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Title: The Mudfog papers, etc.
Author: Charles Dickens
Author of introduction, etc.: George Bentley
Release date: March 19, 2026 [eBook #78245]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Richard Bentley and Son, 1880
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78245
Credits: George A. Rawlyk Library, Crandall University, produced from scans generously made available by the Internet Archive.
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MUDFOG PAPERS, ETC. ***
THE MUDFOG PAPERS, ETC.
BY CHARLES DICKENS
The papers contained in this little volume were written by Charles
Dickens for the early numbers of “Bentley Miscellany.” The
manuscripts of the two meetings of the Mudfog Association and of “Mr.
Robert Bolton, the gentleman connected with the Press,” in my
possession, are covered with corrections, erasures and additions. At
that time Charles Dickens wrote a freer and bolder hand than he came
to write in later years, and these manuscripts are easily
decipherable.
Something perhaps of the comparative freedom of the handwriting of
these sketches when set by the side of the manuscript of “Our Mutual
Friend” may be owing to the quill pen, with whose exit has gone out
much of that free and graceful penmanship of which Mr. Lupton reminds
us that Thomas Tomkins of St. Paul’s School was so unrivalled a
teacher.
GEORGE BENTLEY.
New Burlington Street, July 26th.
PUBLIC LIFE OF MR. TULRUMBLE, ONCE MAYOR OF MUDFOG.
Mudfog is a pleasant town—a remarkably pleasant town—situated in a
charming hollow by the side of a river, from which river, Mudfog
derives an agreeable scent of pitch, tar, coals, and rope-yarn, a
roving population in oil-skin hats, a pretty steady influx of drunken
bargemen, and a great many other maritime advantages. There is a good
deal of water about Mudfog and yet it is not exactly the sort of town
for a watering-place, either. Water is a perverse sort of element at
the best of times, and in Mudfog it is particularly so. In winter,
it comes oozing down the streets and tumbling over the fields,—nay,
rushes into the very cellars and kitchens of the houses, with a lavish
prodigality that might well be dispensed with; but in the hot summer
weather it will dry up, and turn green: and, although green is a very
good colour in its way, especially in grass, still it certainly is not
becoming to water; and it cannot be denied that the beauty of Mudfog is
rather impaired, even by this trifling circumstance. Mudfogis a healthy
place—very healthy;—damp, perhaps, but none the worse for that. It’s
quite a mistake to suppose that damp is unwholesome: plants thrive best
in damp situations, and why shouldn’t men? The inhabitants of Mudfog
are unanimous in asserting that there exists not a finer race of people
on the face of the earth; here we have an indisputable and veracious
contradiction of the vulgar error at once. So, admitting Mudfog to be
damp, we distinctly state that it is salubrious.
The town of Mudfog is extremely picturesque. Limehouse and Ratcliff
Highway are both something like it, but they give you a very faint
idea of Mudfog. There are a great many more public-houses in
Mudfog—more than in Ratcliff Highway and Limehouse put together. The
public buildings too are very imposing. We consider the town-hall one
of the finest specimens of shed architecture, extant: it is a
combination of the pig-sty and tea-garden-box orders; and the
simplicity of its design is of surpassing beauty. The idea of placing
large window on one side of the door, and a small one on the other is
particularly happy. There is a fine bold Doric beauty too about the
padlock and scraper which is strictly in keeping with the general
effect.
In this room do the mayor and corporation of Mudfog assemble together
in solemn council for the public weal. Seated on the massive wooden
benches, which with the table in the centre, form the only furniture
of the whitewashed apartment, the sage men of Mudfog spend hour after
hour of the night the public-houses shall be closed, at what hour of
the morning they shall be permitted to open, how soon it shall be
lawful for people to eat their dinner on church days, and other great
political questions: and sometimes, long after silence has fallen on
the town, and the distant lights from the shops and houses have
ceased to twinkle, like far-off stars, to the sight of the boatmen on
the river, the illumination in the two unequal sized windows of the
town-hall, warns the inhabitants of Mudfog that its little body of
legislators, like a larger and better-known body of the same genus, a
great deal more noisy, and not a whit more profound, are
patriotically dozing away in company, far into the night, for their
country’s good.
Among this knot of sage and learned men, no one was so eminently
distinguished, during many years, for the quiet modesty of his
appearance and demeanor, as Nicholas Tulrumble, the well-known
coal-dealer. However exciting the subject of discussion, however
animated the tone of the debate, or however warm the personalities
exchanged (and even in Mudfog we get personal sometimes) Nicholas
Tulrumble was always the same. To say truth, Nicholas, being an
industrious man, and always up betimes, was apt to fall asleep when a
debate began, and to remain asleep till it was over, when he would
wake up very much refreshed, and give his vote with the greatest
complacency. The fact was, that Nicholas Tulrumble, knowing that
everybody there had made up his mind beforehand, considered the
talking as just a long botheration about nothing at all; and to the
present hour it remains a question, whether, on this point at all
events, Nicholas Tulrumble was not pretty near right.
Time, which strews a man’s head with silver, sometimes fills his
pockets with gold. As he gradually performed one good office for
Nicholas Tulrumble, he was obliging enough, not to omit the other.
Nicholas began life in a wooden tenement of four feet square, with a
capital of two and ninepence, and a stock in trade of three bushels
and a-half of coals, exclusive of the large lump which hung, by way
of sign-board, outside. Then he left the shed, and the truck too, and
started a donkey and a Mrs.Tulrumble; then he moved again and set up
a cart; the cart was soon afterwards exchanged for a wagon; and so he
went on like his great predecessor Whittington—only without a cat for
a partner—increasing in wealth and fame, until at last he gave up
business altogether, and retired with Mrs. Tulrumble and family to
Mudfog Hall, which he had himself erected, on something which he
attempted to delude himself into the belief was a hill, about a
quarter of a mile distant from the town of Mudfog.
About this time, it began to be murmured in Mudfog that Nicholas
Tulrumble was growing vain and haughty; that prosperity and success
had corrupted the simplicity of his manners, and tainted the natural
goodness of his heart; in short, that he was setting up for a public
character, and a great gentleman, and affected to look down upon his
old companions with compassion and contempt. Whether these reports
were at the time well-founded, or not, certain it is that Mrs.
Tulrumble very shortly afterwards started a four-wheel chaise, driven
by a tall postilion in a yellow cap,—that Mr. Tulrumble junior took
to smoking cigars, and calling the footman a “feller”—and that Mr.
Tulrumble from that time forth, was no more seen in his old seat in
the chimney-corner of the Lighter man’s Arms at night. This looked
bad; but, more than this, it began to be observed that Mr. Nicholas
Tulrumble attended the corporation meetings more frequently than
heretofore; and he no longer went to sleep as he had done for so many
years, but propped his eyelids open with his two fore-fingers; that
he read the newspapers by himself at home; and that he was in the
habit of indulging abroad in distant and mysterious allusions to
“masses of people,” and “the property of the country,” and
“productive power,” and “the monied interest:” all of which denoted
and proved that Nicholas Tulrumble was either mad, or worse; and it
puzzled the good people of Mudfog amazingly.
At length, about the middle of the month of October, Mr. Tulrumble
and family went up to London; the middle of October being, as Mrs.
Tulrumble informed her acquaintance in Mudfog, the very height of the
fashionable season.
Somehow or other, just about this time, despite the health-preserving
air of Mudfog, the Mayor died. It was a most extraordinary
circumstance; he had lived in Mudfog for eighty-five years. The
corporation didn’t understand it at all; indeed it was with great
difficulty that one old gentleman, who was a great stickler for
forms, was dissuaded from proposing a vote of censure on such
unaccountable conduct. Strange as it was, however, die he did,
without taking the slightest notice of the corporation; and the
corporation were imperatively called upon to elect his successor. So,
they met for the purpose; and being very full of Nicholas Tulrumble
just then, and Nicholas Tulrumble being a very important man, the
elected him, and wrote off to London by the very next post to
acquaint Nicholas Tulrumble with his new elevation.
Now, it being November time, and Mr. Nicholas Tulrumble being in the
capital, it fell out that he was present at the Lord Mayor’s show and
dinner, at sight of the glory and splendour whereof, he, Mr.
Tulrumble, was greatly mortified, inasmuch as the reflection would
force itself on his mind, that, had he been born in London instead of
in Mudfog, he might have been a Lord Mayor too, and have patronized
the judges, and been affable to the Lord Chancellor, and friendly
with the Premier, and coldly condescending to the Secretary to the
treasury, and have dined with a flag behind his backs, and done a
great many other acts and deeds which unto Lord Mayors of London
peculiarly appertain The more he thought of the Lord Mayor, the more
enviable a personage he seemed. To be a king was all very well; but
what was the King to the Lord Mayor! When the King made speech,
everybody knew was somebody else’s writing; whereas here was the Lord
Mayor, talking away for half an hour—all out of his own head—amidst
the enthusiastic applause of the whole company, while it was
notorious that the King might talk to his parliament till he was
black in the face without getting so much as a single cheer. As all
these reflections passed through the mind of Mr. Nicholas Tulrumble,
the Lord Mayor of London appeared to him the greatest sovereign on
the face of the earth, beating the Emperor of Russia all to nothing,
and leaving the Great Mogul immeasurably behind.
Mr. Nicholas Tulrumble was pondering over these things, and inwardly
cursing the fate which had pitched his coal-shed in Mudfog, when the
letter of the corporation was put into his hand. A crimson flush
mantled over his face as he read it, for visions of brightness were
already dancing before his imagination.
“My dear,” said Mr. Tulrumble to his wife, “they have elected me,
Mayor of Mudfog.”
“Lor-a-mussy!” said Mrs. Tulrumble: “why what’s become of old Sniggs?”
“The late Mr. Sniggs, Mrs. Tulrumble,” said Mr. Tulrumble sharply,
for he by no means approved of the notion of unceremoniously
designating a gentleman who filled the high office of Mayor, as “Old
Sniggs,”—“The late Mr. Sniggs, Mrs. Tulrumble, is dead.”
The communication was very unexpected; but Mrs. Tulrumble only
ejaculated “Lor-a-mussy!” once again, as if a Mayor were a mere
ordinary Christian, at which Mr. Tulrumble frowned gloomily.
“What a pity ’tan’t in London, ain’t it?” said Mrs. Tulrumble, after
a short pause; “what a pity ’tan’t in London, where you might have
had a show.”
“I might have a show in Mudfog, if I thought proper, I apprehend,”
said Mr. Tulrumble mysteriously. “Lor! so you might, I declare,”
replied Mrs. Tulrumble. “And a good one too,” said Mr. Tulrumble.
“Delightful!” exclaimed Mrs. Tulrumble.
“One which would rather astonish the ignorant people down there,”
said Mr. Tulrumble.
“It would kill them with envy,” said Mrs. Tulrumble.
So it was agreed that his Majesty’s lieges in Mudfog should be
astonished with splendour, and slaughtered with envy, and that such a
show should take place as had never been seen in that town, or in any
other town before,—no, not even in London itself.
On the very next day after the receipt of the letter, down came the
tall postilion in a post-chaise,—not upon one of the horses, but
inside—actually inside the chaise,—and, driving up to the very door
of the town-hall, where the corporation were assembled, delivered a
letter, written by the Lord knows who, and signed by Nicholas
Tulrumble, in which Nicholas said, all through four sides of
closely-written, gilt-edged, hot-pressed, Bath post letter paper,
that he responded to the call of his fellow-townsmen with feelings of
heartfelt delight; that he accepted the arduous office which their
confidence had imposed upon him; that they would never find him
shrinking from the discharge of his duty; that he would endeavour to
execute his functions with all that dignity which their magnitude and
importance demanded; and a great more to the same effect. But even
this was not all. The tall postilion produced from his right-hand
top-boot, a damp copy of that afternoons number of the county paper;
and there, in large type, running the whole length of the very first
column, was a long address from Nicholas Tulrumble to the inhabitants
of Mudfog, in which he said that he cheerfully complied with their
requisition, and, in short, as if to prevent any mistake about the
matter, told them over again what a grand fellow he meant to be, in
very much the same terms as those in which he had already told them
all about the matter in his letter.
The corporation stared at one another very hard at all this, and then
looked as if for explanation to the tall postilion, but as the tall
postilion was intently contemplating the gold tassel on the top of
his yellow cap, and could have afforded no explanation whatever, even
if his thoughts had been entirely disengaged, they contented
themselves with coughing very dubiously, and looking very grave. The
tall postilion then delivered another letter, in which Nicholas
Tulrumble informed the corporation, that he intended repairing to the
town-hall, in grand state and gorgeous procession, on the Monday
afternoon next ensuing. At this the corporation looked still more
solemn; but, as the epistle wound up with a formal invitation to the
whole body to dine with the Mayor on that day, at Mudfog Hall, Mudfog
Hill, Mudfog, they began to see the fun of the thing directly, and
sent back their compliments, and they’d be sure to come.
Now there happened to be in Mudfog, as somehow or other there does
happen to be, in almost every town in the British dominions, and
perhaps in foreign dominions too—we think it very likely, but, being
no great traveller, cannot distinctly say—there happened to be, in
Mudfog, a merry-tempered, pleasant-faced, good-for-nothing sort of
vagabond, with an invincible dislike to manual labour, and an
unconquerable attachment to strong beer and spirits, whom everybody
knew, and nobody, except his wife, took the trouble to quarrel with,
who inherited from his ancestors the appellation of Edward Twigger,
and rejoiced in the sobriquet of Bottle-nosed Ned. He was drunk upon
the average once a day, and penitent upon an equally fair calculation
once a month; and when he was penitent, he was invariably in the very
last stage of maudlin intoxication. He was a ragged, roving, roaring
kind of fellow, with a burly form, a sharp wit, and a ready head, and
could turn his hand to anything when he chose to do it. He was by no
means opposed to hard labour on principle, for he would work away at
a cricket-match by the day together,—running, and catching, and
batting, and bowling, and revelling in toil which would exhaust a
galley-slave. He would have been invaluable to a fire-office; never
was a man with such a natural taste for pumping engines, running up
ladders, and throwing furniture out of two-pair-of-stairs windows:
nor was this the only element in which he was at home; he was a
humane society in himself, a portable drag, an animated
life-preserver, and had saved more people, in his time, from
drowning, than the Plymouth life-boat, or Captain Manby’s apparatus.
With all these qualifications, notwithstanding his dissipation,
Bottle-nosed Ned was a general favourite; and the authorities of
Mudfog, remembering his numerous services to the population, allowed
him in return to get drunk in his own way, without the fear of
stocks, fine, or imprisonment. He had a general license, and he
showed his sense of the compliment by making the most of it.
We have been thus particular in describing the Character and
avocations of Bottle-nosed Ned, because it enables us to introduce a
fact politely, without hauling it into the readers presence with
indecent haste by the head and shoulders, and brings us very
naturally to relate, that on the very same evening on which Mr.
Nicholas Tulrumble and family returned to Mudfog, Mr. Tulrumble’s new
secretary, just imported from London, with a pale face and light
whiskers, thrust his head down to the very bottom of his
neckcloth-tie, in at the tap-room door of the Lighterman’s Arms, and
inquiring whether one Ned Twigger was luxuriating within, announced
himself as the bearer of a message from Nicholas Tulrumble, Esquire,
requiring Mr. Twigger’s immediate attendance at the hall, on private
and particular business. It being by no means Mr. Twigger’s interest
to affront the Mayor, he rose from the fire-place with a slight sigh,
and followed the light-whiskered secretary through the dirt and wet
of Mudfog streets, up to Mudfog Hall, without further ado.
Mr. Nicholas Tulrumble was seated in a small cavern with a skylight,
which he called his library, sketching out a plan of the procession
on a large sheet of paper; and into the cavern the secretary ushered
Ned Twigger.
“Well, Twigger!” said Nicholas Tulrumble, condescendingly.
There was a time when Twigger would have replied, “Well, Nick!” but
that was in the days of the truck, and a couple of years before the
donkey; so, he only bowed.
“I want you to go into training, Twigger,” said Mr. Tulrumble.
“What for, sir?” inquired Ned, with a stare.
“Hush, hush, Twigger!” said the Mayor.
“Shut the door, Mr. Jennings. Look here, Twigger.”
As the Mayor said this, he unlocked a high closet, and disclosed a
complete suit of brass armour, of gigantic dimensions.
“I want you to wear this next Monday, Twigger,” said the Mayor.
“Bless your heart and soul, sir!” Replied Ned, “you might as well ask
me to wear a seventy-four pounder, or a cast-iron boiler.”
“Nonsense, Twigger, nonsense!” said the Mayor.
“I couldn’t stand under it, sir,” said Twigger; “it would make mashed
potatoes of me, if I attempted it.”
“Pooh, pooh, Twigger!” returned the Mayor. “I tell you I have seen it
done with my own eyes, in London, and the man wasn’t half such a man
as you are, either.”
“I should as soon have thought of a man’s wearing the case of an
eight-day clock to save his linen,” said Twigger, casting a look of
apprehension at the brass suit.
“It’s the easiest thing in the world,” rejoined the Mayor.
“It’s nothing,” said Mr. Jennings.
“When you’re used to it,” added Ned. “You do it by degrees,” said the
Mayor.
“You would begin with one piece to-morrow, and two the next day, and
so on, till you had got it all on. Mr. Jennings, give Twigger a glass
of rum. Just try the breast-plate, Twigger. Stay; take another glass
of rum first. Help me to lift it, Mr. Jennings. Stand firm, Twigger!
There!—it isn’t half as heavy as it looks, is it?”
Twigger was a good strong, stout fellow; so, after a great deal of
staggering, he managed to keep himself up, under the breast-plate,
and even contrived, with the aid of another glass of rum, to walk
about in it, and the gauntlets into the bargain. He made a trial of
the helmet, but was not equally successful, inasmuch as he tipped
over instantly,—an accident which Mr.Tulrumble clearly demonstrated
to be occasioned by his not having a counteracting weight of brass on
his legs.
“Now, wear that with grace and propriety on Monday next,” said
Tulrumble, “and I’ll make your fortune.”
“Til try what I can do, sir,” said Twigger.
“It must be kept a profound secret,” said Tulrumble.
“Of course, sir,” replied Twigger.
“And you must be sober,” said Tulrumble; “perfectly sober.”
