This happy suggestion of Sir PETER'S may, however, be followed up with the best national effect. Christmas is fast Approaching: let the fashion set by the Prince of Wales be followed by all public bodies—by all individuals "blessed with aught to give." Let the physical weight of all corporations—all private benefactors of the poor, be distributed in eatables to the indigent and famishing. When the Alderman, with "three fingers on the ribs" gives his weight in geese or turkeys to the poor of his ward, he returns the most pertinent thanks-giving to providence, that has put money in his pocket and flesh upon his bones. The poor may have an unexpected cause to bless the venison and turtle that have fattened his bowels, seeing that they are made the depositories of their weight.

This standard of Christmas benefactions may admit of very curious illustration. For instance, we would not tie the noble and the aristocratic to any particular kind of viands, but would allow them to illustrate their self-value of the "porcelain of all human clay" by the richness and rarity of their subscriptions. Whilst a SIBTHORP, with a fine sense of humility, might be permitted to give his weight in calves' or sheeps' heads (be it understood we must have the whole weight of the Colonel, for if we were to sink his offal, what in the name of veal would remain?), a Duke of WELLINGTON should be allowed to weight against nothing less than the fattest venison and the finest turtle. As the Duke, too, is rather a light weight, we should be glad if he would condescend to take a Paisley weaver or two in the scale with him, to make his subscription of eatables the more worthy of acceptance. All the members of the present Cabinet would of course be weighed against loaves and fishes (on the present occasion we would accept nothing under the very finest wheaten bread and the very best of turbot), whilst a LAURIE, who has worked such a reform in cut-throats, should be weighed out to his ward in the most select stickings of beef.

All we propose to ourselves in these our weekly essays is, to give brief suggestions for the better government of the world, and for the bringing about the millennium, which—when we are given away gratis in the streets—may be considered to have arrived. Hence, we cannot follow put through all its natural ramifications the benevolent proposition here laid down. We trust, however, we have done enough. It is not necessary that we should particularise all public men, tying them to be weighed against specific viands: no, our readers will at once recognise the existence of the parties, and at once acknowledge their fittest offerings. It may happen that a peer might very properly be weighed against shin of beef, and a Christian bishop be popped in the scale against a sack of perriwinkles; it remains, however, with LONDONDERRY or EXETER to be weighed if they will against golden pheasants and birds of paradise.

We are perfectly aware that if many of the elect of the land were to weigh themselves against merely the things they are worth, that a great deal of the food subscribed would be unfit to be eaten even by the poor. We should have rats, dogs, snakes, bats, and all other unclean animals; but in levying the parties to weigh themselves at their own valuation, the poor may be certain to "sup in the Apollo." On this principle we should have the weight of a LYNDHURST served to this neighbourhood in the tenderest house-lamb, and a STANLEY kicking the beam against so many "sucking doves."

Q.

* * * * *

FASHIONS FOR THE MONTH.

Coats are very much worn, particularly at the elbows, and are trimmed with a shining substance, which gives them a very glossy appearance. A rim of white runs down the seams, and the covering of the buttons is slightly opened, so as to show the wooden material under it.

Hats are now slightly indented at the top, and we have seen several in which part of the brim is sloped off without any particular regard to the quantity abstracted.

Walking-dresses are very much dotted just now with brown spots of a mud colour, thrown on quite irregularly, and the heels of the stockings may sometimes be seen trimmed with the same material. A sort of basket-work is now a great deal seen as a head-dress, and in these cases it is strewed over with little silver fish, something like common sprat, which gives it a light and graceful character.

* * * * *

PUNCH'S PENCILLINGS.—No. XXIII.



* * * * *

THE CHEROOT.

An excellent thing it is, when you get it genuine—none of your coarse Whitechapel abominations, but a veritable satin-skinned, brown Indian beauty; smooth and firm to the touch, and full-flavoured to the taste; such a one as would be worth a Jewess' eye, with a glass of tawny Port. But the gratification that we have been wont to derive from our real Manilla has been sadly disturbed of late by a circumstance which has caused a dreadful schism in the smoking world, and has agitated every divan in the metropolis to its very centre. The question is, "Whether should a cheroot be smoked by the great or the small end?" On this apparently trivial subject the great body of cheroot smokers have taken different sides, and divided themselves, as the Lilliputians did in the famous egg controversy, into the Big-endians and Little-endians. The dispute has been carried on with great vigour on both sides, and several ingenious volumes have been already written, proving satisfactorily the superiority of each system, without however convincing a single individual of the opposite party. The Tories, we have observed, have as usual seized on the big end of the argument, while the Whigs have grappled as resolutely by the little end, and are puffing away furiously in each other's eyes. Heaven knows where the contest will end! For ourselves, we are content to watch the struggle from our quiet corner, convinced, whichever end gains the victory, that John Bull will be made to smoke for it; and when curious people ask us if we be big-endians or little-endians, we answer, that, to oblige all our friends, we smoke our Manillas at both ends.

* * * * *

BALLADS OF THE BRIEFLESS.

No. 1.—THE RULE TO COMPUTE.

Oh, tell me not of empires grand, Of proud dominion wide and far, Of those who sway the fertile land Where melons three for twopence are. To rule like this I ne'er aspire, In fact my book it would not suit! The only rule that I desire, Is a rule nisi to compute.

Oh speak not of the calm delights, That in the fields or lanes we win; The field and lane that me invites Is Chancery or Lincoln's Inn. Yes, there in some remote recess, At eve, I practise on my flute, Till some attorney comes to bless With a rule nisi to compute.

No. 2.—SIGNING A PLEA.

Oh, how oft when alone at the close of the day I've sat in that Court where the fig-tree don't grow And wonder'd how I, without money, should pay The little account to my laundress below! And when I have heard a quick step on the stair, I've thought which of twenty rich duns it could be, I have rush'd to the door in a fit of despair, And—received ten and sixpence for signing a plea.

CHORUS.—Signing a plea, signing a plea! Received ten and sixpence for signing a plea.

They may talk as they will of the pleasure that's found. When venting in verse our despondence and grief; But the pen of the poet was ne'er, I'll be bound, Half so pleasantly used as in signing a brief. In soft declarations, though rapture may lie, If the maid to appear to your suit willing be, But ah I could write till my inkstand was dry, And die in the act—yes—of signing a plea.

CHORUS.—Signing a plea, signing a plea! Die in the act—yes—of signing a plea.

* * * * *

A CUT BY SIR PETER.



WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ANACREON, PETRONIUS, CERVANTES, HUDIBRAS, AND "PUNCH."

A CASE IN POINT, FROM ANACREON.

[Greek: EIS HEAUTON.]

[Greek: Degousin ai gunaikes Anakreon geron ei Labon esoptron athrei Komas men ouket ousas Psilon de seu metopon.]

A FREE TRANSLATION BY "PUNCH"—

THE CUTTEE.

Oft by the women I am told "Tomkins, my boy, you're growing o!d. Look in the glass, and see how bare Your poll appears reflected there. No ringlets play around your brow; 'Tis all Sir Peter Laurie-ish[1] now."

[1] This is a graceful as well as a literal rendering of the bard of Teos. The word [Greek: Psilon] signifying nudus, inanis, 'envis, fatuus; Anglice,—Sir Peter Laurie-ish ED. OF "PUNCH."]

A TRIBUTE BY PETRONIUS.

Quod summum formae decus est, cecidere capilli, Vernantesque comas tristis abegit hyems Nunc umbra nudata sua jam tempora moerent, Areaque attritis nidet adusta pilis. O fallax natura Deum! quae prima dedisti AEtati nostrae gaudia, prima rapis. Infelix modo crinibus nitebas, Phoebo pulchrior, et sorore Phoebi: At nunc laevior aere, vel rotundo Horti tubere, quod creavit unda, Ridentes fugis et times puellas. Ut mortem citius venire credas, Scito jam capitis perisse partem.

A FREE TRANSLATION BY "PUNCH."

Tomkins, you're dish'd! thy light luxuriant hair, Like "a distress," hath left thy caput bare; Thy temples mourn th' umbrageous locks, and yield A crop as stunted as a stubble field. Rowland and Ross! your greasy gifts are vain, You give the hair you're sure to cut again. Unhappy Tomkins! late thy ringlets rare, E'en Wombwell's self to rival might despair. Now with thy smooth crown, nor the fledgling's chops, Nor East-born Mechi's magic razor strops, Can vie! And laughing maids you fly in dread, Lest they should see the horrors of your head! Laurie, like death, hath clouded o'er your morn. Tomkins, you're dish'd! Your Jeune France locks are shorn.

A SCRAP FROM CERVANTES.

