ality of the Paphian paragon; and Stultz, with his grace-bestowing shears, has fashioned West of England broad-cloths, and fancy goods, into all the nobility and gentility of the "Blue Book," the "Court Guide," the "Army, Navy, and Law Lists, for 1841." Wondrous and kindred arts! The sculptor wrests the rugged block from the rocky ribs of his mother earth;--the tailor clips the implicated "_long hogs_"[1] from the prolific backs of the living mutton;--the toothless saw, plied by an unweayring hand, prepares the stubborn mass for the chisel's tracery;--the loom, animated by steam (that gigantic child of Wallsend and water), twists and twines the unctuous and pliant fleece into the silky Saxony. [1] The first growth of wool. The sculptor, seated in his _studio_, throws loose the reins of his imagination, and, conjuring up some perfect ideality, seeks to impress the beautiful illusion on the rude and undigested mass before him. The tailor spreads out, upon his ample board, the happy broadcloth; his eyes scan the "measured proportions of his client," and, with mystic power, guides the obedient pipe-clay into the graceful diagram of a perfect gentleman. The sculptor, with all the patient perseverance of genius, conscious of the greatness of its object, chips, and chips, and chips, from day to day; and as the stone quickens at each touch, he glows with all the pride of the creative Prometheus, mingled with the gentler ecstacies of paternal love. The tailor, with fresh-ground shears, and perfect faith in the gentility and solvency of his "client," snips, and snips, and snips, until the "superfine" grows, with each abscission, into the first style of elegance and fashion, and the excited schneider feels himself "every inch a king," his shop a herald's college, and every brown paper pattern garnishing its walls, an escutcheon of gentility. But to dismount from our Pegasus, or, in other words, to cut the poetry, and come to the practice of our subject, it is necessary that a perfect gentleman should be cut _up_ very high, or cut _down_ very low--_i.e._, up to the marquis or down to the jarvey. Any intermediate style is perfectly inadmissible; for who above the grade of an attorney would wear a coat with pockets inserted in the tails, like salt-boxes; or any but an incipient Esculapius indulge in trousers that evinced a morbid ambition to become knee-breeches, and were only restrained in their aspirations by a pair of most strenuous straps. We will now proceed to details. _The dressing-gown_ should be cut only--for the arm holes; but be careful that the quantity of material be very ample--say four times as much as is positively necessary, for nothing is so characteristic of a perfect gentleman as his improvidence. This garment must be constructed without buttons or button-holes, and confined at the waist with cable-like bell-ropes and tassels. This elegant _d\'c8shabille_ had its origin (like the Corinthian capital from the Acanthus) in accident. A set of massive window-curtains having been carelessly thrown over a lay figure, or tailor's _torso_, in Nugee's _studio_, in St. James's-street, suggested to the luxuriant mind of the Adonisian D'Orsay, this beautiful combination of costume and upholstery. The eighteen-shilling chintz great-coats, so ostentatiously put forward by nefarious tradesmen as dressing-gowns, and which resemble pattern-cards of the vegetable kingdom, are unworthy the notice of all gentlemen--of course excepting those who are so by act of Parliament. Although it is generally imagined that the coat is the principal article of dress, _we_ attach far greater importance to the trousers, the cut of which should, in the first place, be regulated by nature's cut of the leg. A gentleman who labours under either a convex or a concave leg, cannot be too particular in the arrangement of the strap-draught. By this we mean that a concave leg must have the pull on the convex side, and _vice versa_, the garment being made full, the effects of bad nursing are, by these means, effectually "repealed."[2] This will be better understood if the reader will describe a parallelogram, and draw therein the arc of a circle equal to that described by his leg, whether knock-kneed or bandy. [2] Baylis. If the leg be perfectly straight, then the principal peculiarity of cut to be attended to, is the external assurance that the trousers cannot be removed from the body without the assistance of a valet. The other considerations should be their applicability to the promenade or the equestriade. We are indebted to our friend Beau Reynolds for this original idea and it is upon the plan formerly adopted by him that we now proceed to advise as to the maintenance of the distinctions. Let your schneider baste the trousers together, and when you have put them on, let them be braced to their natural tension; the schneider should then, with a small pair of scissors, _cut out_ all the wrinkles which offend the eye. The garment, being removed from your person, is again taken to the tailor's laboratory, and the embrasures carefully and artistically fine-drawn. The process for walking or riding trousers only varies in these particulars--for the one you should stand upright, for the other you should straddle the back of a chair. Trousers cut on these principles entail only two inconveniences, to which every one with the true feelings of a gentleman would willingly submit. You must never attempt to sit down in your walking trousers, or venture to assume an upright position in your equestrians, for compound fractures in the region of the _os sacrum_, or dislocations about the _genu patell\'ca_ are certain to be the results of such rashness, and then [Illustration: "THE PEACE OF THE VALET IS FLED."] * * * * * SONGS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL. -- NO. 6. Thou hast humbled the proud, For my spirit hath bow'd More humbly to thee than it e'er bow'd before; But thy pow'r is past, Thou hast triumph'd thy last, And the heart you enslaved beats in freedom once more! I have treasured the flow'r You wore but an hour, And knelt by the mound where together we've sat; But thy-folly and pride I now only deride-- So, fair Isabel, take your change out of that! That I loved, and how well, It were madness to tell To one who hath mock'd at my madd'ning despair. Like the white wreath of snow On the Alps' rugged brow, Isabel, I have proved thee as cold as thou'rt fair! 'Twas thy boast that I sued, That you scorn'd as I woo'd-- Though thou of my hopes were the Mount Ararat; But to-morrow I wed Araminta instead-- So, fair Isabel, take your change out of that! * * * * * THE LAST HAUL. The ponds in St. James's Park were on last Monday drawn with nets, and a large quantity of the fish preserved there carried away by direction of the Chief Commissioner of Woods and Forests. Our talented correspondent, Ben D'Israeli, sends us the following squib on the circumstance:-- "Oh! never more," Duncannon cried, "The spoils of place shall fill our dishes! But though we've lost the _loaves_ we'll take Our last sad haul amongst the _fishes_." * * * * * GENERAL SATISFACTION. Lord Coventry declared emphatically that the sons, the fathers, and the grandfathers were all satisfied with the present corn laws. Had his lordship thought of the _Herald_, he might have added, "and the grandmothers also." * * * * * ADVERTISEMENT. If the enthusiastic individual who distinguished himself on the O.P. side of third row in the pit of "the late Theatre Royal English Opera House," but now the refuge for the self-baptised "Council of Dramatic Literature," can be warranted sober, and guaranteed an umbrella, in the use of which he is decidedly unrivalled, he is requested to apply to the Committee of management, where he will hear of something to his "advantage." * * * * * [Illustration] "PUNCH'S" LITERATURE. I. "The Hungarian Daughter," a Dramatic Poem, by George Stephens, 8vo., pp. 294. London: 1841. II. "Introductory(!) Preface to the above," pp. 25. III. "Supplement to the above;" consisting of "Opinions of the Press," on various Works by George Stephens, 8vo., pp. 8. IV. "Opinions of the Press upon the 'Dramatic Merits' and 'Actable Qualities' of the Hungarian Daughter," 8vo., _closely printed_, pp. 16. The blind and vulgar prejudice in favour of Shakspeare, Massinger, and the elder dramatic poets--the sickening adulation bestowed upon Sheridan Knowles and Talfourd, among the moderns--and the base, malignant, and selfish partiality of theatrical managers, who insist upon performing those plays only which are adapted to the stage--whose grovelling souls have no sympathy with genius--whose ideas are fixed upon gain, have hitherto smothered those blazing illuminati, George Stephens and his syn--Syncretcis; have hindered their literary effulgence from breaking through the mists hung before the eyes of the public, by a weak, infatuated adherence to paltry Nature, and a silly infatuation in favour of those who copy her. At length, however, the public blushes (through its representative, the provincial press, and the above-named critical puffs,) with shame--the managers are fast going mad with bitter vexation, for having, to use the words of that elegant pleonasm, the _introductory_ preface, "by a sort of _ex officio_ hallucination," rejected this and some twenty other exquisite, though unactable dramas! It is a fact, that since the opening of the English Opera House, Mr. Webster has been confined to his room; Macready has suspended every engagement for Drury-lane; and the managers of Covent Garden have gone the atrocious length of engaging sibilants and ammunition from the neighbouring market, to pelt the Syncretics off the stage! Them we leave to their dirty work and their repentance, while we proceed to _our_ "delightful task." To prove that the "mantle of the Elizabethan poets seems to have fallen upon Mr. Stephens" (_Opinions_, p. 11), that the "Hungarian Daughter" is quite as good as Knowles's best plays (_Id._ p. 4, _in two places_), that "it is equal to Goethe" (_Id._ p. 11), that "in after years the name of Mr. S. will be amongst those which have given light and glory to their country" (_Id._ p. 10); to prove, in short, the truth of a hundred other laudations collected and printed by this modest author, we shall quote a few passages from his play, and illustrate his genius by pointing out their beauties--an office much needed, particularly by certain dullards, the magazine of whose souls are not combustible enough to take fire at the electric sparks shot forth _up_ out of the depths of George Stephens's unfathomable genius! The first gem that sparkles in the play, is where _Isabella_, the Queen Dowager of Hungary, with a degree of delicacy highly becoming a matron, makes desperate love to _Castaldo_, an Austrian ambassador. In the midst of her ravings she breaks off, to give such a description of a steeple-chase as Nimrod has never equalled. ISABELLA (_hotly_). "Love _rides_ upon a thought, And stays not dully to _inquire the way_, But right _o'erleaps the fence_ unto the _goal_." To appreciate the splendour of this image, the reader must conceive Love booted and spurred, mounted upon a _thought_, saddled and bridled. He starts. _Yo-hoiks_! what a pace! He stops not to "inquire the way"--whether he is to take the first turning to the right, or the second to the left--but on, on he rushes, clears the fence cleverly, and wins by a dozen lengths! What soul, what mastery, what poetical skill is here! We triumphantly put forth this passage as an instance of the sublime art of sinking in poetry not to be matched by Dibdin Pitt or Jacob Jones. Love is sublimed to a jockey, Thought promoted to a race-horse!--"Magnificent!" But splendid as this is, Mr. Stephens can make the force of bathos go a little further. The passage continues ("_a pause_" intervening, to allow breathing ime, after the splitting pace with which Love has been riding upon Thought) thus:-- "Are your lips free? A smile will make no noise. What ignorance! So! Well! _I'll to breakfast straight_!" Again:-- ISABELLA. "Ha! ha! These forms are air--mere counterfeits Of my _imaginous_ heart, _as are the whirling Wainscot and trembling floor_!" The idea of transferring the seat of imagination from the head to the heart, and causing it to exhibit the wainscot in a pirouette, and the floor in an ague, is highly _Shakesperesque_, and, as the _Courier_ is made to say at page 3 of the _Opinions_, "is worthy of the best days of that noble school of dramatic literature in which Mr. Stephens has so successfully studied." This well-deserved praise--the success with which the author has studied, in a school, the models of which were human feelings and nature,--we have yet to illustrate from other passages. Mr. Stephens evinces his full acquaintance with Nature by a familiarity with her convulsions: whirlwinds, thunder, lightning, earthquakes, and volcanoes--are this gentleman's playthings. When, for instance, _Rupert_ is going to be gallant to Queen Isabella, she exclaims:-- "Dire lightnings! Scoundrel! Help!" _Martinuzzi_ conveys a wish for his nobles to laugh--an order for a sort of court cachinnation--in these pretty terms:-- "_Blow it about_, ye opposite winds of heaven, Till the loud chorus of derision shake The world with laughter!" When he feels uncomfortable at something he is told in the first act, the Cardinal complains thus:-- "Ha! earthquakes quiver in my flesh!" which the _Britannia_ is so good as to tell us is superior to Byron; while the _Morning Herald_ kindly remarks, that "a more vigorous and expressive line was _never_ penned. In five words it illustrates the fiercest passions of humanity by the direst convulsion of nature:" (_Opinions_, p. 7) a criticism which illustrates the fiercest throes of nonsense, by the direst convulsions of ignorance. _Castaldo_, being anxious to murder the Cardinal with, we suppose, all "means and appliances to boot," asks of heaven a trifling favour:-- "Heaven, that look'st on, Rain thy broad deluge first! All-teeming earth Disgorge thy poisons, till the attainted air Offend the sense! Thou, miscreative hell, Let loose calamity!" But it is not only in the "sublime and beautiful that Mr. Stephens's genius delights" (_vide Opinions_, p. 4); his play exhibits sentiments of high morality, quite worthy of the "Editor of the Church of England Quarterly Review," the author of "Lay Sermons," and other religious works. For example: the lady-killer, _Castaldo_, is "hotly" loved by the queen-mother, while he prefers the queen-daughter. The last and _Castaldo_ are together. The dowager overhears their billing and cooing, and thus, with great moderation, sends her supposed daughter to ----. But the author shall speak for himself:-- "Ye viprous twain! Swift whirlwinds snatch ye both to fire as endless And infinite as hell! May it embrace ye! And burn--burn limbs and sinews, souls, until It wither ye both up--both--in its arms!" Elegant denunciation!