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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 1.



FOR THE WEEK ENDING OCTOBER 16, 1841.

       *       *       *       *       *


TRADE REPORT.

(FROM OUR OWN REPORTER.)

[Illustration: T]The market has been in a most extraordinary state all the
morning. Our first advices informed us that feathers were getting very
heavy, and that lead was a great deal brisker than usual. In the
fish-market, flounders were not so flat as they had been, and, to the
surprise of every one, were coming round rapidly.

The deliveries of tallow were very numerous, and gave a smoothness to the
transactions of the day, which had a visible effect on business. Every
species of fats were in high demand, but the glut of mutton gave a
temporary check to the general facility of the ordinary operations.

The milk market is in an unsettled state, the late rains having caused an
unusual abundance. A large order for skim, for the use of a parish union,
gave liveliness to the latter portion of the day, which had been
exceedingly gloomy during the whole morning.

We had a long conversation in the afternoon with a gentleman who is up to
every move in the poultry-market, and his opinion is, that the flouring
system must soon prove the destruction of fair and fowl commerce. We do
not wish to be premature, but our informant is a person in whom we place
the utmost reliance, and, indeed, there is every reason why we should
depend upon so respectable an authority.

Cotton is in a dull state. We saw only one ball in the market, and even
that was not in a dealer's hands, but was being used by a basket-woman,
who was darning a stocking. After this, who can be surprised at the
stoppage of the factories?

Nothing was done in gloves, and what few sales were effected, seemed to be
merely for the purpose of keeping the hand in, with a view to future
dealings.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE GEOLOGY OF SOCIETY.

The study of Geology, in the narrow acceptation of the word, is confined
to the investigation of the materials which compose this terrestrial
globe;--in its more extended signification, it relates, also, to the
examination of the different layers or strata of society, as they are to
be met with in the world.

Society is divided into three great strata, called High Life--Middle
Life--and Low Life. Each of these strata contains several classes, which
have been ranged in the following order, descending from the highest to
the lowest--that is, from the drawing-room of St. James's to the cellar in
St. Giles's.

     _            _
    |            |               ST. JAMES'S SERIES.
  H |            | People wearing coronets.
  i |  Superior__| People related to coronets.
  g |   Class.   | People having no coronet, but who expect to get one.
  h |            | People who talk of their grandfathers, and keep a
   -|            |   carriage.
  L |            |_
  i |             _
  f |            |                   SECONDARY.
  e |            |            (_Russell-square group._)
    |            | People who keep a carriage, but are silent
    |_           |   respecting their grandfathers.
     _           | People who give dinners to the superior series.
    |            | People who talk of the four per cents, and are
    |            |   suspected of being mixed up in a grocery concern
  M | Transition_|   in the City.
  i |   Class.   |
  d |            |                (_Clapham group._)
  d |            | People who "confess the Cape," and say, that though
  l |            |   Pa amuses himself in the dry-salter line in
  e |            |   Fenchurch-street, he needn't do it if he didn't
   -|            |   like.
  L |            | People who keep a shop "concern" and a one-horse
  i |            |   shay, and go to Ramsgate for three weeks in the
  f |            |_  dog-days.
  e |             _
    |            | People who keep a "concern," but no shay, do the
    |            |   genteel with the light porter in livery on solemn
    |            |   occasions.
    |            | People, known as "shabby-genteels," who prefer
    |Metamorphic |   walking to riding, and study Kidd's "How to live
    |_  class. __|   on a hundred a-year."
     _           |
  L |            |                  INFERIOR SERIES.
  o |            |               (_Whitechapel group._)
  w |            | People who dine at one o'clock, and drink stout out
    |            |_  of the pewter, at the White Conduit Gardens.
  L-|             _
  i |            | People who think Bluchers fashionable, and ride in
  f | Primitive__|   pleasure "wans" to Richmond on Sundays in summer.
  e | Formation. |
    |            |               (_St. Giles's group._)
    |_           |_Tag-rag and bob-tail in varieties.

It will be seen, by a glance at the above table, that the three great
divisions of society, namely, _High Life, Low Life_, and _Middle Life_,
are subdivided, or more properly, sub-classed, into the Superior,
Transition, and Metamorphic classes. Lower still than these in the social
scale is the Primitive Formation--which may be described as the basis and
support of all the other classes. The individuals comprising it may be
distinguished by their ragged surface, and shocking bad hats; they
effervesce strongly with gin or Irish whiskey. This class comprehends the
_St. Giles's Group_--(which is the lowest of all the others, and is found
only in the great London basin)--and that portion of the Whitechapel group
whose individuals wear Bluchers and ride in pleasure 'wans' to Richmond on
Sundays. In man's economy the _St. Giles's Group_ are exceedingly
important, being usually employed in the erection of buildings, where
their great durability and hod-bearing qualities are conspicuous. Next in
order is the Metamorphic class--so called, because of the singular
metamorphoses that once a week takes place amongst its individuals; their
common every-day appearance, which approaches nearly to that of the _St.
Giles's Group_, being changed, on Sundays, to a variegated-coloured
surface, with bright buttons and a shining "four-and-nine"--goss. This
class includes the upper portion of the _Whitechapel Group_, and the two
lower strata of the _Clapham Group_. The _Whitechapel Group_ is the most
elevated layer of the inferior series. The Shabby Genteel stratum occupies
a wide extent on the Surrey side of the water--it is part of the _Clapham
Group_, and is found in large quantities in the neighbourhood of
Kennington, Vauxhall, and the Old Kent-road. A large vein of it is also to
be met with at Mile-end and Chelsea. It is the lowest of the secondary
formation. This stratum is characterised by its fossil remains--a great
variety of miscellaneous articles--such as watches, rings, and silk
waistcoats and snuff-boxes being found firmly imbedded in what are
technically termed _avuncular depositories_. The deposition of these
matters has been referred by the curious to various causes; the most
general supposition being, a peremptory demand for rent, or the like, on
some particular occasion, when they were carried either by the owner, his
wife, or daughter, from their original to their present position, and left
amongst an accumulation of "popped" articles from various districts. The
chief evidence on this point is not derived from the fossils themselves,
but from their _duplicates_, which afford the most satisfactory proof of
the period at which they were deposited. Articles which appear originally
to have belonged to the neighbourhood of Belgrave-square have been
frequently found in the depositories of the district between Bethnal-green
and Spitalfields. By what social deluge they could have been conveyed to
such a distance, is a question that has long puzzled the ablest
geologists. Immediately above the "shabby genteel" stratum are found the
people who "keep a shop concern, but no shay;" it is the uppermost layer
of the Metamorphic Class, and, in some instances, may be detected mingling
with the supra-genteel _Clapham Group_. The "shop and no shay" stratum
forms a considerable portion of the London basin. It is characterised by
its coarseness of texture, and a conglomeration of the parts of speech.
Its animal remains usually consist of retired licensed victuallers and
obese tallow-chandlers, who are generally found in beds of soft formation,
separated from superincumbent layers of Marseilles quilts, by interposing
strata of thick double Witneys.

