Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 1, September 18, 1841 by Various
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Various >> Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 1, September 18, 1841
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 1.
FOR THE WEEK ENDING SEPTEMBER 18, 1841.
* * * * *
THE HEIR OF APPLEBITE.
CHAPTER IV.
HAS A GREAT DEAL TO SAY ABOUT SOME ONE ELSE BESIDES OUR HERO.
[Illustration: K]Kindness was a characteristic of Agamemnon's disposition,
and it is not therefore a matter of surprise that "the month"--_the_
month, _par excellence_, of "all the months i'the kalendar"--produced a
succession of those annoyances which, in the best regulated families, are
certain to be partially experienced by the masculine progenitor. O,
bachelors! be warned in time; let not love link you to his flowery traces
and draw you into the temple of Hymen! Be not deluded by the glowing
fallacies of Anacreon and Boccaccio, but remember that they were
bachelors. There is nothing exhilarating in caudle, nor enchanting in
Kensington-gardens, when you are converted into a light porter of
children. We have been married, and are now seventy-one, and wear a "brown
George;" consequently, we have experience and cool blood in our veins--two
excellent auxiliaries in the formation of a correct judgment in all
matters connected with the heart.
Our pen must have been the pinion of a wild goose, or why these continued
digressions?
Agamemnon's troubles commenced with the first cough of Mrs. Pilcher on the
door-mat. Mrs. P. was the monthly nurse, and monthly nurses always have a
short cough. Whether this phenomenon arises from the obesity consequent
upon arm-chairs and good living, or from an habitual intimation that they
are present, and have not received half-a-crown, or a systematic
declaration that the throat is dry, and would not object to a gargle of
gin, and perhaps a little water, or--but there is no use hunting
conjecture, when you are all but certain of not catching it.
Mrs. Pilcher was "the moral of a nurse;" she was about forty-eight and
had, according to her own account, "been the mother of eighteen lovely
babes, born in wedlock," though her most intimate friends had never been
introduced to more than one young gentleman, with a nose like a wart, and
hair like a scrubbing-brush. When he made his _debut_, he was attired in a
suit of blue drugget, with the pewter order of the parish of St. Clement
on his bosom; and rumour declared that he owed his origin to half-a-crown
a week, paid every Saturday. Mrs. Pilcher weighed about thirteen stone,
including her bundle, and a pint medicine-bottle, which latter article she
invariably carried in her dexter pocket, filled with a strong tincture of
juniper berries, and extract of cloves. This mixture had been prescribed
to her for what she called a "sinkingness," which afflicted her about 10
A.M., 11 A.M. (dinner), 2 P.M., 3 P.M. 4 P.M. 5 P.M. (tea), 7 P.M., 8 P.M.
(supper), 10 P.M., and at uncertain intervals during the night.
Mrs. Pilcher was a martyr to a delicate appetite, for she could never
"make nothing of a breakfast if she warn't coaxed with a Yarmouth bloater,
a rasher of ham, or a little bit of steak done with the gravy in."
Her luncheon was obliged to be a mutton-chop, or a grilled bone, and a
pint of porter, bread and cheese having the effect of rendering her "as
cross as two sticks, and as sour as werjuice." Her dinner, and its
satellites, tea and supper, were all required to be hot, strong, and
comfortable. A peculiar hallucination under which she laboured is worthy
of remark. When eating, it was always her declared conviction that she
_never drank anything_, and when detected coquetting with a pint pot or a
tumbler, she was equally assured that she never _did eat anything after
her breakfast_.
Mrs. Pilcher's duties never permitted her to take anything resembling
continuous rest; she had therefore another prescription for an hour's doze
after dinner. Mrs. Pilcher was also troubled with a stiffness of the
knee-joints, which never allowed her to wait upon herself.
When this amiable creature had deposited herself in Collumpsion's old
easy-chair, and, with her bundle on her knees, gasped out her first
inquiry--
"I hopes all's as well as can be expected?"
The heart of _Pater_ Collumpsion trembled in his bosom, for he felt that
to this incongruous mass was to be confided the first blossom of his
wedded love; and that for one month the dynasty of 24, Pleasant-terrace
was transferred from his hands to that of Mrs. Waddledot, his wife's
mother, and Mrs. Pilcher, the monthly nurse. There was a short struggle
for supremacy between the two latter personages; but an angry appeal
having been made to Mrs. Applebite, by the lady, "who had _nussed_ the
first families in this land, and, in course, know'd her business," Mrs.