--"viprous," "hell," "sinews and souls." Has Goethe ever written anything like this? Certainly not. Therefore the "Monthly" _is_ right at p. 11 of the _Opinions_. Stephens must be equal, if not superior, to the author of "Faust." One more specimen of delicate sentiment from the lips of a virgin concerning the lips of her lover, will fully establish the Syncretic code of moral taste:-- CZERINA (_faintly_). "Do breathe heat into me: Lay thy warm breath unto my bloodless lips: I stagger; I--I must--" CASTALDO. "In mercy, what?" CZERINA. "Wed!!!" The lady ends, most maidenly, by fainting in her lover's arms. A higher flight is elsewhere taken. _Isabella_ urges _Castaldo_ to murder _Martinuzzi_, in a sentence that has a powerful effect upon the feelings, for it makes us shudder as we copy it--it will cause even _our_ readers to tremble when they see it. The idea of using _blasphemy_ as an instrument for shocking the minds of an audience, is as original as it is worthy of the _sort_ of genius Mr. Stephens possesses. Alluding to a poniard, _Isabella_ says:-- "Sheath it where _God_ and nature prompt your hand!" That is to say, in the breast of a cardinal!! The vulgar, who set up the common-place standards of nature, probability, moral propriety, and respect for such sacred names as they are careful never to utter, except with reverence, will perhaps condemn Mr. Stephens (the aforesaid "Editor of the Church of England Quarterly Review," and author of other religious works) with unmitigated severity. They must not be too hasty. Mr. Stephens is a genius, and cannot, therefore, be held accountable for the _meaning_ of his ravings, be they even blasphemous; more than that he is a Syncretic genius, and his associates, by the designation they have chosen, by the terms of their agreement, are bound to cry each other up--to defend one another from the virulent attacks of common sense and plain reason. They are sworn to _stick_ together, like the bundle of rods in \u8710 sop's fable. [Illustration: SYNCRETISM.] Mr. Stephens, their chief, the god of their idolatry, is, consequently, more mad, or, according to their creed, a greater genius, than the rest; and evidently writes passages he would shudder to pen, if he knew the meaning of them. Upon paper, therefore, the Syncretics are not accountable beings; and when condemned to the severest penalties of critical law, must be reprieved on the plea of literary insanity. It may be said that we have descended to mere detail to illustrate Mr. Stephens' peculiar genius--that we ought to treat of the grand design, or plot of the _Hungarian Daughter_; but we must confess, with the deepest humility, that our abilities are unequal to the task. The fable soars far beyond the utmost flights of our poor conjectures, of our limited comprehension. We know that at the end there are--one case of poisoning, one ditto of stabbing with intent, &c., and one ditto of sudden death. Hence we conclude that the play is a tragedy; but one which "cannot be intended for an acting play" (_preliminary preface_, p.1,)--of course _as_ a tragedy; yet so universal is the author's genius, that an adaptation of the _Hungarian Daughter_, as a broad comedy, has been produced at the "Dramatic Authors' Theatre," having been received with roars of laughter! The books before us have been expensively got up. In the _Hungarian Daughter_, "rivers of type flow through meadows of margin," to the length of nearly three hundred pages. Mr. Stephens is truly a most spirited printer and publisher of his own works. But the lavish outlay he must have incurred to obtain such a number of favourable notices--so many columns of superlative praise--shows him to be, in every sense--like the prince of puffers, George Robins--"utterly regardless of expense." The works third and fourth upon our list, doubtless cost, for the _copyright_ alone, in ready money, a fortune. It is astonishing what pecuniary sacrifices genius will make, when it purloins the trumpet of Fame to _puff_ itself into temporary notoriety. * * * * * INQUEST EXTRAORDINARY. The Whigs, who long Were bold and strong, On Monday night went dead. The jury found This verdict sound-- "_Destroy'd by low-priced bread_." * * * * * AN EXCLUSIVE APPOINTMENT. It is with the most rampant delight that we rush to announce, that a special warrant has been issued, appointing our friend and _prot\'c8g\'c8_, the gallant and jocular Sibthorp, to the important office of beadle and crier to the House of Commons--a situation which has been created from the difficulty which has hitherto been found in inducing strangers to withdraw during a division of the House. This responsible office could not have been conferred upon any one so capable of discharging its onerous duties as the Colonel. We will stake our hump, that half-a-dozen words of the gallant Demosthenes would, at any time have the effect of [Illustration: CLEARING THE STRANGER'S GALLERY.] * * * * * THE GREAT CRICKET MATCH AT ST. STEPHEN'S. FIRST INNINGS. The return match between the Reform and Carlton Clubs has been the theme of general conversation during the past week. Some splendid play was exhibited on the occasion, and, although the result has realised the anticipations of the best judges, it was not achieved without considerable exertion. It will be remembered that, the last time these celebrated clubs met, the Carlton men succeeded in scoring one notch more than their rivals; who, however, immediately challenged them to a return match, and have been diligently practising for success since that time. The players assembled in _Lord's_ Cricket Ground on Tuesday last, when the betting was decidedly in favour of the Cons, whose appearance and manner was more confident than usual; while, on the contrary, the Rads seemed desponding and shy. On tossing up, the Whigs succeeded in getting first innings, and the Tories dispersed themselves about the field in high glee, flattering themselves that they would not be _out_ long. Wellington, on producing the ball--a genuine _Duke_--excited general admiration by his position. Ripon officiated as bowler at the other wicket. Sibthorp acted as long-stop, and the rest found appropriate situations. Lefevre was chosen umpire by mutual consent. Spencer and Clanricarde went in first. Spencer, incautiously trying to score too many notches for one of his hits, was stumped out by Ripon, and Melbourne succeeded him. Great expectations had been formed of this player by his own party, but he was utterly unable to withstand Wellington's rapid bowling, which soon sent him to the right-about. Clanricarde was likewise run out without scoring a notch. Lansdowne and Brougham were now partners at the wickets; but Lansdowne did not appear to like his mate, on whose play it is impossible to calculate. Coventry, _the short slip_, excited much merriment, by a futile attempt to catch this player out, which terminated in his finding himself horizontal and mortified. Wellington, having bowled out Lansdowne, resigned his ball to Peel, who took his place at the wicket with a smile of confidence, which frightened the bat out of the hands of Phillips, the next Rad. Dundas and Labouchere were now the batmen. Labouchere is a very intemperate player. One of Sandon's slow balls struck his thumb, and put him out of temper, whereupon he hit about at random, and knocked down his wicket. Wakley took his bat, but apparently not liking his position, he hit up and caught himself out. O'Connell took his place with a lounging swagger, but his first ball was caught by the immortal Sibthorp, who uttered more puns on the occasion than the oldest man present recollected to have heard perpetrated in any given time. Russell--who, by the bye, excavated several quarts of 'heavy' during his innings--was the last man the Rads had to put in. He played with care, and appeared disposed to keep hold of the bat as long as possible. He was, however, quietly disposed of by one of Peel's inexorable balls. Thus far the game has proceeded. The Cons have yet to _go in_. The general opinion is, that they will not remain in so long as the Rads, but that they will score their notches much quicker. Indeed, it was commonly remarked, that no players had ever remained in so long, and had done so little good withal, as the Reformites. Betting is at 100 to 5 in favour of the Carlton men, and anxiety is on tip-toe to know the result of the next innings. * * * * * The Tories are exulting in their recent victory over the poor Whigs, whom they affirm have been _tried_, and found wanting. A _trial_, indeed, where all the jurors were witnesses for the prosecution. One thing is certain, that the country, as usual, will have to pay the costs, for a Tory verdict will be certain to carry them. The Whigs should prepare a motion for a new trial, on the plea that the late decision was that of [Illustration: A PACKED JURY.] * * * * * DECIDEDLY UNPLEASANT. "Kiss the broad moon."--MARTINUZZI. Go kiss the moon!--that's more, sirs, than I can dare; 'Tis worse than madness--hasn't she her man there? * * * * * CURIOUS COINCIDENCE. The _Morning Advertiser_ has a paragraph containing a report of an extraordinary indisposition under which a private of the Royal Guards is now suffering. It appears he lately received a violent kick from a horse, on the back of his head: since which time his hair has become so sensitive, that he cannot bear any one to approach him or touch it. On some portion being cut off by stratagem, he evinced the utmost disgust, accompanied with a volley of oaths. This may be wonderful in French hair, but it is nothing to the present sufferings of the Whigs in England. * * * * * THE BARTHOLOMEW FAIR SHOW-FOLKS. Punch having been chosen by the unanimous voice of the public--the _arbiter elegantiarum_ in all matters relating to science, literature, and the fine arts--and from his long professional experience, being the only person in England competent to regulate the public amusements of the people, the Lord Mayor of London has confided to him the delicate and important duty of deciding upon the claims of the several individuals applying for licenses to open show-booths during the approaching Bartholomew Fair. Punch, having called to his assistance Sir Peter Laurie and Peter Borthwick, proceeded, on last Saturday, to hold his inquisition in a highly-respectable court in the neighbourhood of West Smithfield. The first application was made on behalf of _Richardson's Booth_, by two individuals named Melbourne and Russell. PUNCH.--On what grounds do you claim? MEL.--On those of long occupancy and respectability, my lord. RUSS.--We employs none but the werry best of actors, my lud--all "bould speakers," as my late wenerated manager, Muster Richardson, used to call 'em. MEL.--We have the best scenery and decorations, the most popular performances-- RUSS.--Hem! (_aside to_ MEL.)--Best say nothing about our performances, Mel. PUNCH.--Pray what situations do you respectively hold in the booth? MEL.--_I_ am principal manager, and do the heavy tragedy business. My friend, here, is the stage-manager and low comedy buffer, who takes the kicks, and blows the trumpet of the establishment. PUNCH.--What is the nature of the entertainments you have been in the habit of producing? RUSS.--Oh! the real legitimate drammar--"A New Way to Pay Old Debts," "Raising the Wind," "A Gentleman in Difficulties," "Where shall I dine?" and "Honest Thieves." We mean to commence the present season with "All in the wrong," and "His Last Legs." PUNCH.--Humph! I am sorry to say I have received several complaints of the manner in which you have conducted the business of your establishment for several years. It appears you put forth bills promising wonders, while your performances have been of the lowest possible description. RUSS.