Having proceeded thus far upwards in the social formation, we shall pause
until next week, when we shall commence with the lower portion of the
TRANSITION CLASS--the "shop and shay people"--and, as we hope, convince
our readers of the immense importance of our subject, and the great
advantage of studying the strata of human life

[Illustration: UNDER A GREAT MASTER.]

       *       *       *       *       *


COVENTRY'S WISE PRECAUTION.

Some person was relating to the Earl of Coventry the strange fact that the
Earl of Devon's harriers last week gave chase, in his demesne, to an
unhappy donkey, whom they tore to pieces before they could be called off;
upon which his lordship asked for a piece of chalk and a slate, and
composed the following _jeu d'esprit_ on the circumstance:--

  I'm truly shocked that Devon's hounds
    The gentle ass has slain;
  For _me_ to shun his lordship's grounds,
    It seems a warning plain.

       *       *       *       *       *


CONTINUATIONS FROM CHINA.

It is generally reported that the usual _drill_ continuations of the
British tars are about to be altered by those manning the fleet off China,
who purpose adopting _Nankin_ as soon as possible.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE VERY "NEXT" JONATHAN.

There is a Quaker in New Orleans so desperate _upright_ in all his
dealings, that he won't sit down to eat his meals.

       *       *       *       *       *


[Illustration]

POOR JACK.

A sailor ashore, after a long cruise, is a natural curiosity. Twenty-four
hours' liberty has made him the happiest dog in existence; and the only
drawback to his perfect felicity, is the difficulty of getting rid of his
prize-money within the allotted time. It must, however, be confessed, that
he displays a vast deal of ingenuity in devising novel modes of spending
his rhino. Watches, trinkets, fiddlers, coaches, grog, and girls, are the
long-established and legitimate modes of clearing out his lockers; but
even these means are sometimes found inadequate to effect the desired
object with sufficient rapidity. When there happens to be a number of
brother-tars similarly employed, who have engaged all the coaches,
fiddlers, and sweethearts in the town, it is then that Jack is put to his
wits'-end; and it is only by buying cocked-hats and top-boots for the
boat's-crew, or some such absurdity, that he can get all his cash
scattered before he is obliged to return on board. This is a picture of a
sailor _ashore_, but a sailor _aground_ is a different being altogether.
An unlucky shot may deprive him of a leg or arm; he may be frost-nipped at
the pole, or get a _coup de soleil_ in the tropics, and then be turned
upon the world to shape his course amongst its rocks and shallows, with
the bitter blast of poverty in his teeth. But Jack is not to be beaten so
easily; although run aground, he refuses to strike his flag, and, with a
cheerful heart, goes forth into the highways and byeways to sing "the
dangers of the sea," and, to collect from the pitying passers-by, the
coppers that drop, "like angel visits," into his little oil-skin hat.

These nautical melodists, with voices as rough as their beards, are to be
met with everywhere; but they abound chiefly in the neighbourhood of
Deptford and Wapping, where they seem to be indigenous. The most
remarkable specimen of the class may, however, frequently be seen about
the streets of London, carrying at his back a good-sized box, inside
which, and peeping through a sort of port-hole, a pretty little girl of
some two years old exhibits her chubby face. Surmounting the box, a small
model of a frigate, all a-tant and ship-shape, represents "Her Majesty's
(God bless her!) frigate Billy-ruffian, on board o' which the exhibitor
lost his blessed limb."

Jack--we call him Jack, though we confess we are uncertain of his
baptismal appellation--because Jack is a sort of generic name for his
species--Jack prides himself on his little Poll and his little ship, which
he boasts are the miniature counterparts of their lovely originals; and
with these at his back, trudges merrily along, trusting that Providence
will help him to "keep a southerly wind out of the bread-bag." Jack's
songs, as we have remarked, all relate to the sea--he is a complete
repository of Dibdin's choice old ballads and fok'sl chaunts. "Tom
Bowling," "Lovely Nan," "Poor Jack," and "Lash'd to the helm," with
"Cease, rude Boreas," and "Rule Britannia," are amongst his favourite
pieces, but the "Bay of Biscay" is his crack performance: with this he
always commenced, when he wanted to enlist the sympathies of his
auditors,--mingling with the song sundry interlocutory notes and comments.

Having chosen a quiet street, where the appearance of mothers with blessed
babbies in the windows prognosticates a plentiful descent of coppers, Jack
commences by pitching his voice uncommonly strong, and tossing Poll and
the Billy-ruffian from side to side, to give an idea of the way Neptune
sarves the navy,--strikes, as one may say, into deep water, by plunging
into "The Bay of Biscay," in the following manner;--

  "Loud roar'd the dreadful thunder--
    The rain a deluge pours--
  Our sails were split asunder,
    By lightning's vivid pow'rs.

"Do, young gentleman!--toss a copper to poor little Poll. Ah! bless you,
master!--may you never want a shot in your locker. Thank the gentleman,
Polly--

  "The night both drear and dark,
  Our poor desarted bark,
  There she lay--(lay quiet, Poll!)

  "There she lay--Noble lady in the window, look with pity on poor Jack,
          and his little Polly--till next day,
  In the Bay of Biscay O."