Waddledot was forced to yield to Mrs. Pilcher's bundle in _transitu_, and
Mrs. Applebite's hysterics in perspective.
Mrs. Pilcher was a nursery Macauley, and had the faculty of discovering
latent beauties in very small infants, that none but doting parents ever
believed. Agamemnon was an early convert to her avowed opinions of the
heir of Applebite, who, like all other heirs of the same age, resembled a
black boy boiled--that is, if there is any affinity between lobsters and
niggers. This peculiar style of eloquence rendered her other
eccentricities less objectionable; and when, upon one occasion, the
mixture of juniper and cloves had disordered her head, instead of
comforting her stomachic regions, she excused herself by solemnly
declaring, that "the brilliancy of the little darling's eyes, and his
intoxicating manners, had made her feel as giddy as a goose." Collumpsion
and Theresa both declared her discernment was equal to her caudle, of
which, by-the-bye, she was an excellent concocter and consumer.
Old John and the rest of the servants, however, had no parental string at
which Mrs. Pilcher could tug, and the consequence was, that they decided
that she was an insufferable bore. Old John, in particular, felt the ill
effects of the heir of Applebite's appearance in the family, and to such a
degree did they interfere with his old comforts, without increasing his
pecuniary resources, that he determined one morning, when taking up his
master's shaving water, absolutely to give warning; for what with the
morning calls, and continual ringing for glasses--the perpetual
communication kept up between the laundry-maid and the mangle, and of
which he was the circulating medium--the insolence of the nurse, who had
ordered him to carry five soiled--never mind--down stairs: all these
annoyances combined, the old servant declared were too much for him.
Collumpsion laid his hand on John's shoulder, and pointing to some of the
little evidences of paternity which had found their way even into his
dormitory, said, "John, think what I suffer; do not leave me; I'll raise
your wages, and engage a boy to help you; but you are the only thing that
reminds me of my happy bachelorhood--you are the only one that can feel
a--feel a--"
"_Caudle_ regard," interrupted John.
"Caudle be ----." The "rest is silence," for at that moment Mrs.
Waddledot entered the room, gave a short scream, and went out again.
The month passed, and a hackney-coach, containing a bundle and the
respectable Mrs. Pilcher, &c., rumbled from the door of No. 24, to the
infinite delight of old John the footman, Betty the housemaid, Esther the
nurserymaid, Susan the cook, and Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite the
proprietor.
How transitory is earthly happiness! How certain its uncertainty! A little
week had passed, and the "Heir of Applebite" gave notice of his intention
to come into his property during an early minority, for his once happy
progenitor began to entertain serious intentions of employing a coroner's
jury to sit upon himself, owing to the incessant and "ear-piercing pipe"
of his little cherub. Vainly did he bury his head beneath the pillow,
until he was suffused with perspiration--the cry reached him there and
then. Cold air was pumped into the bed by Mrs. Applebite, as she rocked to
and fro, in the hope of quieting the "son of the sleepless." Collumpsion
was in constant communication with the dressing-table--now for moist-sugar
to stay the hiccough--then for dill-water to allay the stomach-ache. To
save his little cherub from convulsions, twice was he converted into a
night-patrole, with the thermometer below zero--a bad fire, with a large
slate in it, and an empty coal-scuttle.
* * * * *
SURREY ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS.
"Variety," say our school copy-books, "is charming;" hence this must be
the most charming place of amusement in London. The annexed list of
entertainments was produced on Tuesday last, when were added to the usual
_passe-temps_, a flower and fruit show. Wild beasts in cages; flowers of
all colours and sizes in pots; enormous cabbages; Brobdignag apples;
immense sticks of rhubarb; a view of Rome; a brass band; a grand Roman
cavalcade passing over the bridge of St. Angelo; a deafening park of
artillery, and an enchanting series of pyrotechnic wonders, such as
catherine-wheels, flower-pots, and rockets; an illumination of St.
Peter's; blazes of blue-fire, showers of steel-filings, and a grand blow
up of the castle of St. Angelo.
Such are the entertainments provided by the proprietor. The company--which
numbered at least from five to six thousand--gave them even greater
variety. Numerous pic-nic parties were seated about on the grass;
sandwiches, bottled stout, and (with reverence be it spoken) more potent
liquors seemed to be highly relished, especially by the ladies. Ices were
sold at a pastry-cook's stall, where a continued _feu-de-joie_ of
ginger-pop was kept up during the whole afternoon and evening. In short,
the scene was one of complete _al fresco_ enjoyment; how could it be
otherwise? The flowers delighted the eye; Mr. Godfrey's well-trained band
(to wit, Beethoven's symphony in C minor, with all the fiddle passages
beautifully executed upon clarionets!) charmed the ear; and the edibles
and drinkables aforesaid the palate. Under such a press of agreeables, the
Surrey Zoological Gardens well deserve the name of an Englishman's
paradise.