--S'elp me, Bob! there ain't a word of truth in it. If there's anything we takes pride on, 'tis our gentility. PUNCH.--You have degraded the drama by the introduction of card-shufflers and thimble-rig impostors. RUSS.--We denies the thimble-rigging in totum, my lud; that was brought out at Stanley's opposition booth. PUNCH.--At least you were a promoter of state conjuring and legerdemain tricks on the stage. RUSS.--Only a little hanky-panky, my lud. The people likes it; they loves to be cheated before their faces. One, two, three--presto--begone. I'll show your ludship as pretty a trick of putting a piece of money in your eye and taking it out of your elbow, as you ever beheld. _Has_ your ludship got such a thing as a good shilling about you? 'Pon my honour, I'll return it. PUNCH.--Be more respectful, sir, and reply to my questions. It appears further, that several respectable persons have lost their honesty in your booth. RUSS.--Very little of that 'ere commodity is ever brought into it, my lud. PUNCH.--And, in short, that you and your colleagues' hands have been frequently found in the pockets of your audience. RUSS.--Only in a professional way, my lud--strictly professional. PUNCH.--But the most serious charge of all is that, on a recent occasion, when the audience hissed your performances, you put out the lights, let in the swell-mob, and raised a cry of "No Corn Laws." RUSS.--Why, my lud, on that p'int I admit there was a slight row. PUNCH.--Enough, sir. The court considers you have grossly misconducted yourself, and refuses to grant you license to perform. MEL.--But, my lord, I protest _I did_ nothing. PUNCH.--So everybody says, sir. You are therefore unfit to have the management of (next to my own) the greatest theatre in the world. You may retire. MEL. (_to_ RUSS.)--Oh! Johnny, this is your work--with your confounded hanky-panky. RUSS.--No--'twas you that did it; we have been ruined by your laziness. What _is_ to become of us now? MEL.--Alas! where shall we dine? * * * * * The next individual who presented himself, to obtain a license for the Carlton Club Equestrian Troop, was a strange-loooking character, who gave his name as Sibthorp. PUNCH.--What are you, sir? SIB.--Clown to the ring, my lord, and principal performer on the Salt-box. I provide my own paint and pipe-clay, make my own jokes, and laugh at them too. I do the ground and lofty tumbling, and ride the wonderful donkey--all for the small sum of fifteen bob a-week. PUNCH.--You have been represented as a very noisy and turbulent fellow. SIB.--Meek as a lamb, my lord, except when I'm on the saw-dust; there I acknowledge, I do crow pretty loudly--but that's in the way of business,--and your lordship knows that we public jokers must pitch it strong sometimes to make our audience laugh, and bring the _browns_ into the treasury. After all, my lord, I am not the rogue many people take me for,--more the other way, I can assure you, and "Though to my share some human errors fall, Look in my face, and you'll forget them all." PUNCH.--A strong appeal, I must confess. You shall have your license. The successful claimant having made his best bow to Commissioner Punch, withdrew, whistling the national air of [Illustration: "BRITONS, STRIKE HOME."] * * * * * A fellow named Peel, who has been for many years in the habit of exhibiting as a quack-doctor, next applied for liberty to vend his nostrums at the fair. On being questioned as to his qualifications, he shook his head gravely, and, without uttering a word, placed the following card in the hands of Punch. TO THE GULLIBLE PUBLIC. SIR RHUBARB PILL, M.D. and L.S.D. Professor of Political Chemistry and Conservative Medicine to the CARLTON CLUB; PHYSICIAN IN ORDINARY TO THE KING OF HANOVER!!! Inventor of the People's Patent Sliding Stomach-pump;--of the Poor Man's anti-Breakfast and Dinner Waist-belt;--and of the new Royal extract of Toryism, as prescribed for, and lately swallowed by, THE MOST ILLUSTRIOUS PERSONAGE IN THESE DOMINIONS. Sir Rhubarb begs further to state, that he practises national tooth-drawing and bleeding to an unlimited extent; and undertakes to cure the consumption of bread without the use of A FIXED PLASTER. N.B.--No connexion with the corn doctor who recently vacated the concern now occupied by Sir R.P. Hours of attendance, from ten till four each day, at his establishment, Downing-street.--A private entrance for M.P.'s round the corner. * * * * * Ben D'Israeli, the proprietor of the Learned Pig, applied for permission to exhibit his animal at the fair. A license was unhesitatingly granted by his lordship, who rightly considered that the exhibition of the extraordinary talents of the pig and its master, would do much to promote a taste for polite literature amongst the Smithneld "pennyboys." * * * * * A poor old man, who called himself Sir Francis Burdett, applied for a license to exhibit his wonderful Dissolving Views. The most remarkable of which were--"The Hustings in Covent-garden--changing to Rous's dinner in Drury-lane"--and "The Patriot in the Tower--changing to the Renegade in the Carlton." It appeared that the applicant was, at one time, in a respectable business, and kept "The Old Glory," a favourite public-house in Westminster, but, falling into bad company, he lost his custom and his character, and was reduced to his present miserable occupation. Punch, in pity for the wretched petitioner, and fully convinced that his childish tricks were perfectly harmless, granted him a license to exhibit. * * * * * Licenses were also granted to the following persons in the course of the day:-- Sir E.L. Bulwer, to exhibit his own portrait, in the character of Alcibiades, painted by himself. Doctor Bowring, to exhibit six Tartarian chiefs, caught in the vicinity of the Seven Dials, with songs, translated from the original Irish Calmuc, by the Doctor. Emerson Tennent, to exhibit his wonderful Cosmorama, or views of anywhere and everywhere; in which the striking features of Ireland, Greece, Belgium, and Whitechapel will be so happily confounded, that the spectator may imagine he beholds any or all of these places at a single glance. Messrs. Stephens, Heraud, and Co., to exhibit, gratis, a Syncretic Tragedy, with fireworks and tumbling, according to law, between the acts; to be followed by a lecture on the Unactable Drama. * * * * * CAPITAL ILLUSTRATION. At the recent _fracas_ in Pall Mall, between Captain Fitzroy and Mr. Shepherd, the latter, like his predecessor of old, the "Gentle Shepherd," performed sundry vague evolutions with a silver-mounted cane, and requested Captain Fitzroy to consider himself horsewhipped. Not entertaining quite so high an opinion of his adversary's imaginative powers, the Captain floored the said descendant of gentleness, thereby ably illustrating the precise difference of the "_real and ideal_." * * * * * THE HEIR OF APPLEBITE. CHAPTER II. SHOWS HOW AGAMEMNON BECAME DISGUSTED WITH NUMBER ONE, AND THE AWFUL CONSEQUENCES WHICH SUCCEEDED. [Illustration: P]Poor old John's alarm was succeeded by astonishment, for without speaking a word, Agamemnon bounced into his bed-chamber. He thought the room the most miserable-looking room he had ever entered, though the floor was covered with a thick Turkey carpet, a bright fire was blazing in the grate, and everything about seemed fashioned for comfort. He threw himself into an easy chair, and kicking off one of his pumps, crossed his legs, and rested his elbow on the table. He looked at his bed--it was a French one--a mountain of feathers, covered with a thick, white Marseilles quilt, and festooned over with a drapery of rich crimson damask. "I'll have a four-post to-morrow," growled Collumpsion; "French beds are mean-looking things, after all. Stuffwell has the fellow-chair to this--one chair does look strange! I wonder it has never struck me before; but it is surprising--what--strange ide--as a man--has"--and Collumpsion fell asleep. It was broad day when Collumpsion awoke; the fire had gone out, and his feet were as cold as ice. He (as he is married there's no necessity for concealment)--he swore two or three naughty oaths, and taking off his clothes, hurried into bed in the hope of getting warm. "How confoundedly cold I am--sitting in that chair all night, too--ridiculous. If I had had a--I mean, if I hadn't been alone, that wouldn't have happened; she would have waked me." _She_--what the deuce made him use the feminine pronoun! At two o'clock he rose and entered his breakfast-room. The table was laid as usual--_one_ large cup and saucer, _one_ plate, _one_ egg-cup, _one_ knife, and _one_ fork! He did not know wherefore, but he felt to want the number increased. John brought up a slice of broiled salmon and _one_ egg. Collumpsion got into a passion, and ordered a second edition. The morning was rainy, so Collumpsion remained at home, and employed himself by kicking about the ottoman, and mentally multiplying all the single articles in his establishment by two. The dinner hour arrived, and there was the same singular provision for one. He rang the bell, and ordered John to furnish the table for _another_. John obeyed, though not without some strong misgiving of his master's sanity, as the edibles consisted of a sole, a mutton chop, and a partridge. When John left the room at his master's request, Collumpsion rose and locked the door. Having placed a chair opposite, he resumed his seat, and commenced a series of pantomimic gestures, which were strongly confirmatory of John's suspicions. He seemed to be holding an inaudible conversation with some invisible being, placing the choicest portion of the sole in a plate, and seemingly desiring John to deliver it to the unknown. As John was not there, he placed it before himself, and commenced daintily and smilingly picking up very minute particles, as though he were too much delighted to eat. He then bowed and smiled, and extending his arm, appeared to fill the opposite glass, and having _actually_ performed the same operation with his own, he bowed and smiled again, and sipped the brilliant Xeres. He then rang the bell violently, and unlocking the door, rushed rapidly back to his chair, as though he were fearful of committing a rudeness by leaving it. The table being replenished, and John again dismissed the room, the same pantomime commenced. The one mutton chop seemed at first to present an obstacle to the proper conduct of the scene; but gracefully uncovering the partridge, and as gracefully smiling towards the invisible, he appeared strongly to recommend the bird in preference to the beast. Dinner at length concluded, he rose, and apparently led his phantom guest from the table, and then returning to his arm-chair, threw himself into it, and, crossing his hands upon his breast, commenced a careful examination of the cinders and himself. His rumination ended in a doze, and his doze in a dream, in which he fancied himself a Brobdignag Java sparrow during the moulting season. His cage was surrounded by beautiful and blooming girls, who seemed to pity his condition, and vie with each other in proposing the means of rendering him more comfortable. Some spoke of elastic cotton shirts, linsey-wolsey jackets, and silk nightcaps; others of merino hose, silk feet and cotton tops, shirt-buttons and warming-pans; whilst Mrs. Greatgirdle and Mrs. Waddledot sang an echo duet of "What a pity the bird is alone." "A change came o'er the spirit of his dream." He thought that the moulting season was over, and that he was rejoicing in the fulness of a sleeky plumage, and by his side was a Java sparrowess, chirping and hopping about, rendering the cage as populous to him as though he were the tenant of a bird-fancier's shop. Then--he awoke just as Old John was finishing a glass of Madeira, preparatory to arousing Collumpsion, for the purpose of delivering to him a scented note, which had just been left by the footman of Mrs. Waddledot. It was lucky for John that A.C.A. had been blessed with pleasant dreams, or his attachment to Madeira might have occasioned his discharge from No. 24, Pleasant-terrace. The note was an invitation to Mrs. Waddledot's opera-box for that evening. The performance was to be Rossini's "La Cenerentola," and as Collumpsion recollected the subject of the opera, his heart fluttered in his bosom. A prince marrying a cinder-sifter for love! What must the happy state be--or rather what must it not be--to provoke such a condescension! Collumpsion never appeared to such advantage as he did that evening; he was dressed to a miracle of perfection--his spirits were so elastic that they must have carried him out of the box into "Fop's-alley," had not Mrs. Waddledot cleverly surrounded him by the detachment from the corps of eighteen daughters, which had (on that night) been placed under her command. Collumpsion's state of mind did not escape the notice of the fair campaigners, and the most favourable deductions were drawn from it in relation to the charitable combination which they had formed for his ultimate good, and all seemed determined to afford him every encouragement in their power. Every witticism that he uttered elicited countless smiles--every criticism that he delivered was universally applauded--in short, Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite was voted the most delightful beau in the universe, and Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite gave himself a plumper to the same opinion. On the 31st of the following month, a string of carriages surrounded St. George's Church, Hanover-square, and precisely at a quarter to twelve, A.M., Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite placed a plain gold ring on the finger of Miss Juliana Theresa Waddledot, being a necessary preliminary to the introduction of our hero, the "Heir of Applebite." * * * * * EPIGRAM. "I wonder if Brougham thinks as much as he talks," Said a punster perusing a trial: "I vow, since his lordship was made Baron Vaux, He's been _Vaux et pr\'caterea nihil!