, when
they are once more _reunis_ in the dissecting-room to recount their
adventures.
* * * * *
It is said that the Duke of Wellington declined the invitation to the Lord
Mayor's civic dinner in the following laconic speech:--"Pray remember the
9th November, 1830."--"Ah!" said Sir Peter Laurie, on hearing the Duke's
reply, "I remember it. They said that the people intended on that day to
set fire to Guildhall, and meant to roast the Mayor and Board of
Aldermen."--"On the old system, I suppose, of every man cooking his own
goose," observed Hobler drily.
* * * * *
THE "PUFF PAPERS."
[Illustration]
INTRODUCTION.
I cannot recollect the precise day, but it was some time in the month of
November 1839, that I took one of my usual rambles without design or
destination. I detest a premeditated route--I always grow tired at the
first mile; but with a free course, either in town or country, I can
saunter about for hours, and feel no other fatigue but what a tumbler of
toddy and a pipe can remove. It was this disposition that made me
acquainted with the fraternity of the "Puffs." I would premise, gentle
reader, that as in my peregrinations I turn down any green lane or dark
alley that may excite my admiration or my curiosity--hurry through
glittering saloons or crowded streets--pause at the cottage door or shop
window, as it best suits my humour, so, in my intercourse with you, I
shall digress, speculate, compress, and dilate, as my fancy or my
convenience wills it. This is a blunt acknowledgment of my intentions; but
as travellers are never sociable till they have cast aside the formalities
of compliment, I wished to start with you at the first stage as an old
acquaintance. The course is not usual, and, therefore, I adopt it; and it
was by thus stepping out of a common street into a common hostel that I
became possessed of the _materiel_ of those papers, which I trust will
hereafter tend to cheat many into a momentary forgetfulness of some care.
I have no other ambition; there are philosophers enough to mystify or
enlighten the world without my "nose of Turk and Tartar's lips" being
thrust into the cauldron, whose
--"Charms of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth, boil and bubble."
I had buttoned myself snugly in my Petersham (may the tailor who invented
_that_ garment "sleep well" whenever he "wears the churchyard livery,
grass-green turned up with brown!") The snow--the beautiful snow--fell
pure and noiselessly on the dirty pavement. Ragged, blue-faced urchins
were scrambling the pearly particles together, and, with all the joyous
recklessness of healthier childhood, carrying on a war less fatal but more
glorious than many that have made countless widows and orphans, and,
_perhaps, one_ hero. Little round doll-like things, in lace and ribbons,
were thumping second-door windows with their tiny hands, and crowing with
ecstasy at the sight of the flaky shower. "Baked-tater" cans and
"roasted-apple" saucepan lids were sputtering and frizzing in impotent
rage as they waged puny war with the congealed element. Hackney
charioteers sat on their boxes warped and whitened; whilst those strange
amalgams of past and _never-to-come_ fashions--the clerks of
London--hurried about with the horrid consciousness of exposing their
costliest garments to the "pelting of the pitiless storm." Evening stole
on. A London twilight has nothing of the pale grey comfort that is
diffused by that gradual change from day to night which I have experienced
when seated by the hearth or the open window of a rural home. There it
seems like the very happiness of nature--a pause between the burning
passions of meridian day and the dark, sorrowing loneliness of night; but
in London on it comes, or rather down it comes, like the mystic medium in
a pantomime--it is a thing that you will not gaze on for long; and you
rush instinctively from daylight to candle-light. I stopped in front of an
old-fashioned public-house, and soon (being a connoisseur in these
matters) satisfied myself that if comfort were the desideratum, "The heart
that was humble might hope for it here." I shook the snow from my
"Petersham," and seeing the word "parlour" painted in white letters on a
black door, bent my steps towards it. I was on the point of opening the
door, when a slim young man, with a remarkable small quantity of hair,
stopped my onward coarse by gurgling rather than ejaculating--for the
sentence seemed a continuous word--
"Can't-go-in-there-Sir."
"Why not?" said I."
"Puffs-Sir."
"Puffs!"
"Yes-Sir,--Tues'y night--Puffs-meets-on-Tues'y," and then addressing a
young girl in the bar, delivered an order for "One-rum-one-bran'y-one
gin-no-whisky-all-'ot," which I afterwards found to signify one glass of
each of the liqueurs.
I was about to remonstrate against the exclusiveness of the "Puffs," when
recollecting the proverbial obduracy of waiters, I contented myself with
buttoning my coat. My annoyance was not diminished by hearing the hearty
burst of merriment called forth by some jocular member of this _terra
incognita_, but rendered still more distressing by the appearance of the
landlord, who emerged from the room, his eyes streaming with those tears
that nature sheds over an expiring laugh.
"You have a merry party _concealed_ there, Master Host," said I.
"Ye-ye-s-Sir, very," replied he, and tittered again, as though he were
galvanizing his defunct merriment.
