Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 1, November 6, 1841, by Various
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 1, November 6, 1841,
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 1.
FOR THE WEEK ENDING NOVEMBER 6, 1841.
* * * * *
A DAY-DREAM AT MY UNCLE'S.
The result of a serious conversation between the authors of my being ended
in the resolution that it was high time for me to begin the world, and do
something for myself. The only difficult problem left for them to solve
was, in what way I had better commence. One would have thought the world
had nothing in its whole construction but futile beginnings and most
unsatisfactory methods of doing for one's self. Scheme after scheme was
discussed and discarded; new plans were hot-beds for new doubts; and
impossibilities seemed to overwhelm every succeeding though successless
suggestion. At the critical moment when it appeared perfectly clear to me
either that I was fit for nothing or nothing was fit for me, the
authoritative "rat-tat" of the general postman closed the argument, and
for a brief space distracted the intense contemplations of my bewildered
parents.
"Good gracious!" "Well, I never!" "Who'd ha' thought it?" and various
other disjointed mutterings escaped my father, forming a sort of running
commentary upon the document under his perusal. Having duly devoured the
contents, he spread the sheet of paper carefully out, re-wiped his
spectacles, and again commenced the former all-engrossing subject.
"Tom, my boy, you are all right, and this will do for you. Here's a letter
from your uncle Ticket."
I nodded in silence.
"Yes, sir," continued my father, with increasing emphasis and peculiar
dignity, "Ticket--the great Ticket--the greatest"--
"Pawnbroker in London," said I, finishing the sentence.
"Yes, sir, he is; and what of that?"
"Nothing further; I don't much like the trade, but"--
"But he's your uncle, sir. It's a glorious money-making business. He
offers to take you as an apprentice. Nancy, my love, pack up this lad's
things, and start him off by the mail to-morrow. Go to bed, Tom."
So the die was cast! The mail was punctual; and I was duly delivered to
Ticket--the great Ticket--my maternal, and everybody else's undefinable,
uncle. Duly equipped in glazed calico sleeves, and ditto apron, I took my
place behind the counter. But as it was discovered that I had a peculiar
_penchant_ for giving ten shillings in exchange for gilt sixpences, and
encouraging all sorts of smashing by receiving counterfeit crowns,
half-crowns, and shillings, I received a box on the ear, and a positive
command to confine myself to the up-stairs, or "top-of-the-spout
department" for the future. Here my chief duties were to deposit such
articles as progressed up that wooden shaft in their respective places,
and by the same means transmit the "redeemed" to the shop below. This was
but dull work, and in the long dreary evenings, when partial darkness (for
I was allowed no candle) seemed to invite sleep, I frequently fell into a
foggy sort of mystified somnolency--the partial prostration of my
corporeal powers being amply compensated by the vague wanderings of
indistinct imagination.
In these dozing moods some of the parcels round me would appear not only
imbued with life, but, like the fabled animals of AEsop, blessed with the
gift of tongues. Others, though speechless, would conjure up a vivid train
of breathing tableaux, replete with their sad histories. That tiny relic,
half the size of the small card it is pinned upon, swells like the
imprisoned genie the fisherman released from years of bondage, and the
shadowy vapour takes once more a form. From the small circle of that
wedding ring, the tear-fraught widow and the pallid orphan, closely dogged
by Famine and Disease, spring to my sight. That brilliant tiara opens the
vista of the rich saloon, and shows the humbled pride of the titled
hostess, lying excuses for her absent gems. The flash contents of that
bright yellow handkerchief shade forth the felon's bar; the daring burglar
eyeing with confidence the counsel learned in the law's defects, fee'd by
its produce to defend its quondam owner. The effigies of Pride,
Extravagance, honest Distress, and reckless Plunder, all by turns usurp
the scene. In my last waking sleep, just as I had composed myself in
delicious indolence, a parcel fell with more than ordinary force on one
beneath. These were two of my talking friends. I stirred not, but sat
silently to listen to their curious conversation, which I now proceed to
give verbatim.
_Parcel fallen upon_.--"What the d--l are you?"
_Parcel that fell_.--"That's my business."
"Is it? I rather think its mine, though. Why don't you look where you're
going?"
"How can I see through three brown papers and a rusty black silk
handkerchief?"
"Ain't there a hole in any of 'em?"
"No."
"That's a pity; but when you've been here as long as I have, the moths
will help you a bit."
"Will they?"
"Certainly."
"I hope not."
"Hope if you like; but you'll find I'm right."
"I trust I didn't hurt you much."