_" * * * * * THE TWO FATAL CHIROPEDISTS. Our great ancestor, Joe Miller, has recorded, in his "Booke of Jestes," an epitaph written upon an amateur corn-cutter, named Roger Horton, who, "Trying one day his corn to mow off, The razor slipp'd, and cut his toe off." The painful similarity of his fate with that of another corn experimentalist, has given rise to the following:-- EPITAPH ON LORD JOHN RUSSELL, WHO EXPIRED POLITICALLY, AFTER A LINGERING ILLNESS, ON MONDAY EVENING, AUGUST 30, 1841. In Minto quies. Beneath this stone lies Johnny Russell, Who for his place had many a tussel. Trying one day _the corn_ to cut down, The motion fail'd, and he was _put_ down. The benches which he nearly grew to, The Opposition quickly flew to; The fact it was so mortifying, That little Johnny took to dying. * * * * * SHALL GREAT OLYMPUS TO A MOLEHILL STOOP? Some difficulty has arisen as to the production of Knowles's new play at the Haymarket Theatre. Mr. Charles Kean and Miss Helen Faucit having objected to hear the play read, "_because their respective parts had not been previously submitted to them._"--_Sunday Times_.--[We are of opinion that they were decidedly right. One might as well expect a child to spell without learning the alphabet, as either of the above persons to understand Knowles, unless enlightened by a long course of previous instruction.] * * * * * THE LETTER OF INTRODUCTION. [From a MS. drama called the "COURT OF VICTORIA." _Scene in Windsor Castle._ [_Her Majesty discovered sitting thoughtfully at an escrutoire._-- _Enter the_ LORD CHAMBERLAIN.] LORD CHAMBERLAIN.--May it please your Majesty, a letter from the Duke of Wellington. THE QUEEN (_opens the letter_.)--Oh! a person for the vacant place of Premier--show the bearer in, my lord. [_Exit_ LORD CHAMBERLAIN. THE QUEEN (_muses_).--Sir Robert Peel--I have heard that name before, as connected with my family. If I remember rightly, he held the situation of adviser to the crown in the reign of Uncle William, and was discharged for exacting a large discount on all the state receipts; yet Wellington is very much interested in his favour. _Enter the_ LORD CHAMBERLAIN, _who ushers in_ SIR ROBERT, _and then retires. As he is going_--] LORD CHAMBERLAIN (_aside_).--If you do get the berth, Sir Robert, I hope you'll not give me warning. [_Exit_. SIR ROBERT (_looking demurely_).--Hem! [_The Queen regards him very attentively._] THE QUEEN (_aside_).--I don't much like the looks of the fellow--that affectation of simplicity is evidently intended to conceal the real cunning of his character. (_Aloud_). You are of course aware of the nature and the duties of the situation which you solicit? SIR ROBERT.--Oh, yes, your Majesty; I have filled it before, and liked it very much. THE QUEEN.--It's a most responsible post, for upon your conduct much of the happiness of my other servants depends. SIR ROBERT.--I am aware of that, your Majesty; but as no one can hope to please everybody, I will only answer that _one half_ shall be perfectly satisfied. THE QUEEN.--You have recently returned from Tamworth? SIR ROBERT.--Yes, your Majesty. THE QUEEN.--We will dispense with forms. At Tamworth, you have been practising as a quack doctor? SIR ROBERT.--Yes, madam; I was brought up to doctoring, and am a professor of sleight-of-hand. THE QUEEN.--What have you done in the latter art to entitle you to such a distinction? SIR ROBERT.--I have performed some very wonderful changes. When I was out of place, I had opinions strongly opposed to Catholic emancipation; but when I got into service I changed them in the course of a few days. THE QUEEN.--I have heard that you boast of possessing a nostrum for the restoration of the public good. What is it? SIR ROBERT.--Am I to consider myself "as regularly called in?" THE QUEEN.--That is a question I decline answering at present. SIR ROBERT.--Then I regret that I must also remain silent. THE QUEEN (_aside_).--The wily fox! (_aloud_)--Are you aware that great distress exists in the country? SIR ROBERT.--Oh, yes! I have heard that there are several families who keep no man-servant, and that numerous clerks, weavers, and other artisans, occupy second-floors. THE QUEEN.--I have heard that the people are wanting bread. SIR ROBERT.--Ha, ha! that was from the late premier, I suppose. He merely forgot an adjective--it is _cheap_ bread that the people are clamouring for. THE QUEEN.--And why can they not have it? SIR ROBERT.--I have consulted with the Duke of Richmond upon the subject, and he says it is impossible. THE QUEEN.--But why? SIR ROBERT.--Wheat must be lower before bread can be cheaper. THE QUEEN.--Well! SIR ROBERT.--And rents must be less if that is the case, and-- THE QUEEN.--Well! SIR ROBERT.--And that the landowners won't agree to. THE QUEEN.--Well! SIR ROBERT.--And, then, I can't keep my place a day. THE QUEEN.--Then the majority of my subjects are to be rendered miserable for the advantage of the few? SIR ROBERT.--That's the principle of all good governments. Besides, cheap bread would be no benefit to the masses, for wages would be lower. THE QUEEN.--Do you really believe such _would_ be the case? SIR ROBERT.--Am I regularly called in? THE QUEEN.--You evade a direct answer, I see. Granting such to be _your belief_, your friends and landowners would suffer no injury, for their incomes would procure them as many luxuries. SIR ROBERT.--Not if they were to live abroad, or patronise foreign manufactures: and _should_ wages be higher, what would they say to me after all the money they have expended in bri--I mean at the Carlton Club, if I allow the value of their "dirty acres" to be reduced. THE QUEEN.--Pray, what do you call such views? SIR ROBERT.--Patriotism. THE QUEEN.--Charity would be a better term, as that is said to begin at home. How long were you in your last place? SIR ROBERT.--Not half so long as I wished--for the sake of the country. THE QUEEN.--Why did you leave? SIR ROBERT.--Somebody said I was saucy--and somebody else said I was not honest--and somebody else said I had better go. THE QUEEN.--Who was the latter somebody? SIR ROBERT.--My master. THE QUEEN.--Your exposure of my late premier's faults, and your present application for his situation, result from disinterestedness, of course? SIR ROBERT.--Of course, madam. THE QUEEN.--Then salary is not so much an object as a comfortable situation. SIR ROBERT.--I beg pardon; but I've been out of place ten years, and have a small family to support. _Wages_ is, therefore, some sort of a consideration. THE QUEEN.--I don't quite like you. SIR ROBERT (_glancing knowingly at the Queen_).--I don't think there is any one that _you can_ have better. THE QUEEN.--I'm afraid not. SIR ROBERT.--Then, am I regularly called in? THE QUEEN.--Yes, you can take your boxes to Downing-street. [_Exeunt ambo_. * * * * * PARLIAMENTARY INTENTIONS. Mr. Muntz, we understand, intends calling the attention of Parliament, at the earliest possible period, to the state of the crops. Lord Palmerston intends proposing, that a looking-glass for the use of members should be placed in the ante-room of the House, and that it shall be called the New Mirror of Parliament. Mr. T. Duncombe intends moving that the plans of Sir Robert Peel be immediately submitted to the photographic process, in order that some light may be thrown upon them as soon as possible. The Earl of Coventry intends suggesting, that every member of both Houses be immediately supplied with a copy of the work called "Ten Minutes' Advice on Corns," in order to prepare Parliament for a full description of the Corn Laws. * * * * * EXTRA FASHIONABLE NEWS. Colonel Sibthorp has expressed his intention of becoming the blue-faced monkey at the Zoological Gardens with his _countenance_, on next Wednesday. Lord Melbourne has received visits of condolence on his retirement from office, from Aldgate pump--Canning's statue in Palace-yard--the Three Kings of Brentford--and the Belle Sauvage, Ludgate-hill. Her Royal Highness the Princess, her two nurses, and a pap-spoon, took an airing twice round the great hall of the palace, at one o'clock yesterday. The Burlington Arcade will be thrown open to visitors to-morrow morning. Gentlemen intending to appear there, are requested to come with tooth-picks and full-dress walking-canes. Sir Francis Burdett's top-boots were seen, on last Saturday, walking into Sir Robert Peel's house, accompanied by the legs of that venerable turner. His Grace the Duke of Wellington inspected all the passengers in Pall Mall, from the steps of the United Service Club-house, and expressed himself highly pleased with the celerity of the 'busses and cabs, and the effective state of the pedestrians generally. His Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex has, in the most unequivocal manner, expressed his opinion on the state of the weather--which he pronounces to be hot! hot! all hot! * * * * * A SINGULAR INADVERTENCE. A good deal of merriment was caused in the House of Commons, by Mr. Bernal and Commodore Napier addressing the members as "gentlemen." This may be excusable in young members, but the oldest parliamentary reporter has no recollection of the term being used by any one who had sat a session in the House. "Too much familiarity," &c. * * * * * PUNCH'S PENCILLINGS--No. VIII. [Illustration: THE LETTER OF INTRODUCTION.] * * * * * THE MINISTRY'S ODE TO THE PASSIONS. NOT BY COLLINS. When the Whig Ministry had run, Nor left behind a mother's son, The Tories, at their leader's call, Came thronging round him, one and all, Exulting, braying, cringing, coaxing, Expert at humbugging and hoaxing; By turns they felt an _honest_ zeal For private good and public weal; Till all at once they raised such yells, As rung in Apsley House the bells: And as they sought snug berths to get In Bobby Peel's new cabinet, Each, for interest ruled the hour, Would prove his taste for place and power. First Follett's hand, his skill to try, Upon the _seals_ bewilder'd laid; But back recoil'd--he scarce knew why-- Of Lyndhurst's angry scowl afraid. Next Stanley rush'd with frenzied air; His eager haste brook'd no delay: He rudely seized the _Foreign_ chair, And bade poor Cupid trudge away. With woeful visage Melbourne sate-- A pint of double X his grief beguiled; And inly pondering o'er his fate, He bade th' attendant pot-boy "draw it mild." But thou, Sir Jamie Graham--prig; What was thy delighted musing? Now accepting, now refusing, Till on the Admiralty pitch'd, Still would that thought his speech prolong; To gain the place for which he long had itch'd, He call'd on Bobby still through all the song; But ever as his sweetest theme he chose, A sovereign's golden chink was heard at every close, And Pollock grimly smiled, and shook his powder'd wig. And longer had he droned--but, with a frown Brougham impatient rose; He threw the bench of snoring bishops down, And, with a withering look, The Whig-denouncing trumpet took, And made a speech so fierce and true, Thrashing, with might and main, both friend and foe; And ever and anon he beat, With doubled fist his cushion'd seat; And though sometimes, each breathless pause between, Astonished Melbourne at his side, His moderating voice applied, Yet still he kept his stern, unalter'd mien, While battering the Whigs and Tories black and blue. Thy ravings, Goulburn, to no theme were fix'd. Not ev'n thy virtue is without its spots; With piety thy politics were mix'd, And now they courted Peel, now call'd on Doctor Watts. With drooping jaw, like one half-screw'd, Lord Johnny sate in doleful mood, And for his Secretarial seat, Sent forth his howlings sad, but sweet Lost Normanby pour'd forth his sad adieu; While Palmerston, with graceful air, Wildly toss'd his scented hair; And pensive Morpeth join'd the sniv'lling crew. Yet still they lingered round with fond delay, Humming, hawing, stopping, musing, Tory rascals all abusing, Till forced to move away. But, oh! how alter'd was the whining tone When, loud-tongued Lyndhurst, that unblushing wight, His gown across his shoulders flung, His wig with virgin-powder white, Made an ear-splitting speech that down to Windsor rung, The Tories' call, that Billy Holmes well knew, The turn-coat Downshire and his Orange crew; Wicklow and Howard both were seen Brushing away the wee bit green; Mad Londonderry laugh'd to hear, And Inglis scream'd and shook his ass's ear Last Bobby Peel, with hypocritic air, He with modest look came sneaking: First to "_the Home_" his easy vows addrest,-- But soon he saw the _Treasury's_ red chair, Whose soft inviting seat he loved the best. They would have thought, who heard his words, They saw in Britain's cause a patriot stand, The proud defender of his land, To aw'd and liality of the Paphian paragon; and Stultz, with his grace-bestowing shears, has fashioned