Part 1

POINTS OF HUMOUR

Part I.

By Anonymous

Illustrated By The Designs Of George Cruikshank.

Ten Engravings On Copper and Twelve Wood Cuts

London: Published By C. Baldwyn, Newgate Street

1823.

"Let mee play the fool: With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; And let my liver rather heat with wine, Than my heart cool with mortifying groans, Why should a man, whose blood is warm through, Sit like his grandsire, cut in alubaster? Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice by being peevish?"

Shakspear

PREFACE.

It will be readily perceived that the literary part of this work is of humble pretensions. One object alone has been aimed at and it is hoped with success--to select or to invent those incidents which' might be interesting or amusing in themselves, while they afforded scope for the peculiar talents of the artist who adorns them with his designs. The selection was more difficult than may at first sight be supposed. It is true, there is no paucity of subjects of wit and humour, but he who will take the trouble to examine them, will find how few are adapted for pictorial representation. No artist can embody a point of wit, and the humour of many of the most laughable stories would vanish at the touch of the pencil of the most ingenious designer in the world. Those ludicrous subjects only which are rich in the humour of _situation_ are calculated for graphic illustration. To prove the following anecdotes are not deficient in this respect, no other appeal is necessary than to the plates themselves! Look at the breadth of the humour, the point of the situation, the selection of the figures, the action, and its accompaniments, and deny (without a laugh on the face) that this portion of the work answers the end in view. In all this the writer or compiler, or whatever he may be called, claims little merit. That the whole effect is comic, that the persons are ludicrous, and engaged in laughable groups and surrounded with objects which tend to broaden the grin, all this, and a thousand times more, belongs to Mr. Cruikshank;--the writer only claims the merit of having suggested to him the materials.

Some of the ten points, now submitted to the public, arise out of a reprint of that admirable piece of humour, the Jolly Beggars of Burns;--A part of his works almost unknown to the public, in consequence of the scrupulousness of the poet's biographer and editor, who withheld them from the world. Lest we however should incur the charge, which Dr. Currie apprehended, we beg leave to prefix the observations on this subject by the first literary character in the kingdom, Sir Walter Scott, as they appeared in the _Quarterly Review._

"Yet applauding, as we do most highly applaud, the leading principles of Dr. Currie's selection, we are aware that they sometimes led him into fastidious and over-delicate rejection of the bard's most spirited and happy effusions. A thin octavo, published at Glasgow in 1801, under the title of 'Poems ascribed to Robert Burns, the Ayrshire bard,' furnishes valuable proofs of this assertion; it contains, among a good deal of rubbish, some of his most brilliant poetry. A cantata, in particular, called _The Jolly Beggars_, for humorous description and nice discrimination of character, is inferior to no poem of the same length in the whole range of English poetry. The scene, indeed, is laid in the very lowest department of low life, the actors being a set of strolling vagrants, met to carouse, and barter their rags and plunder for liquor in a hedge ale-house. Yet even in describing the movements of such a group, the native taste of the poet has never suffered his pen to slide into any thing coarse or disgusting. The extravagant glee and outrageous frolic of the beggars are ridiculously contrasted with their maimed limbs, rags, and crutches--the sordid and squalid circumstances of their appearance are judiciously thrown into the shade. Nor is the art of the poet less conspicuous in the individual figures, than in the general mass. The festive vagrants are distinguished from each other by personal appearance and character, as much as any fortuitous assembly in the higher orders of life. The group, it must be observed, is of Scottish character, and doubtless our northern brethren are more familiar with its varieties than we are; yet the distinctions are too well marked to escape even the southern. The most prominent persons are a maimed soldier and his female companion, a hackneyed follower of the camp, a stroller, late the consort of an highland ketterer, or sturdy beggar--'but weary fa' the waefu' woodie!'--Being now at liberty, she becomes an object of rivalry between a pigmy scraper with his fiddle' and a strolling tinker. The latter, a desperate bandit, like most of his profession, terrifies the musician out of the field, and is preferred by the damsel of course. A wandering ballad-singer, with a brace of doxies, is last introduced upon the stage. Each of these mendicants sings a song in character, and such a collection of humorous lyrics, connected by vivid poetical description, is not perhaps to be paralleled in the English language. The ditty chaunted by the Ballad Singer is certainly far superior to any thing in the _Beggar's Opera_, where alone we could expect to find its parallel.

"We are at a loss to conceive any good reason why Dr. Currie did not introduce this singular and humorous cantata into his collection. It is true, that in one or two passages the muse has trespassed slightly upon decorum, where, in the language of Scottish song,

"High kilted was she, "As she gaed owre the lea."

"Something, however, is to be allowed to the nature of the subject, and something to the education of the poet: and if from veneration to the names of Swift and Dryden, we tolerate the grossness of the one, and the indelicacy of the other, the respect due to that of Burns, may surely claim indulgence for a few light strokes of broad humour..