Mr. Twigger at once solemnly pledged himself to be as sober as a
judge, and Nicholas Tulrumble was satisfied, although, had we been
Nicholas, we should certainly have exacted some promise of a more
specific nature; in as much as, having attended the Mudfog assizes in
the evening more than once, we can solemnly testify to having seen
judges with very strong symptoms of dinner under their wigs. However,
that’s neither here nor there.
The next day, and the day following, and the day after that, Ned
Twigger was securely locked up in the small cavern with the skylight,
hard at work at the armour. With every additional piece he could
manage to stand upright in, he had an additional glass of rum; and at
last, after many partial suffocations, he contrived to get on the
whole suit, and to stagger up and down the room in it, like an
intoxicated effigy from Westminster Abbey.
Never was man so delighted as Nicholas Tulrumble; never was woman so
charmed as Nicholas Tulrumble’s wife. Here was a sight for the common
people of Mudfog! A live man in brass armour! Why, they would go wild
with wonder!
The day—the Monday—arrived.
If the morning had been made to order, it couldn’t have been better
adapted to the purpose. They never showed a better fog in London on
Lord Mayor’s day, than enwrapped the town of Mudfog on that eventful
occasion. It had risen slowly and surely from the green and stagnant
water with the first light of morning, until it reached a little
above the lamp-post tops; and there it had stopped, with a sleepy,
sluggish obstinacy, which bade defiance to the sun, who had got up
very blood-shot about the eyes, as if he had been at a drinking-party
overnight, and was doing his day’s work with the worst possible
grace. The thick damp mist hung over the town like a huge gauze
curtain. All was dim and dismal. The church steeples had bidden a
temporary adieu to the world below; and every object of lesser
importance—houses, barns, hedges, trees, and barges—had all taken the
veil.
The church-clock struck one. A cracked trumpet from the front garden
of Mudfog Hall produced a feeble flourish, as if some asthmatic
person had coughed into it accidentally; the gate flew open, and out
came a gentleman, on a moist-sugar coloured charger, intended to
represent a herald, but bearing a much stronger resemblance to a
court-card on horseback. This was one of the Circus people, who
always came down to Mudfog at that time of the year, and who had been
engaged by Nicholas Tulrumble expressly for the occasion. There was
the horse, whisking his tail about, balancing himself on his
hind-legs, and flourishing away with his fore-feet, in a manner which
would have gone to the hearts and souls of any reasonable crowd. But
a Mudfog crowd never was a reasonable one, and in all probability
never will be. Instead of scattering the very fog with their shouts,
as they ought most indubitably to have done, and were fully intended
to do, by Nicholas Tulrumble, they no sooner recognized the herald,
than they began to growl forth the most unqualified disapprobation at
the bare notion of his riding like any other man. If he had come out
on his head indeed, or jumping through a hoop, or flying through a
red-hot drum, or even standing on one leg with his other foot in his
mouth, they might have had something to say to him; but for a
professional gentleman to sit astride in the saddle, with his feet in
the stirrups, was rather too good a joke. So, the herald was a
decided failure, and the crowd hooted with great energy, as he
pranced ingloriously away.
On the procession came. We are afraid to say how many supernumeraries
there were, in striped shirts and black velvet caps, to imitate the
London watermen, or how many base imitations of running-footmen, or
how many banners, which, owing to the heaviness of the atmosphere,
could by no means be prevailed on to display their inscriptions:
still less do we feel disposed to relate how the men who played the
wind instruments, looking up into the sky (we mean the fog) with
musical fervour, walked through pools of water and hillocks of mud,
till they covered the powdered heads of the running-footmen aforesaid
with splashes, that looked curious, but not ornamental; or how the
barrel-organ performer put on the wrong stop, and played one tune
while the band played another; or how the horses, being used to the
arena, and not to the streets, would stand still and dance, instead
of going on and prancing;—all of which are matters which might be
dilated upon to great advantage, but which we have not the least
intention of dilating upon, notwithstanding.
Oh! it was a grand and beautiful sight to behold a corporation in
glass coaches, provided at the sole cost and charge of Nicholas
Tulrumble, coming rolling along, like a funeral out of mourning, and
to watch the attempts the corporation made to look great and solemn,
when Nicholas Tulrumble himself, in the four-wheel chaise, with the
tall postilion, rolled out after them, with Mr. Jennings on one side
to look like a chaplain, and a supernumerary on the other, with an
old life-guardsman’s sabre, to imitate the sword-bearer; and to see
the tears rolling down the faces of the mob as they screamed with
merriment. This was beautiful! and so was the appearance of Mrs.
Tulrumble and son, as they bowed with grave dignity out of their
coach-window to all the dirty faces that were laughing around them:
but it is not even with this that we have to do, but with the sudden
stopping of the procession at another blast of the trumpet, whereat,
and whereupon, a profound silence ensued, and all eyes were turned
towards Mudfog Hall, in the confidant anticipation of some new wonder.
“They won’t laugh now, Mr. Jennings,” said Nicholas Tulrumble.
“I think not, sir,” said Mr. Jennings.
“See how eager they look,” said Nicholas Tulrumble. “Aha! the laugh
will be on our side now; eh, Mr. Jennings?”
“No doubt of that, sir,” replied Mr. Jennings; and Nicholas
Tulrumble, in a state of pleasurable excitement, stood up in the
fourwheel chaise, and telegraphed gratification to the Mayoress
behind.
While all this was going forward, Ned Twigger had descended into the
kitchen of Mudfog Hall for the purpose of indulging the servants with
a private view of the curiosity that was to burst upon the town; and,
somehow or other, the footman was so companionable, and the housemaid
so kind, and the cook so friendly, that he could not resist the offer
of the first-mentioned to sit down and take something—just to drink
success to master in.
So, down Ned Twigger sat himself in his brass livery on the top of
the kitchen-table; and in a mug of something strong, paid for by the
unconscious Nicholas Tulrumble, and provided by the companionable
footman, drank success to the Mayor and his procession; and, as Ned
laid by his helmet to imbibe the something strong, the companionable
footman put it on his own head, to the immeasurable and unrecordable
delight of the cook and housemaid. The companionable footman was very
facetious to Ned, and Ned was very gallant to the cook and housemaid
by turns. They were all very cosy and comfortable; and the something
strong went briskly round.
At last Ned Twigger was loudly called for, by the procession people:
and, having had his helmet fixed on, in a very complicated manner, by
the companionable footman, and the kind housemaid, and the friendly
cook, he walked gravely forth, and appeared before the multitude.
The crowd roared—it was not with wonder, it was not with surprise; it
was most decidedly and unquestionably with laughter.
“What!” said Mr. Tulrumble, starting up in the four-wheel chaise.
“Laughing? If they laugh at a man in real brass armour, they’d laugh
when their own fathers were dying. Why doesn’t he go into his place,
Mr. Jennings? What’s he rolling down towards us for? he has no
business here!”
“I am afraid, sir—” faltered Mr. Jennings.
“Afraid of what, sir?” said Nicholas Tulrumble, looking up into the
secretary’s face.
“I am afraid he’s drunk, sir;” replied Mr. Jennings. Nicholas
Tulrumble took one look at the extraordinary figure that was bearing
down upon them; and then, clasping his secretary by the arm, uttered
an audible groan in anguish of spirit.
It is a melancholy fact that Mr. Twigger having full licence to
demand a single glass of rum on the putting on of every piece of the
armour, got, by some means or other, rather out of his calculation in
the hurry and confusion of preparation, and drank about four glasses
to a piece instead of one, not to mention the something strong which
went on the top of it. Whether the brass armour checked the natural
flow of perspiration, and thus prevented the spirit from evaporating,
we are not scientific enough to know; but, whatever the cause was,
Mr. Twigger no sooner found himself outside the gate of Mudfog Hall,
than he also found himself in a very considerable state of
intoxication; and hence his extraordinary style of progressing. This
was bad enough, but, as if fate and fortune had conspired against
Nicholas Tulrumble, Mr. Twigger, not having been penitent for a good
calendar month, took it into his head to be most especially and
particularly sentimental, just when his repentance could have been
most conveniently dispensed with. Immense tears were rolling down his
cheeks, and he was vainly endeavoring to conceal his grief by
applying to his eyes a blue cotton pocket-handkerchief with white
spots,—an article not strictly in keeping with a suit of armour some
three hundred years old, or thereabouts.
“Twigger, you villain!” said Nicholas Tulrumble, quite forgetting his
dignity. “Go back.”
“Never,” said Ned. “I’m a miserable wretch. I’ll never leave you.”
The by-standers of course received this declaration with acclamations
of “That’s right, Ned; don’t!”
“I don’t intend it,” said Ned, with all the obstinacy of a very tipsy
man. “I’m very unhappy. I’m the wretched father of an unfortunate
family; but I am very faithful, sir. I’ll never leave you.” Having
reiterated this obliging promise, Ned proceeded in broken words to
harangue the crowd upon the number of years he had lived in Mudfog,
the excessive respectability of his character, and other topics of
the like nature.
“Here! will anybody lead him away?” said Nicholas: “if they’ll call
on me afterwards, I’ll reward them well.”
Two or three men stepped forward, with the view of bearing Ned off,
when the secretary interposed.
“Take care! take care!” said Mr. Jennings. “I beg your pardon, sir;
but they’d better not go too near him, because, if he falls over,
he’ll certainly crush somebody.”
At this hint the crowd retired on all sides to a very respectful
distance, and left Ned, like the Duke of Devonshire, in a little
circle of his own.
“But, Mr. Jennings,” said Nicholas Tulrumble, “he’ll be suffocated.”
“I’m very sorry for it, sir,” replied Mr. Jennings; “but nobody can
get that armour off, without his own assistance. I’m quite certain of
it from the way he put it on.”
Here Ned wept dolefully, and shook his helmeted head, in a manner
that might have touched a heart of stone; but the crowd had not
hearts of stone, and they laughed heartily.
“Dear me, Mr. Jennings,” said Nicholas, turning pale at the
possibility of Ned’s being smothered in his antique costume—“Dear me,
Mr. Jennings, can nothing be done with him?”
“Nothing at all,” replied Ned, “nothing at all. Gentlemen, I’m an
unhappy wretch. I’m a body, gentlemen, in a brass coffin.” At this
poetical idea of his own conjuring up, Ned cried so much that the
people began to get sympathetic, and to ask what Nicholas Tulrumble
meant by putting a man into such a machine as that; and one
individual in a hairy waistcoat like the top of a trunk, who had
previously expressed his opinion that if Ned hadn’t been a poor man,
Nicholas wouldn’t have dared do it, hinted at the propriety of
breaking the four-wheel chaise, or Nicholas’s head, or both, which
last compound proposition the crowd seemed to consider a very good
notion.
It was not acted upon, however, for it had hardly been broached, when
Ned Twigger’s wife made her appearance abruptly in the little circle
before noticed, and Ned no sooner caught a glimpse of her face and
form, than from the mere force of habit he set off towards his home
just as fast as his legs could carry him; and that was not very quick
in the present instance either, for, however ready they might have
been to carry him, they couldn’t get on very well under the brass
armour. So, Mrs. Twigger had plenty of time to denounce Nicholas
Tulrumble to his face: to express her opinion that he was a decided
monster; and to intimate that, if her ill-used husband sustained any
personal damage from the brass armour, she would have the law of
Nicholas Tulrumble for manslaughter. When she had said all this with
due vehemence, she posted after Ned, who was dragging himself along
as best he could, and deploring his unhappiness in most dismal tones.
What a wailing and screaming Ned’s children raised when he got home
at last! Mrs. Twigger tried to undo the armour, first in one place,
and then in another, but she couldn’t manage it; so she tumbled Ned
into bed, helmet, armour, gauntlets, and all. Such a creaking as the
bedstead made, under Ned’s weight in his new suit! It didn’t break
down though; and there Ned lay, like the anonymous vessel in the Bay
of Biscay, till next day, drinking barley-water, and looking
miserable: and every time he groaned, his good lady said it served
him right, which was all the consolation Ned Twigger got.
Nicholas Tulrumble and the gorgeous procession went on together to
the townhall, amid the hisses and groans of all the spectators, who
had suddenly taken it into their heads to consider poor Ned a martyr.
Nicholas was formally installed in his new office, in acknowledgment
of which ceremony he delivered himself of a speech, composed by the
secretary, which was very long, and no doubt very good, only the
noise of the people outside prevented anybody from hearing it, but
Nicholas Tulrumble himself. After which, the procession got back to
Mudfog Hall any how it could; and Nicholas and the corporation sat
down to dinner.
But the dinner was flat, and Nicholas was disappointed. They were
such dull sleepy old fellows, that corporation. Nicholas made quite
as long speeches as the Lord Mayor of London had done, nay, he said
the very same things that the Lord Mayor of London had said, and the
deuce a cheer the corporation gave him. There was only one man in the
party who was thoroughly awake; and he was insolent and called him
Nick. Nick! What would be the consequence, thought Nicholas, of
anybody presuming to call the Lord Mayor of London “Nick!” He should
like to know what the sword-bearer would say to that; or the
recorder, or the toast-master, or any other of the great officers of
the city. They’d nick him.
But these were not the worst of Nicholas Tulrumble’s doings. If they
had been, he might have remained a Mayor to this day, and have talked
till he lost his voice. He contracted a relish for statistics, and
got philosophical; and the statistics and the philosophy together,
led him into an act which increased his unpopularity and hastened his
downfall.
At the very end of the Mudfog High-street, and abutting on the
river-side, stands the Jolly Boatmen, an old-fashioned lowroofed,
bay-windowed house, with a bar, kitchen, and tap-room all in one, and
a large fire-place with a kettle to correspond, round which the
working men have congregated time out of mind on a winter’s night,
refreshed by draughts of good strong beer, and cheered by the sounds
of a fiddle and tambourine: the Jolly Boatmen having been duly
licensed by the Mayor and corporation, to scrape the fiddle and thumb
the tambourine from time, whereof the memory of the oldest
inhabitants goeth not to the contrary. Now Nicholas Tulrumble had
been reading pamphlets on crime, and parliamentary reports,—or had
made the secretary read them to him, which is the same thing in
effect,—and he at once perceived that this fiddle and tambourine must
have done more to demoralize Mudfog, than any other operating causes
that ingenuity could imagine. So he read up for the subject, and
determined to come out on the corporation with a burst, the very next
time the licence was applied for.
The licensing day came, and the redfaced landlord of the Jolly
Boatmen walked into the town-hall, looking as jolly as need be,
having actually put on an extra fiddle for that night, to commemorate
the anniversary of the Jolly Boatmen’s music licence. It was applied
for in due form, and was just about to be granted as a matter of
course, when up rose Nicholas Tulrumble, and drowned the astonished
corporation in a torrent of eloquence. He descanted in glowing terms
upon the increasing depravity of his native town of Mudfog, and the
excesses committed by its population. Then, he related how shocked he
had been, to see barrels of beer sliding down into the cellar of the
Jolly Boatmen week after week; and how he had sat at a window
opposite the Jolly Boatmen for two days together, to count the people
who went in for beer between the hours of twelve and one o’clock
alone—which, by-the-bye, was the time at which the great majority of
the Mudfog people dined. Then, he went on to state, how the number of
people who came out with beer-jugs, averaged twenty-one in five
minutes, which, being multiplied by twelve, gave two hundred and
fifty two people with beer-jugs in an hour, and multiplied again by
fifteen (the number of hours during which the house was open daily)
yielded three thousand seven hundred and eighty people with beer-jugs
per day, or twenty-six thousand four hundred and sixty people with
beer-jugs, per week. Then he proceeded to show that a tambourine and
moral degradation were synonymous terms, and a fiddle and vicious
propensities wholly inseparable. All these arguments he strengthened
and demonstrated by frequent references to a large book with a blue
cover, and sundry quotations from the Middlesex magistrates; and in
the end, the corporation, who were posed with the figures, and sleepy
with the speech, and sadly in want of dinner into the bargain,
yielded the palm to Nicholas Tulrumble, and refused the music licence
to the Jolly Boatmen.
But although Nicholas triumphed, his triumph was short. He carried on
the war against beer-jugs and fiddles, forgetting the time when he
was glad to drink out of the one, and to dance to the other, till the
people hated, and his old friends shunned him. He grew tired of the
lonely magnificence of Mudfog Hall, and his heart yearned towards the
Lighterman’s Arms. He wished he had never set up as a public man, and
sighed for the good old times of the coal shop, and the chimney
corner. At length old Nicholas, being thoroughly miserable, took
heart of grace, paid the secretary a quarter’s wages in advance, and
packed him off to London by the next coach. Having taken this step,
he put his hat on his head, and his pride in his pocket, and walked
down to the old room at the Lighterman’s Arms. There were only two of
the old fellows there, and they looked coldly on Nicholas as he
proffered his hand.
“Are you going to put down pipes, Mr. Tulrumble?” said one.
“Or trace the progress of crime to ’bacca?” growled another.
“Neither,” replied Nicholas Tulrumble, shaking hands with them both,
whether they would or not. “I’ve come down to say that I’m very sorry
for having made a fool of myself, and that I hope you’ll give me up,
the old chair, again.”
The old fellows opened their eyes, and three or four more old fellows
opened the door, to whom Nicholas, with tears in his eyes, thrust out
his hand too, and told the same story. They raised a shout of joy,
that made the bells in the ancient church-tower vibrate again, and
wheeling the old chair into the warm corner, thrust old Nicholas down
into it, and ordered in the very largest-sized bowl of hot punch,
with an unlimited number of pipes, directly.
The next day, the Jolly Boatmen got the licence, and the next night,
old Nicholas and Ned Twigger’s wife led off a dance to the music of
the fiddle and tambourine, the tone of which seemed mightily improved
by a little rest, for they never had played so merrily before. Ned
Twigger was in the very height of his glory, and he danced hornpipes,
and balanced chairs on his chin, and straws on his nose, till the
whole company, including the corporation, were in raptures of
admiration at the brilliancy of his acquirements.
Mr. Tulrumble, junior, couldn’t make up his mind to be anything but
magnificent, so he went up to London and drew bills on his father;
and when he had overdrawn, and got into debt, he grew penitent, and
came home again.
As to old Nicholas, he kept his word, and having had six weeks of
public life, never tried it any more. He went to sleep in the
townhall at the very next meeting; and, in full proof of his
sincerity, has requested us to write this faithful narrative. We wish
it could have the effect of reminding the Tulrumbles of another
sphere, that puffed-up conceit is not dignity, and that snarling at
the little pleasures they were once glad to enjoy, because they would
rather forget the times when they were of lower station, renders them
objects of contempt and ridicule.