West of England broad-cloths, and fancy goods, into...all »ality of the Paphian paragon; and Stultz, with his grace-bestowing shears, has fashioned West of England broad-cloths, and fancy goods, into all the nobility and gentility of the "Blue Book," the "Court Guide," the "Army, Navy, and Law Lists, for 1841." Wondrous and kindred arts! The sculptor wrests the rugged block from the rocky ribs of his mother earth;--the tailor clips the implicated "_long hogs_"[1] from the prolific backs of the living mutton;--the toothless saw, plied by an unweayring hand, prepares the stubborn mass for the chisel's tracery;--the loom, animated by steam (that gigantic child of Wallsend and water), twists and twines the unctuous and pliant fleece into the silky Saxony. [1] The first growth of wool. The sculptor, seated in his _studio_, throws loose the reins of his imagination, and, conjuring up some perfect ideality, seeks to impress the beautiful illusion on the rude and undigested mass before him. The tailor spreads out, upon his ample board, the happy broadcloth; his eyes scan the "measured proportions of his client," and, with mystic power, guides the obedient pipe-clay into the graceful diagram of a perfect gentleman. The sculptor, with all the patient perseverance of genius, conscious of the greatness of its object, chips, and chips, and chips, from day to day; and as the stone quickens at each touch, he glows with all the pride of the creative Prometheus, mingled with the gentler ecstacies of paternal love. The tailor, with fresh-ground shears, and perfect faith in the gentility and solvency of his "client," snips, and snips, and snips, until the "superfine" grows, with each abscission, into the first style of elegance and fashion, and the excited schneider feels himself "every inch a king," his shop a herald's college, and every brown paper pattern garnishing its walls, an escutcheon of gentility. But to dismount from our Pegasus, or, in other words, to cut the poetry, and come to the practice of our subject, it is necessary that a perfect gentleman should be cut _up_ very high, or cut _down_ very low--_i.e._, up to the marquis or down to the jarvey. Any intermediate style is perfectly inadmissible; for who above the grade of an attorney would wear a coat with pockets inserted in the tails, like salt-boxes; or any but an incipient Esculapius indulge in trousers that evinced a morbid ambition to become knee-breeches, and were only restrained in their aspirations by a pair of most strenuous straps. We will now proceed to details. _The dressing-gown_ should be cut only--for the arm holes; but be careful that the quantity of material be very ample--say four times as much as is positively necessary, for nothing is so characteristic of a perfect gentleman as his improvidence. This garment must be constructed without buttons or button-holes, and confined at the waist with cable-like bell-ropes and tassels. This elegant _d\'c8shabille_ had its origin (like the Corinthian capital from the Acanthus) in accident. A set of massive window-curtains having been carelessly thrown over a lay figure, or tailor's _torso_, in Nugee's _studio_, in St. James's-street, suggested to the luxuriant mind of the Adonisian D'Orsay, this beautiful combination of costume and upholstery. The eighteen-shilling chintz great-coats, so ostentatiously put forward by nefarious tradesmen as dressing-gowns, and which resemble pattern-cards of the vegetable kingdom, are unworthy the notice of all gentlemen--of course excepting those who are so by act of Parliament. Although it is generally imagined that the coat is the principal article of dress, _we_ attach far greater importance to the trousers, the cut of which should, in the first place, be regulated by nature's cut of the leg. A gentleman who labours under either a convex or a concave leg, cannot be too particular in the arrangement of the strap-draught. By this we mean that a concave leg must have the pull on the convex side, and _vice versa_, the garment being made full, the effects of bad nursing are, by these means, effectually "repealed."[2] This will be better understood if the reader will describe a parallelogram, and draw therein the arc of a circle equal to that described by his leg, whether knock-kneed or bandy. [2] Baylis. If the leg be perfectly straight, then the principal peculiarity of cut to be attended to, is the external assurance that the trousers cannot be removed from the body without the assistance of a valet. The other considerations should be their applicability to the promenade or the equestriade. We are indebted to our friend Beau Reynolds for this original idea and it is upon the plan formerly adopted by him that we now proceed to advise as to the maintenance of the distinctions. Let your schneider baste the trousers together, and when you have put them on, let them be braced to their natural tension; the schneider should then, with a small pair of scissors, _cut out_ all the wrinkles which offend the eye. The garment, being removed from your person, is again taken to the tailor's laboratory, and the embrasures carefully and artistically fine-drawn. The process for walking or riding trousers only varies in these particulars--for the one you should stand upright, for the other you should straddle the back of a chair. Trousers cut on these principles entail only two inconveniences, to which every one with the true feelings of a gentleman would willingly submit. You must never attempt to sit down in your walking trousers, or venture to assume an upright position in your equestrians, for compound fractures in the region of the _os sacrum_, or dislocations about the _genu patell\'ca_ are certain to be the results of such rashness, and then [Illustration: "THE PEACE OF THE VALET IS FLED."] * * * * * SONGS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL. -- NO. 6. Thou hast humbled the proud, For my spirit hath bow'd More humbly to thee than it e'er bow'd before; But thy pow'r is past, Thou hast triumph'd thy last, And the heart you enslaved beats in freedom once more! I have treasured the flow'r You wore but an hour, And knelt by the mound where together we've sat; But thy-folly and pride I now only deride-- So, fair Isabel, take your change out of that! That I loved, and how well, It were madness to tell To one who hath mock'd at my madd'ning despair. Like the white wreath of snow On the Alps' rugged brow, Isabel, I have proved thee as cold as thou'rt fair! 'Twas thy boast that I sued, That you scorn'd as I woo'd-- Though thou of my hopes were the Mount Ararat; But to-morrow I wed Araminta instead-- So, fair Isabel, take your change out of that! * * * * * THE LAST HAUL. The ponds in St. James's Park were on last Monday drawn with nets, and a large quantity of the fish preserved there carried away by direction of the Chief Commissioner of Woods and Forests. Our talented correspondent, Ben D'Israeli, sends us the following squib on the circumstance:-- "Oh! never more," Duncannon cried, "The spoils of place shall fill our dishes! But though we've lost the _loaves_ we'll take Our last sad haul amongst the _fishes_." * * * * * GENERAL SATISFACTION. Lord Coventry declared emphatically that the sons, the fathers, and the grandfathers were all satisfied with the present corn laws. Had his lordship thought of the _Herald_, he might have added, "and the grandmothers also." * * * * * ADVERTISEMENT. If the enthusiastic individual who distinguished himself on the O.P. side of third row in the pit of "the late Theatre Royal English Opera House," but now the refuge for the self-baptised "Council of Dramatic Literature," can be warranted sober, and guaranteed an umbrella, in the use of which he is decidedly unrivalled, he is requested to apply to the Committee of management, where he will hear of something to his "advantage." * * * * * [Illustration] "PUNCH'S" LITERATURE. I. "The Hungarian Daughter," a Dramatic Poem, by George Stephens, 8vo., pp. 294. London: 1841. II. "Introductory(!) Preface to the above," pp. 25. III. "Supplement to the above;" consisting of "Opinions of the Press," on various Works by George Stephens, 8vo., pp. 8. IV. "Opinions of the Press upon the 'Dramatic Merits' and 'Actable Qualities' of the Hungarian Daughter," 8vo., _closely printed_, pp. 16. The blind and vulgar prejudice in favour of Shakspeare, Massinger, and the elder dramatic poets--the sickening adulation bestowed upon Sheridan Knowles and Talfourd, among the moderns--and the base, malignant, and selfish partiality of theatrical managers, who insist upon performing those plays only which are adapted to the stage--whose grovelling souls have no sympathy with genius--whose ideas are fixed upon gain, have hitherto smothered those blazing illuminati, George Stephens and his syn--Syncretcis; have hindered their literary effulgence from breaking through the mists hung before the eyes of the public, by a weak, infatuated adherence to paltry Nature, and a silly infatuation in favour of those who copy her. At length, however, the public blushes (through its representative, the provincial press, and the above-named critical puffs,) with shame--the managers are fast going mad with bitter vexation, for having, to use the words of that elegant pleonasm, the _introductory_ preface, "by a sort of _ex officio_ hallucination," rejected this and some twenty other exquisite, though unactable dramas! It is a fact, that since the opening of the English Opera House, Mr. Webster has been confined to his room; Macready has suspended every engagement for Drury-lane; and the managers of Covent Garden have gone the atrocious length of engaging sibilants and ammunition from the neighbouring market, to pelt the Syncretics off the stage! Them we leave to their dirty work and their repentance, while we proceed to _our_ "delightful task." To prove that the "mantle of the Elizabethan poets seems to have fallen upon Mr. Stephens" (_Opinions_, p. 11), that the "Hungarian Daughter" is quite as good as Knowles's best plays (_Id._ p. 4, _in two places_), that "it is equal to Goethe" (_Id._ p. 11), that "in after years the name of Mr. S. will be amongst those which have given light and glory to their country" (_Id._ p. 10); to prove, in short, the truth of a hundred other laudations collected and printed by this modest author, we shall quote a few passages from his play, and illustrate his genius by pointing out their beauties--an office much needed, particularly by certain dullards, the magazine of whose souls are not combustible enough to take fire at the electric sparks shot forth _up_ out of the depths of George Stephens's unfathomable genius! The first gem that sparkles in the play, is where _Isabella_, the Queen Dowager of Hungary, with a degree of delicacy highly becoming a matron, makes desperate love to _Castaldo_, an Austrian ambassador. In the midst of her ravings she breaks off, to give such a description of a steeple-chase as Nimrod has never equalled. ISABELLA (_hotly_). "Love _rides_ upon a thought, And stays not dully to _inquire the way_, But right _o'erleaps the fence_ unto the _goal_." To appreciate the splendour of this image, the reader must conceive Love booted and spurred, mounted upon a _thought_, saddled and bridled. He starts. _Yo-hoiks_! what a pace! He stops not to "inquire the way"--whether he is to take the first turning to the right, or the second to the left--but on, on he rushes, clears the fence cleverly, and wins by a dozen lengths! What soul, what mastery, what poetical skill is here! We triumphantly put forth this passage as an instance of the sublime art of sinking in poetry not to be matched by Dibdin Pitt or Jacob Jones. Love is sublimed to a jockey, Thought promoted to a race-horse!