Chapter 3

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Beany! Lord bless your ignorance! I should be satisfied if they'd only make it _oaty_ now and then. How long have you been in the hackney line?

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I have occupied my present degraded position about two years. Little thought my poor mama, when I was foaled, that I should ever come to this.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Ah! it ain't very respectable, is it?--especially since the cabs and busses have druv over our heads. What was you put to?--you look as if you had been well brought up.

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--My mama was own sister to _Lottery_, but unfortunately married a horse much below her in pedigree. I was the produce of that union. At five years old I entered the army under Ensign Dashard.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE--Bless me, how odd! I was bought at Horncastle, to serve in the dragoons; but the wetternary man found out I'd a splint, and wouldn't have me! I say, ain't that stout woman with a fat family looking at us?

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I'm afraid she is. People of her grade in society are always partial to a dilatory shillingworth.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE--Ay, and always lives up Snow-hill, or Ludgate-hill, or Mutton-hill, or a _hill_ somewhere.

WOMAN.--Coach!

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--She's ahailing us! I wonder whether she's narvous? I'll let out with my hind leg a bit--(_kick_)--O Lord! the rheumatiz!

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--Pray don't. I abjure subterfuges; they are unworthy of a thoroughbred.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Thoroughbred? I like that! Haven't you just acknowledged that you were a cocktail? Thank God! she's moving on. Hallo! there's old Readypenny!--a willanous Tory.

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I beg to remark that my principles are Conservative.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--And I beg to remark that mine isn't. I sarved Readypenny out at Westminster 'lection the other day. He got into our coach to go to the poll, and I wouldn't draw an inch. I warn't agoing to take up a plumper for Rous.

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I declare the obese female returns.

WOMAN.--Coach! Hallo! Coach!

WATERMAN.--Here you is, ma'am. Kuck! kuck! kuck!--Come along!--(_Pulling the coach and horses_).

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--O heavens! I am too stiff to move, and this brute will pull my head off.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Keep it on one side, and you spiles his purchase.

WATERMAN--Come up, you old brute!

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--Old brute! What evidence of a low mind!--[_The stout woman and fat family ascend the steps of the coach_].

COACH.--O law! oh, law! Week! week! O law!--O law! Week! week!

NEAR-SIDE HORSE--Do you hear how the poor old thing's a sufferin'?--She must feel it a good deal to have her squabs sat on by everybody as can pay for her. She was built by Pearce, of Long-acre, for the Duchess of Dorsetshire. I wonder her perch don't break--she has been crazy a long time.

WATERMAN.--Snow-hill--opposite the Saracen's Head.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--I know'd it!

COACHMAN.--Kuck! kuck!

WHIP.--Whack! whack!

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--Pull away, my dear fellow; a little extra exertion may save us from flagellation.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Well, I'm pulling, ain't I?

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I don't like to dispute your word; but--(_whack_)--Oh! that was an abrasion on my shoulder.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--A _raw_ you mean. Who's not pulling now, I should like to know!

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--I couldn't help hopping then; you know what a _grease_ I have in my hind leg.

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Well, haven't I a splint and a corn, and ain't one of my fore fetlocks got a formoses, and my hind legs the stringhalt?

WOMAN.--Stop! stop!

COACHMAN.--Whoo up!--d--n you!

OFF-SIDE HORSE.--There goes my last masticator!

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--And I'm blow'd if he hasn't jerked my head so that he's given me a crick in the neck; but never mind; if she does get out here, we shall save the hill.

WOMAN.--Three doors higher up.

COACHMAN.--Chuck! chuck!

WHIP.--Whack! whack!

COACHMAN.--Come up, you varmint!

OFF-SIDE HORSE--Varmint! and to me! the nephew of the great Lottery! O Pegasus! what shall I come to next!

NEAR-SIDE HORSE.--Alamode beef, may be, or perhaps pork sassages!