This is the first time we have published any of our gleanings from
this particular source. Perhaps, at some future period, we may
venture to open the chronicles of Mudfog.
FULL REPORT OF THE FIRST MEETING OF THE MUDFOG ASSOCIATION FOR THE
ADVANCEMENT OF EVERYTHING.
We have made the most unparalleled and extraordinary exertions to
place before our readers a complete and accurate account of the
proceedings at the late grand meeting of the Mudfog Association,
holden in the town of Mudfog; it affords us great happiness to lay
the result before them, in the shape of various communications
received from our able, talented, and graphic correspondent,
expressly sent down for the purpose, who has immortalized us,
himself, Mudfog, and the association, all at one and the same time.
We have been, indeed, for some days unable to determine who will
transmit the greatest name to posterity; ourselves, who sent our
correspondent down; our correspondent, who wrote an account of the
matter; or the association, who gave our correspondent something to
write about. We rather incline to the opinion that we are the
greatest man of the party, in as much as the notion of an exclusive
and authentic report originated with us; this may be prejudice: it
may arise from a prepossession on our part in our own favour. Be it
so. We have no doubt that every gentleman concerned in this mighty
assemblage is troubled with the same complaint in a greater or less
degree; and it is a consolation to us to know that we have at least
this feeling in common with the great scientific stars, the brilliant
and extraordinary luminaries, whose speculations we record.
We give our correspondent’s letters in the order in which they
reached us. Any attempt at amalgamating them into one beautiful
whole, would only destroy that glowing tone, that dash of wildness,
and rich vein of picturesque interest, which pervade them throughout.
“Mudfog, Monday night, seven o’clock.
“We are in a state of great excitement here. Nothing is spoken of,
but the approaching meeting of the association. The inn doors are
thronged with waiters anxiously looking for the expected arrivals;
and the numerous bills which are wafered up in the windows of private
houses, intimating that there are beds to let within, give the
streets a very animated and cheerful appearance, the wafers being of
a great variety of colours, and the monotony of printed inscriptions
being relieved by every possible size and style of hand-writing. It
is confidently rumoured that Professors Snore, Doze, and Wheezy have
engaged three beds and a sitting-room at the Pig and Tinder-box. I
give you the rumour as it has reached me; but I cannot, as yet, vouch
for its accuracy. The moment I have been enabled to obtain any
certain information upon this interesting point, you may depend upon
receiving it.”
“Half-past seven.
“I have just returned from a personal interview with the landlord of
the Pig and Tinder-box. He speaks confidently of the probability of
Professors Snore, Doze, and Wheezy taking up their residence at his
house during the sitting of the association, but denies that the beds
have been yet engaged; in which representation he is confirmed by the
chambermaid,—a girl of artless manners, and interesting appearance.
The boots denies that it is at all likely that Professors Snore,
Doze, and Wheezy will put up here; but I have reason to believe that
this man has been suborned by the proprietor of the Original Pig,
which is the opposition hotel. Amidst such conflicting testimony it
is difficult to arrive at the real truth; but you may depend upon
receiving authentic information upon this point the moment the fact
is ascertained. The excitement still continues. A boy fell through
the window of the pastrycook’s shop at the corner of the High-street
about half an hour ago, which has occasioned much confusion. The
general impression is, that it was an accident. Pray heaven it may
prove so!”
“Tuesday, noon.
“At an early hour this morning the bells of all the churches struck
seven o’clock; the effect of which, in the present lively state of
the town, was extremely singular. While I was at breakfast, a yellow
gig, drawn by a dark grey horse, with a patch of white over his right
eyelid, proceeded at a rapid pace in the direction of the Original
Pig stables; it is currently reported that this gentleman has arrived
here for the purpose of attending the association, and, from what I
have heard, I consider it extremely probable, although nothing
decisive is yet known regarding him. You may conceive the anxiety
with which we are all looking forward to the arrival of the four
o’clock coach this afternoon.
“Notwithstanding the excited state of the populace, no outrage has
yet been committed, owing to the admirable discipline and discretion
of the police, who are nowhere to be seen. A barrel-organ is playing
opposite my window, and groups of people, offering fish and
vegetables for sale, parade the streets. With these exceptions
everything is quiet, and I trust will continue so.”
“Five o’clock.
“It is now ascertained, beyond all doubt, that Professors Snore,
Doze, and Wheezy will not repair to the Pig and Tinder-box, but have
actually engaged apartments at the Original Pig. This intelligence is
exclusive; and I leave you and your readers to draw their own
inferences from it. Why Professor Wheezy, of all people in the world,
should repair to the Original Pig in preference to the Pig and
Tinder-box, it is not easy to conceive. The professor is a man who
should be above all such petty feelings. Some people here openly
impute treachery, and a distinct breach of faith to Professors Snore
and Doze; while others, again, are disposed to acquit them of any
culpability in the transaction, and to insinuate that the blame rests
solely with Professor Wheezy. I own that I incline to the latter
opinion; and although it gives me great pain to speak in terms of
censure or disapprobation of a man of such transcendent genius and
acquirements, still I am bound to say that, if my suspicions be well
founded, and if all the reports which have reached my ears be true, I
really do not well know what to make of the matter.
“Mr. Slug, so celebrated for his statistical researches, arrived this
afternoon by the four o’clock stage. His complexion is a dark purple,
and he has a habit of sighing constantly. He looked extremely well,
and appeared in high health and spirits. Mr. Woodensconce also came
down in the same conveyance. The distinguished gentleman was fast
asleep on his arrival, and I am informed by the guard that he had
been so the whole way. He was, no doubt, preparing for his
approaching fatigues; but what gigantic visions must those be that
flit through the brain of such a man when his body is in a state of
torpidity!
“The influx of visitors increases every moment. I am told (I know not
how truly) that two post-chaises have arrived at the Original Pig
within the last half-hour, and I myself observed a wheelbarrow,
containing three carpet bags and a bundle, entering the yard of the
Pig and Tinder-box no longer ago than five minutes since. The people
are still quietly pursuing their ordinary occupations; but there is a
wildness in their eyes, and an unwonted rigidity in the muscles of
their countenances, which shows to the observant spectator that their
expectations are strained to the very utmost pitch. I fear, unless
some very extraordinary arrivals take place to-night, that
consequences may arise from this popular ferment, which every man of
sense and feeling would deplore.”
“Twenty minutes past six.
“I have just heard that the boy who fell through the pastrycook’s
window last night has died of the fright. He was suddenly called upon
to pay three and sixpence for the damage done, and his constitution,
it seems, was not strong enough to bear up against the shock. The
inquest, it is said, will be held tomorrow.”
“Three-quarters past seven.
“Professors Muff and Nogo have just driven up to the hotel door; they
at once ordered dinner with great condescension. We are all very much
delighted with the urbanity of their manners, and the ease with which
they adapt themselves to the forms and ceremonies of ordinary life.
Immediately on their arrival they sent for the head waiter, and
privately requested him to purchase a live dog,—as cheap a one as he
could meet with,—and to send him up after dinner, with a pie-board, a
knife and fork, and a clean plate. It is conjectured that some
experiments will be tried upon the dog to-night; if any particulars
should transpire, I will forward them by express.”
“Half-past eight.
“The animal has been procured. He is a pug-dog, of rather intelligent
appearance, in good condition, and with very short legs. He has been
tied to a curtain-peg in a dark room, and is howling dreadfully.”
“Ten minutes to nine.
“The dog has just been rung for. With an instinct which would appear
almost the result of reason, the sagacious animal seized the waiter
by the calf of the leg when he approached to take him, and made a
desperate, though ineffectual resistance. I have not been able to
procure admission to the apartment occupied by the scientific
gentlemen; but, judging from the sounds which reached my ears when I
stood upon the landing-place outside the door, just now, I should be
disposed to say that the dog had retreated growling beneath some
article of furniture, and was keeping the professors at bay. This
conjecture is confirmed by the testimony of the ostler, who, after
peeping through the keyhole, assures me that he distinctly saw
Professor Nogo on his knees, holding forth a small bottle of prussic
acid, to which the animal, who was crouched beneath an armchair,
obstinately declined to smell. You cannot imagine the feverish state
of irritation we are in, lest the interests of science should be
sacrificed to the prejudices of a brute creature, who is not endowed
with sufficient sense to foresee the incalculable benefits which the
whole human race may derive from so very slight a concession on his
part.”
“Nine o’clock.
“The dog’s tail and ears have been sent down stairs to be washed;
from which circumstance we infer that the animal is no more. His
forelegs have been delivered to the boots to be brushed, which
strengthens the supposition.”
“Half after ten.
“My feelings are so overpowered by what has taken place in the course
of the last hour and a half, that I have scarcely strength to detail
the rapid succession of events which have quite bewildered all those
who are cognizant of their occurrence. It appears that the pug-dog
mentioned in my last was surreptitiously obtained,—stolen, in
fact,—by some person attached to the stable department, from an
unmarried lady resident in this town. Frantic on discovering the loss
of her favourite, the lady rushed distractedly into the street,
calling in the most heart-rending and pathetic manner upon the
passengers to restore her, her Augustus,—for so the deceased was
named, in affectionate remembrance of a former lover of his mistress,
to whom he bore a striking personal resemblance, which renders the
circumstances additionally affecting. I am not yet in a condition to
inform you what circumstance induced the bereaved lady to direct her
steps to the hotel which had witnessed the last struggles of her
protégé. I can only state that she arrived there, at the very instant
when his detached members were passing through the passage on a small
tray. Her shrieks still reverberate in my ears! I grieve to say that
the expressive features of Professor Muff were much scratched and
lacerated by the injured lady; and that Professor Nogo, besides
sustaining several severe bites, has lost some handfuls of hair from
the same cause. It must be some consolation to these gentlemen to
know that their ardent attachment to scientific pursuits has alone
occasioned these unpleasant consequences;for which the sympathy of a
grateful country will sufficiently reward them. The unfortunate lady
remains at the Pig and Tinder-box, and up to this time is reported in
a very precarious state.
“I need scarcely tell you that this unlooked-for catastrophe has cast
a damp and gloom upon us in the midst of our exhilaration; natural in
any case, but greatly enhanced in this, by the amiable qualities of
the deceased animal, who appears to have been much and deservedly
respected by the whole of his acquaintance.”
“Twelve o’clock.
“I take the last opportunity before sealing my parcel to inform you
that the boy who fell through the pastrycook’s window is not dead, as
was universally believed, but alive and well. The report appears to
have had its origin in his mysterious disappearance. He was found
half an hour since on the premises of a sweet-stuff maker, where a
raffle had been announced for a second-hand sealskin cap and a
tambourine; and where—a sufficient number of members not having been
obtained at first—he had patiently waited until the list was
completed. This fortunate discovery has in some degree restored our
gaiety and cheerfulness. It is proposed to get up a subscription for
him without delay.
“Everybody is nervously anxious to see what to-morrow will bring
forth. If anyone should arrive in the course of the night, I have
left strict directions to be called immediately. I should have sat
up, indeed, but the agitating events of this day have been too much
for me.
“No news yet of either of the Professors Snore, Doze, or Wheezy. It
is very strange!”
“Wednesday afternoon.
“All is now over; and, upon one point at least, I am at length
enabled to set the minds of your readers at rest. The three
professors arrived at ten minutes after two o’clock, and, instead of
taking up their quarters at the Original Pig, as it was universally
understood in the course of yesterday that they would assuredly have
done, drove straight to the Pig and Tinder-box, where they threw off
the mask at once, and openly announced their intention of remaining.
Professor Wheezy may reconcile this very extraordinary conduct with
his notions of fair and equitable dealing, but I would recommend
Professor Wheezy to be cautious how he presumes too far upon his
well-earned reputation. How such a man as Professor Snore, or, which
is still more extraordinary, such an individual as Professor Doze,
can quietly allow himself to be mixed up with such proceedings as
these, you will naturally inquire. Upon this head, rumour is silent:
I have my speculations, but forbear to give utterance to them just
now.”
“Four o’clock.
“The town is filling fast; eighteenpence has been offered for a bed
and refused. Several gentlemen were under the necessity last night of
sleeping in the brick fields, and on the steps of doors, for which
they were taken before the magistrates in a body this morning, and
committed to prison as vagrants for various terms. One of these
persons I understand to be a highly-respectable tinker, of great
practical skill, who had forwarded a paper to the President of
Section D. Mechanical Science, on the construction of pipkins with
copper bottoms and safety valves, of which report speaks highly. The
incarceration of this gentleman is greatly to be regretted, as his
absence will preclude any discussion on the subject.
“The bills are being taken down in all directions, and lodgings are
being secured on almost any terms. I have heard of fifteen shillings
a week for two rooms, exclusive of coals and attendance, but I can
scarcely believe it. The excitement is dreadful. I was informed this
morning that the civil authorities, apprehensive of some outbreak of
popular feeling, had commanded a recruiting sergeant and two
corporals to be under arms; and that, with the view of not irritating
the people unnecessarily by their presence, they had been requested
to take up their position before daybreak in a turnpike, distant
about a quarter of a mile from the town. The vigour and promptness of
these measures cannot be too highly extolled.
“Intelligence has just been brought me, that an elderly female, in a
state of inebriety, has declared in the open street her intention to
‘do’ for Mr. Slug. Some statistical returns compiled by that
gentleman, relative to the consumption of raw spirituous liquors in
this place, are supposed to be the cause of the wretch’s animosity.
It is added that this declaration was loudly cheered by a crowd of
persons who had assembled on the spot; and that one man had the
boldness to designate Mr. Slug aloud by the opprobrious epithet of
“Stick-in-the-mud!” It is earnestly to be hoped that now, when the
moment has arrived for their interference, the magistrates will not
shrink from the exercise of that power which is vested in them by the
constitution of our common country.”
“Half-past ten.
“The disturbance, I am happy to inform you, has been completely
quelled, and the ringleader taken into custody. She had a pail of
cold water thrown over her, previous to being locked up, and
expresses great contrition and uneasiness. We are all in a fever of
anticipation about tomorrow; but, now that we are within a few hours
of the meeting of the association, and at last enjoy the proud
consciousness of having its illustrious members amongst us, I trust
and hope everything may go off peaceably. I shall send you a full
report of tomorrow’s proceedings by the night coach.”
“Eleven o’clock.
“I open my letter to say that nothing whatever has occurred since I
folded it up.”
“Thursday.
“The sun rose this morning at the usual hour. I did not observe
anything particular in the aspect of the glorious planet, except that
he appeared to me (it might have been a delusion of my heightened
fancy) to shine with more than common brilliancy, and to shed a
refulgent lustre upon the town, such as I had never observed before.
This is the more extraordinary, as the sky was perfectly cloudless,
and the atmosphere peculiarly fine. At half-past nine o’clock the
general committee assembled, with the last year’s president in the
chair. The report of the council was read; and one passage, which
stated that the council had corresponded with no less than three
thousand five hundred and seventy-one persons, (all of whom paid
their own postage,) on no fewer than seven thousand two hundred and
forty-three topics, was received with a degree of enthusiasm which no
efforts could suppress. The various committees and sections having
been appointed, and the more formal business transacted, the great
proceedings of the meeting commenced at eleven o’clock precisely. I
had the happiness of occupying a most eligible position at that time,
in
“Section A.—Zoology and Botany.
Great Room, Pig and Tinder-Box.
President—Professor Snore.
Vice-Presidents—Professors Doze and Wheezy.
“The scene at this moment was particularly striking. The sun streamed
through the windows of the apartments, and tinted the whole scene
with its brilliant rays, bringing out in strong relief the noble
visages of the professors and scientific gentlemen, who, some with
bald heads, some with red heads, some with brown heads, some with
grey heads, some with black heads, some with block heads, presented a
coup d’oeil which no eyewitness will readily forget. In front of
these gentlemen were papers and inkstands; and round the room, on
elevated benches extending as far as the forms could reach, were
assembled a brilliant concourse of those lovely and elegant women for
which Mudfog is justly acknowledged to be without a rival in the
whole world. The contrast between their fair faces and the dark coats
and trousers of the scientific gentlemen I shall never cease to
remember while Memory holds her seat.
“Time having been allowed for a slight confusion, occasioned by the
falling down of the greater part of the platforms, to subside, the
president called on one of the secretaries to read a communication
entitled, ‘Some remarks on the industrious fleas, with considerations
on the importance of establishing infant-schools among that numerous
class of society; of directing their industry to useful and practical
ends; and of applying the surplus fruits thereof, towards providing
for them a comfortable and respectable maintenance in their old age.’
“The author stated, that, having long turned his attention to the
moral and social condition of these interesting animals, he had been
induced to visit an exhibition in Regentstreet, London, commonly
known by the designation of ‘The Industrious Fleas.’ He had there seen
many fleas, occupied certainly in various pursuits and avocations,
but occupied, he was bound to add, in a manner which no man of
well-regulated mind could fail to regard with sorrow and regret. One
flea, reduced to the level of a beast of burden, was drawing about a
miniature gig, containing a particularly small effigy of His grace
the Duke of Wellington; while another was staggering beneath the
weight of a golden model of his great adversary Napoleon Bonaparte.
Some, brought up as mountebanks and ballet-dancers, were performing a
figure-dance (he regretted to observe, that, of the fleas so
employed, several were females); others were in training, in a small
cardboard box, for pedestrians,—mere sporting characters—and two were
actually engaged in the cold-blooded and barbarous occupation of
duelling; a pursuit from which humanity recoiled with horror and
disgust. He suggested that measures should be immediately taken to
employ the labour of these fleas as part and parcel of the productive
power of the country, which might easily be done by the establishment
among them of infant schools and houses of industry, in which a
system of virtuous education, based upon sound principles, should be
observed, and moral precepts strictly inculcated. He proposed that
every flea who presumed to exhibit, for hire, music, or dancing, or
any species of theatrical entertainment, without a licence, should be
considered a vagabond, and treated accordingly; in which respect he
only placed him upon a level with the rest of mankind. He would
further suggest that their labour should be placed under the control
and regulation of the state, who should set apart from the profits, a
fund for the support of superannuated or disabled fleas, their widows
and orphans. With this view, he proposed that liberal premiums should
be offered for the three best designs for a general almshouse; from
which—as insect architecture was well known to be in a very advanced
and perfect state—we might possibly derive many valuable hints for
the improvement of our metropolitan universities, national galleries,
and other public edifices.
