Chapter 2

3rd. He that hath A VOTE AND VOTETH; which is divisible into 1st. He that voteth INTENTIONALLY, which is divisible into 1st. He that voteth CORRUPTLY, which is divisible into 1st. He that is BRIBED, which is divisible into 1st. He that is bribed DIRECTLY, which is divisible into 1st. He that receiveth MONEY, which may be considered as 1. He that pretendeth the money is due to him. 2. He that pretendeth it is lent. 3. He who receiveth it as alms. 4. He who receiveth it as the price of a venerated tobacco-pipe, a piece of Irish bacon, and the like. 2nd. He that seeketh PLACE, which may be considered as 1. He who asketh for a high situation, as a judgeship in Botany Bay, or a bishopric in Sierra Leone, and the like. 2. He who asketh for a low situation, as a ticket-porter, curate, and the like. 3. He who asketh for any situation he can get, as Secretary to the Admiralty, policeman, revising barrister, turnkey, chaplain, mail-coach guard, and the like. 3rd. He that taketh DRINK, which may be considered as 1. He that voteth for Walker's Gooseberry, or Elector's Sparkling Champagne. 2. For sloe-juice, or Elector's fine old crusted Port. 3. He who voteth for Brett's British Brandy, or Elector's real French Cognac. 4. He who voteth for quassia, molasses, copperas, _coculus Indicus_, Spanish juice, or Elector's Extra Double Stout. 2nd. He that is bribed INDIRECTLY, as 1. He who is promised a government contract for wax, wafers, or the like. 2. He who getteth a contract, for paupers' clothing, building unions, and the like. 3. He who furnisheth the barouches-and-four for the independent 40s. freeholders. 4. He who is presented with cigars, snuffs, meerschaum-pipes, haunches of venison, Stilton-cheeses, fresh pork, pine-apples, early peas, and the like. 2nd. He that is INTIMIDATED, as 1. By his landlord, who soliciteth back rent, or giveth him notice to quit. 2. By his patron, who sayeth they of the opposite politics cannot be trusted. 3. By his master, who sayeth he keepeth no viper of an opposite opinion in his employ. 4. By his wife, who will have her own way in hysterics. 5. By his intended bride, who talketh of men of spirit and Gretna Green. 6. By a rich customer, who sendeth back his goods, and biddeth him be d--d. 3rd. He that is VOLUNTARILY CORRUPT, which may be considered as 1. He who voteth from the hope that his party will provide him a place. 2. He who voteth to please one who can leave him a legacy. 3. He who voteth to get into genteel society. 4. He who voteth according as he hath taken the odds. 5. He who, being a schoolmaster, voteth for the candidate with a large family. 6. He who voteth in hopes posterity may think him a patriot. 2nd. He that voteth CONSCIENTIOUSLY, which is divisible into 1st. He that voteth according to HUMBUG, which is divisible into 1st. He that is POLITICALLY humbugged, which is divisible into 1st. He has SOME BRAINS, as 1. He who believeth taxes will be taken off. 2. He who believeth wages will be raised. 3. He who thinketh trade will be increased. 4. He who studieth political economy. 5. He who readeth newspapers, reviews, and magazines, and listeneth to lectures, and the like. 2nd. He that has NO BRAINS, as 1. He who voteth to support "the glorious Constitution," and maintain "the envy of surrounding nations." 2. He who believeth the less the taxation the greater the revenue. 