Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 1, October 9, 1841 by Various
V >>
Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 1, October 9, 1841
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 1.
FOR THE WEEK ENDING OCTOBER 9, 1841.
* * * * *
A MANUAL OF DENOUEMENTS.
"In the king's name,
Let fall your swords and daggers."--CRITIC.
[Illustration: A]A melo-drama is a theatrical dose in two or three acts,
according to the strength of the constitution of the audience. Its
component parts are a villain, a lover, a heroine, a comic character, and
an executioner. These having simmered and macerated through all manner of
events, are strained off together into the last scene; and the
effervescence which then ensues is called the _denouement_, and the
_denouement_ is the soul of the drama.
_Denouements_ are of three kinds:--The natural, the unnatural, and the
supernatural.
The "natural" is achieved when no probabilities are violated;--that is,
when the circumstances are such as really might occur--if we could only
bring ourselves to think so--as, (_ex. gr._)
When the villain, being especially desirous to preserve and secrete
certain documents of vital importance to himself and to the piece, does,
most unaccountably, mislay them in the most conspicuous part of the stage,
and straightway they are found by the very last member of the _dram.
pers._ in whose hands he would like to see them.
When the villain and his accomplice, congratulating each other on the
successful issue of their crimes, and dividing the spoil thereof (which
they are always careful to do in a loud voice, and in a room full of
closets), are suddenly set upon and secured by the innocent yet suspected
and condemned parties, who are at that moment passing on their way to
execution.
When the guiltless prisoner at the bar, being asked for his defence, and
having no witnesses to call, produces a checked handkerchief, and
subpoenas his own conscience, which has such an effect on the villain,
that he swoons, and sees demons in the jury-box, and tells them that "he
is ready," and that "he comes," &c. &c.
When the deserter, being just about to be shot, is miraculously saved by
his mistress, who cuts the matter very fine indeed, by rushing in between
"present" and "fire;" and, having ejaculated "a reprieve!" with all her
might, falls down, overcome by fatigue--poor dear! as well she may--having
run twenty-three miles in the changing of a scene, and carried her baby on
her arm all the blessed way, in order to hold him up in the tableau at the
end.
N.B.--Whenever married people rescue one another as above, the
"_denouement_" belongs to the class "unnatural;" which is used when the
author wishes to show the intensity of his invention--as, (_ex. gr._
again)
When an old man, having been wounded fatally by a young man, requests, as
a boon, to be permitted to examine the young man's neck, who, accordingly
unloosing his cravat, displays a hieroglyphic neatly engraved thereon,
which the old man interprets into his being a parricide, and then dies,
leaving the young man in a state of histrionic stupor.
When a will is found embellished with a Daguerreotype of four fingers and
a thumb, done in blood on the cover, and it turns out that the residuary
legatee is no better than he should be--but, on the contrary, a murderer
nicely ripe for killing.
The "supernatural" _denouement_ is the last resource of a bewildered
dramatist, and introduces either an individual in green scales and wings
to match, who gives the audience to understand that he is a fiend, and
that he has private business to transact below with the villain; who,
accordingly, withdraws in his company, with many throes and groans, down
the trap.
Or a pale ghost in dingy lawn, apparently afflicted with a serious
haemorrhage in the bosom, who appears to a great many people, running, in
dreams; and at last joins the hands of the young couple, and puts in a
little plea of her own for a private burial.
And there are many other variations of the three great classes of
_denouements_; such as the helter-skelter
nine-times-round-the-stage-combat, and the grand _melee_ in which
everybody kills everybody else, and leaves the piece to be carried on by
their executors; but we dare unveil the mystery no further.
* * * * *
SPORTING FACE.
"Well," said Roebuck to O'Connell, "despite Peel's double-face
propensities, he is a great genius." "A great _Janus_ indeed," answered
the _liberathor_.
* * * * *
"A RING! A RING!!"
The political pugilistic scrimmage which recently took place in the House
of Congress so completely coincides with the views and propensities of the
"universal scrimmage" member for Bath, that he intends making a motion for
the erection of a twenty-four-foot-ring on the floor of the House, for the
benefit of opposition members. The Speaker, says Roebuck, will, in that
case, be enabled to ascertain whether the "noes" or "ayes" have it,
without tellers.
* * * * *
PUNCH'S GUIDE TO THE WATERING PLACES.--No. 1.