"Pray, kind lady, help the poor shipwrecked sailor--cast away on his
voyage to the West Ingees, in a dreadful storm. Sixteen hands on us took
to the long-boat, my lady, and was thrown on a desart island, three
thousand miles from any land; which island was unfortunately manned by
Cannibals, who roast and eat every blessed one of us, except the cook's
black boy; and him they potted, my lady, and I'm bless'd but they'd have
potted me, too, if I hadn't sung out to them savages, in this 'ere sort of
way, my lady--

  "Come all you jolly sailors bold,
  Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould,
  While British valour I unfold--
            Huzza! for the Arethusa!
  She was a frigate stout and brave
  As ever stemm'd the dashing wave--

"Lord love your honour, and throw the poor sailor who has fought and bled
for his country, a trifle to keep him from foundering. Look, your honour,
how I lost my precious limb in the sarvice. You see we was in the little
Tollymakus frigate, cruising off the banks o' Newf'land, when we fell in
with a saucy Yankee, twice the size of our craft; but, bless your honour,
that never makes no odds to British sailors, and so we sarved her out with
hot dumpling till she got enough, and forced her to haul down her stripes
to the flag of Old England. But somehow, your honour, I caught a chance
ball that threw me on my beam-ends, and left me to sing--

      "My name d'ye see's Tom Tough,
        And I've seen a little sarvice,
  Where the mighty billows roll and loud tempests blow,
      I've sail'd with noble Howe,
        And I've fought with gallant Jarvis,
  And in gallant Duncan's fleet I've sung--yo-heave-oh!"

"A sixpence or a shilling rewards Jack's loyalty and eloquence. A violent
tossing of Polly and the ship testify his gratitude; and pocketing the
coin he has collected, he puts about, and shapes his course for some other
port, singing lustily as he goes--

  "Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves!"

Farewell, POOR JACK!

       *       *       *       *       *


THOSE DIVING BELLES! THOSE DIVING BELLES!

Some of our contemporaries have been dreadfully scandalised at the
indelicate scenes which take place on the sands at Ramsgate, where, it
seems, a sort of joint-stock social bathing company has been formed by the
duckers and divers of both sexes. Situations for obtaining favourable
views are anxiously sought after by elderly gentlemen, by whom opera
glasses and pocket telescopes are much patronised. Greatly as we admire
the investigation of nature in her unadorned simplicity, Ramsgate would be
the last place we should select, if we were

[Illustration: GOING DOWN TO A WATERING PLACE.]

       *       *       *       *       *


PROSPECTUS

OF A NEW GRAND NATIONAL AND UNIVERSAL STEAM INSURANCE, RAILROAD ACCIDENT,
AND PARTIAL MUTILATION PROVIDENT SOCIETY.

CAPITAL, FIVE HUNDRED MILLIONS,

IN ONE HUNDRED MILLION £5 SHARES--HALF DEPOSIT,


THE DIRECTORS

To be duly balloted for from amongst the Consulting Surgeons of the
various Metropolitan hospitals.


ACTING SECRETARIES,

The County Coroners.

By the constitution of this society, the whole of the profits will be
divided among such of the assured as can come to claim them.

The public are particularly requested to bear in mind the double advantage
(so great a _desideratum_ to all railroad travellers) of being at one and
the same time connected with a "Fire, Life, and Partial Mutilation
Assurance Company."

The following is offered as a brief synopsis of the general intention of
the directors. Deep attention is requested to the various classes:--

CLASS I.

Relating to Railroads newly opened, consequently rated trebly doubly
hazardous. The rate of insurance will be as follows:--

                                                PER CENT.
    Engineer, first six months, total life  .......   90
    Legs, at per each  ............................   74
    Arms, ditto ditto  ............................   60
    Ribs, per pair, or dozen, as contracted for ...   55
    Dislocations and contusions, per score  .......   50

N.B.--A reduction of seven-and-a-half per cent., made after the first six
months.

First class passengers will be allowed ten per cent. for the stuffing of
all carriages, except the one immediately next the engine, which will be
charged as above.

STOKERS.

Same as engineers, but a very liberal allowance made to such as the trains
have passed over more than once, and a considerable reduction if scalds
are not included.

_Exceptions_.--All who have five small children, and are only just
appointed.

SECOND CLASS PASSENGERS.

In consequence of these travellers being generally more thickly stowed
together, the upper half of them have a chance of escape while crushing
those underneath, so that a fair reduction, still leaving a living profit
to the directors, may be made in their favour. Thus the terms proposed for
effecting their policies will be ten-and-a-half per cent. under the first
class.

To meet the views of all parties, insurances may be effected from station
to station, or on particular limbs. The following are the rates, the
insurers paying down the premium at starting:--

                                                                £  s.   d.
First Class, leg  ............................................  1  11   6
Second ditto ditto  ..........................................  1   7   9
First class, arm  ............................................  1   0   0
Second ditto ditto  ..........................................  0  14   3
First Class, bridge of nose (very common with cuts from glass)  0   8   9
Second ditto ditto (common with contusions from wooden frames)  0   6   4
First Class, teeth each  .....................................  0   0   9
Whole set  ...................................................  1   1   0
Second Class, ditto  .........................................  0   0   4-3/4
Whole set.....................................................  0  12   2
Necks, where the parties do not carry engraved cards with
    name and address, First Class.............................  5   5   0
Second ditto..................................................  3   3   4

In all cases where the above sums are received in advance, the Company
pledge themselves to allow a handsome discount for cuts, scratches,
contusions, &c., &c.

All sums insured for to be paid six months after the death or recovery of
the individual.

A contract may be entered into for wooden legs, glass eyes, strapping,
bandages, splints, and sticking-plaister.

Several enterprising young men as guards, stokers, engineers, experimental
tripists, and surgeons, wanted for immediate consumption.

Apply for qualifications and appointments, to the Branch Office, at the
New Highgate Cemetery.

       *       *       *       *       *


NOTHING NEW.

  The Tories are, truly, _Conservative_ elves,
  For every one knows they take care of themselves.

       *       *       *       *       *


SCHOOL OF DESIGN.

The public will be delighted to learn, there can be no doubt, as to the
elegant acquirements of the various _attachés_ of the new Tory premier.
The peculiar avidity with which they one and all appear determined to
secure the salaries for their various suppositionary services, must
convince the most sceptical that they have carefully studied the art of
drawing.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE LABOURS OF THE SESSION.