"Deliver me from the devil," cried the Squire, "is it possible that a magistrate, or what d'ye call him, green as a fig, should appear no better than an ass in your worship's eyes? By the Lord, I'll give you leave to pluck off every hair of my beard if that be the case."

"Then I tell thee," said the master, "he is as certainly a he ass as I am Don Quixote and thou Sancho Panza, at least so he seems to me."—Don Quixote.

A COINCIDENCE FROM BUTLER.

Shall hair that on a crown has place Become the subject of a case?

The fundamental law of nature Be over-ruled by those made after? * * * * * 'Tis we that can dispose alone Whether your heirs (hairs) shall be your own.

Hudibras.

A CLIMAX BY "PUNCH."

Sir Peter Laurie passes so quickly from hyper-loyalty to downright treason, that he is an insolvable problem. As wigs were once worn out of compliment to a monarch, so when the Queen expects a little heir, Sir Peter causes a gentleman, over whom he has an accidental influence, to have a little hair too. But oh the hypocrite! the traitor! he at the same time gives a shilling to have the ha(e)ir cut off from the crown. It is quite time to look to the



* * * * *

ANNOUNCEMENT EXTRAORDINARY.

PUNCH begs to state that, owing to the immense press of matter on hand, the following contributions only can expect insertion in the body of PUNCH during the whole of next week. Contributors are requested to send early—carriage paid.

N.B.—PUNCH does not pledge himself for the return of any article.

TURKEYS—for which PUNCH undertakes to find cuts, and plates—unlimited.

SAUSAGES, to match the above. Mem.—no undue preference, or Bill Monopoly. Epping and Norfolk equally welcome.

MINCE PIES, per dozen—thirteen as twelve. No returns.

"OH, THE ROAST BEEF OF OLD ENGLAND," with additional verses, capable of various encores.

PUDDINGS received from ten till four. PUNCH makes his own sauce; the chief ingredient is brandy, which he is open to receive per bottle or dozen.

LARGE HAMPERS containing small turkeys, &c., may be pleasantly filled with lemons, candied citron, and lump sugar.

TO THE LADIES EXCLUSIVELY.

(Private and confidential, quite unknown to Judy.)

BRYANT has had orders to suspend a superb Mistletoe bough in the publishing-office. PUNCH will be in attendance from daylight till dusk. To prevent confusion, the salutes will he distributed according to the order of arrival.

* * * * *

TO PUNSTERS AND OTHERS.

PUNCH begs to state he is open to receive tenders for letter-press matter, to be illustrated by the



N.B. They must be sent in sealed, and will be submitted to a select committee, consisting of Peter Laurie, and Borthwick, and Deaf Burke.

N.B. No Cutting-his-Stick need apply.

* * * * *

PEN AND PALETTE PORTRAITS.

(TAKEN FROM THE FRENCH.)

BY ALPHONSE LECOURT.

(Continued.)

PORTRAIT OF THE LOVER.

CHAPTER II.

IN WHICH THE AUTHOR TREATS OF LOVERS IN GENERAL.

All lovers are absurd and ridiculous. The passion which spiritualises woman makes man a fool. Nothing can be more amusing than to observe a bashful lover in company where the object of his affections is present. He is the very picture of confusion and distress, looking like a man who has lost something, and knows not where to seek for it. His eyes wander from the carpet to the ceiling; at one moment he is engaged in counting the panes in the window, and the next in watching the discursive flights of a blue-bottle round the apartment. But while he appears anxiously seeking for some object on which to fix his attention, he carefully avoids looking towards his innamorata; and should their eyes meet by chance, his cheeks assume the tint of the beet-root or the turnip, and his manifest embarrassment betrays his secret to the most inexperienced persons. In order to recover his confidence, he shifts his seat, which seems suddenly to have shot forth as many pins as the back of a hedgehog; but in doing so he places the leg of his chair on the toe of a gouty, cross old uncle, or on the tail of a favourite lap-dog, and, besides creating an awful fracas, succeeds in making inveterate enemies of the two brutes for the remainder of their lives.

There are some lovers, who show their love by their affected indifference, and appear smitten by any woman except the one whom they are devoted to. This is an ingenious stratagem; but in general it is so badly managed, that it is more easily seen through than a cobweb. Lastly, there are a select few, who evince their tender regard by perpetual bickerings and quarrels. This method will frequently mislead inquisitive aunts and guardians; but it should only be attempted by a man who has full confidence in his own powers.

Lovers, as I have observed, are invariably objects of ridicule; timid, jealous, and nervous, a frown throws them into a state of agony it would be difficult to describe, and a smile bestowed upon a rival breaks their rest for a week. Only observe one of them engaged in a quiet, interesting tete-a-tete with the lady of his choice. He has exerted all his powers of fascination, and he fancies he is beginning to make a favourable impression on his companion, when—bang!—a tall, whiskered fellow, who, rumour has whispered, is the lady's intended, drops in upon them like a bomb-shell! The detected lover sits confounded and abashed, wishing in the depths of his soul that he could transform himself into a gnat, and make his exit through the keyhole. Meantime the new-comer seats himself in solemn silence, and for five minutes the conversation is only kept up by monosyllables, in spite of the incredible efforts of all parties to appear unconcerned. The young man in his confusion plunges deeper into the mire;—he twists and writhes in secret agony—remarks on the sultriness of the weather, though the thermometer is below the freezing point; and commits a thousand gaucheries—too happy if he can escape from a situation than which nothing can possibly be conceived more painful.

THE LOVER AT DIFFERENT AGES.

It would not be easy to determine at what age love first manifests itself in the human heart; but if the reader have a good memory (I now speak to my own sex), he may remember when its tender light dawned upon his soul,—he may recall the moment when the harmonious voice of woman first tingled in his ears, and filled his bosom with unknown rapture,—he may recollect how he used to forsake trap-ball and peg-top to follow the idol he had created in her walks,—how he hoarded up the ripest oranges and gathered the choicest flowers to present to her, and felt more than recompensed by a word of thanks kindly spoken. Oh, youth—youth! pure and happy age, when a smile, a look, a touch of the hand, makes all sunshine and happiness in thy breast.

But the season of boyhood passes—the youth of sixteen becomes a young man of twenty, and smiles at the innocent emotions of his uneducated heart. He is no longer the mute adorer who worshipped in secrecy and in silence. Each season produces its own flowers. At twenty, the time for mute sympathy has passed away: it is one of the most eventful periods in the life of a lover; for should he then chance to meet a heart free to respond to his ardent passion, and that no cruel father, relentless guardian, or richer lover interposes to overthrow his hopes, he may with the aid of a licence, a parson, and a plain gold ring, be suddenly launched into the calm felicity of married life.

I know not what mysterious chain unites the heart of a young lover to that of the woman whom he loves. In the simplicity of their hearts they often imagine it is but friendship that draws them towards each other, until some unexpected circumstance removes the veil from their eyes, and they discover the dangerous precipice upon whose brink they have been walking. A journey, absence, or sickness, inevitably produce a discovery. If a temporary separation be about to occur, the unconscious lovers feel, they scarce know wherefore, a deep shade of sadness steal over them; their adieux are mingled with a thousand protestations of regret, which sink into the heart and bear a rich harvest by the time they meet again. Days and months glide by, and the pains of separation still endure; for they feel how necessary they have become to the happiness of each other, and how cold and joyless existence seems when far from those we love.

That which may be anticipated, at length comes to pass; the lover returns—he flies to his mistress—she receives him with blushing cheek and palpitating heart. I shall not attempt to describe the scene, but throughout the day and night that succeeds that interview the lover seems like one distracted. In the city, in the fields—alone, or in company—he hears nothing but the magic words, "I LOVE YOU!" ringing in his ears, and feels that ecstatic delight which it is permitted mortals to taste but once in their lives.

But what are the sensations which enter the heart of a young and innocent girl when she first confesses the passion that fills her heart? A tender sadness pervades her being—her soul, touched by the hand of Love, delivers itself to the influence of all the nobler emotions of her nature; and borne heavenward on the organ's solemn peal, pours forth its rich treasures in silent and grateful adoration.