--"Magnificent!" But splendid as this is, Mr. Stephens can make the force of bathos go a little further. The passage continues ("_a pause_" intervening, to allow breathing ime, after the splitting pace with which Love has been riding upon Thought) thus:-- "Are your lips free? A smile will make no noise. What ignorance! So! Well! _I'll to breakfast straight_!" Again:-- ISABELLA. "Ha! ha! These forms are air--mere counterfeits Of my _imaginous_ heart, _as are the whirling Wainscot and trembling floor_!" The idea of transferring the seat of imagination from the head to the heart, and causing it to exhibit the wainscot in a pirouette, and the floor in an ague, is highly _Shakesperesque_, and, as the _Courier_ is made to say at page 3 of the _Opinions_, "is worthy of the best days of that noble school of dramatic literature in which Mr. Stephens has so successfully studied." This well-deserved praise--the success with which the author has studied, in a school, the models of which were human feelings and nature,--we have yet to illustrate from other passages. Mr. Stephens evinces his full acquaintance with Nature by a familiarity with her convulsions: whirlwinds, thunder, lightning, earthquakes, and volcanoes--are this gentleman's playthings. When, for instance, _Rupert_ is going to be gallant to Queen Isabella, she exclaims:-- "Dire lightnings! Scoundrel! Help!" _Martinuzzi_ conveys a wish for his nobles to laugh--an order for a sort of court cachinnation--in these pretty terms:-- "_Blow it about_, ye opposite winds of heaven, Till the loud chorus of derision shake The world with laughter!" When he feels uncomfortable at something he is told in the first act, the Cardinal complains thus:-- "Ha! earthquakes quiver in my flesh!" which the _Britannia_ is so good as to tell us is superior to Byron; while the _Morning Herald_ kindly remarks, that "a more vigorous and expressive line was _never_ penned. In five words it illustrates the fiercest passions of humanity by the direst convulsion of nature:" (_Opinions_, p. 7) a criticism which illustrates the fiercest throes of nonsense, by the direst convulsions of ignorance. _Castaldo_, being anxious to murder the Cardinal with, we suppose, all "means and appliances to boot," asks of heaven a trifling favour:-- "Heaven, that look'st on, Rain thy broad deluge first! All-teeming earth Disgorge thy poisons, till the attainted air Offend the sense! Thou, miscreative hell, Let loose calamity!" But it is not only in the "sublime and beautiful that Mr. Stephens's genius delights" (_vide Opinions_, p. 4); his play exhibits sentiments of high morality, quite worthy of the "Editor of the Church of England Quarterly Review," the author of "Lay Sermons," and other religious works. For example: the lady-killer, _Castaldo_, is "hotly" loved by the queen-mother, while he prefers the queen-daughter. The last and _Castaldo_ are together. The dowager overhears their billing and cooing, and thus, with great moderation, sends her supposed daughter to ----. But the author shall speak for himself:-- "Ye viprous twain! Swift whirlwinds snatch ye both to fire as endless And infinite as hell! May it embrace ye! And burn--burn limbs and sinews, souls, until It wither ye both up--both--in its arms!" Elegant denunciation!--"viprous," "hell," "sinews and souls." Has Goethe ever written anything like this? Certainly not. Therefore the "Monthly" _is_ right at p. 11 of the _Opinions_. Stephens must be equal, if not superior, to the author of "Faust." One more specimen of delicate sentiment from the lips of a virgin concerning the lips of her lover, will fully establish the Syncretic code of moral taste:-- CZERINA (_faintly_). "Do breathe heat into me: Lay thy warm breath unto my bloodless lips: I stagger; I--I must--" CASTALDO. "In mercy, what?" CZERINA. "Wed!!!" The lady ends, most maidenly, by fainting in her lover's arms. A higher flight is elsewhere taken. _Isabella_ urges _Castaldo_ to murder _Martinuzzi_, in a sentence that has a powerful effect upon the feelings, for it makes us shudder as we copy it--it will cause even _our_ readers to tremble when they see it. The idea of using _blasphemy_ as an instrument for shocking the minds of an audience, is as original as it is worthy of the _sort_ of genius Mr. Stephens possesses. Alluding to a poniard, _Isabella_ says:-- "Sheath it where _God_ and nature prompt your hand!" That is to say, in the breast of a cardinal!! The vulgar, who set up the common-place standards of nature, probability, moral propriety, and respect for such sacred names as they are careful never to utter, except with reverence, will perhaps condemn Mr. Stephens (the aforesaid "Editor of the Church of England Quarterly Review," and author of other religious works) with unmitigated severity. They must not be too hasty. Mr. Stephens is a genius, and cannot, therefore, be held accountable for the _meaning_ of his ravings, be they even blasphemous; more than that he is a Syncretic genius, and his associates, by the designation they have chosen, by the terms of their agreement, are bound to cry each other up--to defend one another from the virulent attacks of common sense and plain reason. They are sworn to _stick_ together, like the bundle of rods in \u8710 sop's fable. [Illustration: SYNCRETISM.] Mr. Stephens, their chief, the god of their idolatry, is, consequently, more mad, or, according to their creed, a greater genius, than the rest; and evidently writes passages he would shudder to pen, if he knew the meaning of them. Upon paper, therefore, the Syncretics are not accountable beings; and when condemned to the severest penalties of critical law, must be reprieved on the plea of literary insanity. It may be said that we have descended to mere detail to illustrate Mr. Stephens' peculiar genius--that we ought to treat of the grand design, or plot of the _Hungarian Daughter_; but we must confess, with the deepest humility, that our abilities are unequal to the task. The fable soars far beyond the utmost flights of our poor conjectures, of our limited comprehension. We know that at the end there are--one case of poisoning, one ditto of stabbing with intent, &c., and one ditto of sudden death. Hence we conclude that the play is a tragedy; but one which "cannot be intended for an acting play" (_preliminary preface_, p.1,)--of course _as_ a tragedy; yet so universal is the author's genius, that an adaptation of the _Hungarian Daughter_, as a broad comedy, has been produced at the "Dramatic Authors' Theatre," having been received with roars of laughter! The books before us have been expensively got up. In the _Hungarian Daughter_, "rivers of type flow through meadows of margin," to the length of nearly three hundred pages. Mr. Stephens is truly a most spirited printer and publisher of his own works. But the lavish outlay he must have incurred to obtain such a number of favourable notices--so many columns of superlative praise--shows him to be, in every sense--like the prince of puffers, George Robins--"utterly regardless of expense." The works third and fourth upon our list, doubtless cost, for the _copyright_ alone, in ready money, a fortune. It is astonishing what pecuniary sacrifices genius will make, when it purloins the trumpet of Fame to _puff_ itself into temporary notoriety. * * * * * INQUEST EXTRAORDINARY. The Whigs, who long Were bold and strong, On Monday night went dead. The jury found This verdict sound-- "_Destroy'd by low-priced bread_." * * * * * AN EXCLUSIVE APPOINTMENT. It is with the most rampant delight that we rush to announce, that a special warrant has been issued, appointing our friend and _prot\'c8g\'c8_, the gallant and jocular Sibthorp, to the important office of beadle and crier to the House of Commons--a situation which has been created from the difficulty which has hitherto been found in inducing strangers to withdraw during a division of the House. This responsible office could not have been conferred upon any one so capable of discharging its onerous duties as the Colonel. We will stake our hump, that half-a-dozen words of the gallant Demosthenes would, at any time have the effect of [Illustration: CLEARING THE STRANGER'S GALLERY.] * * * * * THE GREAT CRICKET MATCH AT ST. STEPHEN'S. FIRST INNINGS. The return match between the Reform and Carlton Clubs has been the theme of general conversation during the past week. Some splendid play was exhibited on the occasion, and, although the result has realised the anticipations of the best judges, it was not achieved without considerable exertion. It will be remembered that, the last time these celebrated clubs met, the Carlton men succeeded in scoring one notch more than their rivals; who, however, immediately challenged them to a return match, and have been diligently practising for success since that time. The players assembled in _Lord's_ Cricket Ground on Tuesday last, when the betting was decidedly in favour of the Cons, whose appearance and manner was more confident than usual; while, on the contrary, the Rads seemed desponding and shy. On tossing up, the Whigs succeeded in getting first innings, and the Tories dispersed themselves about the field in high glee, flattering themselves that they would not be _out_ long. Wellington, on producing the ball--a genuine _Duke_--excited general admiration by his position. Ripon officiated as bowler at the other wicket. Sibthorp acted as long-stop, and the rest found appropriate situations. Lefevre was chosen umpire by mutual consent. Spencer and Clanricarde went in first. Spencer, incautiously trying to score too many notches for one of his hits, was stumped out by Ripon, and Melbourne succeeded him. Great expectations had been formed of this player by his own party, but he was utterly unable to withstand Wellington's rapid bowling, which soon sent him to the right-about. Clanricarde was likewise run out without scoring a notch. Lansdowne and Brougham were now partners at the wickets; but Lansdowne did not appear to like his mate, on whose play it is impossible to calculate. Coventry, _the short slip_, excited much merriment, by a futile attempt to catch this player out, which terminated in his finding himself horizontal and mortified. Wellington, having bowled out Lansdowne, resigned his ball to Peel, who took his place at the wicket with a smile of confidence, which frightened the bat out of the hands of Phillips, the next Rad. Dundas and Labouchere were now the batmen. Labouchere is a very intemperate player. One of Sandon's slow balls struck his thumb, and put him out of temper, whereupon he hit about at random, and knocked down his wicket. Wakley took his bat, but apparently not liking his position, he hit up and caught himself out. O'Connell took his place with a lounging swagger, but his first ball was caught by the immortal Sibthorp, who uttered more puns on the occasion than the oldest man present recollected to have heard perpetrated in any given time. Russell--who, by the bye, excavated several quarts of 'heavy' during his innings--was the last man the Rads had to put in. He played with care, and appeared disposed to keep hold of the bat as long as possible. He was, however, quietly disposed of by one of Peel's inexorable balls. Thus far the game has proceeded. The Cons have yet to _go in_. The general opinion is, that they will not remain in so long as the Rads, but that they will score their notches much quicker. Indeed, it was commonly remarked, that no players had ever remained in so long, and had done so little good withal, as the Reformites. Betting is at 100 to 5 in favour of the Carlton men, and anxiety is on tip-toe to know the result of the next innings. * * * * * The Tories are exulting in their recent victory over the poor Whigs, whom they affirm have been _tried_, and found wanting. A _trial_, indeed, where all the jurors were witnesses for the prosecution. One thing is certain, that the country, as usual, will have to pay the costs, for a Tory verdict will be certain to carry them. The Whigs should prepare a motion for a new trial, on the plea that the late decision was that of [Illustration: A PACKED JURY.] * * * * * DECIDEDLY UNPLEASANT. "Kiss the broad moon."--MARTINUZZI. Go kiss the moon!--that's more, sirs, than I can dare; 'Tis worse than madness--hasn't she her man there? * * * * * CURIOUS COINCIDENCE. The _Morning Advertiser_ has a paragraph containing a report of an extraordinary indisposition under which a private of the Royal Guards is now suffering. It appears he lately received a violent kick from a horse, on the back of his head: since which time his hair has become so sensitive, that he cannot bear any one to approach him or touch it. On some portion being cut off by stratagem, he evinced the utmost disgust, accompanied with a volley of oaths. This may be wonderful in French hair, but it is nothing to the present sufferings of the Whigs in England. * * * * * THE BARTHOLOMEW FAIR SHOW-FOLKS. Punch having been chosen by the unanimous voice of the public--the _arbiter elegantiarum_ in all matters relating to science, literature, and the fine arts--and from his long professional experience, being the only person in England competent to regulate the public amusements of the people, the Lord Mayor of London has confided to him the delicate and important duty of deciding upon the claims of the several individuals applying for licenses to open show-booths during the approaching Bartholomew Fair. Punch, having called to his assistance Sir Peter Laurie and Peter Borthwick, proceeded, on last Saturday, to hold his inquisition in a highly-respectable court in the neighbourhood of West Smithfield. The first application was made on behalf of _Richardson's Booth_, by two individuals named Melbourne and Russell. PUNCH.--On what grounds do you claim? MEL.--On those of long occupancy and respectability, my lord. RUSS.--We employs none but the werry best of actors, my lud--all "bould speakers," as my late wenerated manager, Muster Richardson, used to call 'em. MEL.--We have the best scenery and decorations, the most popular performances-- RUSS.--Hem! (_aside to_ MEL.)--Best say nothing about our performances, Mel. PUNCH.--Pray what situations do you respectively hold in the booth? MEL.--_I_ am principal manager, and do the heavy tragedy business. My friend, here, is the stage-manager and low comedy buffer, who takes the kicks, and blows the trumpet of the establishment. PUNCH.--What is the nature of the entertainments you have been in the habit of producing? RUSS.--Oh! the real legitimate drammar--"A New Way to Pay Old Debts," "Raising the Wind," "A Gentleman in Difficulties," "Where shall I dine?" and "Honest Thieves." We mean to commence the present season with "All in the wrong," and "His Last Legs." PUNCH.--Humph! I am sorry to say I have received several complaints of the manner in which you have conducted the business of your establishment for several years. It appears you put forth bills promising wonders, while your performances have been of the lowest possible description. RUSS.