None but Ministers know what Ministers go through for the pure love of
their country; no person who has not reposed in the luxuriously-cushioned
chairs of the Treasury or Downing-street can conceive the amount of
business Sir Robert and his colleagues have transacted during the three
months they have been in office. The people, we know, have been crying for
bread--the manufacturers are starving--but their rebellious appetites will
be appeased--their refractory stomachs will feel comforted, when they are
told all that their friends the Tories have been doing for them. How will
they blush for their ingratitude when they find that the following great
measures have been triumphantly carried through Parliament by Sir Robert's
exertions--The VENTILATING OF THE HOUSE BILL! Think of that, ye
thin-gutted weavers of Manchester. Drop down on your marrow-bones, and
bless the man who gives your representatives fresh air--though he denies
you--a mouthful of coarse food. Then look at his next immense boon--The
ROYAL KITCHEN-GARDEN BILL! What matters it that the gaunt fiend Famine
sits at your board, when you can console yourselves with the reflection
that cucumbers and asparagus will be abundant in the Royal Kitchen Garden!
But Sir Robert does not stop here. What follows next?--The FOREIGN
BISHOPS' BILL! See how our spiritual wants are cared for by your
tender-hearted Tories--they shudder at the thoughts of Englishmen being
fed on foreign corn; but they give them instead, a full supply of Foreign
Bishops. After that comes--The REPORT OF THE LUNATICS' BILL. This
important document has been founded on the proceedings in the Upper House,
and is likely to be of vast service to the nation at large. Next follows
the EXPIRING LAWS' BILL! We imagine that a slight error has been made in
the title of this bill, and that it should be read "Expiring _Justice_
Bill!" As to expiring laws--'tis all a fallacy. One of the glorious
privileges of the English Constitution is, that the laws never
expire--neither do the lawyers--they are everlasting. Justice may die in
this happy land, but law--never!

Again, there is a little grant of some thousands for Prince Albert's
stables and dog-kennels! Very proper too; these animals must be lodged,
ay, and fed; and the people--the creatures whom God made after his own
image--the poor wretches who want nothing but a little bread, will lie
down hungry and thankful, when they reflect that the royal dogs and horses
are in the best possible condition. But we have not yet mentioned the
great crowning work of Ministers--the Queen's speech on the Prorogation of
the Parliament last week. What an admirable illustration it was of that
profound logical deduction--that, out of nothing comes nothing! Yet it was
deduction--that, out of nothing comes nothing! Yet it was not altogether
without design, and though some sneering critics have called the old
song--the burthen of it was clearly--

[Illustration: DOWN WITH YOUR DUST.]

       *       *       *       *       *


SO MUCH FOR BUCKINGHAM!

MR. SILK BUCKINGHAM being unmercifully reproached by his unhappy publisher
upon the dreadful weight of his recent work on America, fortunately espied
the youngest son of the enraged and disappointed vendor of volumes
actually flying a kite formed of a portion of the first volume. "Heavy,"
retorted Silk, "nonsense, sir. Look there! so volatile and exciting is
that masterly production, that it has even made that youthful scion of an
obdurate line, spite my teetotal feelings,

[Illustration: "THREE SHEETS IN THE WIND."]

       *       *       *       *       *


PUNCH'S NEW GENERAL LETTER-WRITER.

Perhaps no one operation of frequent recurrence and absolute necessity
involves so much mental pain and imaginative uneasiness as the reduction
of thoughts to paper, for the furtherance of epistolatory correspondence.
Some great key-stone to this abstruse science--some accurate data from
which all sorts and conditions of people may at once receive instruction
and assistance, has been long wanting.

Letter-writers, in general, may be divided into two great classes, viz.:
those who write to ask favours, and those who write to refuse them. There
is a vague notion extant, that in former days a third genus
existed--though by no means proportionate to the other two--they were
those who wrote "to grant favours;" these were also remarkable for
enclosing remittances and paying the double postage--at least, so we are
assured; of our knowledge, we can advance nothing concerning them and
their (to us) supposititious existence, save our conviction that the race
has been long extinct.

Those who write to ask, may be divided into--

    1.--Creditors.
    2.--Constituents.
    3.--Sons.
    4.--Daughters.
    5.--Their offspring.
    6.--Nephews, nieces.
    7.--Indistinct cousins, and
    8.--Unknown, dear, and intimate friends.

Those who write to refuse, are

    1.--Debtors.
    2.--Members of Parliament
    3.--Fathers.
    4.--Mothers.
    5.--Their kin.
    6.--Uncles.
    7.--Aunts.
    8.--Bilious and distant nabobs, and equally dear friends, who
        will do anything but what the askers want.

We are confident of ensuring the everlasting gratitude of the above
parties by laying before them the proper formulæ for their respective
purposes; and, therefore, as all the world is composed of two great
classes, which, though they run into various ramifications, still retain
their original distinguishing characteristics--namely, that of being
either "debtors" or "creditors"--we will give the general information
necessary for the construction of their future effusions.

(Firstly.)

From a wine-merchant, being a creditor, to a right honourable, being a
debtor.

_Verjuice-lane, City, January 17, 1841_.

MY LORD,--I have done myself the honour of forwarding your lordship a
splendid sample of exquisite Frontignac, trusting it will be approved of
by your lordship. I remain, enclosing your lordship's small account, the
payment of which will be most acceptable to your lordship's most

Obedient very humble servant,

GILBERT GRIPES.


THE ANSWER TO THE SAME.

The sample is tolerable--send in thirty dozen--add them to your
account--and let my steward have them punctually on December 17, 1849.

BOSKEY.

P.S.--I expect you'll allow discount.


(Secondly.)

From a creditor, being a "victim," "schneider," "sufferer," or "tailor,"
to one who sets off his wares by wearing the same, being consequently a
debtor.

HONOURED SIR,--I can scarcely express my delight at your kind compliments
as to the fit and patterns of the last seventy-three summer waistcoats;
the rest of the order is in hand. I enclose a small account of 490l. odd,
which will just meet a heavy demand. Will you, sir, forward the same by
return of post, to your obliged and devoted

Humble servant,

ADOLPHUS JULIO BACKSTITCH.

P. Pink, Esq., &c. &c.


ANSWER TO THE SAME

_Albany_.

You be d--d, _Backstitch_.

PENTWISTLE PINK.


(Thirdly.)

From a constituent in the country, being a creditor "upon promises," to a
returned member of Parliament in town.

_Bumbleton Butts, April 1, 1841_.

DEAR SIR,--The enthusiastic delight myself (an humble individual) and the
immense body of your enraptured constituents felt upon reading your truly
patriotic, statesman-like, learned, straightforward and consistent speech,
may be conceived by a person of your immense parliamentary imagination,
but cannot be expressed by my circumscribed vocabulary. In stating that my
trifling exertions for the return of such a patriot are more than doubly
recompensed by your noble conduct, may I be allowed to suggest the earnest
wish of my eldest son to be in town, for the pleasure of being near such a
representative, which alone induces him to accept the situation of
landing-waiter you so kindly insisted upon his preparing for.  You will, I
am sure, be happy to learn, the last baby, as you desired is christened
after:--"the country's, the people's, nay, the world's member!"