At thirty, a man takes a more decided—I wish I could add a more amiable—character than at twenty. At twenty he loves sincerely and devotedly; he respects the woman who has inspired him with the noblest sentiment of which his soul is capable. At thirty his heart, hardened by deceit and ill-requited affection, and pre-occupied by projects of worldly ambition, regards love only as an agreeable pastime, and woman's heart as a toy, which he may fling aside the moment it ceases to amuse him. At twenty he is ready to abandon everything for her whom he idolises—rank, wealth, the future!—they weigh as nothing in the balance against the fancied strength and constancy of his passion. At thirty he coldly immolates the repose and happiness of the woman who loves him to the slightest necessity. I must admit, however—in justice to our sex—provided his love does not interfere with his interest, nor his freedom, nor his club, nor his dogs and horses, nor his petites liaisons des coulisses, nor his hour of dinner—the lover is always willing to make the greatest sacrifices for her whom he has honoured with his regards. The man of thirty is, moreover, a man of many loves; he carries on half-a-dozen affairs of the heart at the same time—he has his writing-desk filled with billets-doux, folded into a thousand fanciful shapes, and smelling villanously of violets, roses, bergamot, and other sentimental odours. He has a pocket-book full of little locks of hair, of all colours, from the light golden to the raven black. In short, the man of thirty is the most dangerous of lovers. Let my fair readers watch his approaches with distrust, and place at every avenue of their innocent hearts



* * * * *

A DEER BARGAIN.

In consequence of an advertisement in the Sporting Magazine for SEVERAL OLD BUCKS, some daring villains actually secured the following venerable gentlemen:—Sir Francis Burdett, Lord Palmerston, Sir Lumley Skeffington, Jack Reynolds, and Mr. Widdicombe. The venison dealer, however, declined to purchase such very old stock, and the aged captives upon being set at liberty heartily congratulated each other on their



* * * * *

OUT OF SCHOOL.

An attenuated disciple of the ill-paid art which has been described as one embracing the "delightful task which teaches the young idea how to shoot," in a fit of despair, being but little skilled in the above sporting accomplishment, endeavoured to cheat nature of its right of killing by trying the efficacy of a small hanging match, in which he suicidically "doubled" the character of criminal and Jack Ketch. Upon being asked by the redoubtable Civic Peter what he meant by such conduct, he attempted to urge the propriety of the proceeding according to the scholastic rules of the ancients. "It may," replied Sir Peter, "be very well for those chaps to hang themselves, as they are out of my jurisdiction; but I'll let you see you are wrong, as



* * * * *

PUNCH'S LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.

We understand that the Author of "Jack Sheppard," &c., is about to publish a new Romance, in three volumes, post octavo, to be called "James Greenacre; or, the Hero of Paddington."

We are requested by Mr. Catnach, of Seven Dials, to state that he has a few remaining copies of "All round my Hat" on sale. Early application must be made, to prevent disappointment. Mr. C. has also to inform the public that an entirely new collection of the most popular songs is now in the press, and will shortly be published, price One Halfpenny.

Mr. Grant, the author of "Random Recollections," is, it is said, engaged in writing a new work, entitled "Quacks as they are," and containing copious extracts from all his former publications, with a portrait of himself.

"An Essay on False Wigs," written by Lord John Russell, and dedicated to Mr. Wakley, M.P., may shortly be expected.

* * * * *

PUNCH'S THEATRE.

THE UNITED SERVICE.

The man who wishes to study an epitome of human character—who wants to behold choice samples of "all sorts and conditions of men"—to read out of a small, a duodecimo edition of the great book of life—must take a season's lodgings at a Cheltenham, a Harrowgate, or a Brighton boarding-house. There he will find representatives of all kinds of eccentricities,—members of every possible lodge of "odd fellows" that Folly has admitted of her crew—mixed up with everyday sort of people, sharpers, schemers, adventurers, fortune-hunters, male and female—widows, wags, and Irishmen. Hence, as the "proper study of mankind is man," a boarding-house is the place to take lessons;—even on the score of economy, as it is possible to live decently at one of these refuges for the destitute for three guineas a-week, exclusive, however, of wine, servants, flirtation, and other extras.

A result of this branch of study, and an example of such a mode of studying it, is the farce with the above title, which has been brought out at Covent Garden. Mrs. Walker (Mrs. Orger) keeps a boarding-house, which also keeps her; for it is well frequented: so well that we find her making a choice of inmates by choosing to turn out Mr. Woodpecker (Mr. Walter Lacy)—a mere "sleeping-apartment" boarder—to make room for Mrs. Coo (Mrs. Glover), a widow, whose demands entitle her to the dignity of a "private sitting and bedroom" lodger. Mr. Woodpecker is very comfortable, and does not want to go; but the hostess is obstinate: he appeals to her feelings as an orphan, without home or domesticity; but the lady, having been in business for a dozen years, has lost all sympathy for orphans of six-and-twenty. In short, Mrs. Walker determines he shall walk, and so shall his luggage (a plethoric trunk and an obese carpet-bag are on the stage); for she has dreamt even that has legs—such dreams being, we suppose, very frequent to persons of her name.

You are not quite satisfied that the mere preference for a better inmate furnishes the only reasons why the lady wants Mr. Woodpecker's room rather than his company. Perhaps he is in arrear; but no, he pays his bill: so it is not on that score that he is so ruthlessly sent away. You are, however, not kept long on the tiptoe of conjecture, but soon learn that Mrs. W. has a niece, and you already know that the banished is young, good-looking, and gay. Indeed, Mrs. Walker having perambulated, Miss Fanny Merrivale (Miss Lee) appears, and listens very composedly to the plan of an elopement from Woodpecker, but speedily makes her exit to avoid suspicion, and the enemy who has dislodged her lover; before whom the latter also retreats, together with his bag and baggage.

There are no classes so well represented at boarding-houses as those who sigh for fame, and those that are dying to be married. Accordingly, we find in Mrs. Walker's establishment Captain Whistleborough (Mr. W. Farren), who is doing the extreme possible to get into Parliament, and Captain Pacific, R.N., (Mr. Bartley,) who is crowding all sail to the port of matrimony. Well knowing how boarding-houses teem with such persons, two men who come under the "scheming" category are also inmates. One of these, Mr. Enfield Bam (Mr. Harley), is a sort of parliamentary agent, who goes about to dig up aspirants that are buried in obscurity, and to introduce them to boroughs, by which means he makes a very good living. His present victim is, of course, Captain Whistleborough, upon whom he is not slow in commencing operations.

Captain Whistleborough has almost every requisite for an orator. He is an army officer; so his manners are good and his self-possession complete. His voice is commanding, for it has been long his duty to give the word of command. Above all, he has a mania to become a member. Yet, alas! one trifling deficiency ruins his prospects; he has an impediment in his speech, which debars him from the use of the W's. Like the French alphabet, that letter is denied to him. When he comes to a syllable it begins, he is spell-bound; though he longs to go on, he pulls up quite short, and sticks fast. The first W he meets with in the flowery paths of rhetoric causes him to be as dumb as an oyster, or as O. Smith in "Frankenstein." In vain does he try the Demosthenes' plan by sucking pebbles on the Brighton shore and haranguing the waves, though he is unable to address them by name. All is useless, and he has resigned himself to despair and a Brighton boarding-house, when Mr. Enfield Bam gives him fresh hopes. He informs him that the proprietress of a pocket borough resides under the same roof, and that he will (for the usual consideration) get the Captain such an introduction to her as shall ensure him a seat in her good graces, and another in St. Stephen's. Mr. Bam, therefore, goes off to negotiate with Miss Polecon (Mrs. Tayleure), and makes way for the intrigues of another sort of an agent, who lives in the house.

This is Rivet (Mr. C. Mathews), a gentleman who undertakes to procure for an employer anything upon earth he may want, at so much per cent. commission. There is nothing that this very general agent cannot get hold of, from a hack to a husband—from a boat to a baronetcy—from a tortoise-shell tom-cat to a rich wife. Matrimonial agency is, however, his passion, and he has plenty of indulgence for it in a Brighton boarding-house. Captain Pacific wants a wife, Mrs. Coo is a widow, and all widows want husbands. Thus Rivet makes sure of a swingeing commission from both parties; for, in imagination, and in his own memorandum-book, he has already married them.

Here are the ingredients of the farce; and in the course of it they are compounded in such wise as to make Woodpecker jealous, merely because he happens to find Fanny in the dark, and in Whistleborough's arms; to cause the latter to negotiate with Mrs. Coo for a seat in Parliament, instead of a wedding-ring; and Pacific to talk of the probable prospects of the nuptial state to Miss Polecon, who is an inveterate spinster and a political economist, professing the Malthusian creed. Rivet finding Fanny and her friend are taking business out of his hands by planning an elopement en amateur, gets himself "regularly called in," and manages to save Woodpecker all the trouble, by contriving that Whistleborough shall run away with the young lady by mistake, so that Woodpecker might marry her, and no mistake. Bam bams Whistleborough, who ends the piece by threatening his deceiver with an action for breach of promise of borough, all the other breaches having been duly made up; together with the match between Mrs. Coo and Pacific.