BRIGHTON
If you are either in a great hurry, or tired of life, book yourself by the
Brighton railroad, and you are ensured one of two things--arrival in two
hours, or destruction by that rapid process known in America as "immortal
smash," which brings you to the end of your journey before you get to the
terminus. Should you fortunately meet with the former result, and finish
your trip without ending your mortal career, you find the place beset with
cads and omnibuses, which are very convenient; for if your hotel or
boarding-house be at the extremity of the town, you would have to walk at
least half a mile but for such vehicles, and they only charge sixpence,
with the additional advantage of the great chance of your luggage being
lost. If you be a married man, you will go to an hotel where you can get a
bed for half-a-guinea a night, provided you do not want it warmed, and use
your own soap; but it is five shillings extra if you do. Should you be a
bachelor, or an old maid, you, of course, put up at a boarding-house,
where you see a great deal of good society at two guineas a week; for
every third man is a captain, and every fifth woman "my lady." There, too,
you observe a continual round of courtship going on; for it comes in with
the coffee, and continues during every meal. "Marriages," it is said, "are
made in heaven"--good matches are always got up at meal-times in Brighton
boarding-houses.
Brighton is decidedly a fishing-town, for besides the quantity of John
Dorys caught there, it is a celebrated place for pursey half-pay officers
to angle in for rich widows. The bait they generally use consists of dyed
whiskers, and a distant relationship to some of the "gentles" or nobles of
the land. The town itself is built upon _the downs_--a series of hills,
which those in the habit of walking over them are apt to call "ups and
downs." It consists entirely of hotels, boarding-houses, and
bathing-machines, with a pavilion and a chain-pier. The amusements are
various, and of a highly intellectual character: the chief of them being a
walk from the esplanade to the east cliff, and a promenade back again from
the east cliff to the esplanade. Donkey-races are in full vogue, insomuch
that the highways are thronged with interesting animals, decorated with
serge-trappings and safety-saddles, and interspersed with goat-carts and
hired flys. There is a library, where the visiters do everything but read;
and a theatre, where--as Charles Kean is now playing there--they do
anything but act. The ladies seem to take great delight in the sea-bath,
and that they may enjoy the luxury in the most secluded privacy, the
machines are placed as near to the pier as possible. This is always
crowded with men, who, by the aid of opera glasses, find it a pleasing
pastime to watch the movements of the delicate Naiads who crowd the
waters.
Those to whom Brighton is recommended for change of air and of scene get
sadly taken in, for here the air--like that of a barrel-organ--never
changes, as the wind is always high. In sunshine, Brighton always looks
hot; in moonshine, eternally dreary; the men are yawning all day long, and
the women sitting smirking in bay-windows, or walking with puppy-dogs and
parasols, which last they are continually opening and shutting. In short,
when a man is sick of the world, or a maiden of forty-five has been so
often crossed in love as to be obliged to leave off hoping against hope,
Brighton is an excellent place to prepare him or her for a final
retirement from life--whether that is contemplated in the Queen's Bench, a
convent, a residence among the Welsh mountains, or the monastery of La
Trappe, a month's probation in Brighton, at the height of the season,
being well calculated to make any such change not only endurable, but
agreeable.
* * * * *
CUSTOM-HOUSE SALE. LOT 1.--A PORT.
For sale, Thorwaldsen's Byron, rich in beauty,
Because his country owes, and will not pay, "duty."
* * * * *
THE HEIR OF APPLEBITE.
CHAPTER VI.
TREATS OF CHALK-AND-QUA-DRILL-OGY.
[Illustration: E]Entirely disgusted with his unsuccessful appeal to the
enlightened British public assembled in the front of his residence, and
which had produced effects so contrary to what he had conceived would be
the result, Agamemnon called a committee of his household, to determine on
the most advisable proceedings to be adopted for remedying the evils
resulting from the unexpected pyrotechnic display of the morning. The
carpet was spoiled--the house was impregnated with the sooty effluvia, and
the company was expected to arrive at nine o'clock. What was to be done?
Betty suggested the burning of brown paper and scrubbing the carpet; John,
assafoetida and sawdust; Mrs. Waddledot, pastilles and chalking the floor.
As the latter remedies seemed most compatible with the gentility of their
expected visiters, immediate measures were taken for carrying them into
effect. A dozen cheese-plates were disposed upon the stairs, each
furnished with little pyramids of fragrance; old John, who was troubled
with an asthma, was deputed to superintend them, and nearly coughed
himself into a fit of apoplexy in the strenuous discharge of his duty.