“The President wished to be informed how the ingenious gentleman
proposed to open a communication with fleas generally, in the first
instance, so that they might be thoroughly imbued with a sense of the
advantages they must necessarily derive from changing their mode of
life, and applying themselves to honest labour. This appeared to him,
the only difficulty.
“The Author submitted that this difficulty was easily overcome, or
rather that there was no difficulty at all in the case. Obviously the
course to be pursued, if Her Majesty’s government could be prevailed
upon to take up the plan, would be, to secure at a remunerative
salary the individual to whom he had alluded as presiding over the
exhibition in Regent-street at the period of his visit. That
gentleman would at once be able to put himself in communication with
the mass of the fleas, and to instruct them in pursuance of some
general plan of education, to be sanctioned by Parliament, until such
time as the more intelligent among them were advanced enough to
officiate as teachers to the rest.
“The President and several members of the section highly complimented
the author of the paper last read, on his most ingenious and
important treatise. It was determined that the subject should be
recommended to the immediate consideration of the council.
“Mr. Wigsby produced a cauliflower somewhat larger than a
chaise-umbrella, which had been raised by no other artificial means
than the simple application of highly carbonated soda-water as
manure. He explained that by scooping out the head, which would
afford a new and delicious species of nourishment for the poor, a
parachute, in principle something similar to that constructed by M.
Garnerin, was at once obtained; the stalk of course being kept
downwards. He added that he was perfectly willing to make a descent
from a height of not less than three miles and a quarter; and had in
fact already proposed the same to the proprietors of Vauxhall
Gardens, who in the handsomest manner at once consented to his
wishes, and appointed an early day next summer for the undertaking;
merely stipulating that the rim of the cauliflower should be
previously broken in three or four places to ensure the safety of the
descent.
“The President congratulated the public on the grand gala in store
for them, and warmly eulogised the proprietors of the establishment
alluded to, for their love of science, and regard for the safety of
human life, both of which did them the highest honour.
“A Member wished to know how many thousand additional lamps the royal
property would be illuminated with, on the night after the descent.
“Mr. Wigsby replied that the point was not yet finally decided; but
he believed it was proposed, over and above the ordinary
illuminations, to exhibit in various devices eight millions and
a-half of additional lamps. The Member expressed himself much
gratified with this announcement.
“Mr. Blunderum delighted the section with a most interesting and
valuable paper ‘on the last moments of the learned pig,’ which
produced a very strong impression on the assembly, the account being
compiled from the personal recollections of his favourite attendant.
The account stated in the most emphatic terms that the animal’s name
was not Toby, but Solomon; and distinctly proved that he could have
no near relatives in the profession, as many designing persons had
falsely stated, inasmuch as his father, mother, brothers and sisters,
had all fallen victims to the butcher at different times. An uncle of
his indeed, had with very great labour been traced to a sty in Somers
Town; but as he was in a very infirm state at the time, being
afflicted with measles, and shortly afterwards disappeared, there
appeared too much reason to conjecture that he had been converted
into sausages. The disorder of the learned pig was originally a
severe cold, which, being aggravated by excessive trough indulgence,
finally settled upon the lungs, and terminated in a general decay of
the constitution. A melancholy instance of a presentiment entertained
by the animal of his approaching dissolution, was recorded. After
gratifying a numerous and fashionable company with his performances,
in which no falling off whatever was visible, he fixed his eyes on
the biographer, and, turning to the watch which lay on the floor, and
on which he was accustomed to point out the hour, deliberately passed
his snout twice round the dial. In precisely four-and-twenty hours
from that time he had ceased to exist!
“Professor Wheezy inquired whether, previous to his demise, the
animal had expressed, by signs or otherwise, any wishes regarding the
disposal of his little property.
“Mr. Blunderum replied, that, when the biographer took up the pack of
cards at the conclusion of the performance, the animal grunted
several times in a significant manner, and nodding his head as he was
accustomed to do, when gratified. From these gestures it was
understood that he wished the attendant to keep the cards, which he
had ever since done. He had not expressed any wish relative to his
watch, which had accordingly been pawned by the same individual.
“The President wished to know whether any Member of the section had
everseen or conversed with the pig-faced lady, who was reported to
have worn a black velvet mask, and to have taken her meals from a
golden trough.
“After some hesitation a Member replied that the pig-faced lady was
his mother-in-law, and that he trusted the President would not
violate the sanctity of private life.
“The President begged pardon. He had considered the pig-faced lady a
public character. Would the honourable member object to state, with a
view to the advancement of science, whether she was in any way
connected with the learned pig?
“The Member replied in the same low tone, that, as the question
appeared to involve a suspicion that the learned pig might be his
half-brother, he must decline answering it.
“Section B.—Anatomy and Medicine.
Coach-House, Pig and Tinder-Box.
President—Dr. Toorell.
Vice-Presidents—Professors Muff and Nogo.
“Dr. Kutankumagen (of Moscow) read to the section a report of a case
which had occurred within his own practice, strikingly illustrative
of the power of medicine, as exemplified in his successful treatment
of a virulent disorder. He had been called in to visit the patient on
the 1st of April 1837. He was then labouring under symptoms
peculiarly alarming to any medical man. His frame was stout and
muscular, his step firm and elastic, his cheeks plump and red, his
voice loud, his appetite good, his pulse full and round. He was in
the constant habit of eating three meals per diem, and of drinking
at least one bottle of wine, and one glass of spirituous liquors
diluted with water, in the course of the four-and-twenty hours. He
laughed constantly, and in so hearty a manner that it was terrible to
hear him. By dint of powerful medicine, low diet, and bleeding, the
symptoms in the course of three days perceptibly decreased. A rigid
perseverance in the same course of treatment for only one week,
accompanied with small doses of water-gruel, weak broth, and
barley-water, led to their entire disappearance. In the course of a
month he was sufficiently recovered to be carried down stairs by two
nurses, and to enjoy an airing in a close carriage, supported by soft
pillows. At the present moment he was restored so far as to walk
about, with the slight assistance of a crutch and a boy. It would
perhaps be gratifying to the section to learn that he ate little,
drank little, slept little, and was never heard to laugh by any
accident whatever.
“Dr. W. R. Fee, in complimenting the honourable member upon the
triumphant cure he had effected, begged to ask whether the patient
still bled freely?
“Dr. Kutankumagen replied in the affirmative.
“Dr. W. R. Fee.—And you found that he bled freely during the whole
course of the disorder?
“Dr. Kutankumagen.—Oh dear, yes; most freely.
“Dr. Neeshawts supposed, that if the patient had not submitted to be
bled with great readiness and perseverance, so extraordinary a cure
could never, in fact, have been accomplished. Dr. Kutankumagen
rejoined, certainly not.
“Mr. Knight Bell (M.R.C.S.) exhibited a wax preparation of the
interior of a gentleman who in early life had inadvertently swallowed
a door-key. It was a curious fact that a medical student of
dissipated habits, being present at the post mortem examination,
found means to escape unobserved from the room, with that portion of
the coats of the stomach upon which an exact model of the instrument
was distinctly impressed, with which he hastened to a locksmith of
doubtful character, who made a new key from the pattern so shown to
him. With this key the medical student entered the house of the
deceased gentleman, and committed a burglary to a large amount, for
which he was subsequently tried and executed.
“The President wished to know what became of the original key after
the lapse of years. Mr. Knight Bell replied that the gentleman was
always much accustomed to punch, and it was supposed the acid had
gradually devoured it.
“Dr. Neeshawts and several of the members were of opinion that the
key must have lain very cold and heavy upon the gentleman’s stomach.
“Mr. Knight Bell believed it did at first. It was worthy of remark,
perhaps, that for some years the gentleman was troubled with a
night-mare, under the influence of which he always imagined himself a
wine cellar door.
“Professor Muff related a very extraordinary and convincing proof of
the wonderful efficacy of the system of infinitesimal doses, which
the section were doubtless aware was based upon the theory that the
very minutest amount of any given drug, properly dispersed through
the human frame, would be productive of precisely the same result as
a very large dose administered in the usual manner. Thus, the
fortieth part of a grain of calomel was supposed to be equal to a
five-grain calomel pill, and so on in proportion throughout the whole
range of medicine. He had tried the experiment in a curious manner
upon a publican who had been brought into the hospital with a broken
head, and was cured upon the infinitesimal system in the incredibly
short space of three months. This man was a hard drinker. He
(Professor Muff) had dispersed three drops of rum through a bucket of
water, and requested the man to drink the whole. What was the result?
Before he had drunk a quart, he was in a state of beastly
intoxication; and five other men were made dead drunk with the
remainder.
“The President wished to know whether an infinitesimal dose of
soda-water would have recovered them? Professor Muff replied that the
twenty-fifth part of a teaspoonful, properly administered to each
patient, would have sobered him immediately. The President remarked
that this was a most important discovery, and he hoped the Lord Mayor
and Court of Aldermen would patronize it immediately.
“A Member begged to be informed whether it would be possible to
administer—say, the twentieth part of a grain of bread and cheese to
all grown-up paupers, and the fortieth part to children, with the
same satisfying effect as their present allowance.
“Professor Muff was willing to stake his professional reputation on
the perfect adequacy of such a quantity of food to the support of
human life—in workhouses; the addition of the fifteenth part of a
grain of pudding twice a week would render it a high diet.
“Professor Nogo called the attention of the section to a very
extraordinary case of animal magnetism. A private watchman, being
merely looked at by the operator from the opposite side of a wide
street, was at once observed to be in a very drowsy and languid
state. He was followed to his box, and being once slightly rubbed on
the palms of the hands, fell into a sound sleep, in which he
continued without intermission for ten hours.
“Section C.—Statistics.
Hay-Loft, Original Pig.
President—Mr. Woodensconce.
Vice-Presidents—Mr. Ledbrain and Mr. Timbered.
“Mr. Slug stated to the section the result of some calculations he
had made with great difficulty and labour, regarding the state of
infant education among the middle classes of London. He found that,
within a circle of three miles from the Elephant and Castle, the
following were the names and numbers of children’s books principally
in circulation:
“Jack the Giant-killer—7,943
Ditto and Bean-stalk—8,621
Ditto and Eleven Brothers—2,845
Ditto and Jill—1,998
Total—21,407
“He found that the proportion of Robinson Crusoes to Philip Quarlls
was at four and a half to one; and that the preponderance of
Valentine and Orsons over Goody Two Shoes was as three and an eight
of the former to half a one of the latter; a comparison of Seven
Champions with Simple Simons gave the same result. The ignorance that
prevailed was lamentable. One child, on being asked whether he would
rather be saint George of England or a respectable tallow-chandler,
instantly replied, ‘Taint George of Ingling.’ Another, a little boy
of eight years old, was found to be firmly impressed with a belief in
the existence of dragons, and openly stated that it was his intention
when he grew up, to rush forth sword in hand for the deliverance of
captive princesses, and the promiscuous slaughter of giants. Not one
child among had ever heard of Mungo Park,—some inquiring whether he
was at all connected with the black man that swept the crossing; and
others whether he was in any way related to the Regent’s Park. They
had not the slightest conception of the commonest principles of
mathematics, and considered Sinbad the Sailor the most enterprising
voyager that the world had ever produced.
“A Member strongly deprecating the use of all the other books
mentioned, suggested that Jack and Jill might perhaps be exempted
from the general censure, in as much as the hero and heroine, in the
very outset of the tale, were depicted as going up a hill to fetch a
pail of water, which was a laborious and useful occupation,—supposing
the family linen was being washed, for instance.
“Mr. Slug feared that the moral effect of this passage was more than
counterbalanced by another in a subsequent part of the poem, in which
very gross allusion was made to the mode in which the heroine was
personally chastised by her mother “For laughing at Jack’s disaster”
besides, the whole work had this one great fault, it was not true.
“The President complimented the honourable member on the excellent
distinction he had drawn. Several other Members, too, dwelt upon the
immense and urgent necessity of storing the minds of children with
nothing but facts and figures; which process the President very
forcibly remarked, had made them (the section) the men they were.
“Mr. Slug then stated some curious calculations respecting the
dogs’-meat barrows of London. He found that the total number of small
carts and barrows engaged in dispensing provision to the cats and
dogs of the metropolis was one thousand seven hundred and
forty-three. The average number of skewers delivered daily with the
provender, by each dogs’-meat cart or barrow, was thirty-six. Now,
multiplying the number of skewers so delivered by the number of
barrows, a total of sixty-two thousand seven hundred and forty-eight
skewers daily would be obtained. Allowing that, of these sixty two
thousand seven hundred and forty-eight skewers, the odd two thousand
seven hundred and forty-eight were accidentally devoured with the
meat, by the most voracious of the animals supplied, it followed that
sixty thousand skewers per day, or the enormous number of twenty-one
millions nine hundred thousand skewers annually, were wasted in the
kennels and dustholes of London; which, if collected and warehoused,
would in ten years’ time afford a mass of timber more than sufficient
for the construction of a first-rate vessel of war for the use of her
Majesty’s navy, to be called ‘The Royal Skewer’ and to become under
that name the terror of all the enemies of this island.
“Mr. X. Ledbrain read a very ingenious communication, from which it
appeared that the total number of legs belonging to the manufacturing
population of one great town in Yorkshire was, in round numbers,
forty thousand, while the total number of chair and stool legs in
their houses was only thirty thousand, which, upon the very
favourable average of three legs to a seat, yielded only ten thousand
seats in all. From this calculation it would appear,—not taking
wooden or cork legs into the account, but allowing two legs to every
person,—that ten thousand individuals (one-half of the whole
population) were either destitute of any rest for their legs at all,
or passed the whole of their leisure time in sitting upon boxes.
“Section D.—Mechanical Science.
Coah-House, Original Pig.
President—Mr. Carter.
Vice-Presidents—Mr. Truck and Mr. Waghorn.
“Professor Queerspeck exhibited an elegant model of a portable
railway, neatly mounted in a green case, for the waistcoat pocket. By
attaching this beautiful instrument to his boots, any Bank or
public-office clerk could transport himself from his place of
residence to his place of business, at the easy rate of sixty-five
miles an hour, which, to gentlemen of sedentary pursuits, would be an
incalculable advantage.
“The President was desirous of knowing whether it was necessary to
have a level surface on which the gentleman was to run.
“Professor Queerspeck explained that City gentlemen would run in
trains, being handcuffed together to prevent confusion or
unpleasantness. For instance, trains would start every morning at
eight, nine, and ten o’clock, from Camden Town, Islington,
Camberwell, Hackney, and various other places in which City gentlemen
are accustomed to reside. It would be necessary to have a level, but
he had provided for this difficulty by proposing that the best line
that the circumstances would admit of, should be taken through the
sewers which undermine the streets of the metropolis, and which, well
lighted by jets from the gas pipes which run immediately above them,
would form a pleasant and commodious arcade, especially in
winter-time, when the inconvenient custom of carrying umbrellas, now
so general, could be wholly dispensed with. In reply to another
question, Professor Queerspeck stated that no substitute for the
purposes to which these arcades were at present devoted had yet
occurred to him, but that he hoped no fanciful objection on this head
would be allowed to interfere with so great an undertaking.
“Mr. Jobba produced a forcing-machine on a novel plan, for bringing
joint-stock railway shares prematurely to a premium. The instrument
was in the form of an elegant gilt weather-glass, of most dazzling
appearance, and was worked behind, by strings, after the manner of a
pantomime trick, the strings being always pulled by the directors of
the company to which the machine belonged. The quicksilver was so
ingeniously placed, that when the acting directors held shares in
their pockets, figures denoting very small expenses and very large
returns appeared upon the glass; but the moment the directors parted
with these pieces of paper, the estimate of needful expenditure
suddenly increased itself to an immense extent, while the statements
of certain profits became reduced in the same proportion. Mr. Jobba
stated that the machine had been in constant requisition for some
months past, and he had never once known it to fail.
“A Member expressed his opinion that it was extremely neat and
pretty. He wished to know whether it was not liable to accidental
derangement? Mr. Jobba said that the whole machine was undoubtedly
liable to be blown up, but that was the only objection to it.
“Professor Nogo arrived from the anatomical section to exhibit a
model of a safety fire-escape, which could be fixed at any time, in
less than half an hour, and by means of which, the youngest or most
infirm persons (successfully resisting the progress of the flames
until it was quite ready) could be preserved if they merely balanced
themselves for a few minutes on the sill of their bed-room window,
and got into the escape without falling into the street. The
Professor stated that the number of boys who had been rescued in the
daytime by this machine from houses which were not on fire, was
almost incredible. Not a conflagration had occurred in the whole of
London for many months past to which the escape had not been carried
on the very next day, and put in action before a concourse of persons.
“The President inquired whether there was not some difficulty in
ascertaining which was the top of the machine, and which the bottom,
in cases of pressing emergency.
“Professor Nogo explained that of course it could not be expected to
act quite as well when there was a fire, as when there was not a
fire; but in the former case he thought it would be of equal service
whether the top were up or down.”
With the last section our correspondent concludes his most able and
faithful Report, which will never cease to reflect credit upon him
for his scientific attainments, and upon us for our enterprising
spirit. It is needless to take a review of the subjects which have
been discussed; of the mode in which they have been examined; of the
great truths which they have elicited. They are now before the world,
and we leave them to read, to consider, and to profit.
The place of meeting for next year has undergone discussion, and has
at length been decided, regard being had to, and evidence being taken
upon, the goodness of its wines, the supply of its markets, the
hospitality of its inhabitants, and the quality of its hotels. We
hope at this next meeting our correspondent may again be present, and
that we may be once more the means of placing his communications
before the world. Until that period we have been prevailed upon to
allow this number of our Miscellany to be retailed to the public, or
wholesaled to the trade, without any advance upon our usual price.
We have only to add, that the committees are now broken up, and that
Mudfog is once again restored to its accustomed tranquillity,—that
Professors and Members have had balls, and soirées, and suppers, and
great mutual complimentations, and have at length dispersed to their
several homes,—whither all good wishes and joys attend them, until
next year! Signed Boz.
FULL REPORT OF THE SECOND MEETING OF THE MUDFOG ASSOCIATION FOR THE
ADVANCEMENT OF EVERYTHING.
