Chapter 3

The learned counsel said he would call witnesses to prove the blissful atmosphere in which the parties lived, until the defendant, like a domestic upas-tree, tainted and polluted it. That van was another Eden, until PUNCH, the serpent, entered. The lady was a native of Switzerland--yes, of Switzerland. Oh, that he (the learned gentleman) could follow her to her early home!--that he could paint her with the first blush and dawn of innocence, tinting her virgin cheek as the morning sun tinted the unsullied snows of her native Jungfrau!--that he could lead the gentlemen of the jury to that Swiss cottage where the gentle Félicité (such was the lady's name) lisped her early prayer--that he could show them the mountains that had echoed with her songs (since made so very popular by Madame Stockhausen)--that he could conjure up in that court the goats whose lacteal fluid was wont to yield to the pressure of her virgin fingers--the kids that gambolled and made holiday about her--the birds that whistled in her path--the streams that flowed at her feet--the avalanches, with their majestic thunder, that fell about her. Would he could subpoena such witnesses! then would the jury feel, what his poor words could never make them feel--the loss of his injured client. On one hand would be seen the simple Swiss maiden--a violet among the rocks--a mountain dove--an inland pearl--a rainbow of the glaciers--a creature pure as her snows, but not as cold; and on the other the fallen wife--a monument of shame! This was a commercial country; and the jury would learn with additional horror that it was in the sweet confidence of a commercial transaction that the defendant obtained access to his interesting victim. Yes, gentlemen, (said Mr. P.,) it was under the base, the heartless, the dastardly excuse of business, that the plaintiff poured his venom in the ear of a too confiding woman. He had violated the sacred bonds of human society--the noblest ties that hold the human heart--the sweetest tendrils that twine about human affections. This should be shown to the jury. Letters from the plaintiff would be read, in which his heart--or rather that ace of spades he carried in his breast and called his heart--would be laid bare in open court. But the gentlemen of the jury would teach a terrible lesson that day. They would show that the socialist should not guide his accursed bark into the tranquil seas of domestic comfort, and anchor it upon the very hearthstone of conjugal felicity. No--as the gentlemen of the jury were husbands and fathers, as they were fathers and not husbands, as they were neither one nor the other, but hoped to be both--they would that day hurl such a thunderbolt at the pocket of the defendant--they would so thrice-gild the incurable ulcers of the plaintiff, that all the household gods of the United Empire would hymn them to their mighty rest, and Hymen himself keep continual carnival at their amaranthine hearths. "Gentlemen of the jury (said the learned counsel in conclusion), I leave you with a broken heart in your hands! A broken heart, gentlemen! Creation's masterpiece, flawed cracked, SHIVERED TO BITS! See how the blood flows from it--mark where its strings are cut and cut--its delicate fibres violated--its primitive aroma evaporated to all the winds of heaven. Make that heart your own, gentlemen, and say at how many pounds you value the demoniac damage. And oh, may your verdict still entitle you to the blissful confidence of that divine, purpureal sex, the fairest floral specimens of which I see before me! May their unfolding fragrance make sweet your daily bread; and when you die, from the tears of conjugal love, may thyme and sweet marjoram spring and blossom above your graves!"

Here the emotion of the court was unparalleled in the memory of the oldest attorney. Showers of tears fell from the gallery, so that there was a sudden demand for umbrellas.

The learned counsel sat down, and, having wiped his eyes, ate a sandwich.

There were other letters, but we have selected the least glowing. Mr. Charles Phillips then called his witnesses.

Peter Snooks examined: Was employed by plaintiff; recollected defendant coming to the van to propose a speculation, in which Madame Bonbon was to play with him. Defendant came very often when plaintiff was out. Once caught Madame Bonbon on defendant's knee. Once heard Madame Bonbon say, "Bless your darling nose!" Was sure it was defendant's nose. Was shocked at her levity, but consented to go for gin--Madame found the money. Had a glass myself, and drank their healths. Plaintiff never beat his wife; he couldn't: they were of very uneven habits; she was seven feet four, plaintiff was four feet seven.