If our readers want to be told what we think of this farce, they will be disappointed; if they wish to know whether it is good or bad, witty or dull, lively or stupid—whether it ought to have been damned outright, or to supersede the Christmas pantomime—whether the actors played well or played the deuce—whether the scenery is splendid and the appointments appropriate or otherwise, they must judge for themselves by going to see it; because if we gave them our opinion they would not believe us, seeing that the author is one of our most esteemed (especially over a boiled chicken and sherry), most merry, most jolly, most clever colleagues; one, in fine, of PUNCH'S "United Service."

* * * * *

"I have been running ever since I was born and am not tired now"—as the brook said to Captain Barclay.

"Hookey"—as the carp said, when he saw a worm at the end of a line.

"Nothing is certain"—as the fisherman said, when he always found it in his nets.

"Brief let it be"—as the barrister said in his conference with the attorney.

"He is the greatest liar on (H) earth"—as the cockney said of the lapdog he often saw lying before the fire.

When is a hen most likely to hatch? When she is in earnest (her nest).

Why are cowardly soldiers like butter? When exposed to a fire they run.

Do you sing?—says the teapot to the kettle—Yes, I can manage to get over a few bars.—Bah, exclaimed the teapot.

* * * * *



PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 1.



FOR THE WEEK ENDING DECEMBER 25, 1841.

* * * * *

HOW MR. CHOKEPEAR KEEPS A MERRY CHRISTMAS.

Mr. CHOKEPEAR is, to the finger-nails, a respectable man. The tax-gatherer was never known to call at his door a second time for the same rate; he takes the sacrament two or three times a year, and has in his cellar the oldest port in the parish. He has more than once subscribed to the fund for the conversion of the Jews; and, as a proof of his devotion to the interests of the established church, it was he who started the subscription to present the excellent Doctor MANNAMOUTH with a superb silver tea-pot, cream-jug, and spoons. He did this, as he has often proudly declared, to show to the infidel world that there were some men in the parish who were true Christians. He has acquired a profound respect for Sir PETER LAURIE, since the alderman's judgments upon "the starving villains who would fly in the face of their Maker;" and, having a very comfortable balance at his banker's, considers all despair very weak, very foolish, and very sinful. He, however, blesses himself that for such miscreants there is Newgate; and more—there is Sir PETER LAURIE.

Mr. CHOKEPEAR loves Christmas! Yes, he is an Englishman, and he will tell you that he loves to keep Christmas-day in the true old English fashion. How does he keep it?

It is eight o'clock, and Mr. CHOKEPEAR rises from his goose-down. He dresses himself, says his short morning thanksgiving, and being an economist of time, unconsciously polishes his gold watch-chain the while. He descends to the breakfast parlour, and receives from lips of ice, the wishes of a happy Christmas, pronounced by sons and daughters, to whom, as he himself declares, he is "the best of fathers"—the most indulgent of men.

The church-bell tolls, and the CHOKEPEARS, prepare for worship. What meekness, what self-abasement sits on the Christian face of TOBIAS CHOKEPEAR as he walks up the aisle to his cosey pew; where the woman, with turned key and hopes of Christmas half-crown lighting her withered face, sinks a curtsey as she lets "the miserable sinner" in; having carefully pre-arranged the soft cushions and hassocks for the said sinner, his wife, his sons, and daughters. The female CHOKEPEARS with half the produce of a Canadian winter's hunting in their tippets, muffs, and dresses, and with their noses, like pens stained with red ink,—prepare themselves to receive the religious blessings of the day. They then venture to look around the church, and recognising CHOKEPEARS of kindred nature, though not of name, in pews—(none of course among the most "miserable sinners" on the bare benches)—they smile a bland salutation, and—but hush! the service is about to begin.

And now will TOBIAS CHOKEPEAR perform the religious duties of a Christian! Look at him, how he feeds upon every syllable of the minister. He turns the Prayer-book familiarly, as if it were his bank account, and, in a moment, lights upon the prayers set apart for the day. With what a composed, assured face he listens to the decalogue—how firm his voice in the responses—and though the effrontery of scandal avows that he shifts somewhat from Mrs. CHOKEPEAR'S eye at the mention of "the maid-servant"—we do not believe it.

It is thus CHOKEPEAR begins his Christmas-day. He comes to celebrate the event of the Incarnation of all goodness; to return "his most humble and hearty thanks" for the glory that Providence has vouchsafed to him in making him a Christian. He—Tobias CHOKEPEAR—might have been born a Gentoo! Gracious powers! he might have been doomed to trim the lamps in the Temple of Juggernaut—he might have come into this world to sweep the marble of the Mosque at Mecca—he might have been a faquir, with iron and wooden pins "stuck in his mortified bare flesh"—he might, we shudder to think upon the probability, have brandished his club as a New Zealander; and his stomach, in a state of heathen darkness to the humanising beauties of goose and apple-sauce, might, with unblessed appetite, have fed upon the flesh of his enemies. He might, as a Laplander, have driven a sledge, and fed upon walrus-blubber; and now is he an Englishman—a Christian—a carriage holder, and an eater of venison!

It is plain that all these thoughts—called up by the eloquence of Doctor MANNAMOUTH, who preaches on the occasion—are busy in the bosom of CHOKEPEAR; and he sits on his soft cushion, with his eyelids declined, swelling and melting with gratitude for his blissful condition. Yes; he feels the glorious prerogative of his birth—the exquisite beauty of his religion. He ought to feel himself a happy man; and, glancing round his handsomely-appointed pew—he does.

"A sweet discourse—a very sweet discourse," says CHOKEPEAR to several respectable acquaintance, as the organ plays the congregation out; and CHOKEPEAR looks round about him airily, contentedly; as though his conscience was as unseared as the green holly that decorates the pews; as though his heart was fresh, and red, and spotless as its berries.

Well, the religious ceremonies of the day being duly observed, CHOKEPEAR resolves to enjoy Christmas in the true old English fashion. Oh! ye gods, that bless the larders of the respectable,—what a dinner! The board is enough to give Plenty a plethora, and the whole house is odoriferous as the airs of Araby. And then, what delightful evidences of old observing friendship on the table! There is a turkey—"only a little lower" than an ostrich—despatched all the way from an acquaintance in Norfolk, to smoke a Christmas salutation to good Mr. CHOKEPEAR. Another county sends a goose—another pheasants—another brawn; and CHOKEPEAR, with his eye half slumbering in delight upon the gifts, inwardly avows that the friendship of friends really well to do is a fine, a noble thing.

The dinner passes off most admirably. Not one single culinary accident has marred a single dish. The pudding is delicious; the custards are something better than manna—the mince pies a conglomeration of ambrosial sweets. And then the Port! Mr. CHOKEPEAR smacks his lips like a whip, and gazes on the bee's wing, as HERSCHELL would gaze upon a new-found star, "swimming in the blue profound." Mr. CHOKEPEAR wishes all a merry Christmas, and tosses off the wine, its flavour by no means injured by the declared conviction of the drinker, that "there isn't such another glass in the parish!"

The evening comes on. Cards, snap-dragons, quadrilles, country-dances, with a hundred devices to make people eat and drink, send night into morning; and it may be at six or seven on the twenty-sixth of December, our friend CHOKEPEAR, a little mellow, but not at all too mellow for the season, returns to his sheets, and when he rises declares that he has passed a very merry Christmas. If the human animal were all stomach—all one large paunch—we should agree with CHOKEPEAR that he had passed a merry Christmas: but was it the Christmas of a good man or a Christian? Let us see.

We have said all CHOKEPEAR'S daughters dined with him. We forgot: one was absent. Some seven years ago she married a poorer husband, and poverty was his only, but certainly his sufficient fault; and her father vowed that she should never again cross his threshold. The Christian keeps his word. He has been to church to celebrate the event which preached to all men mutual love and mutual forgiveness, and he comes home, and with rancour in his heart—keeps a merry Christmas!

We have briefly touched upon the banquet spread before CHOKEPEAR. There is a poor debtor of his in Horsemonger-lane prison—a debtor to the amount of at least a hundred shillings. Does he dine on Christmas-day? Oh! yes; Mr. CHOKEPEAR will read in The Times of Monday how the under-marshal served to each prisoner a pound of beef, a slice of pudding, and a pint of porter! The man might have spent the day in freedom with his wife and children; but Mr. CHOKEPEAR in his pew thought not of his debtor, and the creditor at least—kept a merry Christmas!

How many shivering wretches pass CHOKEPEAR'S door! How many, with the wintry air biting their naked limbs, and freezing within them the very springs of human hope! In CHOKEPEAR'S house there are, it may be, a dozen coats, nay, a hundred articles of cast-off dress, flung aside for the moth—piles of stuff and flannel, that would at this season wrap the limbs of the wretched in comparative Elysium. Does Mr. CHOKEPEAR, the respectable, the Christian CHOKEPEAR, order these (to him unnecessary) things to be given to the naked? He thinks not of them; for he wears fleecy hosiery next his skin, and being in all things dressed in defiance of the season—keeps a merry Christmas.