Whilst these in-door remedial appliances were in progress, Agamemnon was
hurrying about in a hack cab to discover a designer in chalk, and at
length was fortunate enough to secure the "own artist" of the celebrated
"Crown and Anchor." Mr. Smear was a shrewd man, as well as an excellent
artist; and when he perceived the very peculiar position of things, he
forcibly enumerated all the difficulties which presented themselves, and
which could only be surmounted by a large increase of remuneration.
"You see, sir," said Mr. Smear, "that wherever that ere water _has_ been
it's left a dampness ahind it; the moistur' consekent upon such a dampness
must be evaporated by ever-so-many applications of the warming-pan. The
steam which a rises from this hoperation, combined with the extra hart
required to hide them two black spots in the middle, will make the job
come to one-pund-one, independently of the chalk."
Agamemnon had nothing left but compliance with Mr. Smear's demand; and one
warming and three stew-pans, filled with live coals, were soon engaged in
what Mr. Smear called the "ewaporating department." As soon as the boards
were sufficiently dry, Mr. Smear commenced operations. In each of the four
corners of the room he described the diagram of a coral and bells,
connecting them with each other by graceful festoons of blue-chalk ribbon
tied in large true-lover's knots in the centre. Having thus completed a
frame, he proceeded, after sundry contortions of the facial muscles, to
the execution of the great design. Having described an ellipse of red
chalk, he tastefully inserted within it a perfect representation of the
interior of an infant's mouth in an early stage of dentition, whilst a
graceful letter _A_ seemed to keep the gums apart to allow of this
artistical exhibition. Proudly did Mr. Smear cast his small grey eyes on
Agamemnon, and challenge him, as it were, to a laudatory acknowledgment of
his genius; but as his patron remained silent, Mr. Smear determined to
speak out.
"Hart has done her best--language must do the rest. I am now only awaiting
for the motter. What shall I say, sir?"
"'Welcome' is as good as anything, in my opinion," replied Collumpsion.
"Welcome!" ejaculated Smear: "a servile himitation of a general
'lumination idea, sir. We must be original. Will you leave it to me?"
"Willingly," said Agamemnon. And with many inward protestations against
parties in general and his own in particular, he left Mr. Smear and his
imagination together.
The great artist in chalk paced the room for some minutes, and then
slapped his left thigh, in confirmation of the existence of some brilliant
idea. The result was soon made apparent on the boards of the drawing-room,
where the following inscription attested the immensity of Smear's genius--
"PARTAKE
OF
OUR
DENTAL DELIGHT."
The guinea was instantly paid; but Collumpsion was for a length of time in
a state of uncertainty as to whether Mr. Smear's talents were ornamental
or disfigurative. Nine o'clock arrived, and with it a rumble of vehicles,
and an agitation of knocker, that were extremely exhilarating to the
heretofore exhausted and distressed family at 24.
We shall not attempt to particularise the arrivals, as they were precisely
the same set as our readers have invariably met at routs of the second
class for these last five years. There was the young gentleman in an
orange waistcoat, bilious complexion, and hair _a la Petrarch_, only
gingered; and so also were the two Misses ----, in blue gauze, looped up
with coral,--and that fair-haired girl who "detethted therry," and those
black eyes, whose lustrous beauty made such havoc among the untenanted
hearts of the youthful beaux;--but, reader, you _must_ know the set that
_must_ have visited the Applebites.
All went "merry as a marriage bell," and we feel that we cannot do better
than assist future commentators by giving a minute analysis of a word
which so frequently occurs in the fashionable literature of the present
day that doubtlessly in after time many anxious inquiries and curious
conjectures would be occasioned, but for the service we are about to
confer on posterity (for the pages of PUNCH are immortal) by a description
of
A QUADRILLE:
which is a dance particularly fashionable in the nineteenth century. In
order to render our details perspicuous and lucid, we will suppose--
1.--A gentleman in tight pantaloons and a tip.
2.--Ditto in loose ditto, and a camellia japonica in the
button-hole of his coat.
3.--Ditto in a crimson waistcoat, and a pendulating eye-glass.
4.--Ditto in violent wristbands, and an alarming eruption of buttons.
ALSO,
1.--A young lady in pink-gauze and freckles.
2.--Ditto in book-muslin and marabouts.
3.--Ditto with blonde and a slight cast.
4.--Ditto in her 24th year, and black satin.
The four gentlemen present themselves to the four ladies, and having
smirked and "begged the honour," the four pairs take their station in the
room in the following order:
The tip and the
freckles.