In October last, we did ourselves the immortal credit of recording,
at an enormous expense, and by dint of exertions unparalleled in the
history of periodical publication, the proceedings of the Mudfog
Association for the Advancement of Everything, which in that month
held its first great half-yearly meeting, to the wonder and delight
of the whole empire. We announced at the conclusion of that
extraordinary and most remarkable Report, that when the Second
Meeting of the Society should take place, we should be found again at
our post, renewing our gigantic and spirited endeavours, and once
more making the world ring with the accuracy, authenticity,
immeasurable superiority, and intense remarkability of our account of
its proceedings. In redemption of this pledge, we caused to be
despatched per steam to Oldcastle (at which place this second meeting
of the Society was held on the 20th instant), the same
superhumanly-endowed gentleman who furnished the former report, and
who,—gifted by nature with transcendent abilities, and furnished by
us with a body of assistants scarcely inferior to himself,—has
forwarded a series of letters, which, for faithfulness of
description, power of language, fervour of thought, happiness of
expression, and importance of subject-matter, have no equal in the
epistolary literature of any age or country. We give this gentleman’s
correspondence entire, and in the order in which it reached our
office.
“Saloon of Steamer, Thursday night, half-past eight.
“When I left New Burlington Street this evening in the hackney
cabriolet, number four thousand two hundred and eighty-five, I
experienced sensations as novel as they were oppressive. A sense of
the importance of the task I had undertaken, a consciousness that I
was leaving London, and, stranger still, going somewhere else, a
feeling of loneliness and a sensation of jolting, quite bewildered my
thoughts, and for a time rendered me even insensible to the presence
of my carpet-bag and hat-box. I shall ever feel grateful to the
driver of a Blackwall omnibus who, by thrusting the pole of his
vehicle through the small door of the cabriolet, awakened me from a
tumult of imaginings that are wholly indescribable. But of such
materials is our imperfect nature composed!
“I am happy to say that I am the first passenger on board, and shall
thus be enabled to give you an account of all that happens in the
order of its occurrence. The chimney is smoking a good deal, and so
are the crew; and the captain, I am informed, is very drunk in a
little house upon deck, something like a black turnpike. I should
infer from all I hear that he has got the steam up.
“You will readily guess with what feelings I have just made the
discovery that my berth is in the same closet with those engaged by
Professor Woodensconce, Mr. Slug, and Professor Grime. Professor
Woodensconce has taken the shelf above me, and Mr. Slug and Professor
Grime the two shelves opposite. Their luggage has already arrived. On
Mr. Slug’s bed is a long tin tube of about three inches in diameter,
carefully closed at both ends. What can this contain? Some powerful
instrument of a new construction, doubtless.
“Ten minutes past nine.
“Nobody has yet arrived, nor has anything fresh come in my way except
several joints of beef and mutton, from which I conclude that a good
plain dinner has been provided for tomorrow. There is a singular
smell below, which gave me some uneasiness at first; but as the
steward says it is always there, and never goes away, I am quite
comfortable again. I learn from this man that the different sections
will be distributed at the Black Boy and Stomach-ache, and the
Boot-jack and Countenance. If this intelligence be true (and I have
no reason to doubt it), your readers will draw such conclusions as
their different opinions may suggest.
“I write down these remarks as they occur to me, or as the facts come
to my knowledge, in order that my first impressions may lose nothing
of their original vividness. I shall dispatch them in small packets
as opportunities arise.”
“Half-past nine.
“Some dark object has just appeared upon the wharf. I think it is a
travelling carriage.”
“A quarter to ten.
“No, it isn’t.”
“Half-past ten.
“The passengers are pouring in every instant. Four omnibuses full
have just arrived upon the wharf, and all is bustle and activity. The
noise and confusion are very great. Cloths are laid in the cabins,
and the steward is placing blue plates-full of knobs of cheese at
equal distances down the centre of the tables. He drops a great many
knobs; but, being used to it, picks them up again with great
dexterity, and, after wiping them on his sleeve, throws them back
into the plates. He is a young man of exceedingly prepossessing
appearance—either dirty or a mulatto, but I think the former.
“An interesting old gentleman, who came to the wharf in an omnibus,
has just quarreled violently with the porters, and is staggering
towards the vessel with a large trunk in his arms. I trust and hope
that he may reach it in safety; but the board he has to cross is
narrow and slippery. Was that a splash? Gracious powers!
“I have just returned from the deck. The trunk is standing upon the
extreme brink of the wharf, but the old gentleman is nowhere to be
seen. The watchman is not sure whether he went down or not, but
promises to drag for him the first thing to-morrow morning. May his
humane efforts prove successful!
“Professor Nogo has this moment arrived with his nightcap on under
his hat. He has ordered a glass of cold brandy and water, with a hard
biscuit and a bason, and has gone straight to bed. What can this mean?
“The three other scientific gentlemen to whom I have already alluded
have come on board, and have all tried their beds, with the exception
of Professor Woodensconce, who sleeps in one of the top ones, and
can’t get into it. Mr. Slug, who sleeps in the other top one, is
unable to get out of his, and is to have his supper handed up by a
boy. I have had the honour to introduce myself to these gentlemen,
and we have amicably arranged the order in which we shall retire to
rest; which it is necessary to agree upon, because, although the
cabin is very comfortable, there is not room for more than one
gentleman to be out of bed at a time, and even he must take his boots
off in the passage.
“As I anticipated, the knobs of cheese were provided for the
passengers’ supper, and are now in course of consumption. Your
readers will be surprised to hear that Professor Woodensconce has
abstained from cheese for eight years, although he takes butter in
considerable quantities. Professor Grime having lost several teeth,
is unable, I observe, to eat his crusts without previously soaking
them in his bottled porter. How interesting are these peculiarities!
“Half-past eleven.
“Professors Woodensconce and Grime, with a degree of good humour that
delights us all, have just arranged to toss for a bottle of mulled
port. There has been some discussion whether the payment should be
decided by the first toss or the best out of three. Eventually the
latter course has been determined on. Deeply do I wish that both
gentlemen could win; but that being impossible, I own that my
personal aspirations (I speak as an individual, and do not compromise
either you or your readers by this expression of feeling) are with
Professor Woodensconce. I have backed that gentleman to the amount of
eighteenpence.”
“Twenty minutes to twelve.
“Professor Grime has inadvertently tossed his half-crown out of one
of the cabin windows, and it has been arranged that the steward shall
toss for him. Bets are offered on any side to any amount, but there
are no takers.
“Professor Woodensconce has just called woman; but the coin having
lodged in a beam, is a long time coming down again. The interest and
suspense of this one moment are beyond anything that can be imagined.
“Twelve o’clock.
“The mulled port is smoking on the table before me, and Professor
Grime has won. Tossing is a game of chance; but on every ground,
whether of public or private character, intellectual endowments, or
scientific attainments, I cannot help expressing my opinion that
Professor Woodensconce ought to have come off victorious. There is an
exultation about Professor Grime incompatible, I fear, with true
greatness.”
“A quarter past twelve.
“Professor Grime continues to exult, and to boast of his victory in
no very measured terms, observing that he always does win, and that
he knew it would be a ‘head’ beforehand, with many other remarks of a
similar nature. Surely this gentleman is not so lost to every feeling
of decency and propriety as not to feel and know the superiority of
Professor Woodensconce? Is Professor Grime insane? or does he wish to
be reminded in plain language of his true position in society, and
the precise level of his acquirements and abilities? Professor Grime
will do well to look to this.”
“One o’clock.
“I am writing in bed. The small cabin is illuminated by the feeble
light of a flickering lamp suspended from the ceiling; Professor
Grime is lying on the opposite shelf on the broad of his back, with
his mouth wide open. The scene is indescribably solemn. The rippling
of the tide, the noise of the sailors’ feet overhead, the gruff
voices on the river, the dogs on the shore, the snoring of the
passengers, and a constant creaking of every plank in the vessel, are
the only sounds that meet the ear. With these exceptions, all is
profound silence.
“My curiosity has been within the last moment very much excited. Mr.
Slug, who lies above Professor Grime, has cautiously withdrawn the
curtains of his berth, and, after looking anxiously out, as if to
satisfy himself that his companions are asleep, has taken up the tin
tube of which I have before spoken, and is regarding it with great
interest. What rare mechanical combination can be contained in that
mysterious case? It is evidently a profound secret to all.”
“A quarter past one.
“The behaviour of Mr. Slug grows more and more mysterious. He has
unscrewed the top of the tube, and now renews his observations upon
his companions, evidently to make sure that he is wholly unobserved.
He is clearly on the eve of some great experiment. Pray heaven that
it be not a dangerous one; but the interests of science must be
promoted, and I am prepared for the worst.”
“Five minutes later.
He has produced a large pair of scissors, and drawn a roll of some
substance, not unlike parchment in appearance, from the tin case. The
experiment is about to begin. I must strain my eyes to the utmost, in
the attempt to follow its minutest operation.”
“Twenty minutes before two.
“I have at length been enabled to ascertain that the tin tube
contains a few yards of some celebrated plaster, recommended—as I
discover on regarding the label attentively through my eye-glass—as
a preservative against sea-sickness. Mr. Slug has cut it up into
small portions, and is now sticking it over himself in every
direction.”
“Three o’clock.
“Precisely a quarter of an hour ago we weighed anchor, and the
machinery was suddenly put in motion with a noise so appalling, that
Professor Woodensconce (who had ascended to his berth by means of a
platform of carpet bags arranged by himself on geometrical
principles) darted from his shelf head foremost, and, gaining his
feet with all the rapidity of extreme terror, ran wildly into the
ladies’ cabin, under the impression that we were sinking, and
uttering loud cries for aid. I am assured that the scene which ensued
baffles all description. There were one hundred and forty-seven
ladies in their respective berths at the time.
“Mr. Slug has remarked, as an additional instance of the extreme
ingenuity of the steam-engine as applied to purposes of
navigation, that in whatever part of the vessel a passenger’s berth
may be situated, the machinery always appears to be exactly under his
pillow. He intends stating this very beautiful, though simple
discovery, to the association.”
“Half-past three.
“We are still in smooth water; that is to say, in as smooth water as
a steam-vessel ever can be, for, as Professor Woodensconce (who has
just woke up) learnedly remarks, another great point of ingenuity
about a steamer is, that it always carries a little storm with it.
You can scarcely conceive how exciting the jerking pulsation of the
ship becomes. It is a matter of positive difficulty to get to sleep.”
“Friday afternoon, six o’clock.
“I regret to inform you that Mr. Slug’s plaster has proved of no
avail. He is in great agony, but has applied several large,
additional pieces notwithstanding. How affecting is this extreme
devotion to science and pursuit of knowledge under the most trying
circumstances!
“We were extremely happy this morning, and the breakfast was one of
the most animated description. Nothing unpleasant occurred until
noon, with the exception of Doctor Foxey’s brown silk umbrella and
white hat becoming entangled in the machinery while he was explaining
to a knot of ladies the construction of the steam-engine. I fear the
gravy soup for lunch was injudicious. We lost a great many passengers
almost immediately afterwards.”
“Half-past six.
“I am again in bed. Anything so heart-rending as Mr. Slug’s sufferings
it has never yet been my lot to witness.”
“Seven o’clock.
“A messenger has just come down for a clean pocket-handkerchief from
Professor Woodensconce’s bag, that unfortunate gentleman being quite
unable to leave the deck, and imploring constantly to be thrown
overboard. From this man I understand that Professor Nogo, though in
a state of utter exhaustion, clings feebly to the hard biscuit and
cold brandy and water, under the impression that they will yet
restore him. Such is the triumph of mind over matter.
“Professor Grime is in bed, to all appearance quite well; but he
will eat, and it is disagreeable to see him. Has this gentleman no
sympathy with the sufferings of his fellow creatures? If he has, on
what principle can he call for mutton-chops—and smile?”
“Black Boy and Stomach-ache, Oldcastle, Saturday noon.
“You will be happy to learn that I have at length arrived here in
safety. The town is excessively crowded, and all the private lodgings
and hotels are filled with savans of both sexes. The tremendous
assemblage of intellect that one encounters in every street is in the
last degree overwhelming.
“Notwithstanding the throng of people here, I have been fortunate
enough to meet with very comfortable accommodation on very reasonable
terms, having secured a sofa in the first-floor passage at one guinea
per night, which includes permission to take my meals in the bar, on
condition that I walk about the streets at all other times, to make
room for other gentlemen similarly situated. I have been over the
outhouses intended to be devoted to the reception of the various
sections, both here and at the Boot-jack and Countenance, and am much
delighted with the arrangements. Nothing can exceed the fresh
appearance of the saw-dust with which the floors are sprinkled. The
forms are of unplanned deal, and the general effect, as you can well
imagine, is extremely beautiful.”
“Half-past nine.
“The number and rapidity of the arrivals are quite bewildering.
Within the last ten minutes a stage-coach has driven up to the door,
filled inside and out with distinguished characters, comprising Mr.
Muddlebranes, Mr. Drawley, Professor Muff, Mr. X. Misty, Mr. X. X.
Misty, Mr. Purblind, Professor Rummun, The Honourable and Reverend
Mr. Long Eers, Professor John Ketch, Sir William Joltered, Doctor
Buffer, Mr. Smith (of London), Mr. Brown (of Edinburgh), Sir Hookham
Snivey, and Professor Pumpkin-skull. The ten last-named gentlemen
were wet through, and looked extremely intelligent.”
“Sunday, two o’clock, p.m.
“The Honorable and Reverend Mr. Long Eers, accompanied by Sir William
Joltered, walked and drove this morning. They accomplished the former
feat in boots, and the latter in a hired fly. This has naturally
given rise to much discussion.
“I have just learnt that an interview has taken place at the
Boot-jack and Countenance between Sowster, the active and intelligent
beadle of this place, and Professor Pumpkinskull, who, as your
readers are doubtless aware, is an influential member of the council.
I forbear to communicate any of the rumours to which this very
extraordinary proceeding has given rise until I have seen Sowster,
and endeavored to ascertain the truth from him.”
“Half-past six.
“I engaged a donkey-chaise shortly after writing the above, and
proceeded at a brisk trot in the direction of Sowster’s residence,
passing through a beautiful expanse of country, with red brick
buildings on either side, and stopping in the marketplace to observe
the spot where Mr. Kwakley’s hat was blown off yesterday. It is an
uneven piece of paving, but has certainly no appearance which would
lead one to suppose that any such event had recently occurred there.
From this point I proceeded—passing the gas-works and
tallow-melter’s—to a lane which had been pointed out to me as the
beadle’s place of residence; and before I had driven a dozen yards
further, I had the good fortune to meet Sowster himself advancing
towards me.
“Sowster is a fat man, with a more enlarged development of that
peculiar conformation of countenance which is vulgarly termed a
double chin than I remember to have ever seen before. He has also a
very red nose, which he attributes to a habit of early rising—so red,
indeed, that but for this explanation I should have supposed it to
proceed from occasional inebriety. He informed me that he did not
feel himself at liberty to relate what had passed between himself and
Professor Pumpkinskull, but had no objection to state that it was
connected with a matter of police regulation, and added with peculiar
significance ‘Never wos sitch times!’
“You will easily believe that this intelligence gave me considerable
surprise, not wholly unmixed with anxiety, and that I lost no time in
waiting on Professor Pumpkinskull, and stating the object of my
visit. After a few moments’ reflection, the Professor, who, I am
bound to say, behaved with the utmost politeness, openly avowed (I
mark the passage in italics) that he had requested Sowster to attend
on the Monday morning at the Boot-jack and Countenance, to keep off
the boys; and that he had further desired that the under-beadle might
be stationed, with the same object, at the Black Boy and
Stomach-ache!
“Now I leave this unconstitutional proceeding to your comments and
the consideration of your readers. I have yet to learn that a beadle,
without the precincts of a church, churchyard, or workhouse, and
acting otherwise than under the express orders of churchwardens and
overseers in council assembled, to enforce the law against people who
come upon the parish, and other offenders, has any lawful authority
whatever over the rising youth of this country. I have yet to learn
that a beadle can be called out by any civilian to exercise a
domination and despotism over the boys of Britain. I have yet to
learn that a beadle will be permitted by the commissioners of poor
law regulation to wear out the soles and heels of his boots in
illegal interference with the liberties of people not proved poor or
otherwise criminal. I have yet to learn that a beadle has power to
stop up the Queen’s highway at his will and pleasure, or that the
whole width of the street is not free and open to any man, boy, or
woman in existence, up to the very walls of the houses—ay, be they
Black Boys and Stomach-aches, or Boot-jacks and Countenances, I care
not.”
“Nine o’clock.
“I have procured a local artist to make a faithful sketch of the
tyrant Sowster, which, as he has acquired this infamous celebrity,
you will no doubt wish to have engraved for the purpose of presenting
a copy with every copy of your next number. I enclose it. The
under-beadle has consented to write his life, but it is to be
strictly anonymous.
“The accompanying likeness is of course from the life, and complete
in every respect. Even if I had been totally ignorant of the man’s
real character, and it had been placed before me without remark, I
should have shuddered involuntarily. There is an intense malignity of
expression in the features, and a baleful ferocity of purpose in the
ruffian’s eye, which appalls and sickens. His whole air is rampant
with cruelty, nor is the stomach less characteristic of his demoniac
propensities.”
“Monday.
“The great day has at length arrived. I have neither eyes, nor ears,
nor pens, nor ink, nor paper, for anything but the wonderful
proceedings that have astounded my senses. Let me collect my energies
and proceed to the account.
“Section A.—Zoology and Botany.
Front Parlour, Black Boy and Stomach-Ache.
President—Sir William Joltered.
Vice-Presidents—Mr. Muddlebranes and Mr. Drawley.