"Not very. Bless you, I'm pretty well used to ill-treatment now. You've
only rubbed the pile of my collar the wrong way, just as that awkward
black rascal would brush me."
"Bless me! I think I know your voice."
"Somehow, I think I know yours."
"You ain't Colonel Tomkins, are you?"
"No."
"Nor Count Castor?"
"No."
"Then I'm in error."
"No you're not. I was the Colonel once; then I became the Count by way of
loan; and then I came here--as he said by mistake."
"Why, my dear fellow, I'm delighted to speak to you. How did you wear?"
"So-so."
"When I first saw you, I thought you the handsomest Petersham in town.
Your velvet collar, cuffs, and side-pockets, were superb; and when you
were the Colonel, upon my life you were the sweetest cut thing about the
waist and tails I ever walked with."
"You flatter me."
"Upon my honour, no."
"Well, I can return the compliment; for a blue, with chased buttons and
silk lining, you beat anything I ever had the honour of meeting. But I
suppose, as you are here, you are not the Cornet now?"
"Alas! no."
"May I ask why?"
"Certainly. His scoundrel of a valet disgraced his master's cloth and me
at the same time. The villain went to the Lowther Arcade--took me with him
by force. Fancy my agony; literally accessory to handing ices to
milliners' apprentices and staymakers; and when the wretch commenced
quadrilling it, he dos-a-dos'd me up against a fat soap-boiler's wife, in
filthy three-turned-and-dyed common satin."
"Scoundrel!"
"Rascal! But he was discovered--he reeled home drunk. _I_, that is, as
it's known, _we_ make the men. The Cornet saw him, and thrashed him
soundly with a three-foot Crowther."
"That must have been delightful to your feelings."
"Not very."
"Why not? revenge is sweet."
"So it is; but as the Cornet forgot to order him to take me off, I got the
worst of the drubbing. I was dreadfully cut about. Two buttons fearfully
lacerated--nothing but the shanks left."
"How did it end?"
"The valet mentioned something about wages and assault warrants, so I was
given to him to make the matter up. Between you and I, the Cornet was very
hard up."
"Indeed!"
"Certain of it. You remember the French-grey trousers we used to walk out
with--those he strapped so tight over the remarkably chatty and pleasant
French-polished boots whose broken English we used to admire so much?"
"Of course I do; they were the most charming greys I ever met. They beat
the plaids into fits; and the plaids were far from ungentlemanly, only
they would always talk with a sham Scotch accent, and quote the 'Cotter's
Saturday Night.'"
"Certainly that was a drawback. But to return to our friends, and the
Cornet's friends, they must have been bad, for those very greys were
seated."
"Impossible!"
"Fact, I assure you. My tails were pinned over the patch for three weeks."
"How did they bear it?"
"Shockingly. A general break up of the constitution--went all to pieces.
First, decay appeared in the brace buttons; then the straps got out of
order. They did say it was owing to the heels of the French-polished boots
going down on one side, but the boots would never admit it."
"How did you get here?"
"I came from the Bench for eggs and bacon for the Cornet and his Valet's
breakfast! What brought you?"
"The Count's landlady, for a week's rent."
"What did you fetch?"
"A guinea!"
"Bless me, you must have worn well."
"No; hold your tongue--I think I shall die with laughing,--ha! ha!--When
they took me in, I returned the compliment. I've been--"
"What?"
"Cuffed and collared!"
"Ha! ha! ha! ha!" shouted both coats; and "Ha! ha!" shouted I; "And I'll
teach you to 'ha! ha!' and neglect your business" shouted the Governor;
and the reality of a stunning box on the ear dispelled the illusion of my
"Day-dream at my Uncle's."
FUSBOS.
* * * * *
"BLOW GENTLE BREEZE."
The Reverend Henry _Snow_, M.A., has been inducted by the Bishop of
Gloucester, to the Vicarage of Sherborne cum _Windrush_.
From Glo'ster _see_, a _windrush_ came, and lo!
On Sherborne Vicarage it drifted _Snow_.
* * * * *
THE HEIR OF APPLEBITE.
CHAPTER VIII.
SHOWS WHAT'S AFTER A PARTY, AND WHAT'S IN A NAME.