The camelia japonica, The crimson waistcoat,
and the and the
marabouts. slight cast.
The violent wristbands
and the
black satin.
During eight bars of music, tip, crimson, camellia, and wristbands, bow to
freckles, slight cast, marabouts, and black satin, who curtsey in return,
and then commence
LA PANTALON,
by performing an intersecting figure that brings all parties exactly where
they were; which joyous circumstance is celebrated by bobbing for four
bars opposite to each other, and then indulging in a universal twirl which
apparently offends the ladies, who seize hold of each other's hands only
to leave go again, and be twirled round by the opposite gentleman, who,
having secured his partner, promenades her half round to celebrate his
victory, and then returns to his place with his partner, performing a
similar in-and-out movement as that which commenced _la Pantalon_.
L'ETE
is a much more respectful operation. Referring to our previous
arrangement, wristbands and freckles would advance and retire--then they
would take two hops and a jump to the right, then two hops and a jump to
the left--then cross over, and there hop and jump the same number of times
and come back again, and having celebrated their return by bobbing for
four bars, they twirl their partners again, and commence
LA POULE.
The crimson waistcoat and marabouts would shake hands with their right,
and then cross over, and having shaken hands again with the left, come
back again. They then would invite the camellia and the slight cast to
join them, and perform a kind of wild Indian dance "all of a row." After
which they all walk to the sides they have no business upon, and then
crimson runs round marabout, and taking his partner's hand, _i.e._, the
slight cast, introduces her to camellia and marabout, as though they had
never met before. This introduction is evidently disagreeable, for they
instantly retire, and then rush past each other, as furiously as they can,
to their respective places.
LA TRENISE
is evidently intended to "trot out" the dancers. Freckles and black satin
shake hands as they did in _la Pantalon_, and then freckles trots tip out
twice, and crosses over to the opposite side to have a good look at him;
having satisfied her curiosity, she then, in company with black satin,
crosses over to have a stare at the violent wristbands, in contrast with
tip who wriggles over, and join him, and then, without saying a word to
each other, bob, and are twirled as in _l'Ete_.
LA PASTORALE
seems to be an inversion of _la Trenise_, except that in nineteen cases
out of twenty, the waistcoat, tip, camellia and wristbands, seem to
undergo intense mental torture; for if there be such a thing as "poetry of
motion," _pastorale_ must be the "Inferno of Dancing."
LA FINALE
commences with a circular riot, which leads to _l'Ete_. The ladies then
join hands, and endeavour to imitate the graceful evolutions of a
windmill, occasionally grinding the corns of their partners, who
frantically rush in with the quixotic intention of stopping them. A
general shuffling about then takes place, which terminates in a bow, a
bob, and "allow me to offer you some refreshment."
_Malheureux!_ we have devoted so much space to the quadrille, that we have
left none for the supper, which being a cold one, will keep till next week.
* * * * *
THE GENTLEMAN'S OWN BOOK.
We are ashamed to ask our readers to refer to our last article under the
title of the "Gentleman's Own Book," for the length of time which has
elapsed almost accuses us of disinclination for our task, or weariness in
catering for the amusement of our subscribers. But September--September,
with all its allurements of flood and field--its gathering of honest old
friends--its tales of by-gone seasons, and its glorious promises of the
present--must plead our apology for abandoning our pen and rushing back to
old associations, which haunt us like
[Illustration: THE SPELLS OF CHILDHOOD.]
We know that we are forgiven, so shall proceed at once to the
consideration of the ornaments and pathology of coats.
THE ORNAMENTS
are those parts of the external decorations which are intended either to
embellish the person or garment, or to notify the pecuniary superiority of
the wearer. Amongst the former are to be included buttons, braids, and
mustachios; amongst the latter, chains, rings, studs, canes, watches, and
above all, those pocket talismans, purses. There are also riding-whips and
spurs, which may be considered as _implying_ the possession of quadrupedal
property.