3. He who attendeth the Crown and Anchor meetings, and the like. 2nd. He that is MORALLY humbugged, as 1. He who thinketh the Millennium and the Rads will come in together. 2. He who thinketh that the Whigs are patriots. 3. That the Tories love the poor. 4. That the member troubleth himself solely for the good of his country. 5. That the unions are popular with the paupers, and the like. 3rd. He that is DOMESTICALLY humbugged, as 1. He who voteth because the candidate's ribbons suit his wife's complexion. 2. Because his wife was addressed as his daughter by the canvasser. 3. Because his wife had the candidate's carriage to make calls in, and the like. 4. Because his daughter was presented with a set of the Prince Albert Quadrilles. 5. Because the candidate promised to stand godfather to his last infant, and the like. 2nd. He that voteth according to PRINCIPLE, which is divisible into 1st. He whose principles are HEREDITARY, as 1. He who voteth on one side because his father always voted on the same. 2. Because the "Wrong-heads" and the like had always sat for the county. 3. Because he hath kindred with an ancient political hero, such as Jack Cade, Hampden, the Pretender, &c., and so must maintain his principle. 4. Because his mother quartereth the Arms of the candidate, and the like. 2nd. He whose principles are CONVENTIONAL, as 1. He who voteth because the candidate keepeth a pack of hounds. 2. Because he was once insulted by a scoundrel of the same name as the opposite candidate. 3. Because the candidate is of a noble family. 4. Because the candidate laid the first brick of Zion Chapel, and the like. 5. Because he knoweth the candidate's cousin. 6. Because the candidate directed to him--"Esq." 3rd. He whose principles are PHILOSOPHICAL, which may be considered as 1st. He that is IMPARTIAL, as 1. He that voteth on both sides. 2. Because he tossed up with himself. 3. He who loveth the majority and therefore voteth for him who hath most votes. 4. Because he is asked to vote one way, and so voteth the other, to show that he is not influenced. 5. Because he hateth the multitude, and so voteth against the popular candidate. 2nd. He that is INDEPENDENT, as 1. He who cannot be trusted. 2. He who taketh money from one side, and voteth on the other. 3. He who is not worth bribing. 4. He who voteth against his own opinion, because his letter was not answered. 5. He who, being promised a place last election, was deceived, and the like. 2nd. He that voteth ACCIDENTALLY, which is divisible into 1st. He that voteth through the BLUNDERS OF HIMSELF, which may be considered as 1. He who is drunk, and forgetteth who gave him the bribe. 2. He who goeth to the wrong agent, who leadeth him astray. 3. He who is confused and giveth the wrong name. 4. He who is bashful, and assenteth to any name suggested. 5. He who promiseth both parties, and voteth for all the candidates, and the like. 2nd. He that voteth through the BLUNDERS OF OTHERS, which may be considered as 1. He who is mistaken for his servant when he is canvassed, and so incensed into voting the opposite way. 2. He who is attempted to be bribed before many people, and so outraged into honesty. 3. He who hath too much court paid by the canvasser to his wife, and so, out of jealousy, voteth for the opposite candidate. 4. He who is called down from dinner to be canvassed, and being enraged thereat, voteth against his conviction. 5. He who bringeth the fourth seat in a hackney-coach to him who keepeth a carriage and the like.