Believe me, with united regards from Mrs. F. and Joseph, ever your staunch
supporter and admirer,

FUNK FLAT.

To Gripe Gammon, Esq., M.P.


(Fourthly.)

ANSWER TO THE SAME, FROM GRIPE GAMMON, M.P.

_St. Stephen's_.

DEAR AND KIND CONSTITUENT,--I am more than happy. My return for your
borough has satisfied _you_, my country, and myself! What can I say more?
Pray give both my names to the dear innocent. Be careful in the spelling,
two "M's" in Gammon, one following the A, the other preceding the O, and
immediately next to the final N. I think I have now answered every point
of your really Junisean letter. Let me hear from you _soon_--you cannot
TOO SOON--and believe me,

My dear Funk, yours ever,

GRIPE GAMMON.

Funk Flat, Esq., &c. &c.


(Fifthly.)

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. (SECOND LETTER).

_Bumbleton Butts, April 4, 1841_.

MY DEAR FRIEND AND PATRON,--All's right, the two _M's_ are in _their_
places, when will Joe be in _his?_ I know your heart; pray excuse my
earnestness, but oblige me with an early answer. Joe is dying to be near
so kind, so dear, so sincere a friend.

More devotedly than ever yours,

FUNK FLAT

G. Gammon, Esq., M.P., &c. &c.


(Sixthly.)

ANSWER FROM THE M.P. TO THE ABOVE.

_St. Stephen's_.

How can I express my feelings? _My_ name, _mine_ engrafted on the innocent
offspring of the thoroughbred Funks, evermore to be by them and their
heirs handed down to posterity! How I rejoice at that circumstance, and
the intelligence I have so happily received about the wretched situation
you speak of. Fancy, Funk, fancy the man, your son, in a moment of
rashness, I meant to succeed, died of a sore-throat! an infallible
disorder attendant upon the duties of those d--d landing-waiterships. What
an escape we have had! The place is given to my butler, so there's no
fear. Kiss the child, and believe me ever,

Your sincere and much relieved friend,

GRIPE GAMMON.

To Funk Flat, Esq., &c. &c.


From this time forward the correspondence, like "Irish reciprocity," is
"all on one side." It generally consists of four-and-twenty letters from
the constituent in the country to the returned member in town. As these
are _never opened_, all that is required is a well-written direction, on a
_blank sheet of paper_.


(Seventhly.)

FROM SONS TO FATHERS.

(Several.)

DEAR FATHER,--Studies continued--(blot)--profession--future
hopes--application--increased expenses--irate landlady--small
remittance--duty--love--say twenty-five pounds--best wishes--sister,
mother, all at home.

Dutiful son,

JOHN JOSKIN.


(Eighthly.)

ANSWER TO THE SAME.

Delighted--assiduity--future fortune--great profession!--Increase of
family--no cash--best prayers, sister, mother.

_Loving father!_

JOSKIN, SEN.


N.B. By altering the relative positions and sexes, the above is good for
all relations! If writing to nabob, more flattery in letter of asker.
Strong dose of oaths in refuser's answer.


(Ninthly.)

FROM "DEAR AND INTIMATE" TO A "DITTO DITTO."

_Brighton_.

MY DEAR TOM,--How are you, old fellow? Here I am, as happy as a prince;
that is, I should be if you were with me. You know when we first met! what
a time it was! do you remember? How the old times come back, and really
almost the same circumstances! Pray do you recollect I wanted one hundred
and fifty then? isn't it droll I do now? Send me your check, or bring it
yourself.

Ever yours.

FITZBROWN SMITH.

T. Tims, Esq.


(Tenthly.)

ANSWER FROM "THE DITTO DITTO" TO "THE DITTO DITTO."

OLD FELLOW,--Glad to hear you are so fresh! Give you joy--wish I was with
you, but can't come. Damn the last Derby--regularly stump'd--cleaned
out--and done Brown!--not a feather to fly with! Need I say how sorry I
am. Here's your health in Burgundy. Must make a raise for my Opera-box and
a new tilbury. Just lost my last fifty at French hazard.

Ever, your most devoted friend,

T. TIMS.

F. Smith, Esq.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE BARBER OF STOCKSBAWLER.

A TALE OF THE SUPERNATURAL.

At the little town of Stocksbawler, on the Lower Rhine, in the year of
grace 1830, resided one Hans Scrapschins, an industrious and close-shaving
barber. His industry met with due encouragement from the bearded portion
of the community; and the softer sex, whose greatest fault is fickleness,
generally selected Hans for the honour of new-fronting them, when they had
grown tired of the ringlets nature had bestowed and which time had
frosted.

Hans continued to shave and thrive, and all the careful old burghers
foretold of his future well-doing; when he met with a misfortune, which
promised for a time to shut up his shop and leave him a beggar. He fell in
love.

Neighbours warned Hans of the consequences of his folly; but all
remonstrance was vain. Customers became scarce, wearing out their patience
and their wigs together; the shop became dirty, and winter saw the flies
of summer scattered on his show-board.

Agnes Flirtitz was the prettiest girl in Stocksbawler. Her eyes were as
blue as a summer's sky, her cheeks as rosy as an autumn sunset, and her
teeth as white as winter's snow. Her hair was a beautiful flaxen--not a
_drab_--but that peculiar sevenpenny-moist-sugar tint which the poets of
old were wont to call golden. Her voice was melodious; her notes in _alt_
were equal to Grisi's: in short, she would have been a very desirable,
loveable young lady, if she had not been a coquette.