--S'elp me, Bob! there ain't a word of truth in it. If there's anything we takes pride on, 'tis our gentility. PUNCH.--You have degraded the drama by the introduction of card-shufflers and thimble-rig impostors. RUSS.--We denies the thimble-rigging in totum, my lud; that was brought out at Stanley's opposition booth. PUNCH.--At least you were a promoter of state conjuring and legerdemain tricks on the stage. RUSS.--Only a little hanky-panky, my lud. The people likes it; they loves to be cheated before their faces. One, two, three--presto--begone. I'll show your ludship as pretty a trick of putting a piece of money in your eye and taking it out of your elbow, as you ever beheld. _Has_ your ludship got such a thing as a good shilling about you? 'Pon my honour, I'll return it. PUNCH.--Be more respectful, sir, and reply to my questions. It appears further, that several respectable persons have lost their honesty in your booth. RUSS.--Very little of that 'ere commodity is ever brought into it, my lud. PUNCH.--And, in short, that you and your colleagues' hands have been frequently found in the pockets of your audience. RUSS.--Only in a professional way, my lud--strictly professional. PUNCH.--But the most serious charge of all is that, on a recent occasion, when the audience hissed your performances, you put out the lights, let in the swell-mob, and raised a cry of "No Corn Laws." RUSS.--Why, my lud, on that p'int I admit there was a slight row. PUNCH.--Enough, sir. The court considers you have grossly misconducted yourself, and refuses to grant you license to perform. MEL.--But, my lord, I protest _I did_ nothing. PUNCH.--So everybody says, sir. You are therefore unfit to have the management of (next to my own) the greatest theatre in the world. You may retire. MEL. (_to_ RUSS.)--Oh! Johnny, this is your work--with your confounded hanky-panky. RUSS.--No--'twas you that did it; we have been ruined by your laziness. What _is_ to become of us now? MEL.--Alas! where shall we dine? * * * * * The next individual who presented himself, to obtain a license for the Carlton Club Equestrian Troop, was a strange-loooking character, who gave his name as Sibthorp. PUNCH.--What are you, sir? SIB.--Clown to the ring, my lord, and principal performer on the Salt-box. I provide my own paint and pipe-clay, make my own jokes, and laugh at them too. I do the ground and lofty tumbling, and ride the wonderful donkey--all for the small sum of fifteen bob a-week. PUNCH.--You have been represented as a very noisy and turbulent fellow. SIB.--Meek as a lamb, my lord, except when I'm on the saw-dust; there I acknowledge, I do crow pretty loudly--but that's in the way of business,--and your lordship knows that we public jokers must pitch it strong sometimes to make our audience laugh, and bring the _browns_ into the treasury. After all, my lord, I am not the rogue many people take me for,--more the other way, I can assure you, and "Though to my share some human errors fall, Look in my face, and you'll forget them all." PUNCH.--A strong appeal, I must confess. You shall have your license. The successful claimant having made his best bow to Commissioner Punch, withdrew, whistling the national air of [Illustration: "BRITONS, STRIKE HOME."] * * * * * A fellow named Peel, who has been for many years in the habit of exhibiting as a quack-doctor, next applied for liberty to vend his nostrums at the fair. On being questioned as to his qualifications, he shook his head gravely, and, without uttering a word, placed the following card in the hands of Punch. TO THE GULLIBLE PUBLIC. SIR RHUBARB PILL, M.D. and L.S.D. Professor of Political Chemistry and Conservative Medicine to the CARLTON CLUB; PHYSICIAN IN ORDINARY TO THE KING OF HANOVER!!! Inventor of the People's Patent Sliding Stomach-pump;--of the Poor Man's anti-Breakfast and Dinner Waist-belt;--and of the new Royal extract of Toryism, as prescribed for, and lately swallowed by, THE MOST ILLUSTRIOUS PERSONAGE IN THESE DOMINIONS. Sir Rhubarb begs further to state, that he practises national tooth-drawing and bleeding to an unlimited extent; and undertakes to cure the consumption of bread without the use of A FIXED PLASTER. N.B.--No connexion with the corn doctor who recently vacated the concern now occupied by Sir R.P. Hours of attendance, from ten till four each day, at his establishment, Downing-street.--A private entrance for M.P.'s round the corner. * * * * * Ben D'Israeli, the proprietor of the Learned Pig, applied for permission to exhibit his animal at the fair. A license was unhesitatingly granted by his lordship, who rightly considered that the exhibition of the extraordinary talents of the pig and its master, would do much to promote a taste for polite literature amongst the Smithneld "pennyboys." * * * * * A poor old man, who called himself Sir Francis Burdett, applied for a license to exhibit his wonderful Dissolving Views. The most remarkable of which were--"The Hustings in Covent-garden--changing to Rous's dinner in Drury-lane"--and "The Patriot in the Tower--changing to the Renegade in the Carlton." It appeared that the applicant was, at one time, in a respectable business, and kept "The Old Glory," a favourite public-house in Westminster, but, falling into bad company, he lost his custom and his character, and was reduced to his present miserable occupation. Punch, in pity for the wretched petitioner, and fully convinced that his childish tricks were perfectly harmless, granted him a license to exhibit. * * * * * Licenses were also granted to the following persons in the course of the day:-- Sir E.L. Bulwer, to exhibit his own portrait, in the character of Alcibiades, painted by himself. Doctor Bowring, to exhibit six Tartarian chiefs, caught in the vicinity of the Seven Dials, with songs, translated from the original Irish Calmuc, by the Doctor. Emerson Tennent, to exhibit his wonderful Cosmorama, or views of anywhere and everywhere; in which the striking features of Ireland, Greece, Belgium, and Whitechapel will be so happily confounded, that the spectator may imagine he beholds any or all of these places at a single glance. Messrs. Stephens, Heraud, and Co., to exhibit, gratis, a Syncretic Tragedy, with fireworks and tumbling, according to law, between the acts; to be followed by a lecture on the Unactable Drama. * * * * * CAPITAL ILLUSTRATION. At the recent _fracas_ in Pall Mall, between Captain Fitzroy and Mr. Shepherd, the latter, like his predecessor of old, the "Gentle Shepherd," performed sundry vague evolutions with a silver-mounted cane, and requested Captain Fitzroy to consider himself horsewhipped. Not entertaining quite so high an opinion of his adversary's imaginative powers, the Captain floored the said descendant of gentleness, thereby ably illustrating the precise difference of the "_real and ideal_." * * * * * THE HEIR OF APPLEBITE. CHAPTER II. SHOWS HOW AGAMEMNON BECAME DISGUSTED WITH NUMBER ONE, AND THE AWFUL CONSEQUENCES WHICH SUCCEEDED. [Illustration: P]Poor old John's alarm was succeeded by astonishment, for without speaking a word, Agamemnon bounced into his bed-chamber. He thought the room the most miserable-looking room he had ever entered, though the floor was covered with a thick Turkey carpet, a bright fire was blazing in the grate, and everything about seemed fashioned for comfort. He threw himself into an easy chair, and kicking off one of his pumps, crossed his legs, and rested his elbow on the table. He looked at his bed--it was a French one--a mountain of feathers, covered with a thick, white Marseilles quilt, and festooned over with a drapery of rich crimson damask. "I'll have a four-post to-morrow," growled Collumpsion; "French beds are mean-looking things, after all. Stuffwell has the fellow-chair to this--one chair does look strange! I wonder it has never struck me before; but it is surprising--what--strange ide--as a man--has"--and Collumpsion fell asleep. It was broad day when Collumpsion awoke; the fire had gone out, and his feet were as cold as ice. He (as he is married there's no necessity for concealment)--he swore two or three naughty oaths, and taking off his clothes, hurried into bed in the hope of getting warm. "How confoundedly cold I am--sitting in that chair all night, too--ridiculous. If I had had a--I mean, if I hadn't been alone, that wouldn't have happened; she would have waked me." _She_--what the deuce made him use the feminine pronoun! At two o'clock he rose and entered his breakfast-room. The table was laid as usual--_one_ large cup and saucer, _one_ plate, _one_ egg-cup, _one_ knife, and _one_ fork! He did not know wherefore, but he felt to want the number increased. John brought up a slice of broiled salmon and _one_ egg. Collumpsion got into a passion, and ordered a second edition. The morning was rainy, so Collumpsion remained at home, and employed himself by kicking about the ottoman, and mentally multiplying all the single articles in his establishment by two. The dinner hour arrived, and there was the same singular provision for one. He rang the bell, and ordered John to furnish the table for _another_. John obeyed, though not without some strong misgiving of his master's sanity, as the edibles consisted of a sole, a mutton chop, and a partridge. When John left the room at his master's request, Collumpsion rose and locked the door. Having placed a chair opposite, he resumed his seat, and commenced a series of pantomimic gestures, which were strongly confirmatory of John's suspicions. He seemed to be holding an inaudible conversation with some invisible being, placing the choicest portion of the sole in a plate, and seemingly desiring John to deliver it to the unknown. As John was not there, he placed it before himself, and commenced daintily and smilingly picking up very minute particles, as though he were too much delighted to eat. He then bowed and smiled, and extending his arm, appeared to fill the opposite glass, and having _actually_ performed the same operation with his own, he bowed and smiled again, and sipped the brilliant Xeres. He then rang the bell violently, and unlocking the door, rushed rapidly back to his chair, as though he were fearful of committing a rudeness by leaving it. The table being replenished, and John again dismissed the room, the same pantomime commenced. The one mutton chop seemed at first to present an obstacle to the proper conduct of the scene; but gracefully uncovering the partridge, and as gracefully smiling towards the invisible, he appeared strongly to recommend the bird in preference to the beast. Dinner at length concluded, he rose, and apparently led his phantom guest from the table, and then returning to his arm-chair, threw himself into it, and, crossing his hands upon his breast, commenced a careful examination of the cinders and himself. His rumination ended in a doze, and his doze in a dream, in which he fancied himself a Brobdignag Java sparrow during the moulting season. His cage was surrounded by beautiful and blooming girls, who seemed to pity his condition, and vie with each other in proposing the means of rendering him more comfortable. Some spoke of elastic cotton shirts, linsey-wolsey jackets, and silk nightcaps; others of merino hose, silk feet and cotton tops, shirt-buttons and warming-pans; whilst Mrs. Greatgirdle and Mrs. Waddledot sang an echo duet of "What a pity the bird is alone." "A change came o'er the spirit of his dream." He thought that the moulting season was over, and that he was rejoicing in the fulness of a sleeky plumage, and by his side was a Java sparrowess, chirping and hopping about, rendering the cage as populous to him as though he were the tenant of a bird-fancier's shop. Then--he awoke just as Old John was finishing a glass of Madeira, preparatory to arousing Collumpsion, for the purpose of delivering to him a scented note, which had just been left by the footman of Mrs. Waddledot. It was lucky for John that A.C.A. had been blessed with pleasant dreams, or his attachment to Madeira might have occasioned his discharge from No. 24, Pleasant-terrace. The note was an invitation to Mrs. Waddledot's opera-box for that evening. The performance was to be Rossini's "La Cenerentola," and as Collumpsion recollected the subject of the opera, his heart fluttered in his bosom. A prince marrying a cinder-sifter for love! What must the happy state be--or rather what must it not be--to provoke such a condescension! Collumpsion never appeared to such advantage as he did that evening; he was dressed to a miracle of perfection--his spirits were so elastic that they must have carried him out of the box into "Fop's-alley," had not Mrs. Waddledot cleverly surrounded him by the detachment from the corps of eighteen daughters, which had (on that night) been placed under her command. Collumpsion's state of mind did not escape the notice of the fair campaigners, and the most favourable deductions were drawn from it in relation to the charitable combination which they had formed for his ultimate good, and all seemed determined to afford him every encouragement in their power. Every witticism that he uttered elicited countless smiles--every criticism that he delivered was universally applauded--in short, Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite was voted the most delightful beau in the universe, and Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite gave himself a plumper to the same opinion. On the 31st of the following month, a string of carriages surrounded St. George's Church, Hanover-square, and precisely at a quarter to twelve, A.M., Agamemnon Collumpsion Applebite placed a plain gold ring on the finger of Miss Juliana Theresa Waddledot, being a necessary preliminary to the introduction of our hero, the "Heir of Applebite." * * * * * EPIGRAM. "I wonder if Brougham thinks as much as he talks," Said a punster perusing a trial: "I vow, since his lordship was made Baron Vaux, He's been _Vaux et pr\'caterea nihil!