* * * * *
ON THE SCIENCE OF ELECTIONEERING.
To the progress of science and the rapid march of moral improvement the
most effectual spur that has ever been applied was the Reform Bill. Before
the introduction of that measure, electioneering was a simple process,
hardly deserving the name of an art; it has now arrived at the rank of a
science, the great beauty of which is, that, although complicated in
practice, it is most easy of acquirement. Under the old system boroughs
were bought by wholesale, scot and lot; now the traffic is done by retail.
Formerly there was but one seller; at present there must be some thousands
at least--all to be bargained with, all to be bought. Thus the "agency"
business of electioneering has wonderfully increased, and so have the
expenses.
In fact, an agent is to an election what the main-spring is to a watch; he
is, in point of fact, the real returning-officer. His importance is not
less than the talents and tact he is obliged to exert. He must take a
variety of shapes, must tell a variety of lies, and perform the part of an
animated contradiction. He must benevolently pay the taxes of one man who
can't vote while in arrear; and cruelly serve notices of ejectment upon
another, though he can show his last quarter's receipt--he must attend
temperance meetings, and make opposition electors too drunk to vote. He
must shake hands with his greatest enemy, and _palm_ off upon him lasting
proofs of friendship, and silver-paper hints which way to vote. He must
make flaming speeches about principle, puns about "interest," and promises
concerning everything, to everybody. He must never give less than five
pounds for being shorn by an honest and independent voter, who never
shaves for less than two-pence--nor under ten, for a four-and-ninepenny
goss to an uncompromising hatter. He must present ear-rings to wives,
bracelets to daughters, and be continually broaching a hogshead for
fathers, husbands, and brothers. He must get up fancy balls, and give away
fancy dresses to ladies whom he fancies--especially if they fancy his
candidate, and their husbands fancy them. He must plan charities, organise
mobs, causing free-schools to be knocked up, and opponents to be knocked
down. Finally, he must do all these acts, and spend all these sums purely
for the good of his country; for, although a select committee of the house
tries the validity of the election--though they prove bribery,
intimidation, and treating to everybody's satisfaction, yet they always
find out that the candidate has had nothing to do with it--that the agent
is not _his_ agent, but has acted solely on patriotic grounds; by which he
is often so completely a martyr, that he is, after all, actually
prosecuted for bribery, by order of the very house which he has helped to
fill, and by the very man (as a part of the parliament) he has himself
returned.
That this great character might not be lost to posterity, we furnish our
readers with the portrait of
[Illustration: AN ELECTION AGENT.]
* * * * *
THE STATISTICAL SOCIETY.
This useful society will shortly publish its Report; and, though we have
not seen it, we are enabled to guess with tolerable accuracy what will be
the contents of it:
In the first place, we shall be told the number of pins picked up in the
course of the day, by a person walking over a space of fifteen miles round
London, with the number of those not picked up; an estimate of the class
of persons that have probably dropped them, with the use they were being
put to when they actually fell; and how they have been applied afterwards.
The Report will also put the public in possession of the number of
pot-boys employed in London; what is the average number of pots they carry
out; and what is the gross weight of metal in the pots brought back again.
This interesting head will include a calculation of how much beer is
consumed by children who are sent to fetch it in jugs; and what is the
whole amount of malt liquor, the value of which reaches the producer's
pocket, while the mouth of the consumer, and not that of the party paying
for it, receives the sole benefit.
There are also to be published with the Report elaborate tables, showing
how many quarts of milk are spilt in the course of a year in serving
customers; what proportion of water it contains; and what are the average
ages and breed of the dogs who lap it up; and how much is left unlapped up
to be absorbed in the atmosphere.
When this valuable Report is published, we shall make copious extracts.
* * * * *
A NOVEL ENTERTAINMENT.
DRURY-LANE THEATRE.
Novelty is certainly the order of the day. Anything that does not deviate
from the old beaten track meets with little encouragement from the present
race of amusement-seekers, and, consequently, does not pay the
_entrepreneur_. Nudity in public adds fresh charms to the orchestra, and
red-fire and crackers have become absolutely essential to harmony. Acting
upon this principle, Signor Venafra _gave_ (we admire the term) a fancy
dress ball at Drury-lane Theatre on Monday evening last, upon a plan
hitherto unknown in England, but possibly, like the majority of deceptive
delusions now so popular, of continental origin. The whole of the
evening's entertainment took place in cabs and hackney-coaches, and those
vehicles performed several perfectly new and intricate figures in
Brydges-street, and the other thoroughfares adjoining the theatres. The
music provided for the occasion appeared to be an organ-piano, which
performed incessantly at the corner of Bow-street, during the evening.
