Mudfog and Other Sketches
by Charles Dickens
I. PUBLIC LIFE OF MR. TULRUMBLE - ONCE MAYOR OF MUDFOG
FULL REPORT OF THE FIRST MEETING OF THE MUDFOG ASSOCIATION
THE ADVANCEMENT OF EVERYTHING
III. FULL REPORT OF THE SECOND
MEETING OF THE MUDFOG ASSOCIATION
THE ADVANCEMENT OF EVERYTHING
IV. THE PANTOMIME OF LIFE
SOME PARTICULARS CONCERNING A LION
VI. MR. ROBERT
BOLTON: THE ‘GENTLEMAN CONNECTED WITH THE PRESS’
FAMILIAR EPISTLE FROM A PARENT TO A CHILD AGED TWO YEARS AND TWO MONTHS
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 oilskin 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.
Mudfog is 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 a large window on one side of the door, and a small one on the
other, is particularly happy. There is a fine old 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 in grave deliberation. Here they settle at what 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 demeanour, 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
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 enlarged the shed, and kept a
truck; 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 waggon; 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
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 Lighterman’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 forefingers; 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
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, they 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 back, 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 a speech, everybody knew
it 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
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 deal 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
afternoon’s 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 licence, 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 reader’s 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 fireplace 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
‘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
‘Bless your heart and soul, sir!’ replied Ned, ‘you
might as well ask me to wear a seventy-four pounder, or a cast-iron
‘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
‘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 breastplate, 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
‘Now, wear that with grace and propriety on Monday next,’
said Tulrumble, ‘and I’ll make your fortune.’
‘I’ll 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; inasmuch 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 sky-light,
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
over-night, 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 confident anticipation
of some new wonder.
‘They won’t laugh now, Mr. Jennings,’ said Nicholas
‘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 four-wheel
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
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 endeavouring
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
‘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
Nicholas Tulrumble and the gorgeous procession went on together to
the town-hall, 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
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
At the very end of the Mudfog High-street, and abutting on the river-side,
stands the Jolly Boatmen, an old-fashioned low-roofed, bay-windowed
house, with a bar, kitchen, and tap-room all in one, and a large fireplace
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 red-faced 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
‘Or trace the progress of crime to ‘bacca?’ growled
‘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
town-hall 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
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, inasmuch 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
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
‘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.’
‘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
‘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
‘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 to-morrow.’
‘Three-quarters part 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.’
‘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 arm-chair, 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.’
‘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
‘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.’
‘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 seal-skin 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 any one 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!’
‘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.’
‘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-values, 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
‘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 to-morrow; 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 to-morrow’s
proceedings by the night coach.’
‘I open my letter to say that nothing whatever has occurred
since I folded it up.’
‘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
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 eye-witness 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 Regent-street, 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 card-board 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
‘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
‘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 ever seen 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
‘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.
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
‘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.
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
‘Jack the Giant-killer 7,943
Ditto and Bean-stalk 8,621
Ditto and Eleven Brothers 2,845
Ditto and Jill 1,998
‘He found that the proportion of Robinson Crusoes to Philip
Quarlls was as four and a half to one; and that the preponderance of
Valentine and Orsons over Goody Two Shoeses was as three and an eighth
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 the number interrogated 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 Sindbad 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, inasmuch 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.
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 bedroom 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!
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 unnpralleled 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 to-morrow. 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 despatch 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.’
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 quarrelled 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 basin, 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
‘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!’
‘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.’
‘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
‘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.’
‘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.’
‘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 principals)
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
‘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
‘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.’
‘I am again in bed. Anything so heart-rending as Mr.
Slug’s sufferings it has never yet been my lot to witness.’
‘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
‘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 unplaned deal, and the general effect, as you can well
imagine, is extremely beautiful.’
‘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 Pumpkinskull. The ten last-named gentlemen were wet
through, and looked extremely intelligent.’
‘Sunday, two o’clock, p.m.
‘The Honourable 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 endeavoured
to ascertain the truth from him.’
‘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 work-house,
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.’
‘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.
[Picture which cannot be reproduced]
The under-beadle has consented to write his life, but it is to be
‘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 appals and sickens.
His whole air is rampant with cruelty, nor is the stomach less characteristic
of his demoniac propensities.’
‘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
‘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.
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 inclosed 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 Windmill-street, 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
‘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 thrashing living
‘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 cab-driver 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
‘PROFESSOR MUFF.—Will you allow me to ask you, sir, of
what materials it is intended that the magistrates’ heads shall
‘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
‘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 neighbour’s
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
‘MR. BLANK exhibited a model of a fashionable annual, composed
of copper-plates, 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 good-humoured, 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.
OUT-HOUSE, BLACK BOY AND
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 butcher’s
cart at the corner of Newgate Market. The communication described
the author of the paper as having, in the prosecution of a mercantile
pursuit, betaken 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 marvellous 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 ’ed 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, vill
‘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 pauper’s, 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
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 turn 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 down-right 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
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 large panes of glass; and,
his view 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 every-day 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
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 tradesmen 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 plebeian 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 not 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 manoeuvres, 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
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 days, ever do anything in this way equal to
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 their 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 the 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
misdemeanours. 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 wise 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 ruralised
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 irresistible influence
of the wand of office, which his leader or harlequin holds above his
head. Acted upon by this wonderful charm 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 gentle 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 then on the other, will change from side to side, turning their
coats at 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
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
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 under the influence of captivity, and the pressure of misfortune;
and we must say that they appeared to us very apathetic, heavy-headed
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-lobby 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 endeavour 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 these 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
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 whist, 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 down-stairs. 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 party 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 up-hill 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
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 hairdresser, 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 hairdresser 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 awoid 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;
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
hairdresser’s grog as he spoke, ‘that argument’s very
‘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 perceive 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 pie-bald 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 brown 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
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
‘Boiled him, gentlemen!’ added Mr. Bolton, with the most
effective emphasis; ‘boiled him!’