Hans met her at a festival given in commemoration of the demise of the
burgomaster's second wife--I beg pardon, I mean in celebration of his
union with his third bride. From that day Hans was a lost barber.
Sleeping, waking, shaving, curling, weaving, or powdering, he thought of
nothing but Agnes. His love-dreams placed him in all kinds of awkward
predicaments. And Agnes--what thought she of the unhappy barber? Nothing,
except that he was a presumptuous puppy, and wore very unfashionable
garments. Hans received an intimation of this latter opinion; and, after
sundry quailings and misgivings, he resolved to dispose of his remaining
stock in trade, and, for once, dress like a gentleman. The measure had
been taken by the tailor, the garments had been basted and tried on, and
Hans was standing at his door in a state of feverish excitement, awaiting
their arrival in a completed condition (as there was to be _fête_ on the
morrow, at which Agnes was to be present), when a stranger requested to be
shaved. Hans wished him at the ---- next barber's; but there was something
so unpleasantly positive in the visitor's appearance, that he had not the
power to object, so politely bowed him into the shop. The stranger removed
his cap, and discovered two very ugly protuberances, one on each side of
his head, and of most unphrenological appearance. Hans commenced
operations--the lather dried as fast as he laid it on, and the razor
emitted small sparks as it encountered the bristles on the stranger's
chin, Hans felt particularly uncomfortable, and not a word had hitherto
passed on either side, when the stranger broke the ice by asking, rather
abruptly, "Have you any schnapps in the house?" Hans jumped like a parched
pea. Without waiting for a reply, the stranger rose and opened the
cupboard. "I never take anything stronger than water," said Hans, in
reply, to the "pshaw!" which broke from the stranger's lips as he smelt at
the contents of a little brown pitcher. "More fool you," replied his
customer. "Here taste that--some of the richest grape-blood of Rheingau;"
and he handed Hans a small flask, which the sober barber respectfully
declined. "Ha! ha! and yet you hope to thrive with the women," said the
stranger. "No wonder that Agnes treats you as she does. But drink, man!
drink!"

The stranger took a pipe, and coolly seated himself again in his chair,
hung one leg over the back of another, and striking his finger briskly
down his nose, elicited a flame that ignited his tobacco, and then he
puffed, and puffed, till every moth in the shop coughed aloud. The
uneasiness of Hans increased, and he looked towards the door with the most
cowardly intention; and, lo! two laughing, dimpled faces, were peeping in
at them. "Ha! how are you?" said the stranger; "come in! come in!" and to
Hans' horror, two very equivocal damsels entered the shop. Hans felt
scandalised, and was about to make a most powerful remonstrance, when he
encountered the eye of his impertinent customer; and, from its sinister
expression, he thought it wise to be silent. One of the damsels seated
herself upon the stranger's knee, whilst the other looked most coaxingly
to the barber; who, however, remained proof to all her winks and blinks,
and "wreathed smiles."

"'Sblitzen!" exclaimed the lady, "the man's an icicle!"

"Hans, you're a fool!" said the stranger; and his enamorata concurred in
the opinion. The flask was again proffered--the eye-artillery again
brought into action, but Hans remained constant to pump-water and Agnes
Flirtitz.

The stranger rubbed the palm of his hand on one of his head ornaments, as
though he were somewhat perplexed at the contumacious conduct of the
barber; then rising, he gracefully led the ladies out. As he stood with
one foot on the step of the door, he turned his head scornfully over his
shoulder, and said, "Hans, you are nothing but--a barber; but before I
eat, you shall repent of your present determination."

"What security have I that you will keep your word?" replied Hans, who
felt emboldened by the outside situation of his customer, and the shop
poker, of which he had obtained possession.

"The best in the world," said the stranger. "Here, take these!" and
placing both rows of his teeth in the hands of the astonished Hans, he
quietly walked up the street with the ladies.

The astonishment of Hans had somewhat subsided, when Stitz, the tailor,
entered with the so-much and the so-long-expected garments. The stranger
was forgotten; the door was bolted, the clothes tried on, and they fitted
to a miracle. A small three-cornered piece of looking-glass was held in
every direction by the delighted tailor, who declared this performance his
_chef-d'oeuvre_ and Hans felt, for the first time in his life, that he
looked like a gentleman. Without a moment's hesitation, or the slightest
hint at discount for ready money, he gave the tailor his last thaler, and
his old suit of clothes, as per contract; shook Stitz's hand at parting,
till every bone of the tailor's fingers ached for an hour afterwards,
bolted the door, and went to bed the poorest, but happiest barber in
Stocksbawler.

After a restless night, Hans rose the next morning with the oddest
sensation in the world. He fancied that the bed was shorter, the chairs
lower, and the room smaller, than on the preceding day; but attributing
this feeling to the feverish sleep he had had, he proceeded to put on his
pantaloons. With great care he thrust his left leg into its proper
division, when, to his horror and amazement, he found that he had grown
_two feet at least during the night_; and that the pantaloons which had
fitted so admirably before, were now only knee-breeches. He rushed to the
window with the intention of breaking his neck by a leap into the street,
when his eye fell upon the strange customer of the preceding day, who was
leaning against the gable-end of the house opposite, quietly smoking his
meerschaum. Hans paused; then thought, and then concluded that having
found an appetite, he had repented of his boast at parting, and had called
for his teeth. Being a good-natured lad, Hans shuffled down stairs, and
opening the door, called him to come over. The stranger obeyed the
summons, but honourably refused to accept of his teeth, except on the
conditions of the wager. To Hans' great surprise he seemed perfectly
acquainted with the phenomenon of the past night, and good-naturedly
offered to go to Stitz, and inform him of the barber's dilemma. The
stranger departed, and in a few moments the tailor arrived, and having
ascertained by his inch measure the truth of Hans' conjectures, bade him
be of good cheer, as he had a suit of clothes which would exactly fit him.
They had been made for a travelling giant, who had either forgotten to
call for them, or suspected that Stitz would require the _gelt_ before he
gave up the broadcloth.

The tailor was right--they did fit--and in an hour afterwards Hans was on
his way to the _fête_. When he arrived there many of his old friends stood
agape for a few moments: but as stranger things had occurred in Germany
than a man growing two feet in one night, they soon ceased to notice the
alteration in Hans' appearance. Agnes was evidently struck with the
improvement of the barber's figure, and for two whole hours did he enjoy
the extreme felicity of making half-a-dozen other young gentlemen
miserable, by monopolising the arm and conversation of the beauty of
Stocksbawler. But pleasure, like fine weather, lasts not for ever; and, as
Hans and Agnes turned the corner of a path, his eye again encountered the
stranger. Whether it was from fear or dislike he knew not, but his heart
seemed to sink, and so did his body; for to his utter dismay, he found
that he had shrunk to his original proportions, and that the garment of
the giant hung about him in anything but graceful festoons. He felt that
he was a human telescope, that some infernal power could elongate or shut
up at pleasure.

The whole band of jealous rivals set up the "Laughing Chorus," and Agnes,
in the extremity of her disgust, turned up her nose till she nearly
fractured its bridge, whilst Hans rushed from the scene of his disgrace,
and never stopped running until he opened the door of his little shop,
threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down upon an old "family
Bible" which chanced to be upon the table. In this position he continued
for some time, when, on raising his head, he found his tormentor and the
two ladies, grouped like the Graces, in the centre of the apartment.