Gentle reader, we wish you a merry Christmas; but to be truly, wisely merry, it must not be the Christmas of the CHOKEPEARS. That is the Christmas of the belly: keep you the Christmas of the heart. Give—give.

Q.

* * * * *

COMMERCIAL PANIC.—RUMOURED STOPPAGE IN THE CITY.

There is in the city a noted place for deposits, much resorted to by certain parties, who are in the habit of giving drafts upon it very freely, when applied to for payment. We regret to state that if the severity of the weather continues, a stoppage is expected in the quarter hinted at, and as the issues are at all times exceedingly copious, the worst results may be anticipated. Our readers will at once perceive that, in attributing such an effect as total stoppage to such a cause as continued frost, we can only point to one quarter which is in the habit of answering drafts; and, as further delicacy would be useless, we avow at once that Aldgate Pump is here alluded to. We understand that, as the customers are chiefly people of straw, it is intended to see what effect straw will have in averting the calamity. We were sorry to see the other day a very large bill upon a quarter hitherto so respectable. We are aware that its exposed condition gives every one a handle against it, and we are, therefore, the more circumspect in giving currency to every idle rumour. We should be no less sorry to see Aldgate Pump stop from external causes, than to know that it had been swamped by its own excessive issues. Though as yet quite above water, it is feared that it will soon be in an-ice predicament.

* * * * *

FASHIONABLE INTELLIGENCE.

Arrivals.—Jack Frost, from the North.

Departures.—Several members of the Swellmobocracy have, within the last few days, quitted Deptford for South Australia. The periods of their intended sojourn are various.

Changes.—Ned Morris has changed his collar, but continues his shirt for the present. Among the other changes we have to record one effected by Sam Smasher, of a counterfeit sovereign.

It is a remarkable fact that the weathercocks have recently changed their quarters, and have left the West in favour of the East: a predilection of astounding vulgarity.

Timothy Tomkins has had another splendid turn-out from his lodgings, the landlord having complained of want of punctuality in payments.

* * * * *

A LETTER FROM AN OLD FRIEND,

SHOWING HOW HE IS GETTING ON.

Clodpole, Dec. 23, 1841.

MY DEAR PUNCH,

Here I am, you see, keeping Christmas, and having no end of fun amongst the jolly innocent grubs that vegetate in these rural districts. All I regret is that you are not here. I would give a ten-pound note to see you, if I had it;—I would, indeed—so help me several strong men and a steam-engine!

We had a great night in London before I started, only I got rascally screwed: not exactly sewed up, you know but hit under the wing, so that I could not very well fly. I managed to break the window on the third-floor landing of my lodgings, and let my water-jug fall slap through the wash-hand basin upon a looking-glass that was lying face upwards underneath; but as I was off early in the morning it did not signify.

The people down here are a queer lot; but I have hunted up two or three jolly cocks, and we contrive to keep the place alive between us. Of course, all the knockers came off the first night I arrived, and to-morrow we are going to climb out upon the roof of my abode, and make a tour along the tops of the neighbouring houses, putting turfs on the tops of all the practicable chimneys. Jack Randall—such a jolly chick! you must be introduced to him—has promised to tie a cord across the pavement at the corner, from the lamp-post to a door-scraper; and we have made a careful estimate that, out of every half-dozen people who pass, six will fall down, four cut their faces more or less arterially, and two contuse their foreheads. I, you may imagine, shall wait at home all the evening for the crippled ones, and Jack is to go halves in what I get for plastering them up. We may be so lucky as to procure a case of concussion—who knows? Jack is a real friend: he cannot be of much use to me in the way of recommendation, because the people here think he is a little wild; but as far as seriously injuring the parishioners goes, he declares he will lose no chance. He says he knows some gipsies on the common who have got scarlet-fever in their tent; and he is going to give them half-a-crown if they can bring it into the village, to be paid upon the breaking out of the first undoubted case. This will fag the Union doctor to death, who is my chief opponent, and I shall come in for some of the private patients.

My surgery is not very well stocked at present, but I shall write to Ansell and Hawke after Christmas. I have got a pickle-bottle full of liquorice-powder, which has brought me in a good deal already, and assisted to perform several wonderful cures. I administer it in powders, two drachms in six, to be taken morning, noon, and night; and it appears to be a valuable medicine for young practitioners, as you may give a large dose, without producing any very serious effects. Somebody was insane enough to send to me the other night for a pill and draught; and if Jack Randall had not been there, I should have been regularly stumped, having nothing but Epsom salts. He cut a glorious calomel pill out of pipeclay, and then we concocted a black-draught of salts and bottled stout, with a little patent boot-polish. Next day, the patient finding himself worse, sent for me, and I am trying the exhibition of linseed-meal and rose-pink in small doses, under which treatment he is gradually recovering. It has since struck me that a minute portion of sulphuric acid enters into the composition of the polish, possibly causing the indisposition which he describes "as if he was tied all up in a double-knot, and pulled tight."

I have had one case of fracture in the leg of Mrs. Finkey's Italian greyhound, which Jack threw a flower-pot at in the dark the other night. I tied it up in two splints cut out of a clothes-peg in a manner which I stated to be the most popular at the Hotel Dieu at Paris; and the old girl was so pleased that she has asked me to keep Christmas-day at her house, where she burns the Yule log, makes a bowl of wassail, and all manner of games. We are going to bore a hole in the Yule log with an old trephine, and ram it chuck-full of gunpowder; and Jack's little brother is to catch six or seven frogs, under pain of a severe licking, which are to be put into one of the vegetable dishes. The old girl has her two nieces home for the holidays—devilish handsome, larky girls—so we have determined to take some mistletoe, and give a practical demonstration of the action of the orbicularis oris and ievatores labiae superioris et inferioris. If either of them have got any tin, I shall try and get all right with them; but if the brads don't flourish I shall leave it alone, for a wife is just the worst piece of furniture a fellow can bring into his house, especially if he inclines to conviviality; although to be sure a medical man ought to consider her as part of his stock in trade, to be taken at a fair valuation amidst his stopple-bottles, mortars, measures, and pill-rollers.

If business does not tumble in well, in the course of a few weeks, we have another plan in view; but I only wish to resort to it on emergency, in case we should be found out. The railway passes at the bottom of my garden, and Jack thinks, with a few pieces of board, he can contrive to run the engine and tender off the line, which is upon a tolerably high embankment. I need not tell you all this is in strict confidence; and if the plan does not jib, which is not very probable, will bring lots of grist to the mill. I have put the engineer and stoker at a sure guinea a head for the inquest; and the concussions in the second class will be of unknown value. If practicable, I mean to have an elderly gentleman "who must not be moved under any consideration;" so I shall get him into my house for the term of his indisposition, which may possibly be a very long one. I can give him up my own bedroom, and sleep myself in an old harpsichord, which I bought cheap at a sale, and disembowelled into a species of deceptive bed. I think the hint might put "people about to marry" up to a dodge in the way of spare beds. Everybody now sees through the old chiffonier and wardrobe turn-up impositions, but the grand piano would beat them; only it should be kept locked, for fear any one given to harmony might commence playing a fantasia on the bolster.

Our parishioners have very little idea of the Cider-cellars and Coal-hole, both of which places they take in their literal sense. I think that, with Jack's assistance, we can establish something of the kind at the Swan, which is the principal inn. Should it not succeed, I shall turn my attention to getting up a literary and scientific institution, and give a lecture. I have not yet settled on what subject, but Jack votes for Astronomy, for two reasons: firstly, because the room is dark nearly all the time; and secondly, because you can smug in some pots of half-and-half behind the transparent orrery. He says the dissolving views in London put him up to the value of a dark exhibition. We also think we can manage a concert, which will he sure of a good attendance if we say it is for some parish charity. Jack has volunteered a solo on the cornet-a-piston: he has never tried the instrument, but he says he is sure he can play it, as it looks remarkably easy hanging up in the windows of the music-shops. He thinks one might drill the children and get up the Macbeth music.

It is turning very cold to-night, and I think will turn to a frost. Jack has thrown some water on the pavement before my door; and should it freeze, I have given strict orders to my old housekeeper not to strew any ashes, or sand, or sawdust, or any similar rubbish about. People's bones are very brittle in frosty weather, and this may bring a job. I hope it will.

If, in your London rambles, as you seem to be everywhere at once, you pitch upon Manhug, Rapp, or Jones, give my love to them, and tell them to keep their powder dry, and not to think of practising in the country, which is after all a species of social suicide. And with the best compliments of the season to yourself, and "through the medium of the columns of your valuable journal" to your readers, believe me to remain,

My dear old bean,

Yours very considerably,

JOSEPH MUFF.