“Mr. X. X. Misty communicated some remarks on the disappearance of
dancing bears from the streets of London, with observations on the
exhibition of monkeys as connected with barrel-organs. The writer had
observed, with feelings of the utmost pain and regret, that some
years ago a sudden and unaccountable change in the public taste took
place with reference to itinerant bears, who, being discountenanced
by the populace, gradually fell off one by one from the streets of
the metropolis, until not one remained to create a taste for natural
history in the breasts of the poor and uninstructed. One bear,
indeed,—a brown and ragged animal,—had lingered about the haunts of
his former triumphs, with a worn and dejected visage and feeble
limbs, and had essayed to wield his quarter-staff for the amusement
of the multitude; but hunger, and an utter want of any due recompense
for his abilities, had at length driven him from the field, and it
was only too probable that he had fallen a sacrifice to the rising
taste for grease. He regretted to add that a similar, and no less
lamentable, change had taken place with reference to monkeys. These
delightful animals had formerly been almost as plentiful as the organs
on the tops of which they were accustomed to sit; the proportion in
the year 1829 (it appeared by the parliamentary return) being as one
monkey to three organs. Owing, however, to an altered taste in
musical instruments, and the substitution, in a great measure, of
narrow boxes of music for organs, which left the monkeys nothing to
sit upon, this source of public amusement was wholly dried up.
Considering it a matter of the deepest importance, in connection with
national education, that the people should not lose such
opportunities of making themselves acquainted with the manners and
customs of two most interesting species of animals, the author
submitted that some measures should be immediately taken for the
restoration of these pleasing and truly intellectual amusements.
“The President inquired by what means the honourable member proposed
to attain this most desirable end?
“The Author submitted that it could be most fully and satisfactorily
accomplished, if Her Majesty’s Government would cause to be brought
over to England, and maintained at the public expense, and for the
public amusement, such a number of bears as would enable every
quarter of the town to be visited—say at least by three bears a week.
No difficulty whatever need be experienced in providing a fitting
place for the reception of these animals, as a commodious bear-garden
could be erected in the immediate neighbourhood of both Houses of
Parliament; obviously the most proper and eligible spot for such an
establishment.
“Professor Mull doubted very much whether any correct ideas of
natural history were propagated by the means to which the honourable
member had so ably adverted. On the contrary, he believed that they
had been the means of diffusing very incorrect and imperfect notions
on the subject. He spoke from personal observation and personal
experience, when he said that many children of great abilities had
been induced to believe, from what they had observed in the streets,
at and before the period to which the honourable gentleman had
referred, that all monkeys were born in red coats and spangles, and
that their hats and feathers also came by nature. He wished to know
distinctly whether the honourable gentleman attributed the want of
encouragement the bears had met with to the decline of public taste
in that respect, or to a want of ability on the part of the bears
themselves?
“Mr. X. X. Misty replied, that he could not bring himself to believe
but that there must be a great deal of floating talent among the
bears and monkeys generally; which, in the absence of any proper
encouragement, was dispersed in other directions.
“Professor Pumpkinskull wished to take that opportunity of calling
the attention of the section to a most important and serious point.
The author of the treatise just read had alluded to the prevalent
taste for bears’-grease as a means of promoting the growth of hair,
which undoubtedly was diffused to a very great and (as it appeared to
him) very alarming extent. No gentleman attending that section could
fail to be aware of the fact that the youth of the present age
evinced, by their behaviour in the streets, and at all places of
public resort, a considerable lack of that gallantry and gentlemanly
feeling which, in more ignorant times, had been thought becoming. He
wished to know whether it were possible that a constant outward
application of bears’-grease by the young gentlemen about town had
imperceptibly infused into those unhappy persons something of the
nature and quality of the bear. He shuddered as he threw out the
remark; but if this theory, on inquiry, should prove to be
well-founded, it would at once explain a great deal of unpleasant
eccentricity of behaviour, which, without some such discovery, was
wholly unaccountable.
“The President highly complimented the learned gentleman on his most
valuable suggestion, which produced the greatest effect upon the
assembly; and remarked that only a week previous he had seen some
young gentlemen at a theatre eyeing a box of ladies with a fierce
intensity, which nothing but the influence of some brutish appetite
could possibly explain. It was dreadful to reflect that our youth
were so rapidly verging into a generation of bears.
“After a scene of scientific enthusiasm it was resolved that this
important question should be immediately submitted to the
consideration of the council.
“The President wished to know whether any gentleman could inform the
section what had become of the dancing-dogs?
“A Member replied, after some hesitation, that on the day after three
glee-singers had been committed to prison as criminals by a late most
zealous police-magistrate of the metropolis, the dogs had abandoned
their professional duties, and dispersed themselves in different
quarters of the town to gain a livelihood by less dangerous means. He
was given to understand that since that period they had supported
themselves by lying in wait for and robbing blind men’s poodles.
“Mr. Flummery exhibited a twig, claiming to be a veritable branch of
that noble tree known to naturalists as the Shakspeare, which has
taken root in every land and climate, and gathered under the shade of
its broad green boughs the great family of mankind. The learned
gentleman remarked that the twig had been undoubtedly called by other
names in its time; but that it had been pointed out to him by an old
lady in Warwickshire, where the great tree had grown, as a shoot of
the genuine Shakspeare, by which name he begged to introduce it to
his countrymen.
“The President wished to know what botanical definition the
honourable gentleman could afford of the curiosity.
“Mr. Flummery expressed his opinion that it was a decided plant.
“Section B.—Display of Models and Mechanical Science.
Large Room, Boot-Jack and Countenance.
President—Mr. Mallett.
Vice-Presidents—Messrs. Leaver and Scroo.
“Mr. Crinkles exhibited a most beautiful and delicate machine, of
little larger size than an ordinary snuff-box, manufactured entirely
by himself, and composed exclusively of steel, by the aid of which
more pockets could be picked in one hour than by the present slow and
tedious process in four-and twenty. The inventor remarked that it had
been put into active operation in Fleet Street, the Strand, and other
thoroughfares, and had never been once known to fail.
“After some slight delay, occasioned by the various members of the
section buttoning their pockets, the President narrowly inspected the
invention, and declared that he had never seen a machine of more
beautiful or exquisite construction. Would the inventor be good
enough to inform the section whether he had taken any and what means
for bringing it into general operation?
“Mr. Crinkles stated that, after encountering some preliminary
difficulties, he had succeeded in putting himself in communication
with Mr. Fogle Hunter, and other gentlemen connected with the swell
mob, who had awarded the invention the very highest and most
unqualified approbation. He regretted to say, however, that these
distinguished practitioners, in common with a gentleman of the name
of Gimlet-eyed Tommy, and other members of a secondary grade of the
profession whom he was understood to represent, entertained an
insuperable objection to its being brought into general use, on the
ground that it would have the inevitable effect of almost entirely
superseding manual labour, and throwing a great number of
highly-deserving persons out of employment.
“The President hoped that no such fanciful objections would be
allowed to stand in the way of such a great public improvement.
“Mr. Crinkles hoped so too; but he feared that if the gentlemen of
the swell mob persevered in their objection, nothing could be done.
“Professor Grime suggested, that surely, in that case, Her Majesty’s
government might be prevailed upon to take it up.
“Mr. Crinkles said, that if the objection were found to be
insuperable he should apply to parliament, which he thought could not
fail to recognise the utility of the invention.
“The President observed that, up to this time parliament had
certainly got on very well without it; but, as they did their
business on a very large scale, he had no doubt they would gladly
adopt the improvement. His only fear was that the machine might be
worn out by constant working.
“Mr. Coppernose called the attention of the section to a proposition
of great magnitude and interest, illustrated by a vast number of
models, and stated with much clearness and perspicuity in a treatise
entitled ‘Practical Suggestions on the necessity of providing some
harmless and wholesome relaxation for the young noblemen of England.’
His proposition was, that a space of ground of not less than ten
miles in length and four in breadth should be purchased by a new
company, to be incorporated by Act of Parliament, and in closed by a
brick wall of not less than twelve feet in height. He proposed that
it should be laid out with highway roads, turnpikes, bridges,
miniature villages, and every object that could conduce to the
comfort and glory of Four-in-hand Clubs, so that they might be fairly
presumed to require no drive beyond it This delightful retreat would
be fitted up with most commodious and extensive stables, for the
convenience of such of the nobility and gentry as had a taste for
ostlering, and with houses of entertainment furnished in the most
expensive and handsome style. It would be further provided with whole
streets of door-knockers and bell-handles of extra size, so
constructed that they could be easily wrenched off at night, and
regularly screwed on again, by attendants provided for the purpose,
every day. There would also be gas lamps of real glass, which could
be broken at a comparatively small expense per dozen, and a broad and
handsome foot pavement for gentlemen to drive their cabriolets upon
when they were humorously disposed—for the full enjoyment of which
feat live pedestrians would be procured from the workhouse at a very
small charge per head. The place being inclosed, and carefully
screened from the intrusion of the public, there would be no
objection to gentlemen laying aside any article of their costume that
was considered to interfere with a pleasant frolic, or, indeed, to
their walking about without any costume at all, if they liked that
better. In short, every facility of enjoyment would be afforded that
the most gentlemanly person could possibly desire. But as even these
advantages would be incomplete unless there were some means provided
of enabling the nobility and gentry to display their prowess when
they sallied forth after dinner, and as some inconvenience might be
experienced in the event of their being reduced to the necessity of
pummelling each other, the inventor had turned his attention to the
construction of an entirely new police force, composed exclusively of
automaton figures, which, with the assistance of the ingenious Signor
Gagliardi, of Windmillstreet, in the Haymarket, he had succeeded in
making with such nicety, that a policeman, cab-driver, or old woman,
made upon the principle of the models exhibited, would walk about
until knocked down like any real man;nay, more, if set upon and
beaten by six or eight noblemen or gentlemen, after it was down, the
figure would utter divers groans, mingled with entreaties for mercy,
thus rendering the illusion complete, and the enjoyment perfect. But
the invention did not stop even here; for station-houses would be
built, containing good beds for noblemen and gentlemen during the
night, and in the morning they would repair to a commodious police
office, where a pantomimic investigation would take place before the
automaton magistrates,—quite equal to life,—who would fine them in so
many counters, with which they would be previously provided for the
purpose. This office would be furnished with an inclined plane, for
the convenience of any nobleman or gentleman who might wish to bring
in his horse as a witness; and the prisoners would be at perfect
liberty, as they were now, to interrupt the complainants as much as
they pleased, and to make any remarks that they thought proper. The
charge for these amusements would amount to very little more than
they already cost, and the inventor submitted that the public would
be much benefited and comforted by the proposed arrangement.
“Professor Nogo wished to be informed what amount of automaton police
force it was proposed to raise in the first instance.
“Mr. Coppernose replied, that it was proposed to begin with seven
divisions of police of a score each, lettered from A to G inclusive.
It was proposed that not more than half this number should be placed
on active duty, and that the remainder should be kept on shelves in
the police office ready to be called out at a moment’s notice.
“The President, awarding the utmost merit to the ingenious gentleman
who had originated the idea, doubted whether the automaton police
would quite answer the purpose. He feared that noblemen and gentlemen
would perhaps require the excitement of threshing living subjects.
“Mr. Coppernose submitted, that as the usual odds in such cases were
ten noblemen or gentlemen to one policeman or cab-driver, it could
make very little difference in point of excitement whether the
policeman or cabdriver were a man or a block. The great advantage
would be, that a policeman’s limbs might be all knocked off, and yet
he would be in a condition to do duty next day. He might even give
his evidence next morning with his head in his hand, and give it
equally well.
“Professor Muff.—Will you allow me to ask you, sir, of what materials
it is intended that the magistrates’ heads shall be composed?
“Mr. Coppernose.—The magistrates will have wooden heads of course,
and they will be made of the toughest and thickest materials that can
possibly be obtained.
“Professor Muff.—I am quite satisfied. This is a great invention.
“Professor Nogo.—I see but one objection to it. It appears to me that
the magistrates ought to talk.
“Mr. Coppernose no sooner heard this suggestion than he touched a
small spring in each of the two models of magistrates which were
placed upon the table; one of the figures immediately began to
exclaim with great volubility that he was sorry to see gentlemen in
such a situation, and the other to express a fear that the policeman
was intoxicated.
“The section, as with one accord, declared with a shout of applause
that the invention was complete; and the President, much excited,
retired with Mr. Coppernose to lay it before the council. On his
return, Mr. Tickle displayed his newly-invented spectacles, which
enabled the wearer to discern, in very bright colours, objects at a
great distance, and rendered him wholly blind to those immediately
before him. It was, he said, a most valuable and useful invention,
based strictly upon the principle of the human eye.
“The President required some information upon this point. He had yet
to learn that the human eye was remarkable for the peculiarities of
which the honourable gentleman had spoken.
“Mr. Tickle was rather astonished to hear this, when the President
could not fail to be aware that a large number of most excellent
persons and great statesmen could see, with the naked eye, most
marvellous horrors on West India plantations, while they could
discern nothing whatever in the interior of Manchester cotton mills.
He must know, too, with what quickness of perception most people
could discover their neighbours faults, and how very blind they were
to their own. If the President differed from the great majority of
men in this respect, his eye was a defective one, and it was to
assist his vision that these glasses were made.
“Mr. Blank exhibited a model of a fashionable annual, composed of
copperplates, gold leaf, and silk boards, and worked entirely by milk
and water.
“Mr. Prosee, after examining the machine, declared it to be so
ingeniously composed, that he was wholly unable to discover how it
went on at all.
“Mr. Blank.—Nobody can, and that is the beauty of it.
“Section C.—Anatomy and Medicine.
Bar Room, Black Boy and Stomach-Ache.
President—Dr. Soemup.
Vice-Presidents—Messrs. Pessell and Mortair.
“Dr. Grummidge stated to the section a most interesting case of
monomania, and described the course of treatment he had pursued with
perfect success. The patient was a married lady in the middle rank of
life, who, having seen another lady at an evening party in a full
suit of pearls, was suddenly seized with a desire to possess a
similar equipment, although her husband’s finances were by no means
equal to the necessary outlay. Finding her wish ungratified, she fell
sick, and the symptoms soon became so alarming, that he (Dr.
Grummidge) was called in. At this period the prominent tokens of the
disorder were sullenness, a total indisposition to perform domestic
duties, great peevishness, and extreme languor, except when pearls
were mentioned, at which times the pulse quickened, the eyes grew
brighter, the pupils dilated, and the patient, after various
incoherent exclamations, burst into a passion of tears, and exclaimed
that nobody cared for her, and that she wished herself dead. Finding
that the patient’s appetite was affected in the presence of company,
he began by ordering a total abstinence from all stimulants, and
forbidding any sustenance but weak gruel; he then took twenty ounces
of blood, applied a blister under each ear, one upon the chest, and
another on the back; having done which, and administered five grains
of calomel, he left the patient to her repose. The next day she was
somewhat low, but decidedly better, and all appearances of irritation
were removed. The next day she improved still further, and on the
next again. On the fourth there was some appearance of a return of
the old symptoms, which no sooner developed themselves, than he
administered another dose of calomel, and left strict orders that,
unless a decidedly favourable change occurred within two hours, the
patient’s head should be immediately shaved to the very last curl
From that moment she began to mend, and, in less than four-and-twenty
hours was perfectly restored. She did not now betray the least
emotion at the sight or mention of pearls or any other ornaments. She
was cheerful and goodhumoured, and a most beneficial change had been
effected in her whole temperament and condition.
“Mr. Pipkin (M.R.C.S.) read a short but most interesting
communication in which he sought to prove the complete belief of Sir
William Courtenay, otherwise Thorn, recently shot at Canterbury, in
the Homoeopathic system. The section would bear in mind that one of
the Homoeopathic doctrines was, that infinitesimal doses of any
medicine which would occasion the disease under which the patient
laboured, supposing him to be in a healthy state, would cure it. Now,
it was a remarkable circumstance—proved in the evidence—that the
deceased Thorn employed a woman to follow him about all day with a
pail of water, assuring her that one drop (a purely homoeopathic
remedy, the section would observe), placed upon his tongue, after
death, would restore him. What was the obvious inference? That Thorn,
who was marching and countermarching in osier beds, and other swampy
places, was impressed with a presentiment that he should be drowned;
in which case, had his instructions been complied with, he could not
fail to have been brought to life again instantly by his own
prescription. As it was, if this woman, or any other person, had
administered an infinitesimal dose of lead and gunpowder immediately
after he fell, he would have recovered forthwith. But unhappily the
woman concerned did not possess the power of reasoning by analogy, or
carrying out a principle, and thus the unfortunate gentleman had been
sacrificed to the ignorance of the peasantry.
“Section D.—Statistics.
Out-House, Black Boy and Stomach-Ache.
President—Mr. Slug.
Vice-Presidents—Messrs. Noakes and Styles.
“Mr. Kwakley stated the result of some most ingenious statistical
inquiries relative to the difference between the value of the
qualification of several members of Parliament as published to the
world, and its real nature and amount. After reminding the section
that every member of Parliament for a town or borough was supposed to
possess a clear freehold estate of three hundred pounds per annum,
the honourable gentleman excited great amusement and laughter by
stating the exact amount of freehold property possessed by a column
of legislators, in which he had included himself. It appeared from
this table, that the amount of such income possessed by each was 0
pounds, 0 shillings, and 0 pence, yielding an average of the same.
(Great laughter.) It was pretty well known that there were
accommodating gentlemen in the habit of furnishing new members with
temporary qualifications, to the ownership of which they swore
solemnly—of course as a mere matter of form. He argued from these
data that it was wholly unnecessary for members of Parliament to
possess any property at all, especially as when they had none the
public could get them so much cheaper.
“Supplementary Section, E.—Umbugology and Ditchwaterisics.
President—Mr. Grub.
Vice-Presidents—Messrs. Dull and Dummy.
“A paper was read by the secretary descriptive of a bay pony with one
eye, which had been seen by the author standing in a butchers cart at
the corner of Newgate Market. The communication described the author
of the paper as having, in the prosecution of a mercantile pursuit,
be taken himself one Saturday morning last summer from Somers Town to
Cheapside; in the course of which expedition he had beheld the
extraordinary appearance above described. The pony had one distinct
eye, and it had been pointed out to him by his friend Captain
Blunderbore, of the Horse Marines, who assisted the author in his
search, that whenever he winked this eye he whisked his tail
(possibly to drive the flies off), but that he always winked and
whisked at the same time. The animal was lean, spavined, and
tottering; and the author proposed to constitute it of the family of
Fitfordogsmeataurious. It certainly did occur to him that there was
no case on record of a pony with one clearly-defined and distinct
organ of vision, winking and whisking at the same moment.
“Mr. Q. J. Snuffletoffle had heard of a pony winking his eye, and
likewise of a pony whisking his tail, but whether they were two
ponies or the same pony he could not undertake positively to say. At
all events, he was acquainted with no authenticated instance of a
simultaneous winking and whisking, and he really could not but doubt
the existence of such a marvelous pony in opposition to all those
natural laws by which ponies were governed. Referring, however, to
the mere question of his one organ of vision, might he suggest the
possibility of this pony having been literally half asleep at the
time he was seen, and having closed only one eye.