Most of the _elite_ of Hart-street and St. Giles's graced the animated
pavement as spectators. So perfectly successful was the whole affair--on
the word of laughing hundreds who came away saying they had never been so
amused in their lives--that we hear it is in agitation never to attempt
anything of the kind again.
* * * * *
DONE AGAIN.
Dunn, the bailless barrister, complained to his friend Charles Phillips,
that upon the last occasion he had the happiness of meeting Miss Burdett
Coutts on the Marine Parade, notwithstanding all he has gone through for
her, she would not condescend to take the slightest notice of him. So far
from offering anything in the shape of consolation, the witty barrister
remarked, "Upon my soul, her conduct was in perfect keeping with her
situation, for what on earth could be more in unison with a sea-view than
[Illustration: A CUTTER ON THE BEACH?"]
* * * * *
It is well known that the piers of Westminster Bridge have considerably
sunk since their first erection. They are not the only peers, in the same
neighbourhood that have become lowered in the position they once occupied.
* * * * *
ASSERTION OF THE UNINTELLIGIBLE.
OR, "A KANTITE'S" FLIGHTS AT AN EXORDIUM.
FLIGHT THE FIRST.
He who widely, yet ascensively, expatiates in those in-all-ways-sloping
fields of metaphysical investigation which perplex whilst they captivate,
and bewilder whilst they allure, cannot evitate the perception of
perception's fallibility, nor avoid the conclusion (if that can be called
a conclusion to which, it may be said, there are no premises extant) that
the external senses are but deceptive _media_ of interior mental
communication. It behoves the ardent, youthful explorator, therefore, to
----, &c. &c.
FLIGHT THE SECOND.
In the Promethean persecutions which assail the insurgent mentalities of
the youth and morning vigour of the inexpressible human soul, when,
flushed with AEolian light, and, as it were, beaded with those lustrous
dews which the eternal Aurora lets fall from her melodious lip; if it
escape living from the beak of the vulture (no fable here!), then, indeed,
it may aspire to ----, &c. &c.
FLIGHT THE THIRD.
If, with waxen Icarian wing, we seek to ascend to that skiey elevation
whence only can the understretching regions of an impassive mutability be
satisfactorily contemplated; and if, in our heterogeneous ambition,
aspirant above self-capacity, we approach too near the flammiferous Titan,
and so become pinionless, and reduced again to an earthly prostration,
what marvel is it, that ----, &c. &c.
FLIGHT THE FOURTH.
When the perennial Faustus, ever-resident in the questioning spirit of
immortal man, attempts his first outbreak into the domain of unlimited
inquiry, unless he take heed of the needfully-cautious prudentialities of
mundane observance, there infallibly attends him a fatal Mephistophelean
influence, of which the malign tendency, from every conclusion of
eventuality, is to plunge him into perilous vast cloud-waves of the
dream-inhabited vague. Let, then, the young student of infinity ----, &c.
&c.
FLIGHT THE FIFTH.
Inarched within the boundless empyrean of thought, starry with wonder, and
constellate with investigation; at one time obfuscated in the abysm-born
vapours of doubt; at another, radiant with the sun-fires of faith made
perfect by fruition; it can amaze no considerative fraction of humanity,
that the explorer of the indefinite, the searcher into the
not-to-be-defined, should, at dreary intervals, invent dim, plastic
riddles of his own identity, and hesitate at the awful shrine of that
dread interrogatory alternative--reality, or dream? This deeply pondering,
let the eager beginner in the at once linear and circumferent course of
philosophico-metaphysical contemplativeness, introductively assure himself
that ----, &c. &c.
FINAL FLIGHT.
As, "in the silence and overshadowing of that night whose fitful meteoric
fires only herald the descent of a superficial fame into lasting oblivion,
the imbecile and unavailing resistance which is made against the doom must
often excite our pity for the pampered child of market-gilded popularity;"
and as "it is not with such feelings that we behold the dark thraldom and
long-suffering of true intellectual strength," of which the "brief, though
frequent, soundings beneath the earthly pressure will be heard even amidst
the din of flaunting crowds, or the solemn conclaves of common-place
minds," of which the "obscured head will often shed forth ascending beams
that can only be lost in eternity;" and of which the "mighty struggles to
upheave its own weight, and that of the superincumbent mass of prejudice,
envy, ignorance, folly, or uncongenial force, must ever ensure the deepest
sympathy of all those who can appreciate the spirit of its qualities;" let
the initiative skyward struggles towards the zenith-abysses of the inane
impalpable ----, &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c.