* * * * *

THE SECRET SORROW.

Oh! let me from the festive board To thee, my mother, flee; And be my secret sorrow shared By thee—by only thee!

In vain they spread the glitt'ring store, The rich repast, in vain; Let others seek enjoyment there, To me 'tis only pain.

There was a word of kind advice— A whisper, soft and low; But oh! that one resistless smile! Alas! why was it so?

No blame, no blame, my mother dear, Do I impute to you. But since I ate that currant tart I don't know what to do!

* * * * *



PUNCH'S POSTSCRIPT.

MR. AUGUSTUS SWIVEL, (Professor of the Drum and Mouth-organ, and Stage-Manager to PUNCH'S Theatre,)

LOQUITUR.

PATRONS OF "PUNCH,"—LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—

We has dropped the curtain and rowled up the baize on the first half-annivel performance of "PUNCH." The pleasing task now dewolves upon me, on behoof of the Lessee and the whole strength off the Puppets, to come forrard and acknowledge the liberal showers of applause and 'apence what a generous and enlightened British public has powered upon the performances and pitched into our goss. Steamilated by this St. Swiffin's of success, the Lessee fearlessly launches his bark upon the high road of public favor, and enters his Theaytre for the grand steeple-chase of general approbation.

Ourn hasn't been a bed of roses. We've had our rivals and our troubles. We came out as a great hint, and everybody took us.

First and foremost, the great Juggeler in Printing-house Square, walks in like the Sheriff and takes our comic effects.

Then the Black Doctor, as blowed the bellows to the late ministerial organ, starts a fantoccini and collars our dialect.

Then, the unhappy wight what acts as dry-nuss to his Grandmother, finding his writing on the pavement with red and white chalk and sentiment, won't friz,—gives over appealing to the sympathies, kidnaps our comic offspring, and (as our brother dramatist Muster Sheridan says) disfigures 'em to make 'em look like his own.

Then, the whole biling of our other hoppositioners who puts their shoulders together, to "hoist up a donkey," tries to ornament their werry wulgar exhibitions with our vitticisms.

Now this was cruel, deceitful condick on the part of the juggeler,—a side wind blow from the organ,—didn't show much of the milk of human kindness with the chalk; and as for the ass,—but no,—brotherly love is our weakness, and we throws a veil over the donkey.

During the recess the exterior of the Theaytre will be re-decorated by Muster Phiz; and the first artists in pen, ink, black-lead, and box-wood, has been secured to see if any improvements can be made in the interior.

I have the honor to inform you that we shall commence our next campaign on January 1, 1842, with renewed henergy, all the old-established wooden heads, and several new hands.

And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, on behalf of "PUNCH," the Puppets, the Properrieters, and the Orchestra (which is myself), I most respectfully touches my hat, and wishes you all a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. Au rewoir.



* * * * *



INDEX.



A Barrister's Card, 33 A Bitter Draught—Jonathanisms, 47 A Bower of Bliss in Stangate, 120 A Barrowknight, 226 A Card, 106 A Chapter on Politics, 216 A Classical Inscription for a Cigar-case, 29 A Chapter on Boots, 16 A Con., 15, 23, 29, 48, 209, 221, 241, 252 A Constant Pair, 76 A Count and his Schneider, 76 A Curious Error, 155 A Cruel Disappointment, 81 Active Benevolence, 231 A Cut by Sir Peter, 273 A Dab for Laurie, 251 A Deer Bargain, 275 A Dictionary for the Ladies, 264 A Dose of Castor, 218 A Dress Rehearsal, 59 Advantages of Animal Magnetism, 47 Advantages of Style, 69 Advice Gratis, 74 A Familiar Epistle from John Stump, Esq., 237 A Fair Offer, 33 A Few more veritable Jonathans, 24 Affairs in China, 143 A Great Card, 143 A Hint for Politicians, 101 A Hint to the new Lord Chamberlain, 83 A Hint to the Ugly, 48 Alarming Destitution, 52 Alarming Prospects of the Country, 218 A Legend of the Tower (not London), 220 A Mail Due, 173 A Manual of Denouements, 145 A Matter of Course, 83 A Matter of Taste, 52 A Mayor's Nest, 184 A Meeting of Old Acquaintances, 252 A Mesmeric Advertisement, 122 A Moving Scene, 35 A Modern Method of forming a New Budget, 13 An Alligator Chairman, 10 An Alarming Strike, 122 An-Tea Anacreontic, 4, 13, 40, 53 An Atrocious Pun, 98 An Appropriate Name, 97 An Advertisement, 85 A Natural Deduction, 37 A Natural Inference, 52 An Appropriate Gift, 173 An Acute Angle, 73 An Extract from the Spectator, 202 An Extensive Sacrifice, 129 An Exclusive Appointment, 87 A New Theory of Pockets, 113 A New Milky Way, 228 A New Conjuring Company, 129 A New Version of Belshazzar's Feast, 66 A New Wine, 257 An Imminent Breach, 82 An Inquiry from Deaf Burke, Esq., 58 Animal Magnetism, 28 An important Discovery, 64 Announcement Extraordinary, 274 An Ode picked up in the Divan, 11 A Novel Entertainment, 110 An Undivided Moiety, 205 A Party of Medallers, 15 A Pair of Ducks, 179 A Pair of Fools, 76 A Paean for Dan, 208 A Perfect Vacuum Proved, 252 A Pleasant Assurance, 149 A Private Box, 93 A Pro and Con, 101 A Prudent Change, 34 A Prudent Reason, 125 A Public Convenience, 6 A "Punch" Testimonial, 227 A Pun from the Row, 83 A Quarter-day Cogitation, 5 "Are ye sure the News is True?" 218 Artistic Execution, 83 Arrived at Last, 173 "A Ring! a Ring!!" 145 American Congress, 172 A Royal Duck, 134 A Scandalous Report, 194 A Short Treatise of Dramatic Casualties, 131 A Singular Inadvertence, 90 A Slap at John Chinaman's Chops, 180 A Slight Contrast, 256 A Spoke in Stanley's Wheel, 52 A Spoon Case, 251 Assertion of the Unintelligible, 111 A Strong Resemblance, 34 A Suggestion, 182 A Thing unfit to a(p)pear, 64 A Thorough Draught, 207 A Try-Angle, 170 A Trifle from Little Tommy, 81 Awful Accident, 69, 81 A Wood-cut, 23 Authentic, 40 A Voice from the Area, 100



Bad either Way, 76 Ballads of the Briefless, 273 Barber-ous Announcement, 228 Bartholomew Fair Show-Folks, 88 Beginning Early, 75 Bernard Cavanagh, 124 Birth of the Prince of Wales, 205 Black and White, 52 "Blow Gentle Breeze," 193 Brandy and Waterford (a Go!), 226 Breach of Privilege, 29 Buffoon's Natural History, 256 Bunks's Discoveries in the Thames, 129 Burke's Heraldry, 182



Calumny Refuted, 52 Capital Illustration, 88 Cause and Effect, 202, 238 Caution to Gourmands, 81 Caution to Sportsmen, 97 Certainly not,—"Better Late than Never," 255 Characteristic Correspondence, 17 Charles Kean's "Cheek", 53 Chaunt to Old Father Time, 23 Chelsea, 71 Christianity.—Price Fifteen Shillings, 150 Civilization, 27 Clar' de Kitchen, 15 Comic Credentials, 40 Coming Events cast their Shadows before, 177 Commentary on the Elections, 9 Commercial Intelligence, 1 Cons.—A Query, 54 Cons, by O'Connell, 167 Con. by Theodore Hook, 81 Cons. by Our Own Colonel, 155 Conundrums by Col. Sibthorp, 21 Con. by Sibthorp and Stultz, 245 Con. by an X M.P., 29 Cons, worth Conning, 227 Conundrum by the Lord Mayor, 216 Concerts d'Ete, 96 Condensed Parliamentary Report, 133 Continuations from China, 157 Conversation between Two Hackney-coach Horses, 5 Coombe's Lungs and Learning, 161 Correspondence, 35 Correspondence Extraordinary, 61 Coventry's Wise Precaution, 157 Court Circular, 5, 13 Crimes of Eating, 250 Cross Readings, 23 Cupid's Bow, 255 Curious Ambiguity, 144 Curious Coincidence, 65, 87 Curious Synonymes, 173 Curiosity Hunters, 137 Custom-House Sale, 145 Cutting at the Root of the Evil, 218 Cutting it rather Short, 251