Cross-examined by Mr. Adolphus: Plaintiff was dreadfully afflicted at infidelity of his wife: had become quite desperate--never sober since; was never sober before. On first night of the news plaintiff was quite delirious; took six plates of alamode beef, and two pots of porter.

Sarah Pillowcase examined: Was chambermaid at the Tinder-box and Flint, New Cut; had known defendant since she was a child--also knew plaintiff's wife. They came together on the 1st of April, about twelve at night. Understood they had been in a private box at the Victoria with an order. They had twelve dozen of oysters for supper, and eight Welch-rabbits: the lady found the money. Thought, of course, they were married, or would rather have died than have served them. They made a hearty breakfast: the lady found the money.

Cross-examined by Mr. Adolphus: Would swear to the lady, as she had once paid a shilling to see her.

(Here it was intimated by the learned judge that ladies might leave the court if they chose; it was evident, however, that no lady heard such intimation, as no lady stirred.)

Cross-examination continued: Yes, would swear it. Knew the obligation of an oath, and would swear it.

This ended the case for the plaintiff.

Mr. ADOLPHUS addressed the court for the defendant. He had not the golden tongue--no, he was not blessed with the oratory of his learned friend. He would therefore confine himself to the common sense view of the question. He was not talking to Arcadian shepherds (he was very happy to see his own butcher in the jury-box), but to men of business. If there had been any arts practised, it was on the side of the plaintiff's wife. His client had visited the plaintiff out of pure compassion. The plaintiff's show was a failing concern; his client, with a benevolence which had marked his long career, wished to give him the benefit of his own attractions, joined to those of the woman. Well, the plaintiff knew the value of money, and therefore left his wife and the defendant to arrange the affair between them. "Gentlemen of the jury," continued the learned counsel, "it must appear to you, that on the part of the plaintiff this is not an affair of the heart, but a matter of the breeches' pocket. He leaves his wife--a fascinating, versatile creature--with my client, I confess it, an acknowledged man of gallantry. Well, the result is--what was to be expected. My learned friend has dwelt, with his accustomed eloquence, on his client's broken heart. I will not speak of his heart; but I must say that the man who, bereaved of the partner of his bosom, can still eat six plates of alamode beef, must have a most excellent stomach. Gentlemen, beware of giving heavy damages in this case, or otherwise you will unconsciously be the promoters of great immorality. This is no paradox, gentlemen; for I am credibly informed that if the man succeed in getting large damages, he will immediately take his wife home to his bosom and his van, and instead of exhibiting her, as he has hitherto done, for one penny, he will, on the strength of the notoriety of this trial, and as a man knowing the curiosity of society, immediately advance that penny to threepence. You will, therefore, consider your verdict, gentlemen, and give such moderate damages as will entirely mend the plaintiff's broken heart."

The jury, without retiring from the box, returned a verdict of "Damages One Farthing!"

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We are credibly informed--though the evidence was not adduced in court--that Monsieur Bonbon first suspected his dishonour from his wife's hair papers. She had most negligently curled her tresses in the soft paper epistles of her _innamorato_.

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PUNCH'S PENCILLINGS.--No. XXI.

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THE FETES FOR THE POLISH--AND FATE OF THE BRITISH POOR.

"Charity begins at home," says, or rather said, an admirable old proverb; but alack! the adage, or the times, or both, are out of joint--the wholesome maxim has lost its force--and homes for Charity must now be far as the _Poles_ asunder, ere the benign influence of the weeping goddess can fall upon its wretched supplicants.

In private life the neglect of a domestic hearth for the vainglorious squandering abroad of the means that could and ought to render that the chief seat of comfort and independence, calls down upon the thoughtless and heartless squanderer and abuser of his means the just indignation and merited contempt of every thinking and properly constituted mind. The "Charity" that does not begin at home is the worst species of unjustifiable prodigality, and the first step to the absolute ruin of the "nearest and dearest" for the sake of the profligate and abandoned. And no sophistry can justify the apparent liberality that deprives others of their just and urgent dues.

It may be and is most noble to feed the widow and to clothe the orphan; but where is the beneficence of the deed if the wife and children of the ostentatious donor--the victims of the performance of such acts--are left themselves to endure misery and privations, from which his inadequate means cannot exempt the stranger and the giver's own household!