* * * * *

The old woman was so long in that house where she stopped, that I was obleeged to toddle home, for my wife has a rather unpleasant way of taking me by the scruff of my neck if I ain't pretty regular in my hours.

Yours, werry obediently, TOBY.

* * * * *

COURT CIRCULAR.

Communicated exclusively to this Journal by MASTER JONES, whose services we have succeeded in retaining, though opposed by the enlightened manager of a metropolitan theatre, whose anxiety to advance the interest of the drama is only equalled by his ignorance of the means.

* * * * *

Since the dissolution of Parliament, Lord Melbourne has confined himself entirely to _stews_.

Stalls have been fitted up in the Royal nursery for the reception of two Alderney cows, preparatory to the weaning of the infant Princess; which delicate duty Mrs. Lilly commences on Monday next.

Sir Robert Peel has been seen several times this week in close consultation with the chief cook. Has he been offered the _premiership_?

Mr. Moreton Dyer, "_the amateur turner_," has been a frequent visitor at the palace of late. Palmerston, it is whispered, has been receiving lessons in the art. We are surprised to hear this, for we always considered his lordship a Talleyrand in _turning_.

* * * * *

A QUARTER-DAY COGITATION.

(WRITTEN ON THE BACK OF A "NOTED" TAILOR'S BILL.)

By winter's chill the fragrant flower is nipp'd, To be new-clothed with brighter tints in spring; The blasted tree of verdant leaves is stripp'd, A fresher foliage on each branch to bring;

The aërial songster moults his plumerie, To vie in sleekness with each feather'd brother: A twelvemonth's wear hath ta'en thy nap from thee, My seedy coat!--When shall I get another?

NOTE.--Confiding tailors are entreated to send their addresses, pre-paid, to PUNCH'S office.

P.S.--None need apply who _refuse_ three years' acceptances. If the bills be made _renewable_, by agreement, "continuations" will be taken in any quantity.--FITZROY FIPS.

* * * * *

STREET POLITICS.

A DRAMATIC DIALOGUE BETWEEN PUNCH AND HIS STAGE MANAGER.

(_Enter_ PUNCH.)

PUNCH.--R-r-r-roo-to-tooit-tooit?

(_Sings._)

"Wheel about and turn about, And do jes so; Ebery time I turn about, I jump Jim Crow."

MANAGER.--Hollo, Mr. Punch! your voice is rather husky to-day.

PUNCH.--Yes, yes; I've been making myself as hoarse as a hog, bawling to the free and independent electors of Grogswill all the morning. They have done me the honour to elect me as their representative in Parliament. I'm an M.P. now.

MANAGER.--An M.P.! Gammon, Mr. Punch.

THE DOG TOBY.--Bow, wow, wow, wough, wough!

PUNCH.--Fact, upon my honour. I'm at this moment an unit in the collective stupidity of the nation.

DOG TOBY.--R-r-r-r-r-r--wough--wough!

PUNCH.--Kick that dog, somebody. Hang the cur, did he never see a legislator before, that he barks at me so?

MANAGER.--A legislator, Mr. Punch? with that wooden head of yours! Ho! ho! ho! ho!

PUNCH.--My dear sir, I can assure you that wood is the material generally used in the manufacture of political puppets. There will be more blockheads than mine in St. Stephen's, I can tell you. And as for oratory, why I flatter my whiskers I'll astonish them in that line.

MANAGER.--But on what principles did you get into Parliament, Mr. Punch?

PUNCH.--I'd have you know, sir, I'm above having any principles but those that put money in my pocket.

MANAGER.--I mean on what interest did you start?

PUNCH.--On self-interest, sir. The only great, patriotic, and noble feeling that a public man can entertain.

MANAGER.--Pardon me, Mr. Punch; I wish to know whether you have come in as a Whig or a Tory?

PUNCH.--As a Tory, decidedly, sir. I despise the base, rascally, paltry, beggarly, contemptible Whigs. I detest their policy, and--

THE DOG TOBY.--Bow, wow, wough, wough!