_Dramatic Authors' Theatre, Sept. 16, 1841._
* * * * *
HUMANE SUGGESTION.
MASTER PUNCH,--Mind ye's, I've been to see these here _Secretens_ at the
English Uproar 'Ouse, and thinks, mind ye's, they aint by no means the
werry best Cheshire; but what I want to know is this here--Why don't they
give that wenerable old genelman, Mr. Martinussy, the Hungry Cardinal,
something to eat?--he is a continually calling out for some of his
Countrys Weal, (which, I dare say, were werry good) and he don't never git
so much as a sandvich dooring the whole of his life and death--I mention
dese tings, because, mind ye's, it aint werry kind of none on 'em.
I remains, Mr. PUNCH, Sir, yours truly,
DEF BURKE,
[Illustration: HIS MARK.]
* * * * *
DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE STATUE OF GEORGE CANNING AND SIR ROBERT PEEL.
The new Premier was taking a solitary stroll the other evening through
Palace-yard, meditating upon the late turn which had brought the Tories to
the top of the wheel and the Whigs to the bottom, and pondering on the
best ways and means of keeping his footing in the slippery position that
had cost him so much labour to attain. While thus employed, with his eyes
fixed on the ground, and his hands buried in his breeches-pockets, he
heard a voice at no great distance, calling in familiar tone--
"Bob! Bob!--I say, Bob!"
The alarmed Baronet stopped, and looked around him to discover the
speaker, when, casting his eyes upon the statue of George Canning in the
enclosure of Westminster Abbey, he was astonished to perceive it nodding
its head at him, like the statue in "Don Giovanni," in a "How d'ye do?"
kind of way. Sir Robert, who, since his introduction to the Palace, has
grown perilously polite, took off his hat, and made a low bow to the
figure.
STATUE.--Bah! no nonsense, Bob, with me! Put on your hat, and come over
here, close to the railings, while I have a little private confab with
you. So, you have been called in at last?
PEEL.--Yes. Her Majesty has done me the honour to command my services; and
actuated by a sincere love of my country, I obeyed the wishes of my Royal
Mistress, and accepted office; though, if I had consulted my own
inclinations, I should have preferred the quiet path of private--
STATUE.--Humbug! You forget yourself, Bob; you are not now at Tamworth, or
in the house, but talking to an old hand that knows every move on the
political board,--you need have no disguise with me. Come, be candid for
once, and tell me, what are your intentions?
PEEL.--Why, then, candidly, to keep my place as long as I can--
STATUE.--Undoubtedly; that is the first duty of every patriotic minister!
But the means, Bob?
PEEL--Oh! Cant--cant--nothing but cant! I shall talk of my feeling for the
wants of the people, while I pick their pockets; bestow my pity upon the
manufacturers, while I tax the bread that feeds their starving families;
and proclaim my sympathy with the farmers, while I help the arrogant
landlords to grind them into the dust.
STATUE.--Ah! I perceive yon understand the true principles of legislation.
Now, _I_ once really felt what you only feign. In my time, I attempted to
carry out my ideas of amelioration, and wanted to improve the moral and
physical condition of the people, but--
PEEL.--You failed. Few gave you credit for purely patriotic motives--and
still fewer believed you to be sincere in your professions. Now, _my_ plan
is much easier, and safer. Give the people fair promises--they don't cost
much--but nothing besides promises; the moment you attempt to realise the
hopes you have raised, that moment you raise a host of enemies against
yourself.
STATUE.--But if you make promises, the nation will demand a fulfilment of
them.
PEEL.--I have an answer ready for all comers--"Wait awhile!" 'Tis a famous
soother for all impatient grumblers. It kept the Whigs in office for ten
years, and I see no reason why it should not serve our turn as long.
Depend upon it, "Wait awhile" is the great secret of Government.
STATUE.--Ah! I believe you are right. I now see that I was only a novice
in the trade of politics. By the bye, Bob, I don't at all like my
situation here; 'tis really very uncomfortable to be exposed to all
weathers--scorched in summer, and frost-nipped in winter. Though I am only
a statue, I feel that I ought to be protected.