[Illustration: U]Undoubtedly on the following day 24 Pleasant-terrace was
the most uncomfortable place in the universe. Some one has said that
wherever Pleasure is, Pain is certain not to be far off; and the truth of
the allegory is never better exemplified than on the day after "a most
delightful party." We can only compare it to the morning succeeding a
victory by which the conqueror has gained a great deal of glory at a very
considerable expenditure of _materiel_. Let us accompany the mistress of
the house as she proceeds from room to room, to ascertain the damage done
by the enemy upon the furniture and decorations. A light damask curtain is
found to have been saturated with port wine; a ditto chair-cushion has
been doing duty as a dripping-pan to a cluster of wax-lights; a china
shepherdess, having been brought into violent collision with the tail of a
raging lion on the mantel-piece, has reduced the noble beast to the
short-cut condition of a Scotch colley. A broken candle has perversely
fallen the only way in which it could have done any damage, and has thrown
the quicksilver on the back of a large looking-glass into an alarming
state of eruption. The return of "cracked and broken" presents a fearful
list of smashage and fracture: _the best_ tea-set is rendered unfit for
active service, being minus two saucers, a cup-handle, and a milk-jug; the
green and gold dessert-plates have been frightfully reduced in numbers;
two fiddle-handle spoons are completely _hors de combat_, having been
placed under the legs of the supper-table to keep it steady; seven
straw-stemmed wine-glasses awfully shattered during the
"three-times-three" discharge in honour of the toast of the Heir of
Applebites; four cut tumblers injured past recovery in a fit of
"entusymusy" by four young gentlemen who were accidentally left by
themselves in the supper-room; eighteen silver-plated dessert-knives
reduced to the character of saws, by a similar number of "nice fellows"
who were endeavouring to do the agreeable with the champagne, and
consequently could distinguish no difference between wire and
grape-stalks. The destruction in the kitchen had been equally great: the
extra waiter had placed his heel on a ham-sandwich, and, consequently, sat
down rather hurriedly on the floor with a large tray of sundries in his
lap, the result of which was, according to the following
OFFICIAL RETURN,
Two decanters starred;
One salt-cellar smithereened;
Four tumblers cracked uncommonly;
An extra waiter many bruises, and fractured pantaloons.
The day after a party is certain to be a sloppy day; and as the
street-door is constantly being opened and shut, a raw, rheumatical wind
is ever in active operation. Both these miseries were consequent upon the
Applebite festivities, and Agamemnon saw a series of catarrhs enter the
house as the rout-stools made their exit. He was quite right; for the next
fortnight neck-of-mutton broth was the standard bill of fare, only varied
by tea, gruel, and toast-and-water.
There is no evil without its attendant good; and the temporary
imprisonment of the Applebite family induced them to consider the
propriety of naming the infant heir, for hitherto he had been called "the
cherub," "the sweet one," "the mother's duck of the world," and "daddy's
darling." Several names had been suggested by the several friends and
relatives of the family, but nothing decisive had been agreed to.
Agamemnon wished his heir to be called Isaac, after his grandfather, the
member for Puddingbury, "in the hope," as he expressed himself, "that he
might in after years be stimulated to emulate the distinguished talents
and virtues of his great ancestor." (Overruled by Mrs. Waddledot, Mrs.
Applebite, and the rest of the ladies. Isaac declared vulgar, except in
the case of the member for Puddingbury.)
Mrs. Waddledot was anxious that the boy should be christened Roger de
Dickey, after her mother's great progenitor, who was said to have come
over with William the Conqueror, but whether in the capacity of a lacquey
or a lord-in-waiting was never, and perhaps never will be, determined.
(Opposed by Agamemnon, on the ground that ill-natured people would be sure
to dispense with the De, and his heir would be designated as Roger Dickey.
In this opinion Mrs. Applebite concurred.)
The lady-mother was still more perplexing; she proposed that he should be
called--
ALBERT (we give her own reasons)--because the Queen's husband was so
named.
AGAMEMNON--because of the alliteration and his papa.
DAVIS--because an old maiden lady who was independent had said that she
thought it a good name for a boy, as her own was Davis.
MONTAGUE--because it was a nice-sounding name, and the one she intended to
address him by in general conversation.
COLLUMPSION--as her papa.
PHIPPS--because she had had a dream in which a number of bags or gold were
marked P.H.I.P.P.S.; and
APPLEBITE--as a matter of course.
(Objected to by Mrs. Waddledot, for--nothing in particular, and by
Agamemnon on the score of economy. The heir being certain to employ a
lawyer, would be certain to pay an enormous interest in that way alone.)
Friends were consulted, but without any satisfactory result; and at length
it was agreed that the names should be written upon strips of paper and
drawn by the nominees. The necessary arrangements being completed, the
three proceeded to the ballot.
Mrs. Waddledot drew Isaac.
Agamemnon drew Roger de Dickey.
Mrs. Applebite drew Phipps.