"Knowing that this, and hoping that other compositions of similar spirit and tenor, might yet be recovered, we were induced to think that some of them, at least, had found a place in the collection given to the public by Mr. Cromek. But he has neither risqued the censure, nor gained the applause, which might have belonged to such an undertaking."

POINT I. THE POINT OF HONOUR.

When the American army was at Valley Forge in the winter of 1777, a captain of the Virginian Line refused a challenge sent him by a brother officer, alleging that his life was devoted to the service of his country, and that he did not think it a point of duty to risk it to gratify the caprice of any man. This _point of duty_ gave occasion to _a point of humour_ which clearly displayed the brilliant _points_ of the officer's character, and exposed the weak ones of his brothers in the service in a very _pointed_ manner. His antagonist gave him the character of a coward through the whole army. Conscious of not having merited the aspersion, and discovering the injury he should sustain in the minds of those unacquainted with him, he repaired one evening to a general meeting of the officers of that line. On his entrance, he was avoided by the company, and the officer who had challenged him, insolently ordered him to leave the room; a request which was loudly re-echoed from all parts. He refused, and asserted that he came there to vindicate his fame; and after mentioning the reasons which induced him not to accept the challenge, he applied a large hand grenade to the candle, and when the fuse had caught fire, threw it on the floor, saying, "Here, gentlemen, this will quickly determine which of us all dare brave danger most."

At first they stared upon him for a moment in stupid astonishment, but their eyes soon fell upon the fusé of the grenade, which was fast burning down. Away scampered Colonel, General, Ensign, and Captain, and all made a rush at the door. "Devil take the hindmost." Some fell, and others made way over the bodies of their comrades; some succeeded in getting out, but for an instant there was a general heap of flesh sprawling at the entrance of the apartment. Here was a colonel jostling with a subaltern, and there fat generals pressing lean lieutenants into the boards, and blustering majors, and squeaking ensigns wrestling for exit; the size of one and the feebleness of the other making their chance of departure pretty equal, until time, which does all things at last, cleared the room and left the noble captain standing over the grenade with his arms folded, and his countenance expressing every kind of scorn and contempt for the train of scrambling red coats, as they toiled and bustled and bored their way out of the door.

After the explosion had taken place, some of them ventured to return, to take a peep at the mangled remains of their comrade, whom however to their great surprise they found alive and uninjured.--When they were all gone, the captain threw himself flat on the floor as the only possible means of escape, and fortunately came off with a whole skin, and a repaired reputation.

POINT II. THE SHORT COURTSHIP.

As a gentleman was passing along one of the more retired streets of London late in the evening, he stumbled over the body of an old man, whom on examination he found in a state of excessive inebriation, and who had in consequence tumbled down and rolled into the kennel. He had not gone many yards farther when he found an old woman very nearly in the same circumstances. It immediately struck Mr. L. that this was some poor old couple, who, overcome with the fatigues of the day, had indulged too freely in some restorative beverage, whether Hodges' or Deady's the historian does not say. Full of this idea, and animated by his own charitable disposition, Mr. L. soon made arrangements for the reception of the poor couple into a neighbouring public house, where the landlord promised that the senseless pair should be undressed and placed in a warm and comfortable bed. To bed they were put. Mr. L. left them lying side by side, snoring in concert, and likely to pass together a more harmonious night than perhaps would have been the case had they possessed the full enjoyment of their senses. L. journeyed homewards filled with the satisfaction arising from the performance of a kind deed, and never reflected that there was a possibility of his having joined a pair whom the laws of God had not made one. The fact was, that the old man and the old woman were perfect strangers to each other, and their being found in a similar situation was purely accidental. In London, however extraordinary it may appear, many poor folks get drunk at night, especially Saturday night, and what is not less wonderful, they are in this state often unable to preserve their balance--the laws of gravity exert their influence, and the patient rolls into the kennel. Soundly--soundly did this late united pair sleep and snore till morning,--when the light broke in upon them and disclosed the secret.--Imagine the consternation of the old lady when the fumes of intoxication were dissipated, and she opened her eyes upon her snoring partner--where she was or how she had been put there she knew not. It was clear she was in bed with a man, and that was an event which had never happened to her before,--so she set up a scream, and roused the old gentleman, whose astonishment was not a jot less than the lady's.