“The President observed that, whether the pony was half asleep or
fast asleep, there could be no doubt that the association was wide
awake, and therefore that they had better get the business over, and
go to dinner. He had certainly never seen anything analogous to this
pony, but he was not prepared to doubt its existence; for he had seen
many queerer ponies in his time, though he did not pretend to have
seen any more remarkable donkeys than the other gentlemen around him.
“Professor John Ketch was then called upon to exhibit the skull of
the late Mr.Greenacre, which he produced from a blue bag, remarking,
on being invited to make any observations that occurred to him, ‘that
he’d pound it as that ’ere ’spectable section had never seed a more
gamerer cove nor he vos.’
“A most animated discussion upon this interesting relic ensued; and,
some difference of opinion arising respecting the real character of
the deceased gentleman, Mr. Blubb delivered a lecture upon the
cranium before him, clearly showing that Mr. Greenacre possessed the
organ of destructiveness to a most unusual extent, with a most
remarkable development of the organ of carveativeness. Sir Hookham
Snivey was proceeding to combat this opinion, when Professor Ketch
suddenly interrupted the proceedings by exclaiming, with great
excitement of manner ‘Walker!’
“The President begged to call the learned gentleman to order.
“Professor Ketch. ‘Order be blowed! you’ve got the wrong un, I tell
you. It ain’t no e’d at all; it’s a coker-nut as my brother-in-law
has been a-carvin’, to hornament his new baked tatur-stall wots
a-comin down ’ere vile the ’sociation’s in the town. Hand over, will
you?’
“With these words, Professor Ketch hastily repossessed himself of the
cocoa-nut, and drew forth the skull, in mistake for which he had
exhibited it. A most interesting conversation ensued; but as there
appeared some doubt ultimately whether the skull was Mr.Greenacre’s,
or a hospital patient’s, or a paupers, or a man’s, or a woman’s, or a
monkey’s, no particular result was obtained.”
“I cannot,” says our talented correspondent in conclusion, “I cannot
close my account of these gigantic researches and sublime and noble
triumphs without repeating a bon mot of Professor Woodensconce’s,
which shows how the greatest minds may occasionally unbend when truth
can be presented to listening ears, clothed in an attractive and
playful form. I was standing by, when, after a week of feasting and
feeding, that learned gentleman, accompanied by the whole body of
wonderful men, entered the hall yesterday, where a sumptuous dinner
was prepared; where the richest wines sparkled on the board, and fat
bucks—propitiatory sacrifices to learning—sent forth their savoury
odours. ‘Ah!’ said Professor Woodensconce, rubbing his hands, “this
is what we meet for; this is what inspires us; this is what keeps us
together, and beckons us onward; this is the spread of science, and
a glorious spread it is.”
THE PANTOMIME OF LIFE.
Before we plunge headlong into this paper, let us at once confess to
a fondness for pantomimes—to a gentle sympathy with clowns and
pantaloons—to an unqualified admiration of harlequins and
columbines—to a chaste delight in every action of their brief
existence, varied and many-coloured as those actions are, and
inconsistent though they occasionally be with those rigid and formal
rules of propriety which regulate the proceedings of meaner and less
comprehensive minds. We revel in pantomimes—not because they dazzle
one’s eyes with tinsel and gold leaf; not because they present to us,
once again, the well-beloved chalked faces, and goggle eyes of our
childhood; not even because, like Christmas-day, and Twelfth-night,
and Shrove-Tuesday and one’s own birthday, they come to us but once a
year;—our attachment is founded on a graver and a very different
reason. A pantomime is to us, a mirror of life; nay more, we maintain
that it is so to audiences generally, although they are not aware of
it, and that this very circumstance is the secret cause of their
amusement and delight.
Let us take a slight example. The scene is a street: an elderly
gentleman, with a large face and strongly marked features, appears.
His countenance beams with a sunny smile, and a perpetual dimple is
on his broad, red cheek. He is evidently an opulent elderly
gentleman, comfortable in circumstances, and well-to-do in the world.
He is not unmindful of the adornment of his person, for he is richly,
not to say gaudily dressed; and that he indulges to a reasonable
extent in the pleasures of the table may be inferred from the joyous
and oily manner in which he rubs his stomach, by way of informing the
audience that he is going home to dinner. In the fulness of his
heart, in the fancied security of wealth, in the possession and
enjoyment of all the good things of life, the elderly gentleman
suddenly loses his footing, and stumbles. How the audience roar! He
is set upon by a noisy and officious crowd, who buffet and cuff him
unmercifully. They scream with delight! Every time the elderly
gentleman struggles to get up, his relentless persecutors knock him
down again. The spectators are convulsed with merriment! And when at
last the elderly gentleman does get up, and staggers away, despoiled
of hat, wig, and clothing, himself battered to pieces, and his watch
and money gone, they are exhausted with laughter, and express their
merriment and admiration in rounds of applause.
Is this like life? change the scene to any real street;—to the stock
exchange, or the city banker’s; the merchant’s counting house, or
even the tradesman’s shop. See any one of these men fall,—the more
suddenly, and the nearer the zenith of his pride and riches, the
better. What a wild hallo is raised over his prostrate carcase by the
shouting mob; how they whoop and yell as he lies humbled beneath
them! mark how eagerly they set upon him when he is down; and how
they mock and deride him as he slinks away. Why, it is the pantomime
to the very letter.
Of all the pantomimic dramatis personae, we consider the pantaloon
the most worthless and debauched. Independent of the dislike one
naturally feels at seeing a gentleman of his years engaged in
pursuits highly unbecoming his gravity and time of life, we cannot
conceal from ourselves the fact that he is a treacherous,
worldly-minded old villain, constantly enticing his younger
companion, the clown, into acts of fraud or petty larceny, and
generally standing aside to watch the result of the enterprise. If it
be successful, he never forgets to return for his share of the spoil;
but if it turns out a failure, he generally retires with remarkable
caution and expedition, and keeps carefully aloof until the affair
has blown over. His amorous propensities too are eminently
disagreeable; and his mode of addressing ladies in the open street at
noon-day is downright improper, being usually neither more nor less
than a perceptible tickling of the aforesaid ladies in the waist,
after committing which, he starts back, manifestly ashamed (as well
he may be) of his own indecorum and temerity; continuing,
nevertheless, to ogle and beckon to them from a distance in a very
unpleasant and immoral manner.
Is there any man who cannot count a dozen pantaloons in his own
social circle? Is there any man who has not seen them swarming at the
west end of the town on a sunshiny day or a summer’s evening, going
through the last-named pantomimic feats with as much liquorish
energy, and as total an absence of reserve, as if they were on the
very stage itself? We can tell upon our fingers a dozen pantaloons of
our acquaintance at this moment—capital pantaloons, who have been
performing all kinds of strange freaks, to the great amusement of
their friends and acquaintance for years past; and who to this day
are making such comical and ineffectual attempts to be young and
dissolute, that all beholders are like to die with laughter.
Take that old gentleman who has just emerged from the Café de
l’Europe in the Haymarket, where he has been dining at the expense
of the young man upon town with whom he shakes hands as they part at
the door of the tavern. The affected warmth of that shake of the
hand, the courteous nod, the obvious recollection of the dinner, the
savoury flavour of which still hangs upon his lips, are all
characteristics of his great prototype. He hobbles away humming an
opera tune, and twirling his cane to and fro, with affected
carelessness. Suddenly he stops—’tis at the milliner’s window. He
peeps through one of the ladies within being obstructed by the India
shawls, directs his attentions to the young girl with the band box in
her hand, who is gazing in at the window also. See! He draws beside
her. He coughs; she turns away from him. He draws near her again; she
disregards him. He gleefully chucks her under the chin, and
retreating a few steps, nods and beckons with fantastic grimaces,
while the girl bestows a contemptuous and supercilious look upon his
wrinkled visage. She turns away with a flounce, and the old gentleman
trots after her with a toothless chuckle. The pantaloon to the life!
But the close resemblance which the clowns of the stage bear to those
of everyday life is perfectly extraordinary. Some people talk with a
sigh of the decline of pantomime, and murmur in low and dismal tones
the name of Grimaldi. We mean no disparagement to the worthy and
excellent old man when we say that this is downright nonsense. Clowns
that beat Grimaldi all to nothing turn up every day and nobody
patronizes them—more’s the pity!
“I know who you mean,” says some dirty-faced patron of Mr.
Osbaldistone’s, laying down the miscellany when he has got thus far,
and bestowing upon vacancy a most knowing glance; “you mean C.J.
Smith as did Guy Fawkes, and George Barnwell at the Garden.” The
dirty-faced gentleman has hardly uttered the words, when he is
interrupted by a young gentleman in no shirt collar and a Petersham
coat. “No, no,” says the young gentleman; “he means Brown, King, and
Gibson, at the Delphi.” Now, with great deference both to the
first-named gentleman with the dirty face, and the last named
gentleman in the non-existing shirt collar, we do not mean either
the performer who so grotesquely burlesqued the Popish conspirator,
or the three unchangeables who have been dancing the same dance under
different imposing titles, and doing the same thing under various
high-sounding names for some five or six years last past. We have no
sooner made this avowal, than the public, who have hitherto been
silent witnesses of the dispute, inquire what on earth it is we do
mean; and, with becoming respect, we proceed to tell them.
It is very well known to all playgoers and pantomime-seers, that the
scenes in which a theatrical clown is at the very height of his glory
are those which are described in the play-bills as “cheesemonger’s
shop and Crockery warehouse,” or “Tailor’s shop and Mrs. Queertable’s
boarding-house,” or places bearing some such title, where the great
fun of the thing consists in the hero’s taking lodgings which he has
not the slightest intention of paying for, or obtaining goods under
false pretences, or abstracting the stock-in-trade of the respectable
shopkeeper next door or robbing warehouse porters as they pass under
his window, or to shorten the catalogue in his swindling everybody he
possibly can, it only remaining to be observed that, the more
extensive the swindling is, and the more barefaced the impudence of
the swindler, the greater the rapture and ecstasy of the audience.
Now it is a most remarkable fact that precisely this sort of thing
occurs in real life day after day, and nobody sees the humour of it.
Let us illustrate our position by detailing the plot of this portion
of the pantomime-not of the theatre, but of life.
The Honourable Captain Fitz-Whisker Fiercy, attended by his livery
servant Do’em—a most respectable servant to look at, who has grown
grey in the service of the captain’s family—views, treats for, and
ultimately obtains possession of the unfurnished house, such a
number, such a street. All the trades men in the neighbourhood are in
agonies of competition for the captain’s custom; the captain is a
good-natured, kind-hearted, easy man, and to avoid being the cause of
disappointment to any, he most handsomely gives orders to all.
Hampers of wine, baskets of provisions, cart-loads of furniture,
boxes of jewellery, supplies of luxuries of the costliest
description, flock to the house of the Honourable Captain
Fitz-Whisker Fiercy, where they are received with the utmost
readiness by the highly respectable Do’em; while the captain himself
struts and swaggers about with that compound air of conscious
superiority and general blood-thirstiness which a military captain
should always, and does most times, wear to the admiration and terror
of Plebian men. But the tradesmen’s backs are no sooner turned, than
the captain, with all the eccentricity of a mighty mind, and assisted
by the faithful Do’em, whose devoted fidelity is no the least
touching part of his character, disposes of everything to great
advantage; for, although the articles fetch small sums, still they
are sold considerably above cost price, the cost to the captain
having been nothing at all. After various maneuvers, the imposture is
discovered, Fitz-Fiercy and Do’em are recognized as confederates, and
the police office to which they are both taken is thronged with their
dupes.
Who can fail to recognize in this, the exact counterpart of the best
portion of a theatrical pantomime—Fitz-Whisker Fiercy by the clown;
Do’em by the pantaloon; and supernumeraries by the tradesmen? The
best of the joke, too is that the very coal merchant who is loudest
in his complaints against the person who defrauded him, is the
identical man who sat in the centre of the very front row of the pit
last night and laughed the most boisterously at this very same
thing,—and not so well done either. Talk of Grimaldi, we say again!
Did Grimaldi, in his best day ever do anything in this way equal to
Da Costa?
The mention of this latter justly celebrated clown reminds us of his
last piece of humour, the fraudulently obtaining certain stamped
acceptances from a young gentleman in the army. We had scarcely laid
down our pen to contemplate for a few moments this admirable actor’s
performance of that exquisite practical joke, than a new branch of
our subject flashed suddenly upon us. So we take it up again at once.
All people who have been behind the scenes, and most people who have
been before them, know that In the representation of a pantomime, a
good many men are sent upon the stage for the express purpose of
being cheated, or knocked down, or both. Now down to a moment ago, we
had never been able to understand for what possible purpose a great
number of odd, lazy, large headed men, whom one is in the habit of
meeting here, and there and everywhere, could ever have been created.
We see it all, now. They are the supernumeraries in the Pantomime of
life; the men who have been thrust into it, with no other view than
to be constantly tumbling over each other, and running theirs heads
against all sorts of strange things. We sat opposite to one of these
men at a supper-table, only last week. Now we think of it, he was
exactly like the gentlemen with the pasteboard heads and faces, who
do corresponding business in the theatrical pantomimes; there was the
same broad stolid simper—the same dull leaden eye—the same unmeaning,
vacant stare; and whatever was said, or whatever was done, he always
came in at precisely the wrong place, or jostled against something
that he had not the slightest business with. We looked at the man
across the table again and again; and could not satisfy ourselves
what race of beings to class him with. How very odd that this never
occurred to us before!
We will frankly own that we have been much troubled with the
harlequin. We see harlequins of so many kinds in the real living
pantomime, that we hardly know which to select as the proper fellow
of him of the theatres. At one time we were disposed to think that
the harlequin was neither more nor less than a young man of family
and independent property, who had run away with an opera dancer, and
was fooling his life and his means away in light and trivial
amusements. On reflection, however, we remembered that harlequins are
occasionally guilty of witty, and even clever acts, and we are rather
disposed to acquit our young men of family and independent property,
generally speaking of any such misdemeanors. On a more mature
consideration of the subject, we have arrived at the conclusion that
the harlequins of life are just ordinary men, to be found in no
particular walk or degree, on whom a certain station, or particular
conjunction of circumstances, confers the magic wand. And this brings
us to a few words on the pantomime of public and political life,
which we shall say at once, and then conclude—merely premising in
this place that we decline any reference whatever to the columbine,
being in no side satisfied of the nature of her connection with her
parti-coloured lover, and not feeling by any means clear that we
should be justified in introducing her to the virtuous and
respectable ladies who peruse our lucubrations.
We take it that the commencement of a Session of Parliament is
neither more nor less than the drawing up of the curtain for a grand
comic pantomime, and that his Majesty’s most gracious speech on the
opening thereof may be not inaptly compared to the clown’s opening
speech of “Here we are!” “My lords and gentlemen, here we are!”
appears, to our mind at least, to be a very good abstract of the
point and meaning of the propitiatory address of the ministry. When
we remember how frequently this speech is made, immediately after the
change too, the parallel is quite perfect, and still more singular.
Perhaps the cast of our political pantomime never was richer than at
this day. We are particularly strong in clowns. At no former time, we
should say, have we had such astonishing tumblers, or performers so
ready to go through the whole of their feats for the amusement of an
admiring throng. Their extreme readiness to exhibit, indeed, has
given rise to some ill-natured reflections; it having been objected
that by exhibiting gratuitously through the country when the theatre
is closed, they reduce themselves to the level of mountebanks, and
thereby tend to degrade the respectability of the profession.
Certainly Grimaldi never did this sort of thing; and though Brown,
King, and Gibson have gone to the Surrey in vacation time, and
Mr.C.J. Smith has ruralized at Sadler’s Wells, we find no theatrical
precedent for a general tumbling through the country, except in the
gentleman, name unknown, who threw summersets on behalf of the late
Mr. Richardson, and who is no authority either, because he had never
been on the regular boards.
But, laying aside this question, which after all is a mere matter of
taste, we may reflect with pride and gratification of heart on the
proficiency of our clowns as exhibited in the season. Night after
night will they twist and tumble about, till two, three and four
o’clock in the morning; playing the strangest antics, and giving each
other the funniest slaps on the face that can possibly be imagined,
without evincing, the smallest tokens of fatigue. The strange noises,
the confusion the shouting and roaring, amid which all this is done,
too, would put to shame the most turbulent sixpenny gallery that ever
yelled through a boxing-night.
It is especially curious to behold one of these clowns compelled to
go through the most surprising contortions by the irrestible
influence of the wand of office, which his leader or harlequin holds
above his head. Acted upon by this wonderful charms he will become
perfectly motionless, moving neither hand, foot, nor finger, and will
even lose the faculty of speech at an instant’s notice; or on the
other hand, he will become all life and animation if required,
pouring forth a torrent of words without sense or meaning, throwing
himself into the wildest and most fantastic contortions, and even
grovelling on the earth and licking up the dust. These exhibitions
are more curious than pleasing; indeed, they are rather disgusting
than otherwise, except to the admirers of such things, with whom we
confess we have no fellow-feeling.
Strange tricks—very strange tricks—are also performed by the
harlequin who holds for the time being the magic wand which we have
just mentioned. The mere waving it before a man’s eyes will
dispossess his brains of all the notions previously stored there, and
fill it with an entirely new set of ideas; one gently tap on the back
will alter the colour of a man’s coat completely and there are some
expert performers, who, having this wand held first on one side and
the on the other, will change from side to side, turning their coats
every evolution, with so much rapidity and dexterity, that the
quickest eye can scarcely detect their motions. Occasionally, the
genius who confers the wand, wrests it from the hand of the temporary
possessor, and consigns it to some new performer; on which occasions
all the characters change sides, and then the race and the hard
knocks begin anew.
We might have extended this chapter to a much greater length—we might
have carried the comparison into the liberal professions we might
have shown, as was in fact our original purpose, that each is in
itself a little pantomime with scenes and characters of its own,
complete; but, as we fear we have been quite lengthy enough already,
we shall leave this chapter just where it is. A gentleman, not
altogether unknown as a dramatic poet, wrote thus a year or two
ago—“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely
players:” and we, tracking out his footsteps at the
scarcely-worth-mentioning little distance of a few millions of
leagues behind, venture to add, by way of new reading, that he meant
a Pantomime, and that we are all actors in The Pantomime of Life.