The sparrow who unwittingly rears the cuckoo's spurious offspring, tending with care the ultimate destroyer of its own young, does so in perfect ignorance of the results about to follow the misplaced affection. The cravings of the interloper are satisfied to the detriment of its own offspring; and when the full-fledged recipient of its misplaced bounty no longer needs its aid, the thankless stranger wings its way on its far-off course, selfishly careless of the fostering bird that brought it into life; and this may be looked upon as one of the results generally attendant upon a blind forgetfulness of _where_ our first endeavours for the amelioration of the wants of others should be made.

It has ever been the crying sin of the vastly sympathetic to weep for the miseries of the distant, and blink at the wretchedness their eyes--if not their hearts--must ache to see. Their charity must have its proper stage, their sentiments the proper objects,--and their imaginations the undisturbed right to revel in the supposititious grievances of the far-off wretched and oppressed. The poor black man! the tortured slave! the benighted infidel! the debased image of his maker! the sunken bondsman! These terms must be the "Open sesame" for the breasts from whence spring bibles, bribes, blankets, glass beads, pocket-combs, tracts, teachers, missions, and missionaries. Oppression is what they would put down; but then the oppression must be of "foreign manufacture." Your English, genuine home-made article, though as superior in strength and endurance as our own canvas is to the finest fold of gauze-like cambric, is in their opinion a thing not worth a thought. A half oppressed Caffre is an object of ten thousand times more sympathy than a wholly oppressed Englishman; a half-starved Pole the more fitting recipient of the same proportion of actual bounty to a wholly starving peasant of our own land of law and liberty.

Let one-tenth the disgusting details so nobly exposed in the _Times_ newspaper, as to the frightful state of some of our legalised poor law inquisitions, appear as extracts from the columns of a _foreign_ journal, stating such treatment to exist amongst a foreign population, and mark the result. Why, the town would teem with meetings and the papers with speeches. Royal, noble, and honourable chairmen and vice chairmen would launch out their just anathemas against the heartless despots whose realms were disgraced by such atrocities. Think, think of the aged poor torn from their kindred, caged in a prison, refused all aid within, debarred from every hope without,--think of the flesh, the very flesh, rotting by slow degrees, and then in putrid masses falling from their wretched bones: think, we say, on this--then give what name you can, save murder, to their quickly succeeding death.

Fancy children--children that should be in their prime--so caged and fed that the result is disease in its most loathsome form, and with all its most appalling consequences! No hope! no flight! The yet untainted, as it were, chained to the spot, with mute despair watching the slow infection, and with breaking hearts awaiting the hour--the moment--when it _must_ reach to them!

We say, think of these things--not as if they were the doings in England, and therefore legalised matters of course--but think of them as the arts of some despot in a far-off colony, and oh, how all hearts would burn--all tongues curse and call for vengeance on the abetors of such atrocities!

The supporters of the rights of man would indeed pour forth their eloquent denunciations against the oppressors of the absent. The poetry of passion would be exhausted to depict the frightful state of the crimeless and venerable victim of tyranny, bowing his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave; while the wailing of the helpless innocents _different indeed in colour_, but in heart and spirit like ourselves, being sprung from the one great source, would echo throughout the land, and find responses in every bosom not lost to the kindly feelings of good-will towards its fellows! Had the would-be esteemed philanthropists but these "_foreign cues_ for passion," they would indeed

"Drown the stage with tears, And cleave the general ear with horrid speech; Make mad the guilty, and appal the free; Confound the ignorant; and amaze, indeed, The very faculties of eyes and ears."

But, alas! there is no such motive; these most destitute of Destitution's children are simply fellow-countrymen and fellow-Christians. Sons of the same soil, and worshippers of the same God, they need no good works in the way of proselyzation to save them from eternal perdition; consequently they receive no help to keep them from temporal torture.