She sat upon end in bed staring at him, he moved himself into, a similar situation and riveted his eyes upon her, and so they remained for a few instant's both full of perfect wonderment;--at last it struck the poor lady that this was some monster of a man who had succeeded in some horrible design upon her honour; the idea in a moment gave her the look and manner of a fury, she flung out of bed and roared aloud to the admiration of all the inmates of the house, who attracted by her first scream were already peeping in at the door of the room,--"make me an honest woman, thou wretch," she cried--"villain that you are,--make an honest woman of me, or I'll be the death of thee"--down she sat upon the bed-stocks, and as she attempted to dress herself she interlarded her occupation with calling for vengeance upon her horrible seducer, who sat trembling at the other side of the bed, vainly attempting in his fright to insinuate his legs into his old tattered breeches. The landlord at last interfered with the authority of his station, and on inquiry found that no breach had been made which could not be easily repaired. The old gentleman was asked if he had any objection to take his fair bedfellow for a helpmate during the remainder of his life; he stammered out his acquiescence as well as he could, and the enraged virgin consented to smooth down her anger on satisfaction being made to her injured honour. The bargain was soon struck, the happy pair were bundled off to church, amidst the laughing shouts of the mob, where a parson waited to make good the match too precipitately formed by our charitable friend.

POINT III. YES OR NO?

Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, was so remarkably fond of children, that he suffered the sons of the Prince Royal to enter his apartment whenever they thought proper. One day, while he was writing in his closet, the eldest of these princes was playing at shuttlecock near him. The shuttlecock happened to fall upon the table at which the King sat, who threw it at the young prince and continued to write. The shuttlecock falling on the table a second time, the King threw it back, looking sternly at the child, who promised that no accident of the kind should happen again; the shuttlecock however fell a third time and even upon the paper on which the king was writing. Frederick then took the shuttlecock and put it in his pocket: the little prince humbly asked pardon and begged the King to return him his shuttlecock. His Majesty refused: the prince redoubled his entreaties, but no attention was paid to them; the young prince at length being tired of begging, advanced boldly towards the King, put his two hands on his side, and tossing back his little head with great haughtiness, said in a threatening tone, "Will your Majesty give me my shuttlecock, Yes or No?"

The King burst into a fit of laughter, and taking the shuttlecock out of his pocket, returned it to the prince saying, "you are a brave boy, _you_ will never suffer Silesia to be taken from you."

POINT IV. EXCHANGE NO ROBBERY.

Near Taunton, in Somersetshire, lived a sturdy fellow, by trade a miller, who possessed a handsome and buxom young woman for his wife. The said dame was many years the junior of her spouse, and thought that the neighbouring village contained not a few more agreeable companions, than the one whom Heaven had given her for life. Of this circumstance the miller had some suspicions, and determined to set them at rest one way or the other. Accordingly, one day he pretended to set off to buy corn, and told his wife that he should not be at home that night. The miller departed, and when the shades of evening afforded some concealment, in glided, to supply his place at bed and board, a neighbouring country squire.

As the village clock struck one that night, and as the loving pair were wrapped in sleep, a loud knocking was heard at the door.

The miller had unexpectedly returned home, and the unfortunate couple within were reduced to despair. The wit of the female was however equal to the emergency; the gentleman's clothes were pushed under her own, and his person was conducted into the kitchen, by the frail fair one, and there enclosed in a singular place of security.

The tall house clock, which always forms a part of the furniture of the "parlour, kitchen, and all," of men of our miller's rank, was at that time out of order, and the works had, on the very morning in question, been conveyed to Taunton, to undergo a thorough repair. It immediately struck the damsel that her lover could abide in no safer place than this, until her husband was asleep, and she could return and let him out. Now the country squire was a tall and a stout man, with a jolly rubicund physiognomy. He consequently enclosed himself in the clock-case with some difficulty, and when the good woman locked the door of it, as the only way of keeping it shut, it gave him a nip in the paunch, which would have extorted a cry under any other circumstances. As it was, the tightness below threw all the blood into his countenance, which, for such was his height, overtopped the wood work of the case, and appeared exactly at the spot where the clock usually shewed the hour. So that, had a light been held up to it, this portentous face would have borne the appearance of a dark red moon scowling, out of fog and vapours upon a stormy night. This despatched, the dame commenced her own part with confidence. She gaped and yawned, and only admitted the miller till he had cursed and sworn his wife into a conviction, that he was her lawful husband, and no deceiver who had mimicked his voice and manner for his own wicked purposes. Much to the dismay of the parties already in possession of the house, the miller insisted upon striking a light, which at length obtaining, he drove his wife before him up to the bed-room, and then slily and under pretence of something else, examined the apartment; and concluded with a thorough conviction of the groundlessness of his suspicions.