SOME PARTICULARS CONCERNING A LION.
We have a great respect for lions in the abstract. In common with
most other people, we have heard and read of many instances of their
bravery and generosity. We have duly admired that heroic self-denial
and charming philanthropy which prompts them never to eat people
except when they are hungry, and we have been deeply impressed with a
becoming sense of the politeness they are said to display towards
unmarried ladies of a certain state. All natural histories teem with
anecdotes illustrative of their excellent qualities; and one old
spelling book in particular recounts a touching instance of an old
lion, of high moral dignity and stern principle, who felt it his
imperative duty to devour a young man who had contracted a habit of
swearing, as a striking example to the rising generation.
All this is extremely pleasant to reflect upon, and, indeed, says a
very great deal in favour of lions as a mass. We are bound to state,
however, that such individual lions as we have happened to fall in
with have not put forth any very striking characteristics, and have
not acted up to the chivalrous character assigned them by their
chroniclers. We never saw a lion in what is called his natural state,
certainly; that is to say, we have never met a lion out walking in a
forest, or crouching in his lair under a tropical sun, waiting till
his dinner should happen to come by, hot from the baker’s. But we
have seen some pressure of misfortune; and we must say that they
appeared to us very apathetic, heavy-headed fellows.
The lion at the Zoological Gardens, for instance. He is all very well
he has an undeniable mane, and looks very fierce; but, Lord bless us!
what of that? The lions of the fashionable world look just as
ferocious, and are the most harmless creatures breathing. A box-bobby
lion or a Regent-street animal will put on a most terrible aspect,
and roar fearfully, if you affront him; but he will never bite, and,
if you offer to attack him manfully, will fairly turn tail and sneak
off. Doubtless these creatures roam about sometimes in herds, and, if
they meet any especially meek-looking and peaceably-disposed fellow,
will endeavor to frighten him; but the faintest show of a vigorous
resistance is sufficient to scare them even then. These are pleasant
characteristics, whereas we make it matter of distinct charge against
the Zoological lion and his brethren at the fairs, that they are
sleepy, dreamy, sluggish quadrupeds.
We do not remember to have ever seen one of them perfectly awake,
except at feeding time. In every respect we uphold the biped lions
against their four-footed namesakes, and we boldly challenge
controversy upon the subject.
With these opinions it may be easily imagined that our curiosity and
interest were very much excited the other day, when a lady of our
acquaintance called on us and resolutely declined to accept our
refusal of her invitation to an evening party; “for,” said she, “I
have got a lion coming.” We at once retracted our plea of a prior
engagement and became as anxious to go, as we had previously been to
stay away.
We went early, and posted ourselves in an eligible part of the
drawing-room, from whence we could hope to obtain a full view of the
interesting animal. Two or three hours passed, the quadrilles began,
the room filled; but no lion appeared. The lady of the house became
inconsolable,—for it is one of the peculiar privileges of these lions
to make solemn appointments and never keep them,—when all of a sudden
there came a tremendous double rap at the street door, and the master
of the house, after gliding out (unobserved as he flattered himself)
to peep over the banisters, came into the room, rubbing his hands
together with great glee, and cried out in a very important voice,
“My dear, Mr.——(naming the lion) has this moment arrived.”
Upon this, all eyes were turned towards the door, and we observed
several young ladies, who had been laughing and conversing previously
with great gaiety and good humour, grow extremely quiet and
sentimental; while some young gentlemen, who had been cutting great
figures in the facetious and small-talk way, suddenly sank very
obviously in the estimation of the company, and were looked upon with
great coldness and indifference. Even the young man who had been
ordered from the music shop to play the pianoforte was visibly
affected, and struck several false notes in the excess of his
excitement.
All this time there was a great talking outside, more than once
accompanied by a loud laugh, and a cry of “Oh! capital! Excellent!”
from which we inferred that the lion was jocose, and that theses
exclamations were occasioned by the transports of his keeper and our
host. Nor were we deceived; for when the lion at last appeared, we
overheard his keeper, who was a little prim man, whisper to several
gentlemen of his acquaintance, with uplifted hands, and every
expression of half-suppressed admiration, that——(naming the lion
again) was in such cue to-night!
The lion was a literary one. Of course, there were a vast number of
people present who had admired his roarings, and were anxious to be
introduced to him; and very pleasant it was to see them brought up
for the purpose, and to observe the patient dignity with which he
received all their patting and caressing. This brought forcibly to
our mind what we had so often witnessed at country fairs, where the
other lions are compelled to go through as many forms of courtesy as
they chance to be acquainted with, just as often as admiring parties
happen to drop in upon them.
While the lion was exhibiting in this way, his keeper was not idle,
for he mingled among the crowd and spread his praises most
industriously. To one gentleman he whispered some very choice thing
that the noble animal had said in the very act of coming up stairs,
which, of course, rendered the mental effort still more astonishing;
to another he murmured a hasty account of a grand dinner that had
taken place the day before, where twenty-seven gentlemen had got up
all at once to demand an extra cheer for the lion; and to the ladies
he made sundry promises of interceding to procure the majestic
brute’s sign-manual for their albums. Then, there were little private
consultations in different corners, relative to the personal
appearance and stature of the lion; whether he was shorter than they
had expected to see him, or taller, or thinner, or fatter, or
younger, or older; whether he was like his portrait, or unlike it;
and whether the particular shade of his eyes was black, or blue, or
hazel, or green, or yellow, or mixture. At all these consultations
the keeper assisted; and, in short, the lion was the sole and single
subject of discussion till they sat him down to whilst, and then the
people relapsed into their old topics of conversation—themselves and
each other.
We must confess that we looked forward with no slight impatience to
the announcement of supper; for if you wish to see a tame lion under
particularly favourable circumstances, feeding time is the period of
all others to pitch upon. We were therefore very much delighted to
observe a sensation among the guests, which we well knew how to
interpret, and immediately afterwards to behold the lion escorting
the lady of the house downstairs. We offered our arm to an elderly
female of our acquaintance, who—dear old soul!—is the very best
person that ever lived, to lead down to any meal; for, be the room
ever so small, or the porty ever so large, she is sure, by some
intuitive perception of the eligible, to push and pull herself and
conductor close to the best dishes on the table;—we say we offered
our arm to this elderly female, and, descending the stairs shortly
after the lion, were fortunate enough to obtain a seat nearly
opposite him.
Of course the keeper was there already. He had planted himself at
precisely that distance from his charge which afforded him a decent
pretext for raising his voice, when he addressed him, to so loud a
key, as could not fail to attract the attention of the whole company,
and immediately began to apply himself seriously to the task of
bringing the lion out, and putting him through the whole of his
manoeuvres. Such flashes of wit as he elicited from the lion! First of
all, they began to make puns upon a salt-cellar, and then upon the
breast of a fowl, and then upon the trifle; but the best jokes of all
were decidedly on the lobster salad, upon which latter subject the
lion came out most vigorously, and, in the opinion of the most
competent authorities, quite outshone himself. This is a very
excellent mode of shining in society, and is founded, we humbly
conceive, upon the classic model of the dialogues between Mr. Punch
and his friend the proprietor, wherein the latter takes all the
uphill work, and is content to pioneer to the jokes and repartees of
Mr. P. himself, who never fails to gain great credit and excite much
laughter thereby. Whatever it be founded on, however, we recommend it
to all lions, present and to come; for in this instance it succeeded
to admiration, and perfectly dazzled the whole body of hearers.
When the salt-cellar, and the fowl’s breast, and the trifle, and the
lobster salad were all exhausted, and could not afford standing room
for another solitary witticism, the keeper performed that very
dangerous feat which is still done with some of the caravan lions,
although in one instance it terminated fatally, of putting his head
in the animal’s mouth, and placing himself entirely at its mercy.
Boswell frequently presents a melancholy instance of the lamentable
results of this achievement, and other keepers and jackals have been
terribly lacerated for their daring. It is due to our lion to state,
that he condescended to be trifled with, in the most gentle manner,
and finally went home with the showman in a hack cab: perfectly
peaceable, but slightly fuddled.
Being in a contemplative mood, we were led to make some reflections
upon the character and conduct of this genus of lions as we walked
homewards, and we were not long in arriving at the conclusion that
our former impression in their favour was very much strengthened and
confirmed by what we had recently seen. While the other lions receive
company and compliments in a sullen, moody, not to say snarling manner,
these appear flattered by the attentions that are paid them; while
those conceal themselves to the utmost of their power from the vulgar
gaze, these court the popular eye, and, unlike their brethren, whom
nothing short of compulsion will move to exertion, are ever ready to
display their acquirements to the wondering throng. We have known bears
of undoubted ability who, when the expectations of a large audience
have been wound up to the utmost pitch, have peremptorily refused to
dance; well-taught monkeys, who have unaccountably objected to exhibit
on the slack wire; and elephants of unquestioned genius, who have
suddenly declined to turn the barrel-organ; but we never once knew or
heard of a biped lion, literary or otherwise,—and we state it as a
fact which is highly creditable to the whole species,—who, occasion
offering, did not seize with avidity on any opportunity which was
afforded him, of performing to his heart’s content on the first violin.
MR. ROBERT BOLTON, THE “GENTLEMAN CONNECTED WITH THE PRESS.”
In the parlour of the Green Dragon, a public house in the immediate
neighbourhood of Westminster Bridge, everybody talks politics, every
evening, the great political authority being Mr. Robert Bolton, an
individual who defines himself as “a gentleman connected with the
press,” which is a definition of peculiar indefiniteness. Mr. Robert
Bolton’s regular circle of admirers and listeners are an undertaker,
a greengrocer, a hair-dresser, a baker, a large stomach surmounted by
a man’s head, and placed on the top of two particularly short legs,
and a thin man in black, name, profession, and pursuit unknown, who
always sits in the same position, always displays the same long,
vacant face and never opens his lips, surrounded as he is by most
enthusiastic conversation, except to puff forth a volume of tobacco
smoke, or give vent to a very snappy, loud, and shrill hem! The
conversation sometimes turns upon literature, Mr. Bolton being a
literary character, and always upon such news of the day as is
exclusively possessed by that talented individual. I found myself(of
course, accidentally) in the Green Dragon the other evening, and,
being somewhat amused by the following conversation, preserved it.
“Can you lend me a ten pound note till Christmas?” inquired the
hair-dresser of the stomach.
“Where’s your security, Mr. Clip?”
“My stock in trade,—there’s enough of it, I’m thinking, Mr.
Thicknesse. Some fifty wigs, two poles, half-a-dozen head blocks, and
a dead Bruin.”
“No, I won’t, then,” growled out Thicknesse. “I lends nothing on the
security of the whigs or the Poles either. As for whigs, they’re
cheats; as for the Poles they’ve got no cash. I never have nothing to
do with blockheads, unless I can’t avoid it (ironically), and a dead
bear’s about as much use to me as I could be to a dead bear.”
“Well, then,” urged the other, “there’s a book as belonged to Pope,
Byron’s Poems, valued at forty pounds, because it’s got Pope’s
identical scratch on the back; what do you think of that for
security?”
“Well, to be sure!” cried the baker. “But how d’ye mean, Mr. Clip?”
“Mean! Why, that it’s got the hottergruff of Pope. “Steal not this
book, for fear of hangman’s rope; For it belongs to Alexander Pope.”
All that’s written on the inside of the binding of the book; so, as
my son says, we’re bound to believe it.”
“Well, sir,” observed the undertaker, deferentially, and in a
half-whisper, leaning over the table, and knocking over the hair
dresser’s grog as he spoke, “that argument’s very easy upset.”
“Perhaps, sir,” said Clip, a little flurried, “you’ll pay for the
first upset afore you thinks of another.”
“Now,” said the undertaker, bowing amicably to the hairdresser, “I
think, I says I think—you’ll excuse me, Mr. Clip, I think, you
see, that won’t go down with the present company—Unfortunately, my
master had the honour of making the coffin of that ere Lord’s
housemaid, not no more nor twenty year ago. Don’t think I’m proud on
it, gentlemen; others might be; but I hate rank of any sort. I’ve no
more respect for a Lord’s footman than I have for any respectable
tradesman in this room. I may say no more nor I have for Mr. Clip!
(bowing). Therefore, that ere Lord must have been born long after
Pope died. And it’s a logical interference to defer, that they
neither of them lived at the same time. So what I mean is this here,
that Pope never had no book, never seed, felt, never smelt no book
(triumphantly) as belonged to that ere Lord. And, gentlemen, when I
consider how patiently you have ’eared the ideas what I have
expressed, I feel bound, as the best way to reward you for the
kindness you have exhibited, to sit down without saying anything
more—partickler as I perceived a worthier visitor nor myself is just
entered. I am not in the habit of paying compliments, gentlemen; when
I do, therefore, I hope I strikes with double force.”
“Ah, Mr. Murgatroyd! What’s all this about striking with double
force?” said the object of the above remark, as he entered. “I never
excuse a man’s getting into a rage during winter, even when he’s
seated so close to the fire as you are. It is very injudicious to put
yourself into such a perspiration. What is the cause of this extreme
physical and mental excitement, sir?”
Such was the very philosophical address of Mr. Robert Bolton, a
shorthand-writer, as he termed himself—a bit of equivoque passing
current among his fraternity, which must give the uninitiated a vast
idea of the establishment of the ministerial organ, while to the
initiated it signifies that no one paper can lay claim to the
enjoyment of their services. Mr. Bolton was a young man with a
somewhat sickly and very dissipated expression of countenance. His
habiliments were composed of an exquisite union of gentility,
slovenliness, assumption, simplicity, newness, and old age. Half of
him was dressed for the winter, the other half for the summer. His
hat was of the newest cut, the D’Orsay; his trousers had been white,
but the inroads of mud and ink, etc., had given them a piebald
appearance; round his throat he wore a very high black cravat, of the
most tyrannical stiffness; while his tout ensemble was hidden
beneath the enormous folds of an old brow poodle-collared great coat,
which was closely buttoned up to the aforesaid cravat. His fingers
peeped through the ends of his black kid gloves, and two of the toes
of each foot took a similar view of society through the extremities
of his high-lows. Sacred to the bare walls of his garret be the
mysteries of his interior dress! He was a short, spare man, of a
somewhat inferior deportment. Everybody seemed influenced by his
entry into the room, and his salutation of each member partook of the
patronizing. The hairdresser made way for him between himself and the
stomach. A minute afterwards he had taken possession of his pint and
pipe. A pause in the conversation took place. Everybody was waiting,
anxious for his first observation.
“Horrid murder in Westminster this morning,” observed Mr. Bolton.
Everybody changed their positions. All eyes were fixed upon the man
of paragraphs.
“A baker murdered his son by boiling him in a copper,” said Mr.
Bolton.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed everybody, in simultaneous horror.
“Boiled him, gentlemen!” added Mr. Bolton, with the most effective
emphasis; “boiled him!”
“And the particulars, Mr. B,” inquired the hairdresser, “the
particulars?”
Mr. Bolton took a very long draught of porter, and some two or three
dozen whiffs of tobacco, doubtless to instill into the commercial
capacities of the company the superiority of a gentleman connected
with the press, and then said—
“The man was a baker, gentlemen. (Everyone looked at the baker
present, who stared at Bolton.) His victim being his son, also was
necessarily the son of a baker. The wretched murderer had a wife,
whom he was frequently in the habit, while in an intoxicated state,
of kicking, pummelling, flinging mugs at, knocking down, and
half-killing while in bed, by inserting in her mouth a considerable
portion of a sheet or blanket.”
The speaker took another draught, everybody looked at everybody else,
and exclaimed, “Horrid!”
“It appears in evidence, gentlemen,” continued Mr. Bolton, “that, on
the evening of yesterday, Sawyer the baker came home in a
reprehensible state of beer. Mrs. S., connubially considerate,
carried him in that condition upstairs into his chamber, and
consigned him to their mutual couch. In a minute or two she lay
sleeping beside the man whom the morrow’s dawn beheld a murderer!
(Entire silence informed the reporter that his picture had attained
the awful effect he desired.) The son came home about an hour
afterwards, opened the door, and went up to bed. Scarcely(gentlemen,
conceive his feelings of alarm), scarcely had he taken off his
indescribables, when shrieks (to his experienced ear maternal
shrieks) scared the silence of surrounding night. He put his
indescribables on again, and ran downstairs. He opened the door of
the parental bed-chamber. His father was dancing upon his mother.
What must have been his feelings! In the agony of the minute he
rushed at his male parent as he was about to plunge a knife into the
side of his female. The mother shrieked. The father caught the son
(who had wrested the knife from the paternal grasp) up in his arms,
carried him downstairs, shoved him into a copper of boiling water
among some linen, closed the lid, and jumped upon the top of it, in
which position he was found with a ferocious countenance by the
mother, who arrived in the melancholy wash house just as he had so
settled himself.
“Where’s my boy?” shrieked the mother.
“In that copper, boiling,” coolly replied the benign father.
“Struck by the awful intelligence, the mother rushed from the house,
and alarmed the neighbourhood. The police entered a minute
afterwards. The father, having bolted the wash-house door, had bolted
himself. They dragged the lifeless body of the boiled baker from the
cauldron, and with a promptitude commendable in men of their station,
they immediately carried it to the station house. Subsequently, the
baker was apprehended while seated on the top of a lamp post in
Parliament Street, lighting his pipe.”
The whole horrible ideality of the Mysteries of Udolpho, condensed
into the pithy effect of ten-line paragraph, could not possibly have
affected the narrator’s auditory. Silence, the purest and most noble
of all kinds of applause, bore ample testimony to the barbarity of
the baker, as well as to Bolton’s knack of narration; and it was only
broken after some minutes had elapsed by interjectional expressions
of the intense indignation of every man present. The baker wondered
how a British baker could so disgrace himself and the highly
honourable calling to which he belonged; and the others indulged in a
variety of wonderments connected with the subject; among which not
the least wonderment was that which was awakened by the genius and
information of Mr. Robert Bolton, who, after a glowing eulogium on
himself, and his unspeakable influence with the daily press, was
proceeding, with a most solemn countenance, to hear the pros and cons
of the Pope autograph question, when I took up my heart and left.
THE END.
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