‘And the particulars, Mr. B.,’ inquired the hairdresser,
Mr. Bolton took a very long draught of porter, and some two or three
dozen whiffs of tobacco, doubtless to instil into the commercial capacities
of the company the superiority of a gentlemen connected with the press,
and then said -
‘The man was a baker, gentlemen.’ (Every one 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 up-stairs 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 down-stairs. 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 down-stairs, 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
‘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 a ten-line paragraph, could not possibly have
so 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 hat, and left.
FAMILIAR EPISTLE FROM A PARENT TO A CHILD AGED TWO YEARS AND TWO
To recount with what trouble I have brought you up—with what
an anxious eye I have regarded your progress,—how late and how
often I have sat up at night working for you,—and how many thousand
letters I have received from, and written to your various relations
and friends, many of whom have been of a querulous and irritable turn,—to
dwell on the anxiety and tenderness with which I have (as far as I possessed
the power) inspected and chosen your food; rejecting the indigestible
and heavy matter which some injudicious but well-meaning old ladies
would have had you swallow, and retaining only those light and pleasant
articles which I deemed calculated to keep you free from all gross humours,
and to render you an agreeable child, and one who might be popular with
society in general,—to dilate on the steadiness with which I have
prevented your annoying any company by talking politics—always
assuring you that you would thank me for it yourself some day when you
grew older,—to expatiate, in short, upon my own assiduity as a
parent, is beside my present purpose, though I cannot but contemplate
your fair appearance—your robust health, and unimpeded circulation
(which I take to be the great secret of your good looks) without the
liveliest satisfaction and delight.
It is a trite observation, and one which, young as you are, I have
no doubt you have often heard repeated, that we have fallen upon strange
times, and live in days of constant shiftings and changes. I had
a melancholy instance of this only a week or two since. I was
returning from Manchester to London by the Mail Train, when I suddenly
fell into another train—a mixed train—of reflection, occasioned
by the dejected and disconsolate demeanour of the Post-Office Guard.
We were stopping at some station where they take in water, when he dismounted
slowly from the little box in which he sits in ghastly mockery of his
old condition with pistol and blunderbuss beside him, ready to shoot
the first highwayman (or railwayman) who shall attempt to stop the horses,
which now travel (when they travel at all) inside and in a portable
stable invented for the purpose,—he dismounted, I say, slowly
and sadly, from his post, and looking mournfully about him as if in
dismal recollection of the old roadside public-house the blazing fire—the
glass of foaming ale—the buxom handmaid and admiring hangers-on
of tap-room and stable, all honoured by his notice; and, retiring a
little apart, stood leaning against a signal-post, surveying the engine
with a look of combined affliction and disgust which no words can describe.
His scarlet coat and golden lace were tarnished with ignoble smoke;
flakes of soot had fallen on his bright green shawl—his pride
in days of yore—the steam condensed in the tunnel from which we
had just emerged, shone upon his hat like rain. His eye betokened
that he was thinking of the coachman; and as it wandered to his own
seat and his own fast-fading garb, it was plain to see that he felt
his office and himself had alike no business there, and were nothing
but an elaborate practical joke.
As we whirled away, I was led insensibly into an anticipation of
those days to come, when mail-coach guards shall no longer be judges
of horse-flesh—when a mail-coach guard shall never even have seen
a horse—when stations shall have superseded stables, and corn
shall have given place to coke. ‘In those dawning times,’
thought I, ‘exhibition-rooms shall teem with portraits of Her
Majesty’s favourite engine, with boilers after Nature by future
Landseers. Some Amburgh, yet unborn, shall break wild horses by
his magic power; and in the dress of a mail-coach guard exhibit his
TRAINED ANIMALS in a mock mail-coach. Then, shall wondering crowds
observe how that, with the exception of his whip, it is all his eye;
and crowned heads shall see them fed on oats, and stand alone unmoved
and undismayed, while counters flee affrighted when the coursers neigh!’
Such, my child, were the reflections from which I was only awakened
then, as I am now, by the necessity of attending to matters of present
though minor importance. I offer no apology to you for the digression,
for it brings me very naturally to the subject of change, which is the
very subject of which I desire to treat.
In fact, my child, you have changed hands. Henceforth I resign
you to the guardianship and protection of one of my most intimate and
valued friends, Mr. Ainsworth, with whom, and with you, my best wishes
and warmest feelings will ever remain. I reap no gain or profit
by parting from you, nor will any conveyance of your property be required,
for, in this respect, you have always been literally ‘Bentley’s’
Miscellany, and never mine.
Unlike the driver of the old Manchester mail, I regard this altered
state of things with feelings of unmingled pleasure and satisfaction.
Unlike the guard of the new Manchester mail, your guard is
at home in his new place, and has roystering highwaymen and gallant
desperadoes ever within call. And if I might compare you, my child,
to an engine; (not a Tory engine, nor a Whig engine, but a brisk and
rapid locomotive;) your friends and patrons to passengers; and he who
now stands towards you in loco parentis as the skilful engineer
and supervisor of the whole, I would humbly crave leave to postpone
the departure of the train on its new and auspicious course for one
brief instant, while, with hat in hand, I approach side by side with
the friend who travelled with me on the old road, and presume to solicit
favour and kindness in behalf of him and his new charge, both for their
sakes and that of the old coachman,