"Well, Scrapshins," said the gentleman, "I have called for my teeth. You
see I have kept my promise." Hans sighed deeply, and the ladies giggled.

"Nay, man, never look so glum! Here, take the flask--forget Agnes, and
console yourself with the love of"--

The conclusion of this harangue must for ever remain a mystery; for Hans,
at this moment, took up the family volume which had served him for a
pillow, and dashed it at the heads of the trio. A scream, so loud that it
broke the tympanum of his left ear, seemed to issue from them
simultaneously--a thick vapour filled the room, which gradually cleared
off, and left no traces of Hans' visitors but three small sticks of stone
brimstone. The truth flashed upon the barber--his visitor was the
far-famed Mephistopheles. Hans packed up his remaining wardrobe, razor,
strop, soap-dish, scissors and combs, and turned his back upon
Stocksbawler forever. Four years passed away, and Hans was again a
thriving man, and Agnes Flirtitz the wife of the doctor of Stocksbawler.
Another year passed on, and Hans was both a husband and a father; but the
coquette who had nearly been his ruin had eloped with the _chasseur_ of a
travelling nobleman.

       *       *       *       *       *


LAURIE ON GEOGRAPHY.

Sir P. Laurie has sent to say that he has looked into Dr. Farr's "Medical
Guide to Nice," and is much disappointed. He hoped to have seen a print of
the eternally-talked of "_Nice_ Young Man," in the costume of the country.
He doubts, moreover, that the Doctor has ever been there, for his remarks
show him not to have been "over _Nice_."

       *       *       *       *       *


COOMBE'S LUNGS AND LEARNING.

Dr. Coombe, in his new work upon America, by some anatomical process,
invariably connects large lungs with expansive intellect. Our and
Finsbury's friend, Tom Duncombe, declares, in his opinion, this must be
the origin of the received expression for the mighty savans, viz., the
"lights of literature."

       *       *       *       *       *


PARLIAMENTARY MASONS.--PARLIAMENTARY PICTURES.

Was there ever anything so lucky that the strike of the masons should have
happened at this identical juncture! Parliament is prorogued. Now,
deducting Sir Robert Peel, physician, with his train of apothecaries and
pestle-and-mortar apprentices, who, until February next, are to sit
cross-legged and try to think, there are at least six hundred and thirty
unemployed members of the House of Commons, turned upon the world with
nothing, poor fellows! but grouse before them. Some, to be sure, may pick
their teeth, in the Gardens of the Tuileries--some may even now venture to
exercise their favourite elbow at Baden-Baden,--but with every possible
and probable exception, there will yet be hundreds of unemployed
law-makers, to whom time will be a heavy porter's burden.

We have a plan which, for its originality, should draw down upon us the
gratitude of the nation. It is no other than this: to make all Members of
Parliament, for once in their lives at least, useful. The masons, hired to
build the new temples of Parliament, have struck. The hard-handed
ingrates,--let them go! We propose that, during the prorogation at least,
Members of Parliament, should, like beavers, build their own Houses. In a
word, every member elected to a seat in Parliament should be compelled,
like Robinson Crusoe, to make his own furniture before he could sit down
upon it.

Have we not a hundred examples of the peculiar fitness of the task, in the
habits of what in our human arrogance we call the lower animals? There is
many a respectable spider who would justly feel himself calumniated by any
comparison between him and any one of twenty Parliamentary lawyers we
_could_ name; yet the spider spins its own web, and seeks its own nook of
refuge from the Reform Broom of Molly the housemaid. And then, the tiny
insect, the ant--that living, silent monitor to unregarding men--doth it
not make its own galleries, build with toilsome art its own abiding place?
Does not the mole scratch its own chamber--the carrion kite build its own
nest! Shall cuckoos and Members of Parliament alone be lodged at others'
pains?

Consider the wasp, oh, STANLEY! mark its nest of paper.--(it is said, on
wasp's paper you are wont to write your thoughts on Ireland)--and
resolutely seize a trowel!

Look to the bee, oh, COLONEL SIBTHORP! See how it elaborates its virgin
wax, how it shapes its luscious cone--and though we would not trust you to
place a brick upon a brick, nevertheless you may, under instruction, mix
the mortar!

Ponder on the rat and its doings, most wise BURDETT--see how craftily it
makes its hole--and though you are too age-stricken to carry a hod, you
may at least do this much--sift the lime.

But wherefore thus particular--why should we dwell on individuals?
Pole-cat, weasel, ferret, hedgehog, with all your vermin affinities, come
forth, and staring reproachfully in the faces of all prorogued Members,
bid them imitate your zeal and pains, and--the masons having struck--build
their Houses for themselves.

(We make this proposal in no thoughtless--no bantering spirit. He can see
very little into the most transparent mill-stone who believes that we pen
these essays--essays that will endure and glisten as long, ay as long as
the freshest mackerel--if he think that we sit down to this our weekly
labour in a careless lackadaisical humour. By no means. Like Sir LYTTON
BULWER, when he girds up his loins to write an apocryphal comedy, we
approach our work with graceful solemnity. Like Sir LYTTON, too, we always
dress for the particular work we have in hand. Sir LYTTON wrote
"Richelieu" in a harlequin's jacket (sticking pirate's pistols in his
belt, ere he valorously _took_ whole scenes from a French melo-drama):
_we_ penned our last week's essay in a suit of old canonicals, with a
tie-wig askew upon our beating temples, and are at this moment cased in a
court-suit of cut velvet, with our hair curled, our whiskers crisped, and
a masonic apron decorating our middle man. Having subsided into our
chair--it is in most respects like the porphyry piece of furniture of the
Pope--and our housekeeper having played the Dead March in Saul on our
chamber organ (BULWER wrote "The Sea Captain" to the preludizing of a
Jew's-harp), we enter on our this week's labour. We state thus much, that
our readers may know with what pains we prepare ourselves for them.
Besides, when BULWER thinks it right that the world should know that the
idea of "La Vailière" first hit him in the rotonde of a French diligence,
modest as we are, can we suppose that the world will not be anxious to
learn in what coloured coat we think, and whether, when we scratch our
head to assist the thought that sticks by the way, we displace a velvet
cap or a Truefitt's scalp?)

Reader, the above parenthesis may be skipped or not. Read not a line of
it--the omission will not maim our argument. So to proceed.