* * * * *

THE PROFESSIONAL SINGER

Have any of PUNCH'S readers ever met one of the above _genus_--or rather, have they not? They must; for the race is imbued with the most persevering _hic et ubique_ powers. Like the old mole, these Truepennies "work i' th' dark:" at the Theatres, the Opera, the Coal Hole, the Cider Cellars, and the whole of the Grecian, Roman, British, Cambrian, Eagle, Lion, Apollo, Domestic, Foreign, Zoological, and Mythological Saloons, they "most do congregate." Once set your eyes upon them, once become acquainted with their habits and manners, and then mistake them if you can. They are themselves, alone: like the London dustmen, the Nemarket jockeys, the peripatetic venders, or buyers of "old clo'," or the Albert continuations at _one pound one_, they appear to be _made to measure for the same_. We must now describe them (to speak theatrically) with decorations, scenes, and properties! The entirely new dresses of a theatre are like the habiliments of the professional singer, i.e. neither one nor the other ever _were entirely new_, and never will be allowed to grow entirely old. The double-milled Saxony of these worthies is generally _very_ blue or _very_ brown; the cut whereof sets a man of a contemplative turn of mind wondering at what precise date those tails were worn, and vainly speculating on the probabilities of their being fearfully indigestible, as that alone could to long have kept them from Time's remorseless maw. The collars are always velvet, and always greasy. There is a slight ostentation manifested in the seams, the stitches whereof are so apparent as to induce the beholders to believe they must have been the handiwork of some cherished friend, whose labours ought not to be entombed beneath the superstructure. The buttons!--oh, for a pen of steam to write upon those buttons! They, indeed, are the aristocracy--the yellow turbans, the sun, moon, and stars of the woollen system! They have nothing in common with the coat--they are _on it_, and that's all--they have no further communion--they decline the button-holes, and eschew all right to labour for their living--they announce themselves as "the last new fashion"--they sparkle for a week, retire to their silver paper, make way for the new comers, and, years after, like the Sleeping Beauty, rush to life in all their pristine splendour, and find (save in the treble-gilt aodication and their own accession) the coat, the immortal coat, unchanged! The waistcoat is of a material known only to themselves--a sort of nightmare illusion of velvet, covered with a slight tracery of refined mortar, curiously picked out and guarded with a nondescript collection of the very greenest green pellets of hyson-bloom gunpowder tea. The buttons (things of use in this garment) describe the figure and proportions of a large turbot. They consist of two rows (leaving imagination to fill up a lapse of the absent), commencing, to all appearance, at the _small of the back_, and reaching down even to the hem of the garment, which is invariably a double-breasted one, made upon the good old dining-out principle of leaving plenty of room in the victualling department. To complete the catalogue of raiment, the untalkaboutables have so little right to the name of drab, that it would cause a controversy on the point. Perhaps nothing in life can more exquisitely illustrate the Desdemona feeling of divided duty, than the portion of manufactured calf-skin appropriated to the peripatetic purposes of these gentry; they are, in point of fact, invariably that description of mud-markers known in the purlieus of Liecester-square, and at all denominations of "boots"--great, little, red, and yellow--as eight-and-sixpenny Bluchers. But the afore-mentioned drabs are strapped down with such pertinacity as to leave the observer in extreme doubt whether the Prussian hero of that name is their legitimate sponsor, or the glorious Wellington of our own sea-girt isle. Indeed, it has been rumoured that (as there never was a _pair_ of either of the illustrious heroes) these gentlemen, for the sake of consistency, invariably perambulate in _one of each_. We scarcely know whether it be so or not--we merely relate what we have heard; but we incline to the _two Bluchers_, _because_ of the _eight-and-six_. The only additional expense likely to add any emolument to the _tanner's_ interest (we mean no pun) is the immense extent of sixpenny straps generally worn. These are described by a friend of ours as belonging to the great class of _coaxers_; and their exertions in bringing (as a nautical man would say) the trowsers _to bear_ at all, is worthy of notice. There is a legend extant (a veritable legend, which emanated from one of the fraternity who had been engaged three weeks at her Majesty's theatre, as one of twenty in an unknown chorus, the chief peculiarity of the affair being the close approximation of some of his principal foreign words to "Tol de rol," and "Fal the ral ra"), in which it was asserted, that from a violent quarrel with a person in the grass-bleached line, the body corporate determined to avoid any unnecessary use of that commodity. In the way of wristbands, the malice of the above void is beautifully nullified, inasmuch as the most prosperous linen-draper could never wish to have less linen on hand. As we are describing the _genus_ in _black_ and _white_, we may as well state at once, _those_ are the colours generally casing the throats from whence their sweet sounds issue; these _ties_ are garnished with union pins, whose strong _mosaic tendency_ would, in the Catholic days of Spain (had they been residents), have consigned them to the lowest dungeons of the Inquisition, and favoured them with an exit from this breathing world, amid all the uncomfortable pomp of an _auto-da-fe_.