_Of Buttons_.--In these days of innovation--when Brummagem button-makers
affect a taste and elaboration of design--a true gentleman should be most
careful in the selection of this _dulce et utile_ contrivance. Buttons
which resemble gilt acidulated drops, or ratafia cakes, or those which are
illustrative of the national emblems--the rose, shamrock, and thistle tied
together like a bunch of faded watercresses, or those which are
commemorative of coronations, royal marriages, births, and christenings,
chartist liberations, the success of liberal measures, and such like
occasions, or those which would serve for vignettes for the _Sporting
Magazine_, or those which at a distance bear some resemblance to the royal
arms, but which, upon closer inspection, prove to be bunches of endive,
surmounted by a crown which the Herald's College does not recognise, or
those which have certain letters upon them, as the initials of clubs which
are never heard of in St. James's, as the U.S.C.--the Universal Shopmen's
Club; T.Y.C.--the Young Tailors' Club; L.S.D.--the Linen Drapers'
Society--and the like. All these are to be fashionably eschewed. The
regimental, the various hunts, the yacht clubs, and the basket pattern,
are the only buttons of Birmingham birth which can be allowed to associate
with the button-holes of a gentleman.
The restrictions on silk buttons are confined chiefly to magnitude. They
must not be so large as an opera ticket, nor so small as a silver penny.
_Of Braids_.--This ornament, when worn in the street, is patronised
exclusively by Polish refugees, theatrical Jews, opera-dancers, and
boarding-house fortune-hunters.
_Of Mustachios_.--The mustachio depends for its effect entirely upon its
adaptation to the expression of the features of the wearer. The small, or
_moustache a la chinoise_, should only appear in conjunction with Tussaud,
or waxwork complexions, and then only provided the teeth are excellent;
for should the dental conformation be of the same tint, the mustachios
would only provoke observation. The German, or full hearth-brush, should
be associated with what Mr. Ducrow would designate a "cream," and
everybody else a drab countenance, and should never be resorted to, except
in conformity with regimental requisitions, or for the capture of an Irish
widow, as they are generally indigenous to Boulogne and the Bench, and are
known amongst tailors and that class of clothier victims as "bad debts,"
or "the insolvency regulation," and operate with them as an insuperable
bar to
[Illustration: PASSING A BILL.]
The perfect, or heart-meshes, are those in which each particular hair has
its particular place, and must be of a silky texture, and not of a bristly
consistency, like a worn-out tooth-brush. Neither must they be of a bright
red, bearing a striking resemblance to two young spring radishes.
The _barbe au bonc_, or _Muntzian fringe_, should only be worn when a
gentleman is desirous of obtaining notoriety, and prefers trusting to his
external embellishments in preference to his intellectual acquirements.
_On Tips_.--Tips are an abomination to which no gentleman can lend his
countenance. They are a shabby and mangy compromise for mustachios, and
are principally sported by the genus of clerks, who, having strong hirsute
predilections, small salaries, and sober-minded masters, hang a tassel on
the chin instead of a vallance on the upper lip.
Our space warns us to conclude, and, as a fortnight's indolence is not the
strongest stimulant to exertion, we willingly drop our pen, and taking the
hint and a cigar, indulge in a voluminous cloud, and a lusty
[Illustration: CARMEN TRIUMPHALE.]
* * * * *
"HABIT IS SECOND NATURE."
FEARGUS O'CONNOR always attends public meetings, dressed in a complete
suit of fustian. He could not select a better emblem of his writings in
the _Northern Star_, than the material he has chosen for his habiliments.
* * * * *
"THE SUBSTANCE AND THE SHADOW."
We understand that Sir Robert Peel has sent for the fasting man, with the
intention of seeing how far his system may be acted upon for _the relief_
of the community.
* * * * *
"SAY IT WAS ME."
"Jem! you rascal, get up! get up, and be hanged to you, sir; don't you
hear somebody hammering and pelting away at the street-door knocker, like
the ghost of a dead postman with a tertian ague! Open it! see what's the
matter, will you?"
"Yes, sir!" responded the tame tiger of the excited and highly respectable
Adolphus Casay, shiveringly emerging from beneath the bed-clothes he had
diligently wrapped round his aching head, to deaden the incessant clamour
of the iron which was entering into the soul of his sleep. A
hastily-performed toilet, in which the more established method of encasing
the lower man with the front of the garment to the front of the wearer,
was curiously reversed, and the capture of the left slipper, which, as the
weakest goes to the wall, the right foot had thrust itself into, was
scarcely effected, ere another series of knocks at the door, and batch of
invectives from Mr. Adolphus Casay, hurried the partial sacrificer to the
Graces, at a Derby pace, over the cold stone staircase, to discover the
cause of the confounded uproar. The door was opened--a confused jumble of
unintelligible mutterings aggravated the eager ears of the shivering
Adolphus. Losing all patience, he exclaimed, in a tone of thunder--