If we cast our eyes over the debates of the last six months, we shall find
that hundreds of members of the House of Commons have exhibited the most
extraordinary powers of ill-directed labour. And then their capacity of
endurance! Arguments that would have knocked down any reasonable elephant
have touched them no more than would summer gnats. Well, why not awake
this sleeping strength? Why not divert a mischievous potency into
beneficial action? Why should we confine a body of men to making laws,
when so many of them might be more usefully employed in wheeling barrows?
Now there is Mr. PLUMPTRE, who has done so much to make English Sundays
respectable--would he not be working far more enduring utility with
pickaxe or spade than by labouring at enactments to stop the flowing of
the Thames on the Sabbath? Might not D'ISRAELI be turned into a very
jaunty carpenter, and be set to the light interior work of both the
Houses? His logic, it is confessed, will support nothing; but we think he
would be a very smart hand at a hat-peg.

As for much of the joinery-work, could we have prettier mechanics than Sir
James GRAHAM and Sir Edward KNATCHBULL? When we remember their opinions on
the Corn Laws, and see that they are a part of the cabinet which has
already shown symptoms of some approaching alteration of the Bread
Tax--when we consider their enthusiastic bigotry for everything as it is,
and Sir Robert PEEL'S small, adventurous liberality, his half-bashful
homage to the spirit of the age--sure we are that both GRAHAM and
KNATCHBULL, to remain component members of the Peel Cabinet, must be
masters of the science of dove-tailing; and hence, the men of men for the
joinery-work of the new Houses of Parliament.

Again how many members from their long experience in the small jobbery of
committees--from their profitable knowledge of the mysteries of private
bills and certain other unclean work which may, if he please, fall to the
lot of the English senator--how many of these lights of the times might
build small monuments of their genius in the drains, sewerage, and certain
conveniences required by the deliberative wisdom of the nation? We have
seen the plans of Mr. BARRY, and are bound to praise the evidence of his
taste and genius; but we know that the structure, however fair and
beautiful to the eye, must have its foul places; and for the dark, dirty,
winding ways of Parliament--reader, take a list of her Majesty's Commons,
and running your finger down their names, pick us out three hundred
able-bodied labourers--three hundred stalwart night workmen in darkness
and corruption. We ask the country, need it care for the strike of Peto's
men (the said Peto, by the way, is in no manner descended from
_Falstaff's_ retainer), when there is so much unemployed labour, hungering
only for the country's good?

We confess to a difficulty in finding among the members of the present
Parliament a sufficient number of stone-squarers. When we know that there
are so few among them who can look upon more than _one side_ of a
question, we own that the completion of the building may be considerably
delayed by employing only members of Parliament as square workmen: the
truth is, having never been accustomed to the operation, they will need
considerable instruction in the art. Those, however, rendered incapable,
by habit and nature, of the task, may cast rubbish and carry a hod.

We put it to the patriotism of members of Parliament, whether they ought
not immediately to throw themselves into the arms of Peto and Grissell,
with an enthusiastic demand for tools. If they be not wholly insensible of
the wants of the nation and of their own dignity, Monday morning's sun
will shine upon every man of her Majesty's majority, for once laudably
employed in the nation's good. How delightful then to saunter near the
works--how charming then to listen to members of Parliament! What a
picture of senatorial industry! For an Irish speech by STANLEY, have we
not the more dulcet music of his stone-cutting saw? Instead of an oration
from GOULBURN, have we not the shrill note of his ungreased parliamentary
barrow? For the "hear, hear" of PLUMPTRE, the more accordant tapping of
the hammer--for the "cheer" from INGLIS, the sweeter chink of the mason's
chisel?

And then the moral and physical good acquired by the workmen themselves!
After six days' toil, there is scarcely one of them who will not feel
himself wonderfully enlightened on the wants and feelings of labouring
man. They will learn sympathy in the most efficient manner--by the sweat
of their brow. Pleasant, indeed, 'twill be to see CASTLEREAGH lean on his
axe, and beg, with _Sly_, for "a pot of the smallest ale."

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

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

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

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

Q.

       *       *       *       *       *


PUNCH'S PENCILLINGS.--No. XIV.

[Illustration: THE IMPROVIDENT; OR, TURNED UPON THE WIDE WORLD.]

       *       *       *       *       *


THE PHYSIOLOGY OF THE LONDON MEDICAL STUDENT.

III.--OF HIS GRADUAL DEVELOPMENT.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *


RECOMMENDATIONS FOR THE PREVENTION OF RAILWAY ACCIDENTS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *


THE POLITICAL EUCLID.--NO. 2.


PROP. I.--PROBLEM.

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

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

[Illustration]

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

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

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

Then Graham and Conservative Reform is an independent member.

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

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

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

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

Therefore Graham and Conservatism is the same as Graham and Reform

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

And therefore he is a Conservative Reformer--

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

_Quod erat_ double-_face-iendum_.


PROP. II.--PROBLEM.

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

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

[Illustration]

Connect the A s s with A, his ancestors.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Sir R I is always equal to himself.

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

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

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

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

_Quod erat_ sheep-_face-iendum_.


PROP. III.--PROBLEM

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

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

[Illustration]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Quod erat_ brazen-_face-iendum_.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE VALUE OF STOCKS--LAST QUOTATION.

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

[Illustration: BOARD AND LODGING FOR A SINGLE MAN.]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE LINEN-DRAPER OF LUDGATE.

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

THE SHOPMEN--POOR DEVILS

       *       *       *       *       *


SPANISH POLITICS.

(FROM OUR SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT.)

"_Pampeluna, Oct. 1._

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

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

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


(FROM ANOTHER CORRESPONDENT.)

"_Madrid, Oct. 2._

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *


SONGS OF THE SEEDY.--No. 4.

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *


CONS. BY O CONNELL.

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *


PUNCH'S THEATRE.

OLD MAIDS.

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

COCORICO, OR MY AUNT'S BANTAM.

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: FRENCH "TAIL"--WITH CUTS.]

       *       *       *       *       *


PROMENADE CONCERTS.

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

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

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

[Illustration: A SLOW MOVEMENT IN C (SEA).]

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THE WAR WITH CHINA.

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

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

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

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

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

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TO BENEVOLENT AND HUMANE JOKERS.

CASE OF EXTREME JOCULAR DISTRESS.

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

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

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

SUBSCRIPTIONS ALREADY RECEIVED.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Col. Sibthorp.--A conundrum.

Daniel O'Connell.--An Irish _tail_.

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

Commissioner Lin.--A special edict.

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

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LAURIE'S ESSAY ON THE PHARMACOPOEIA.

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

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