"Quite exclusive?"
"Quite, Sir, un-unless you are introduced--Oh dear!" and having mixed a
small tumbler of toddy, he disappeared into that inner region of smoke
from which I was separated by the black door endorsed "_Parlour_."
I had determined to seek elsewhere for a more social party, when the
thumping of tables and gingle of glasses induced me to abide the issue.
After a momentary pause, a firm and not unmusical voice was heard, pealing
forth the words of a song which I had written when a boy, and had procured
insertion for in a country newspaper. At the conclusion the thumping was
repeated, and the waiter having given another of his _stenographical_
orders, I could not resist desiring him to inform the vocal gentleman that
I craved a few words with him.
"Yes-Sir--don't-think-'ll come--'cos he-'s-in-a-corner."
"Perhaps you will try the experiment," said I.
"Certainly-Sir-two-gins-please-ma'am." And having been supplied with the
required beverage, he also made his _exit in fumo_.
In a few minutes a man of about fifty made his appearance; his face
indicated the absence of vulgarity, though a few purply tints delicately
hinted that he had assisted at many an orgie of the rosy offspring of
Jupiter and Semele. His dark vestments and white cravat induced me to set
him down as a "professional gentleman"--nor was I far wrong in my
conjecture. As I shall have, I trust, frequent occasion to speak of him, I
will for the sake of convenience, designate him Mr. Bonus.
I briefly stated my reason for disturbing him--that as he had honoured my
muse by forming so intimate an acquaintance with her, I was anxious to
trespass on his politeness to introduce me into that room which had now
become a sort of "Blue-beard blue-chamber" to my thirsty curiosity. Having
handed him my card, he readily complied, and in another minute I was an
inhabitant of an elysium of sociality and tobacco-smoke.
"Faugh!" cries Aunt Charlotte Amelia, whilst pretty little Cousin Emmeline
turns up her round hazel eyes and ejaculates, "Tobacco-smoke! horrid!"
Ladies! you treat with scorn that which God hath given as a blessing! It
has never been your lot to thread the streets of mighty London, when the
first springs of her untiring commerce are set in motion. Long, dear aunt,
before thy venerable nose peeps from beneath the quilted coverlid to scent
an atmosphere made odorous by cosmetics--long, dear Emmeline, ere those
bright orbs that one day will fire the hearts of thousands are unclosed,
the artizan has blessed his sleeping children, and closed the door upon
his household gods. The murky fog, the drizzling shower, welcome him back
to toil. Labour runs before him, and with ready hand unlocks the doors of
dreary cellars or towering and chilly edifices; mind hath not yet
promulgated or received the noble doctrine that toil is dignity; and you,
yes, even you, dear, gentle hearts! would feel the artizan a slave, if
some clever limner showed you the toiling wretch sooted or japanned. Would
you then rob him of one means of happiness? No--not even of his pipe!
Ladies, you tread on carpets or on marble floors--I will tell you where my
foot has been. I have walked where the air was circumscribed--where man
was manacled by space, for no other crimes but those of poverty and
misfortune. I've seen the broken merchant seated round a hearth that had
not one endearment--they looked about for faces that were wont to smile
upon them, and they saw but mirrors of their own sad lineaments--some
laughed in mockery of their sorrows, as though they thought that mirth
would come for asking; others, grown brutal by being caged, made up in
noise what they lacked in peace. How comfortless they seemed! The only
solace that the eye could trace was the odious herb, tobacco!
I have climbed the dark and narrow stairway that led to a modern Helicon;
there I have seen the gentle creature that loved nature for her
beauty--beauty that was to him apparent, although he sat hemmed in by bare
and tattered walls; yet there he had seen bright fountains sparkle and the
earth robe herself with life, and where the cunning spider spread her
filmy toils above his head, he has seen a world of light, a galaxy of
wonders. The din of wheels and the harsh discordant cries of busy life
have died within his ear, and the tiny voices of choral birds have hymned
him into peace; or the lettered eloquence of dread sages has become sound
again, and he has communed in the grove and temple, as they of older time
did in the eternal cities, with those whose names are immortal--and there
I have seen the humble pipe! the sole evidence of luxury or enjoyment;
when his daily task was suspended, it can never end, for he must weave and
weave the fibres of his brain into the clue that leads him to the means of
sustaining life.
I have wandered through lanes and fields when the autumn was on and the
world golden, and my journey has ended at a yeoman's door. My welcome has
been a hand-grasp, that needed bones and muscles to bear it
unflinchingly--my fare the homeliest, but the sweetest; and when the meal
was ended, how has the night wore on and then away over a cup of brown
October--the last autumn's legacy--and, forgive me, Emmeline, a pipe of
tobacco! Glorious herb! that hath oft-times stayed the progress of sorrow
and contagion; a king once consigned thee to the devil, but many a humble,
honest heart hath hailed thee as a blessing from the Creator.