As a matter of course everybody was dissatisfied; but with a "stern
virtue" everybody kept it to themselves, and the heir was accordingly
christened Isaac Roger de Dickey Phipps Applebite.
Old John soon realised Agamemnon's fears of Mrs. Waddledot's selection,
for, whether the patronym of the Norman invader was more in accordance
with his own ideas of propriety, or was more readily suggestive to his
mind of the infant heir, he was continually speaking of little master
Dicky; and upon being remonstrated with upon the subject promised
amendment for the future. All, however, was of no use, for John jumbled
the Phipps, the Roger, the Dickey, and the De together, but always
contriving most perversely to
[Illustration: "PUT THE CART BEFORE THE HORSE."]
* * * * *
A SCANDALOUS REPORT.
We are requested to contradict, by authority, the report that Colonel
Sibthorp was the Guy Fawkes seen in Parliament-street. It is true that a
deputation waited upon him to solicit him to take the chair on the 5th of
November, but the gallant Colonel modestly declined, much to the
disappointment of the young gentlemen who presented the requisition; so
much so indeed, that, after exhausting their oratorical powers, they
slightly hinted at having recourse to
[Illustration: PHYSICAL FORCE.]
* * * * *
"ROB ME THE EXCHEQUER, HAL."
No wonder Smith Exchequer Bills,
Should have a _taste_ for gorging,
For since the work the pocket fills,
What _Smith_'s averse to _forging_?
* * * * *
THE FIRE AT THE TOWER.
This is a sad business, there is no doubt, and the excitement which
prevailed may probably excuse the eccentricities that occurred, and to
which we beg leave to call the public attention.
In the first place, by way of ensuring the safety of the property,
precautions were taken to shut out every one from the building; and as
military rule knows of no exception, the orders given were executed to the
letter by preventing the ingress of the firemen with their engines until
the general order of exclusion was followed by a countermand. This of
course took time, leaving the fire to devour at its leisure the enormous
meal that fate had prepared for it.
After the admission of the firemen there was the usual mishap of no water
where it could be got at, but an abundant supply where there was no
possibility of reaching it. The tanks which the hose could be got into
were almost dry, while the Thames was in the most provoking way almost
overflowing its banks in the very neighbourhood of the fire; and yet, if
the pipes were laid on to the water, they were laid off too far from the
building to have the least effect upon it.
The next eccentricity consisted in the sudden idea that suggested itself
to somebody, that all energy should be devoted to saving the jewels, which
were not in the smallest danger, and even if they had been, there was
nobody knew how to get at them, the key being some miles off in the
possession of the Lord Chamberlain. It might as well have been at the
bottom of the Thames; and, of course, everybody began tugging at the iron
bars, which were at length forced, and the jewels were, at a great cost of
time and trouble, removed _to a place of safety_ from _a position of the
most perfect security!!_ However, this showed activity if nothing else,
and of course made the subject of paragraphs about "presence of mind,"
"indefatigable exertions," and "superhuman efforts" on the part of certain
persons who, for the good they were doing, might just as well have been
carrying the piece of artillery in St. James's Park into the enclosure
opposite.
While the jewels were being hurried from one part of the Tower, where they
were quite safe, to another where they were not more so, it never occurred
to any one to rescue from danger the arms, which were being quietly
consumed, while the crown and regalia were being jolted about with the
most injurious activity.
The treatment of some of the reporters was another curious point of this
melancholy business; and a gentleman from a weekly journal, on applying at
head-quarters, found his own head suddenly quartered by a blow from a
musket. This was rather unceremonious treatment on the part of the
privates of the line to a person who is also
[Illustration: ATTACHED TO THE LINE.]
--the penny-a-line we mean; but with a true _gusto_ for accidents, and a
relish for calamities, which nothing could subdue, he still pressed
forward, with blood streaming from his fractured skull, for additional
particulars. The American reporter whose hand was blown off, and had the
good fortune to be upon the spot, is not to be compared with the hero who
had the exclusive advantage of being able to supply practical information
of the ruffianly conduct pursued by the soldiery.
It is not stated whether the fire-escape was on the spot; but as no one
lived in the building that was burnt, it is highly probable that every
effort was made to save the lives of the inhabitants. There is no doubt
that the ladder was strenuously directed towards the clock tower, with the
view, probably, of saving the "jolly cock" who used to adorn the top of
it.
The reporters mark as a miracle the extraordinary fact, that during the
whole time of the fire, the weathercock continued to vary with the wind.