Decidedly Unpleasant, 87 Devilled Drumsticks, 226 Dialogue. George Canning and Sir Robert Peel, 111 Diary of a Lord Mayor, 26 Discovery of Valuable Jewels, 238 Distress of the Country, 215 Doctor Peel taking time to Consult, 126 Doing the State some Service, 206 Domestic Economy, 183 Done again, 110 Draw it Gently, 255 Dyer Ignorance, 135



Eccentricities of the Minor Drama, 137 Ecclesiastical Transportation, 21 Elegant Phrases, 261 Eligible Investments! 209 Encouragement of Native Talent, 114 Enjoyment, 108 English and American Produce, 61 Epigrams, 14, 21, 24, 61, 89, 97, 173, 198 Epitaph on a Candle, 172 Errata in the "Times," 141 Exclusive Interference, 28 Express from America, 185 Express from Windsor, 134 Extra Fashionable News, 90 Extraordinary Assize Intelligence, 52 Extraordinary Operation, 52



False Alarm, 206 Fancied Fair, 95 Fashions, 83, 257, 270 Fashionable Arrivals, 21, 74 Fashionable Intelligence, 47, 130, 205, 221, 232, 257 Fashionable Movements, 255 Fearful State of London, 99 Fine Arts, 9, 33, 108, 112 Fine Arts External Exhibitions, 65 Fire! Fire! 173 Fire at the Adelphi Theatre, 249 Fish Sauce, 118 Foreign Affairs, 42, 95 French Living, 232 From the London Gazette, Nov. 16, 232



Galvanism Outdone, 101 General Satisfaction, 85 Geology of Society, 157 "Go along, Bob," 155 Grant's Meditations among the Coffee-cup, 263 Gravesend—from our own Correspondent, 121 Great Annual Michaelmas Jubilee, 135



(H)all is lost now! 123 "Habit is second Nature," 147 Hamlet's Soliloquy by a XX Teetotaller, 190 Happy Land, 173 Hard and Fast, 203 Hard to Remember, 209 Harmer Virumque Cano, 215 Heavy Lightness, 83 High Life Below Stairs, 134 Hints on Popping the Question, 233 Hints to New Members, 82 Hints on Melo-dramatic Music, 17 Hints how to enjoy an Omnibus, 250 His Turn now, 237 Hitting the Right Nail on the Head, 52 Hostilities in Private Life, 178 Humane Suggestion, 111 Hume's Terminology, 1 Hume's Day-school, 11 Hume Leeds—Wakley Follows, 180 Humfery Cheat-'em, 45



"I Do Adjure you, Answer me!" 154 If I had a Thousand a Year, 63 Imperial Parliament—The Queen's Speech, 78 Important News from China, 74 Important Intelligence, 269 Important Invention, 130 Inauguration of the Image of Shakspere, 106 Injured Innocence, 54 Inquest, 41 Inquest Extraordinary, 87 Inquest Extraordinary on a Coroner, 155 Inquest—not Extraordinary, 78 Irish Intelligence.—Awful State of the Country, 220 Irish Particular, 52 It was before I married, 57



Jocky Jason, 57 Joe Hume's Forthcoming Work, 221 Joe Hum(e)anity, 123 Jonathans, 24, 37



Keeping it dark, 189 Kidnapping Extraordinary, 179 Kings and Carpenters, 234



Labours of the British Association, 57 Labours of the Session, 159 Lady Morgan's Little One, 49 Lam(b)entations, 71 Land Sharks and Sea Gulls, 142 Last New Sayings, 191 Laurie's Raillery, 252 Laurie's Essay on the Pharmacopoeia, 168 Laurie on Geography, 161 Lays of the "Beau Monde," 141 Lays of the Lazy, 70 Legal Pugilism, 41 Lessons in Punmanship, 2 Letter of Introduction, 90 Like Master Like Man, 154 Lines on Miss Adelaide Kemble, 255 Looking on the Black Side of Things, 99 List of Outrages, 142 Literary Queries and Replies, 24 Lord Melbourne's Letter-beg, 70 Lord Johnny Licking the Birse, 54 Love and Hymen, 244 Loyalty and Insanity, 258 Linen-drapers of Ludgate, 166 List of the Premiums at the H.S. Soc., 189 Literary Recipes, 39



Madame Tussaud's, 96 Magisterial Axioms, 226 Major Beniowsky's New Art of Memory, 149 Making a Composition with one's Ancestors, 135 Marriage and Christening Extraordinary, 22 Matinee Mesmerique, 123 Matrimonial Agency, 59 Maternal Solicitude, 70 "Matters in Fact" and "Matters in Law," 59 Metropolitan Improvements, 141 Michaelmas Day, 142 Modern Wat Tylers, 26 Molar and Incisor, 136 Monsieur Jullien, 15 More Ways than One, &c., 15 Morbid Sympathy for Criminals, 227 More Sketches of London Life, 231 More Fashionable Intelligence, 227 Mr. Punch, Artist in Philosophy and Fireworks, 202 Musical News (Noose), 243 "My Name's the Doctor," 40 Myself, Punch, and the Keeleys, 217



Napoleon's Statue at Boulogne, 81 National Distress, 251 Native Swallows, 1 Narrative of an Awful Case of Extreme Distress, 77 New Code of Signals, 57 News for the Syncretics, 101 New Parliamentary Returns, 83 New Annuals and Republications, 238 News of Extraordinary Interest, 15 New Swimming Apparatus, 99 New Works now in the Press, 171 New Stuffing for the Speaker's Chair, 41 Nigger Peculiarities, 184 Nobody Cares and Nobody Nose, 250 Nothing Wonderful, 26 Nothing New, 159 "Not Exactly," 256 Not a Step Fa(r)ther, 173 Nouveau Manuel du Voyageur, 28 Novel Experiment—Great Screw, 82 Novel Subscriptions, 123 Nursery Education Report, 54 Nursery Education Report—No. 2, 62



Official Report of the Fire at the Tower, 241 Oh! Day and Night! 132 Oh! Gemini! 228 Old Bailey, 41 Ominous, 22 "One Good Turn deserves Another," 218 On Dits of the Clubs, 53 On Snuff, and the Different Ways of Taking it, 256 On the Introduction of Pantomime into the English Language, 10 On Sir E.L. Bulwer, Bart., 28 On the Science of Electioneering, 110 On the Key-Vive, 191 On the Popularity of Mr. Ch—s K—n, 48 Our City Article, 39, 245 Our Foreign Relations, 118 Our Trade Report, 189 Our Weathercock, 241 Out of School, 275 Out of Season, 98



Parliamentary Intentions, 90 Parliamentary Masons—Parliamentary Pictures, 162 Peel's Pre-existence, 198 Peel "regularly called in," 102 Pen and Palette Portraits, 262, 274 Peter the Great (Fool?), 250 Philanthropy, Fine Writing, and Fireworks, 77 Physiology of the Lond. Med. Student, 142, 154, 165, 177, 185, 201, 213, 225, 229, 244, 253, 265 Pictorial History of Parliament, 174 Pleasures of Hope (rather expensive), 83 Please to remember the Fifth of November, 195 Poached Egotism, 143 Poetry on an Improved Principle, 25 Political Naturalist's Library, 143 Political Euclid, 149, 166 Politics of the Outward Man, 186 Political Intelligence, 264 Poor Jack, 158 Poor John Bull, 34 Popish Red-dress, 251 "'Possum up a Gum Tree," 205 Pray don't tell the Governor, 28 Present Crops Abroad, 82 Private, 13 Proper Precaution, 222 Prospectus for a Provident Annuity Company, 81 Prospectus for a New Hand-book of Jesters, 238 Prospectus of a New Grand Railroad Accident and Partial Mutilation Provident Society, 159 Private Correspondence, 155 Providing for Evil Days, 107 Promenade Concerts, 168 Public Affairs on Phrenological Principles, 57 Punch and Peel, 18 Punch and Peel—the New Cabinet, 30 Punch and Sir John Pollen, 45 Punch and the Swiss Giantess, 245 Punchlied—Song for Punch Drinkers, 268 Punch's Catechism of Geography, 214 Punch's Commission to Inquire into the General Distress, 170 Punch's Correspondence, 17 Punch's Extra Dramatic Intelligence, 69 Punch's Essence of Guffaw, 122 Punch's Guide to the Watering Places—Brighton, 145 Punch's Histrionic Readings in History—England, 136 Punch's Information, 41, 58, 82, 119, 179, 261 Punch's Lecture on Morality, 119 Punch's Letter-Writer, 255 Punch's Literature, 86 Punch's Literary Intelligence, 276 Punch's New General Letter-Writer, 160 Punch's Paean to the Princelet, 209 Punch's Political Economy, 191 Punch's Random Recoll. of the House of Lords, 52 Punch's Review: Madame Laffarge, 189 Punch's Stomachology, Lecture I., 232 PUNCH'S THEATRE, 12, 24, 36, 48, 60, 72, 84, 95, 107, 113, 131, 132, 144, 156, 167, 180, 192, 203, 204, 216, 239, 240, 252, 264, 276