It is a fact on record, that no one of the body ever had a cold in his head; and this peculiarity, we presume, exempts them from carrying pocket-handkerchiefs, a superfluity we never witnessed in their hands, though they indulge in snuff-boxes which assume the miniture form of French plum-cases, richly embossed, with something round the edges about as much in proportion to _the box_ as _eighteen insides_ are to a small tax-cart. This testimonial is generally (as the engraved inscription purports) given by "several gentlemen" (who are, unfortunately, in these instances, always anonymous--which circumstance, as they are invariably described as "admirers of talent," is much to be regretted, and, we trust, will soon be rectified). We believe, like the immortal Jack Falstaff, they were each born at four o'clock of the morning, with a bald head, and something of a round belly; certain it is, they are universally thin in the hair, and exhibit strong manifestation of obesity.

The further marks of identity consist in a ring very variously chased, and the infallible insignia of a tuning-fork: without this no professional singer does or can exist. The thing has been tried, and found a failure. Its uses are remarkable and various: like the "death's-head and cross-bones" of the pirates, or the wand, globe, and beard of the conjuror, it is their sure and unvarying sign. We have in our mind's eye one of the species even now--we see him coquetting with the fork, compressing it with gentle fondness, and then (that all senses may be called into requisition) resting it against his eye-tooth to catch the proper tone. Should this be the prelude to his own professional performance, we see it returned, with a look of profound wisdom, to the right-hand depository of the nondescript and imaginary velvet double-breaster--we follow his eyes, till, with peculiar fascination, they fix upon the far-off cornice of the most distant corner of the smoke-embued apartment--we perceive the extension of the dexter hand employed in innocent dalliance with the well-sucked peel of a quarter of an orange, whilst the left is employed with the links of what would be a watch-guard, _if_ the professional singer _had a watch_. We hear the three distinct hems--oblivion for a moment seizes us--the glasses jingle--two auctioneers' hammers astonish the mahogany--several dirty hands are brought in violent and noisy contact--we are near a friend of the vocalist--our glass of gin-and-water (literally warm without) empties itself over our lower extremities, instigated thereto by the gymnastic performances of the said zealous friend--and with an exclamation that, were Mawworn present, would cost us a shilling, we find the professional singer has concluded, and is half stooping to the applause, and half lifting his diligently-stirred grog, gulping down the "creature comfort" with infinite satisfaction.

* * * * *

--There goes the hammer again! (Rubins has a sinecure compared to that fat man). "A glee, gents!--a glee!"--Ah! there they are--three coats--three collars--Heaven knows how many buttons!--three bald heads, three stout stomachs, three mouths, stuffed with three tuning-forks, nodding and conferring with a degree of mystery worthy of three Guy Faux."--What is the subject?

"_Hail_ smi_lig_ _b_orn."

That's a good guess! By the way, the vulgar notion of singing _ensemble_ is totally exploded by these gentry--each professional singer, as a professional singer, sings his very loudest, in _justice to himself_; if his brethren want physical power, that's no fault of _his_, _he don't_. Professional singers indulge in small portions of classic lore: among the necessary acquirements is, "Non nobis," &c. &c.; that is, they consider they ought to know the airs. The words are generally delivered as follows:--_Don--dobis--do--by--de_. A clear enunciation is not much cultivated among the clever in this line.

In addition to the few particulars above, it may be as well to mention, they treat all tavern-waiters with great respect, which is more Christian-like, as the said waiters never return the same--sit anywhere, just to accommodate--eat everything, to prove they have no squeamish partialities--know to a toothful what a bottom of brandy _should be_--the exact quantity they may drink, free gratis, and the most likely victim to _drop upon_ for any further nourishment they may require. Their acquirements in the musical world are rendered clear, by the important information that "Harry Phillips knows what he's about"--"Weber was up to a thing or two." A _baritone_ ain't the sort of thing for tenor music: and when _they_ sung with some man (nobody ever heard of), they showed him the difference, and wouldn't mind--"A cigar?" "Thank you, sir!--seldom smoke--put it in my pocket--(_aside_) that makes a dozen! Your good health, sir!--don't dislike cold, though I generally take it warm--didn't mean that as a hint, but, since you _have ordered it_, I'll give you a toast--Here's--THE PROFESSIONAL SINGER!"

FUSBOS.

* * * * *

AN AN-TEA ANACREONTIC.

[Greek: EIS TO LEIN PINEIN.]