The gentlemen of the press, probably, expected that the awful solemnity of
the scene would have rendered any man, not entirely lost to every sense of
feeling, completely motionless. The apathy of the weathercock that went on
whirling about as if nothing had happened, is in the highest degree
disgusting, and we can scarcely regret the fate of such an unfeeling
animal.
* * * * *
PLEASE TO REMEMBER THE FIFTH OF NOVEMBER.
November, that month of fires, fogs, _felo de ses_, and Fawkes, has been
ushered in with becoming ceremony at the Tower and at various other parts
of the metropolis. In vain has an Act of Parliament been passed for the
suppression of bonfires--November asserts her rights, and will have her
modicum of "flare up" in spite of the law; but with the trickery of an Old
Bailey barrister she has thrown the onus upon October. Nor is this all!
Like a traitorous Eccalobeion she has already hatched several
conspiracies, as though everybody now thought of getting rid of others or
themselves.
The Right Hon. Spring-heel Rice Baron Jamescrow, commonly known as the
Lord Monteagle, has, like his historical synonym, been favoured with a
communication which being considerably beyond his own comprehension, he
has in a laudable spirit submitted it to Punch--an evidence of wisdom
which we really did not expect from our friend Baron Jamescrow.
We subjoin the introductory epistle--
DEAR PUNCH,--I hasten to forward you the awful letter enclosed--we
are all abroad here concerning it--by the bye, how are you all at
home--to say the least, it certainly does look very ugly. Mrs. P.,
I hope, has improved in appearance. Something terrible is
evidently about to happen. I intend to pay you a visit shortly. I
trust we may not have to encounter any more Guys--you may expect
to see me on my Friday. I can only add my prayers for the nation's
safety and my compliments to Mrs. Punch and the young P.s.
Yours ever,
MONTEAGLE.
P.S. Let me have your advice and your last Number immediately I
have made a few notes, and paid the postage.
The following is the letter referred to by the Baron Jamescrow:--
MY LORD,--Being known to some of your friends I would advise you,
as you tender your peace and quiet, to devise some excuse to shift
off your attendance at your house (clearly the House of
Lords--_Monteagle_), for fire and brimstone have united to destroy
the enemies of man (evidently gunpowder, lucifer-matches, and the
Peers--_Monteagle_). Think not lightly of my advertisement (see
_Dispatch_), but retire yourself in the country (I should think I
would--_Monteagle_), where you may abide in safety; for though
there be no appearance of any _punae_; (what the deuce does this
mean? Puny's little--_Monteagle_), yet they will receive a
terrible blow-up (By punae he means members of Parliament, and he
_is_ another Guy!--_Monteagle_); yet they shall not see who hurts
them, though the place shall be purified and the enemy completely
destroyed.
I am, your Lordship's servant,
and destroyer to her Majesty and the two Houses of Parliament.
T.I.F. Fin.
We are surprised at our friend Monteagle troubling us with a matter
evidently as plain as the nose on our own face. It requires neither a
Solon nor a Punch to solve the enigma. It is merely a letter from Tiffin,
the bug destroyer to her Majesty, and refers to his peculiar plan of
persecuting the _punae_.
We have no doubt that Lords and Commons will be blown up on the
re-assembling of Parliament; and as an assurance that we do not speak upon
conjecture only, we beg to subjoin a portrait of the delinquent.
[Illustration: THE MODERN GUY VAUX.]
* * * * *
THE RIVAL CANDIDATES.
Be not afraid, gentle reader, that, from the title of our present article,
we are about to prescribe for you any political draught. No! be assured
that we know as little about politics as pyrotechny--that we are as
blissfully ignorant of all that relates to the science of government as
that of gastronomy--and have ever since our boyhood preferred the solid
consistency of gingerbread to the crisp insipidity of parliament. The
candidates of whom we write were no would-be senators--no sprouting
Ciceros or embryo Demosthenes'--they were no aspirants for the grand
honour of representing the honest and independent stocks and stones of
some ancient rotten borough, or, what is about the same thing, the
enlightened ten-pound voters of some modern reformed one--they were not
ambitious of the proud privilege of appending for seven years two letters
to their names, and of franking some half-dozen others _per diem_. No! the
rivals who form the theme of our present paper were emulous of obtaining
no place in Parliament, but, what is far more desirable, a place in the
affections of a lovely maid. They sought not for the suffrages of the
unwashed, but for the smiles of a fair one,--they neither desired to be
returned as the representative of so many sordid voters for the term of
seven years (a term of transportation common alike to M.P.s and
pickpockets), but for the more permanent honour of being elected as the
partner of a certain lady for life.