I was introduced by my new acquaintance without much ceremony, and was
pleased to see that little was expected. "We meet here thrice a week,"
said Bonus, "just to wile away an hour or two after the worry and fatigue
of business. Most of us have been acquainted with each other since
boyhood--and we have some curious characters amongst us; and should you
wish to enrol your name, you have only to prove your qualification for
this (holding up his pipe), and we shall be happy to recognise you as a
'Puff.'"
* * * * *
THE STAR SYSTEM.
SIR PETER LAURIE having observed a notice in one of the journals that the
superior planets, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, are now to be seen every
evening in the west, despatched a messenger to them with an invitation to
the late Polish Ball, sagely remarking that "three such stars must prove
an attraction." Upon Sir Peter mentioning the circumstance to Hobler, the
latter cunningly advised Alderman Figaro (in order to prevent accidents)
to solicit them to come by water, and accordingly Sir Peter's carriage was
in waiting for the fiery stranger at the
[Illustration: TOWER STARES.]
* * * * *
THE LIMERICK MARES.
The borough of Limerick at present enjoys the singular advantage of having
two civic heads to the city. The new _mare_, Martin Honan, Esq., after
being duly elected, civilly requested the old _mare_, C. S. Vereker, Esq.,
to turn out; to which he as civilly replied that he would see him blessed
first, and as he was himself the only genuine and original donkey, he was
resolved not to yield his place at the corporate manger to the new animal.
Thus matters remain at present--the old _Mare_ resolutely refusing to take
his head out of the halter until he is compelled to do so.
* * * * *
MORE SKETCHES OF LONDON LIFE.
_By the Author of the "Great Metropolis."_
It is a remarkable fact that, in spite of the recent Act, there are no
less than three hundred sweeps who still continue to cry "sweep," in the
very teeth of the legislative measure alluded to. I have been in the habit
of meeting many of these sweeps at the house I use for my breakfast; and
in the course of conversation with them, I have generally found that they
know they are breaking the law in calling out "sweep," but they do not
raise the cry for the mere purpose of law-breaking. I am sure it would be
found on inquiry that it is only with the view of getting business that
they call out at all; and this shows the impolicy of making a law which is
not enforced; for they all know that it is very seldom acted upon.
The same argument will apply to the punishment of death; and my friend
Jack Ketch, whom I meet at the Frog and Frying-pan, tells me that he has
hanged a great many who never expected it. If I were to be asked to make
all the laws for this country, I certainly should manage things in a very
different manner; and I am glad to say that I have legal authority on my
side, for the lad who opens the door at Mr. Adolphus's chambers--with whom
I am on terms of the closest intimacy--thinks as I do upon every great
question of legal and constitutional policy. But this is "neither here nor
there," as my publisher told me when I asked him for the profits of my
last book, and I shall therefore drop the subject.
In speaking of eminent publishers, I must not forget to mention Mr.
Catnach, to whom I owe a debt of gratitude for having been the first to
introduce me to the literary career I have since so successfully followed.
I believe I was the first who carried into effect Mr. Catnach's admirable
idea of having the last dying speeches all struck off on the night before
an execution, so as to get them into the hands of the public as early as
possible. It was, moreover, my own suggestion to stereotype one speech, to
be used on all occasions; and I also must claim the merit of having
recommended the fixing a man's head at the top of the document as "a
portrait of the murderer." Catnach and I have always been on the best of
terms, but he is naturally rather angry that I have not always published
with him, which he thinks--and many others tell me the same thing--I
always should have done. At all events, Catnach has not much right to
complain, for he has on two occasions wholly repainted his shop-shutters
from effusions of mine; and I know that he has greatly extended his toy
and marble business through the profits of a poetical version of the fate
of Fauntleroy, which was very popular in its day, and which I wrote for
him.
I have never until lately had much to do with Pitts, of Seven Dials; but I
have found him an intelligent tradesman, and a very spirited publisher. He
undertook to get out in five days a new edition of the celebrated
pennyworth of poetry, known some time back, and still occasionally met
with, as the "Three Yards of Popular Songs," which were all selected by
me, and for which I chose every one of the vignettes that were prefixed to
them. I have had extensive dealings both with Pitts and Catnach; and in
comparing the two men, I should say one was the Napoleon of literature,
the other the Mrs. Fry. Catnach is all for dying speeches and executions,
while Pitts is peculiarly partial to poetry. Pitts, for instance, has
printed thousands of "My Pretty Jane," while Catnach had the execution of
Frost all in type for many months before his trial. It is true that Frost
never was hanged, but Blakesley was; and the public, to whom the document
was issued when the latter event occurred, had nothing to do but to bear
in mind the difference of the names, and the account would do as well for
one as for the other. Catnach has been blamed for this; but it will not be
expected that _I_ shall censure any one for the grossest literary
quackery.