The wife, overjoyed at getting the candle out of the kitchen without discovery, was in high good humour, so that the miller became in excellent spirits too, both on account of his agreeable reception and the dispersion of his fears, and as a proof of his state of mind gave his wife a hearty kiss, and swore that they would go down and have a cozy bit of supper together before they went to bed. In vain the poor woman resisted, the slice of bacon must be broiled and the eggs poached. With trembling hand she bore the light into the kitchen, and durst not cast a glance upon the clock case where the prisoner, full of horror at the return of the candle, and reduced to a state of insufferable impatience by his miserable plight, uttered a deep low groan of despair as they entered the apartment. Fortunately it was not loud enough to attract the miller's attention, but thrilled through the heart of his unfortunate spouse. The happy pair soon began their culinary operations, the male with a light heart and a hungry appetite, the female sick and trembling at the disclosure which she feared was inevitable. All she could do, she did. She tried to keep up a conversation, she shaded the light, and she spread rasher after rasher before the all-devouring miller, who seemed as if intent to display his prowess before his rival, who was most ruefully and intently gazing upon him from his window of observation.

By the lady's artful management, the miller sat with only a side view of the clock, and allowed a few sympathizing glances to be interchanged between the unhappy squire and his love, as she spread the tempting meal before her liege lord. Doubtless they both thought the miller's appetite was enormous, and in the calculation of either of them, he had already eat a side of bacon, when he declared he had done. _Now for good luck!_ inwardly exclaimed the dame, _fortune befriend me, and let me get him up stairs without casting a look upon that poor deplorable face_; which by the bye had lately been assuming all hues, and within the last two minutes had turned from a blue red to deadly pale, and back again to red black; and slight twitches and convulsive motions were observed in the muscles of his face, as if the poor unfortunate owner of them was tormented by some body below, who alternately pricked and pinched him. Oh, what a weight was taken off the heart of the frail fair one, and how fervently did she offer up vows of chastity in the gratitude of the moment, when the miller, having eat and drank his fill, made a motion for the bed room. Gladly was she attending him, when, as ill luck would have it, a _loud sneeze_ was heard in the room, which was followed by an equally loud; scream from the lady of the miller, who now gave all up for lost. It seemed that the dust of the clock-case had been disturbed by the body of the squire, and part of it being dislodged, had sought refuge in the intricacies of his nostrils. Hence the wincings and writhings, which, over and above being abominably nipped, produced the awful changes recorded above, and at length ended in a sneeze, which he could no longer restrain. This event had not the expected issue, for the dame in her fright threw down the candlestick, which she held in her hand, and extinguished the light. The good miller, now drowsy and stupid, chid her for being alarmed at the sneezing of a _cat_; and, not waiting for the poking out of a light from the dying embers, pushed his wife and himself off to bed, bestowing upon her, by the way, many of those endearing caresses, which husbands in a good humour lavish upon their wives; which caresses were certainly as indifferent to her, as they were doubtless disagreeable to her friend in the clock. Release was not so soon at hand as the parties sanguinely expected, for though the miller slept, he took as secure a hold of his faithful dame, as if he had really been aware of the gaol-delivery she intended to accomplish. To her last resource, therefore, she was compelled to fly, for the morning was fast coming on. The miller's sleep was broken by the loud cries of his wife, who declared she was so ill, she was sure she should die. She yelled and screamed till the poor man in despair knew not what to do, and could only cry out _What can I get you, What can I get you?_ Now the wily dame well knew that _that_ would be the best for her complaint which was not in the house, so she vociferated _Brandy, brandy, Oh for some brandy_. The poor husband scrambled up some clothes, and set off for the nearest public house for some brandy, which was nearly a mile from his abode. Arriving there, he knocked up the landlord, who administered the medicine to him. To pay for which, the distressed husband put his hand in his breeches' pocket, and much to his own surprise, pulled out a large bundle of bank notes, at which he stared in amazement; when the landlord cried out, Lord! _you have got Mr. Farrer's breeches on_. Buckskins, it seems, well known in the neighbourhood.

"_The Devil I have_," returned the miller, in a tone which came up like a groan, as he gazed upon his nether man. Quickly comprehending the secret of the exchange, he pocketed the notes, drank up the brandy for his own consolation, and went home, moralizing his pensive path, and gave the hypocritical culprit the soundest beating she ever had in her life. She, poor soul! who had been charitably employed in the meanwhile, in letting the bird out of his cage, was not prepared for this reception; nor did she understand it until the next morning, when the breeches were cried round the town by her malignant husband, who also with no pleasant expression of countenance, made a point of turning over his newly-acquired riches in her presence.

POINT V. THE JOLLY BEGGARS; OR LOVE AND LIBERTY, A CANTATA. BY ROBERT BURNS.

RECITATIVO.

When lyart leaves bestrow the yird, Or wavering like the Bauckie-bird *, Bedim cauld Boreas' blast; When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte, And infant frosts begin to bite, In hoary cranreuch drest; Ae night at e'en a merry core O' randie, gangrel bodies, In Posie-Nansie's** held the splore*** To drink their orra duddies****: Wi' quaffing, and laughing, They ranted an' they sang; Wi' jumping, an' thumping, The vera girdle rang.

* The "bat".