Bards of old have sung the vine Such a theme shall ne'er be mine; Weaker strains to me belong, Pæans sung to thee, Souchong! What though I may never sip Rubies from my tea-cup's lip; Do not milky pearls combine In this steaming cup of mine? What though round my youthful brow I ne'er twine the myrtle's bough? For such wreaths my soul ne'er grieves. Whilst I own my Twankay's leaves. Though for me no altar burns, Kettles boil and bubble--urns In each fane, where I adore-- What should mortal ask for more! I for Pidding, Bacchus fly, Howqua shall my cup supply; I'll ne'er ask for amphoræ, Whilst my tea-pot yields me tea. Then, perchance, above my grave, Blooming Hyson sprigs may wave; And some stately sugar-cane, There may spring to life again: Bright-eyed maidens then may meet, To quaff the herb and suck the sweet.

* * * * *

A CONVERSATION BETWEEN TWO HACKNEY-COACH HORSES.

KINDLY COMMUNICATED BY OUR DOG "TOBY."

DEAR SIR,--I was a-sitting the other evening at the door of my kennel, thinking of the dog-days and smoking my pipe (blessings on you, master, for teaching me that art!), when one of your prospectuses was put into my paw by a spaniel that lives as pet-dog in a nobleman's family. Lawk, sir! what misfortunes can have befallen you, that you are obleeged to turn author?

I remember the poor devil as used to supply us with _dialect_--what a face he had! It was like a mouth-organ turned edgeways; and he looked as hollow as the big drum, but warn't half so round and noisy. You can't have dwindled down to that, sure_ly_! I couldn't bear to see your hump and _pars pendula_ (that's dog Latin) shrunk up like dried almonds, and titivated out in msty-fusty toggery--I'm sure I couldn't! The very thought of it is like a pound weight at the end of my tail.

I whined like any thing, calling to my missus--for you must know that I've married as handsome a Scotch terrier as you ever see. "Vixen," says I, "here's the poor old governor up at last--I knew that Police Act would drive him to something desperate."

"Why he hasn't hung himself in earnest, and summoned you on his inquest!" exclaimed Mrs. T.

"Worse nor that," says I; "he's turned author, and in course is stewed up in some wery elevated apartment during this blessed season of the year, when all nature is wagging with delight, and the fairs is on, and the police don't want nothing to do to warm 'em, and consequentially sees no harm in a muster of infantry in bye-streets. It's very hawful."

Vixen sighed and scratched her ear with her right leg, so I know'd she'd something in her head, for she always does that when anything tickles her. "Toby," says she, "go and see the old gentleman; perhaps it might comfort him to larrup you a little."

"Very well," says I, "I'll be off at once; so put me by a bone or two for supper, should any come out while I'm gone; and if you can get the puppies to sleep before I return, I shall be so much obleeged to you." Saying which, I toddled off for Wellington-street. I had just got to the coach-stand at Hyde Park Corner, when who should I see labelled as a waterman but the one-eyed chap we once had as a orchestra--he as could only play "Jim Crow" and the "Soldier Tired." Thinks I, I may as well pass the compliment of the day with him; so I creeps under the hackney-coach he was standing alongside on, intending to surprise him; but just as I was about to pop out he ran off the stand to un-nosebag a cab-horse. Whilst I was waiting for him to come back, I hears the off-side horse in the wehicle make the following remark:--

OFF-SIDE HORSE--(_twisting his tail about like anything_)--Curse the flies!

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--You may say that. I've had one fellow tickling me this half-hour.

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--Ours is a horrid profession! Phew! the sun actually penetrates my vertebra.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Werterbee! What's that?

OFF-SIDE HORSE--(_impatiently_).--The spine, my friend (_whish! whish!_)

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Ah! it is a shameful thing to _dock_ us as they does. If the marrow in one's backbone should melt, it would be sartin to run out at the tip of one's tail. I say, how's your _feed?_

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--Very indifferent--the chaff predominates--(_munch_) not _bene_ by any means.