_" * * * * * THE TWO FATAL CHIROPEDISTS. Our great ancestor, Joe Miller, has recorded, in his "Booke of Jestes," an epitaph written upon an amateur corn-cutter, named Roger Horton, who, "Trying one day his corn to mow off, The razor slipp'd, and cut his toe off." The painful similarity of his fate with that of another corn experimentalist, has given rise to the following:-- EPITAPH ON LORD JOHN RUSSELL, WHO EXPIRED POLITICALLY, AFTER A LINGERING ILLNESS, ON MONDAY EVENING, AUGUST 30, 1841. In Minto quies. Beneath this stone lies Johnny Russell, Who for his place had many a tussel. Trying one day _the corn_ to cut down, The motion fail'd, and he was _put_ down. The benches which he nearly grew to, The Opposition quickly flew to; The fact it was so mortifying, That little Johnny took to dying. * * * * * SHALL GREAT OLYMPUS TO A MOLEHILL STOOP? Some difficulty has arisen as to the production of Knowles's new play at the Haymarket Theatre. Mr. Charles Kean and Miss Helen Faucit having objected to hear the play read, "_because their respective parts had not been previously submitted to them._"--_Sunday Times_.--[We are of opinion that they were decidedly right. One might as well expect a child to spell without learning the alphabet, as either of the above persons to understand Knowles, unless enlightened by a long course of previous instruction.] * * * * * THE LETTER OF INTRODUCTION. [From a MS. drama called the "COURT OF VICTORIA." _Scene in Windsor Castle._ [_Her Majesty discovered sitting thoughtfully at an escrutoire._-- _Enter the_ LORD CHAMBERLAIN.] LORD CHAMBERLAIN.--May it please your Majesty, a letter from the Duke of Wellington. THE QUEEN (_opens the letter_.)--Oh! a person for the vacant place of Premier--show the bearer in, my lord. [_Exit_ LORD CHAMBERLAIN. THE QUEEN (_muses_).--Sir Robert Peel--I have heard that name before, as connected with my family. If I remember rightly, he held the situation of adviser to the crown in the reign of Uncle William, and was discharged for exacting a large discount on all the state receipts; yet Wellington is very much interested in his favour. _Enter the_ LORD CHAMBERLAIN, _who ushers in_ SIR ROBERT, _and then retires. As he is going_--] LORD CHAMBERLAIN (_aside_).--If you do get the berth, Sir Robert, I hope you'll not give me warning. [_Exit_. SIR ROBERT (_looking demurely_).--Hem! [_The Queen regards him very attentively._] THE QUEEN (_aside_).--I don't much like the looks of the fellow--that affectation of simplicity is evidently intended to conceal the real cunning of his character. (_Aloud_). You are of course aware of the nature and the duties of the situation which you solicit? SIR ROBERT.--Oh, yes, your Majesty; I have filled it before, and liked it very much. THE QUEEN.--It's a most responsible post, for upon your conduct much of the happiness of my other servants depends. SIR ROBERT.--I am aware of that, your Majesty; but as no one can hope to please everybody, I will only answer that _one half_ shall be perfectly satisfied. THE QUEEN.--You have recently returned from Tamworth? SIR ROBERT.--Yes, your Majesty. THE QUEEN.--We will dispense with forms. At Tamworth, you have been practising as a quack doctor? SIR ROBERT.--Yes, madam; I was brought up to doctoring, and am a professor of sleight-of-hand. THE QUEEN.--What have you done in the latter art to entitle you to such a distinction? SIR ROBERT.--I have performed some very wonderful changes. When I was out of place, I had opinions strongly opposed to Catholic emancipation; but when I got into service I changed them in the course of a few days. THE QUEEN.--I have heard that you boast of possessing a nostrum for the restoration of the public good. What is it? SIR ROBERT.--Am I to consider myself "as regularly called in?" THE QUEEN.--That is a question I decline answering at present. SIR ROBERT.--Then I regret that I must also remain silent. THE QUEEN (_aside_).--The wily fox! (_aloud_)--Are you aware that great distress exists in the country? SIR ROBERT.--Oh, yes! I have heard that there are several families who keep no man-servant, and that numerous clerks, weavers, and other artisans, occupy second-floors. THE QUEEN.--I have heard that the people are wanting bread. SIR ROBERT.--Ha, ha! that was from the late premier, I suppose. He merely forgot an adjective--it is _cheap_ bread that the people are clamouring for. THE QUEEN.--And why can they not have it? SIR ROBERT.--I have consulted with the Duke of Richmond upon the subject, and he says it is impossible. THE QUEEN.--But why? SIR ROBERT.--Wheat must be lower before bread can be cheaper. THE QUEEN.--Well! SIR ROBERT.--And rents must be less if that is the case, and-- THE QUEEN.--Well! SIR ROBERT.--And that the landowners won't agree to. THE QUEEN.--Well! SIR ROBERT.--And, then, I can't keep my place a day. THE QUEEN.--Then the majority of my subjects are to be rendered miserable for the advantage of the few? SIR ROBERT.--That's the principle of all good governments. Besides, cheap bread would be no benefit to the masses, for wages would be lower. THE QUEEN.--Do you really believe such _would_ be the case? SIR ROBERT.--Am I regularly called in? THE QUEEN.--You evade a direct answer, I see. Granting such to be _your belief_, your friends and landowners would suffer no injury, for their incomes would procure them as many luxuries. SIR ROBERT.--Not if they were to live abroad, or patronise foreign manufactures: and _should_ wages be higher, what would they say to me after all the money they have expended in bri--I mean at the Carlton Club, if I allow the value of their "dirty acres" to be reduced. THE QUEEN.--Pray, what do you call such views? SIR ROBERT.--Patriotism. THE QUEEN.--Charity would be a better term, as that is said to begin at home. How long were you in your last place? SIR ROBERT.--Not half so long as I wished--for the sake of the country. THE QUEEN.--Why did you leave? SIR ROBERT.--Somebody said I was saucy--and somebody else said I was not honest--and somebody else said I had better go. THE QUEEN.--Who was the latter somebody? SIR ROBERT.--My master. THE QUEEN.--Your exposure of my late premier's faults, and your present application for his situation, result from disinterestedness, of course? SIR ROBERT.--Of course, madam. THE QUEEN.--Then salary is not so much an object as a comfortable situation. SIR ROBERT.--I beg pardon; but I've been out of place ten years, and have a small family to support. _Wages_ is, therefore, some sort of a consideration. THE QUEEN.--I don't quite like you. SIR ROBERT (_glancing knowingly at the Queen_).--I don't think there is any one that _you can_ have better. THE QUEEN.--I'm afraid not. SIR ROBERT.--Then, am I regularly called in? THE QUEEN.--Yes, you can take your boxes to Downing-street. [_Exeunt ambo_. * * * * * PARLIAMENTARY INTENTIONS. Mr. Muntz, we understand, intends calling the attention of Parliament, at the earliest possible period, to the state of the crops. Lord Palmerston intends proposing, that a looking-glass for the use of members should be placed in the ante-room of the House, and that it shall be called the New Mirror of Parliament. Mr. T. Duncombe intends moving that the plans of Sir Robert Peel be immediately submitted to the photographic process, in order that some light may be thrown upon them as soon as possible. The Earl of Coventry intends suggesting, that every member of both Houses be immediately supplied with a copy of the work called "Ten Minutes' Advice on Corns," in order to prepare Parliament for a full description of the Corn Laws. * * * * * EXTRA FASHIONABLE NEWS. Colonel Sibthorp has expressed his intention of becoming the blue-faced monkey at the Zoological Gardens with his _countenance_, on next Wednesday. Lord Melbourne has received visits of condolence on his retirement from office, from Aldgate pump--Canning's statue in Palace-yard--the Three Kings of Brentford--and the Belle Sauvage, Ludgate-hill. Her Royal Highness the Princess, her two nurses, and a pap-spoon, took an airing twice round the great hall of the palace, at one o'clock yesterday. The Burlington Arcade will be thrown open to visitors to-morrow morning. Gentlemen intending to appear there, are requested to come with tooth-picks and full-dress walking-canes. Sir Francis Burdett's top-boots were seen, on last Saturday, walking into Sir Robert Peel's house, accompanied by the legs of that venerable turner. His Grace the Duke of Wellington inspected all the passengers in Pall Mall, from the steps of the United Service Club-house, and expressed himself highly pleased with the celerity of the 'busses and cabs, and the effective state of the pedestrians generally. His Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex has, in the most unequivocal manner, expressed his opinion on the state of the weather--which he pronounces to be hot! hot! all hot! * * * * * A SINGULAR INADVERTENCE. A good deal of merriment was caused in the House of Commons, by Mr. Bernal and Commodore Napier addressing the members as "gentlemen." This may be excusable in young members, but the oldest parliamentary reporter has no recollection of the term being used by any one who had sat a session in the House. "Too much familiarity," &c. * * * * * PUNCH'S PENCILLINGS--No. VIII. [Illustration: THE LETTER OF INTRODUCTION.] * * * * * THE MINISTRY'S ODE TO THE PASSIONS. NOT BY COLLINS. When the Whig Ministry had run, Nor left behind a mother's son, The Tories, at their leader's call, Came thronging round him, one and all, Exulting, braying, cringing, coaxing, Expert at humbugging and hoaxing; By turns they felt an _honest_ zeal For private good and public weal; Till all at once they raised such yells, As rung in Apsley House the bells: And as they sought snug berths to get In Bobby Peel's new cabinet, Each, for interest ruled the hour, Would prove his taste for place and power. First Follett's hand, his skill to try, Upon the _seals_ bewilder'd laid; But back recoil'd--he scarce knew why-- Of Lyndhurst's angry scowl afraid. Next Stanley rush'd with frenzied air; His eager haste brook'd no delay: He rudely seized the _Foreign_ chair, And bade poor Cupid trudge away. With woeful visage Melbourne sate-- A pint of double X his grief beguiled; And inly pondering o'er his fate, He bade th' attendant pot-boy "draw it mild." But thou, Sir Jamie Graham--prig; What was thy delighted musing? Now accepting, now refusing, Till on the Admiralty pitch'd, Still would that thought his speech prolong; To gain the place for which he long had itch'd, He call'd on Bobby still through all the song; But ever as his sweetest theme he chose, A sovereign's golden chink was heard at every close, And Pollock grimly smiled, and shook his powder'd wig. And longer had he droned--but, with a frown Brougham impatient rose; He threw the bench of snoring bishops down, And, with a withering look, The Whig-denouncing trumpet took, And made a speech so fierce and true, Thrashing, with might and main, both friend and foe; And ever and anon he beat, With doubled fist his cushion'd seat; And though sometimes, each breathless pause between, Astonished Melbourne at his side, His moderating voice applied, Yet still he kept his stern, unalter'd mien, While battering the Whigs and Tories black and blue. Thy ravings, Goulburn, to no theme were fix'd. Not ev'n thy virtue is without its spots; With piety thy politics were mix'd, And now they courted Peel, now call'd on Doctor Watts. With drooping jaw, like one half-screw'd, Lord Johnny sate in doleful mood, And for his Secretarial seat, Sent forth his howlings sad, but sweet Lost Normanby pour'd forth his sad adieu; While Palmerston, with graceful air, Wildly toss'd his scented hair; And pensive Morpeth join'd the sniv'lling crew. Yet still they lingered round with fond delay, Humming, hawing, stopping, musing, Tory rascals all abusing, Till forced to move away. But, oh! how alter'd was the whining tone When, loud-tongued Lyndhurst, that unblushing wight, His gown across his shoulders flung, His wig with virgin-powder white, Made an ear-splitting speech that down to Windsor rung, The Tories' call, that Billy Holmes well knew, The turn-coat Downshire and his Orange crew; Wicklow and Howard both were seen Brushing away the wee bit green; Mad Londonderry laugh'd to hear, And Inglis scream'd and shook his ass's ear Last Bobby Peel, with hypocritic air, He with modest look came sneaking: First to "_the Home_" his easy vows addrest,-- But soon he saw the _Treasury's_ red chair, Whose soft inviting seat he loved the best. They would have thought, who heard his words, They saw in Britain's cause a patriot stand, The proud defender of his land, To aw'd and li«
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