Q.E.D., 133 Qualifications for an M.P., 12 Queer Queries, 269 Questions by the Disowned of Nottingham, 23



Rather Ominous, 83 Rather Suicidal, 82 Reasons Ne Plus Ultra, 76, 97 Recollections of a Trip in Mr. Hampton's Balloon, 99 Railway Accidents, Prevention of, 165 Reconciling a Difference, 241 Recreation for the Public, 130 Reform your Lawyer's Bills, 197 Regularly Called in and Bowled out, 225 Rejected Address of the Melancholy Whigs, 54 Relative Gentility, 189 Revenge is Sweet, 23 Review, 23 "Rob me the Exchequer, Hal," 194 Roebuck defying the "Thunderer," 134 Romance of a Teacup, 221, 233, 245 Root and Branch, 142 Royal Nursery Education Report, No. 3, 105 Rumball the Comedian, 41



Sayings and Doings in the Royal Nursery, 2 Savory Con. by Cox, 178 Schools of Design, 83, 159 Seeing Nothing, 226 Shall Great Olympus to a Molehill Stoop? 89 Shocking want of Sympathy, 29 Should this meet the Eye, 203 Sibthorpiana, 144 Sibthorp's Corner, 233, 251, 267 Sibthorp on Borthwick, 172 Sibthorp on the Corn Laws, 118 Sibthorp's Very Best, 75 Sibthorpian Problems, 180 Signs of the Times, 253 Sir Francis Burdett's Visit to the Tower, 197 Sir Peter Laurie, 210 Sir Robert Peel and the Queen, 93 Sir Robert Peel (Loquitur), 155 "Slumber, my Darling," 237 Some things to which the Irish would not swear, 177 Something Warlike, 1 So much for Buckingham, 159 Songs for Catarrhs, 205 Songs for the Sentimental, 6, 22, 37, 49, 81, 85, 123, 143, 149, 202, 233, 252, 262, 267 Songs of the Seedy, 93, 155, 167, 179, 184, 251 Soup, a la Julien, 264 Spanish Politics, 167 Sparks from the Fire—All is not Lost, 214 Speech from the Hustings, 24 Sporting—the Knocker Hunt, 14 Sporting Face, 145 Sporting in Downing-street, 69 Starvation Statistics for Sir Robert Peel, 267 Stenotypography, 15 Street Politics—Punch and his Stage-Manager, 6 "Stupid as a Post," 241 Supreme Court of the High Inquisitor Punch, 40, 69 Surrey Zoological Gardens, 109 "Syllables which breathe of the Sweet South," 22 Syncretic Literature, 100, 112, 124 Synopsis of Voting according to Cant, 3 Sweet Autumn Days, 153



Taking the Hodds, 133 Taking a Sight at the Fire, 220 Theatrical Intelligence, 107 TALES, SKETCHES, &c. A Day-Dream at my Uncle's, 193 A Rail-Road Novel, 2 Father O'Flynn and his Congregation, 125 My Uncle Bucket, 64 My Friend Tom, 101 Say it was "me," 148 "Take Care of Him," 268 The Barber of Stocksbawler, 161 The Currah Cut, 76 The Gold Snuff-box, 183 The Great Creature, 169 The Heir of Applebite, 73, 89, 97, 109, 121, 146, 171, 182, 194, 206, 219 The Man of Habit, 191 The Omen Outwitted, 117 The Professional Singer, 4 The Puff Papers, 230, 242, 254, 266 Tom Connor's Dilemma, 153 The Sailor's Secret, 22 The Tiptoes, 133 The Wife Catchers, 34, 37, 49, 61 Theatre-Royal Drury Lane, 47 The Above-bridge Navy, 35 The Amende Honorable, 107 The Bane and Antidote, 241 The Beauty of Brass, 111 The Boy Jones's Log, 46 The Broth of a Boy, 269 The Battle and the Breeze, 130 The Corn Laws and Christianity, 114 The Cheroot, 273 The Copper Captain, 267 The Corsair; a Poem to be read on Railroads, 241 The Dinnerology of England, 78 The Destruction of the Aldermen, 215 The Desire of Pleasing, 181 The Election of Ballinafad, 21 The Entire Animal, 12 The Explosive Box, 28 The Evil most to be Dreaded, 143 The Fastest Man, 267 The Fasting Phenomenon, 130 "The force of Fancy could no further go," 216 The Fetes for the Polish, 249 The Fire at the Tower, 195 The Gent's Own Book, 63, 75, 85, 98, 147, 190, 207 The Great Cricket Match at St. Stephen's, 87 The Golden-square Revolution, 99 The Geology of Society, 178 The High-road to Gentility, 257 The Knatchbull Testimonial, 243 The late Promotions, 264 The Legal Eccalobeion, 52 The Lord Mayor's Fool, 214 The Lord Mayors and the Queen, 202 The Loves of the Plants, 26 The Lost Med. Papers of the British Assoc., 94 The Limerick Mares, 231 The Lambeth Demosthenes, 219 The Light of all Nations, 130 The Minto House Manifesto, 45 The Ministerial TOP, 123 The Mansion-house Parrot, 58 The Money Market, 69 The Moral of Punch, 1 The Male Dalilah, 227 The Masons and the Stone Jug, 216 The Ministry's Ode to the Passions, 93 The New Doctor's System, 132 The Normandie "No-go," 29 The New Administration, 100 The New House, 29 The New State Stretcher, 173 The O'Connell Papers, 208 The Prince of Wales, 226 The Packed Jury, 87 The Pensive Peel, 183 The Prince of Wales—his Future Times, 222 The Prince's Extra, 216 The Rival Candidates, 196 The Rape of the Lock-up, 228 The Royal Bulletins, 226 The Rich Old Buffer, 77 The Rising Sun, 17 The Royal Lion and Unicorn—a Dialogue, 50 The Statistical Society, 110 The School of Design at Hookham-cum-Snivey, 269 The Star System, 231 The Speakership, 58 The Two Fatal Chiropedists, 89 The Two Macbeths, or the Haymarket Gemini, 47 The Tory Peacocks and the Finsbury Daw, 139 The Tory Table d'Hote, 52 The Thorny Premier, 144 The Tea-service on Sea-service, 170 The Two New Equity Judges, 202 The Two last Important Sittings, 180 The Unkindest Cut of All, 221 The very "next" Jonathan, 157 The Value of Stocks—Last Quotation, 166 The Wheels of Fortune, 226 The Wise Man of the East, 250 The "Well-dressed" and the "Well-to-do," 138 The War with China, 168 The "Weight" of Royalty—the Social "Scale," 270 The Wapping Deluge, 178 The Whigs' last Dying Speech, 66 Those Diving Belles! those Diving Belles! 158 To the Laughter-loving Public, 23 "Try our best Sympathy," 190 To bad Jokers, 40 To benevolent and humane Jokers, 168 To Fancy Builders and Capitalists, 38 To Mr. Green, the Inspector of Highways, 74 To Professors of Languages who give Long Credit, 144 To Punsters and others, 274 To Sir Rhubarb Pill, M.P. and M.D., 123 To Sir F—s B—t, 39 To Sir Robert, 149 To the Black-balled of the United Service, 9 Transactions of the Soc. of Hookham-cum-Snivey, 141 Transactions and Yearly Report of do., 105, 118 Tremendous Failure, 207



University of London, 51 Vocal Evasion, 83 Verses on Miss Chaplin, 238 "Very Like a Whale," 173



War to the Nail, 136 Waterford Election, 29 W(h)at Tyler, 122 What, ho! Apothecary, 23 "When Vulcan Forged," &c., 197 Whig-Waggeries, 13 Who are to be the Lords in Waiting, 99 Wit without Money, 38, 71

[Transcriber's Note: This table converts Page Number to Issue Date] Page Issue Page Issue - 1- 12 July 17, 1841 145-156 October 9, 1841 13- 24 July 24, 1841 157-168 October 16, 1841 25- 36 July 31, 1841 169-180 October 23, 1841 37- 48 August 7, 1841 181-192 October 30, 1841 49- 60 August 14, 1841 193-204 November 6, 1841 61- 72 August 21, 1841 205-216 November 13, 1841 73- 84 August 28, 1841 217-228 November 20, 1841 85- 96 September 5, 1841 229-240 November 27, 1841 97-108 September 12, 1841 241-252 December 4, 1841 108-120 September 18, 1841 253-264 December 11, 1841 121-132 September 25, 1841 265-276 December 18, 1841 133-144 October 2, 1841 277-280 December 25, 1841

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.