To convince themselves that these remarks are neither unwarrantably severe, nor in the slightest degree overcharged, let our readers not only refer to the revolting doings chronicled in the _Times_, but let them find the further illustration of this _foreign penchant_ in the recent doings at the magnificently-attended ball given in behalf of the _Polish Refugees_, and consequently commanding the support of the humane, enlightened, and charitable English; and then let them cast their eyes over the cold shoulder turned towards a proposition for the _same_ act of charity being consummated for the relief of the poverty-stricken and starving families of the destitute and deserving artisans now literally starving under their very eyes, located no farther off than in the wretched locality of Spitalfields! An opinion--and doubtless an honest one--is given by the Lord Mayor, that any attempt to relieve _their wants_, in the way found so efficacious for _the Polish Refugees_, would be madness, inasmuch as it would, _as heretofore_, prove an absolute failure. Reader, is there anything of the cuckoo and the sparrow in the above assertion? Is it not true? And if it is so, is it not a more than crying evil? Is it not a most vile blot upon our laws--a most beastly libel upon our creed and our country? Is no relief ever to be given to the immediate objects who should be the persons benefited by our bounty? Are those who, in the prosperity proceeding from their unceasing and ill-paid toil, added their quota to the succour of others, now that poverty has fallen on them, to be left the sport of fortune and the slaves of suffering? Do good, we say, in God's name, to all, if good can be done to all. But do not rob the lamb of its natural due--its mother's nourishment--to waste it on an alien. There is no spirit of illiberality in these remarks; they are put forward to advocate the rights of our own destitute countrymen--to claim for them a share of the lavish commiseration bestowed on others--to call attention to the desolation of _their_ hearths--the wreck of their comforts--the awful condition of their starving and dependent families--and to give the really charitable an opportunity of reserving some of their kindnesses for home consumption. Let this be their _just_ object, and not one among the relieved would withhold his mite from their suffering fellows in other climes. But in Heaven's name, let the adage root itself once more in every Englishman's "heart of hearts," and once more let "Charity begin at home!"

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THE FIRE AT THE ADELPHI THEATRE.

Yates was nearly treating the enlightened British public with an antidote to "the vast receptacle of 8,000 tons of water," by setting fire to the saloon chimney. Great as the consternation of the audience was in the front, it was far exceeded by the alarm of the actors behind the curtain, for they are so sensible of the manager's daring genius, that they concluded he had set fire to the house in order to convert "the space usually devoted to _illusion_ into the area of reality." The great Mr. Freeborn actually rushed out of the theatre without his rouge. Little Paul drank off a glass of neat water. Mr. John Sanders was met at the end of Maiden Lane, with his legs thrust into the sleeves of his coat, and the rest of his body encased in the upper part of a property dragon; whilst little round Wilkinson was vainly endeavouring to squeeze himself into a wooden waterspout. Had he succeeded he might have applied for the reward offered by the Royal Society for a method of

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THE CRIMES OF EATING.

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HINTS HOW TO ENJOY AN OMNIBUS.

1. On getting in, care neither for toes or knees of the passengers; but drive your way up to the top, steadying yourself by the shoulders, chests, or even faces of those seated.

2. Seat yourself with a jerk, pushing against one neighbour, and thrusting your elbow into the side of the other. You will thus get plenty of room.

3. If possible, enter with a stick or umbrella, pointed at full length; so that any sudden move of the "bus" may thrust it into some one's stomach. It will make you feared.

4. When seated, occupy, if possible, the room of two, and revenge the treatment you have received on entering, by throwing every opposition in the way of a new-comer, especially if it be a woman with a child in her arms. It is a good plan to rest firmly on your umbrella, with your arms at right angles.

5. Open or shut windows as it suits you; men with colds, or women with toothaches, have no business in omnibuses. If they don't like it, they can get out; no one _forces_ them to ride.

6. Young bucks may stare any decent woman out of countenance, put their legs up along the seats, and if going out to dinner, wipe the mud off their boots on the seats. They are only plush.

7. If middle-aged gentlemen are musical or political, they can dislocate a tune in something between a bark and a grumble, or endeavour to provoke an argument by declaring very loudly that Lord R---- or the Duke "is a thorough scoundrel," according to their opinion of public affairs. If this don't take, they can keep up a perpetual squabble with the conductor, which will show they think themselves of some importance.

8. Ladies wishing to be agreeable can bring lap dogs, large paper parcels, and children, to whom an omnibus is a ship, though you wish you were out of their reach.