MANAGER.--Hollo! Mr. Punch, what are you saying? I understood you were always a staunch Whig, and a supporter of the present Government.

PUNCH.--So I was, sir. I supported the Whigs as long as they supported themselves; but now that the old house is coming down about their ears, I turn my back on them in virtuous indignation, and take my seat in the opposition 'bus.

MANAGER.---But where is your patriotism, Mr. Punch?

PUNCH.--Where every politician's is, sir--in my breeches' pocket.

MANAGER.--And your consistency, Mr. Punch?

PUNCH.--What a green chap you are, after all. A public man's consistency! It's only a popular delusion, sir. I'll tell you what's consistency, sir. When one gentleman's _in_ and won't come _out_, and when another gentleman's _out_ and can't get _in_, and when both gentlemen persevere in their determination--that's consistency.

MANAGER.--I understand; but still I think it is the duty of every public man to----

PUNCH.--(_sings_)--

"Wheel about and turn about, And do jes so; Ebery time he turn about, He jumps Jim Crow."

MANAGER.--Then it is your opinion that the prospects of the Whigs are not very flattering?

PUNCH.--'Tis all up with them, as the young lady remarked when Mr. Green and his friends left Wauxhall in the balloon; they haven't a chance. The election returns are against them everywhere. England deserts them--Ireland fails them--Scotland alone sticks with national attachment to their backs, like a--

THE DOG TOBY.--Bow, wow, wow, wough!

MANAGER.--Of course, then, the Tories will take office--?

PUNCH.--I rayther suspect they will. Have they not been licking their chops for ten years outside the Treasury door, while the sneaking Whigs were helping themselves to all the fat tit-bits within? Have they not growled and snarled all the while, and proved by their barking that they were the fittest guardians of the country? Have they not wept over the decay of our ancient and venerable constitution--? And have they not promised and vowed, the moment they got into office, that they would--Send round the hat.

MANAGER.--Very good, Mr. Punch; but I should like to know what the Tories mean to do about the corn-laws? Will they give the people cheap food?

PUNCH.--No, but they'll give them cheap drink. They'll throw open the Thames for the use of the temperance societies.

MANAGER.--But if we don't have cheap corn, our trade must be destroyed, our factories will be closed, and our mills left idle.

PUNCH.--There you're wrong. Our tread-mills will be in constant work; and, though our factories should be empty, our prisons will be quite full.

MANAGER.--That's all very well, Mr. Punch; but the people will grumble a _leetle_ if you starve them.

PUNCH.--Ay, hang them, so they will; the populace have no idea of being grateful for benefits. Talk of starvation! Pooh!--I've studied political economy in a workhouse, and I know what it means. They've got a fine plan in those workhouses for feeding the poor devils. They do it on the homoeopathic system, by administering to them oatmeal porridge in infinitessimal doses; but some of the paupers have such proud stomachs that they object to the diet, and actually die through spite and villany. Oh! 'tis a dreadful world for ingratitude! But never mind--Send round the hat.

MANAGER.--What is the meaning of the sliding scale, Mr. Punch?

PUNCH.--It means--when a man has got nothing for breakfast, he may slide his breakfast into his lunch; then, if he has got nothing for lunch, he may slide that into his dinner; and if he labours under the same difficulties with respect to the dinner, he may slide all three meals into his supper.

MANAGER.--But if the man has got no supper?

PUNCH.--Then let him wish he may get it.

MANAGER.--Oh! that's your sliding scale?

PUNCH.--Yes; and a very ingenious invention it is for the suppression of victuals. R-r-r-roo-to-tooit-tooit! Send round the hat.

MANAGER.--At this rate, Mr. Punch, I suppose you would not be favourable to free trade?

PUNCH.--Certainly not, sir. Free trade is one of your new-fangled notions that mean nothing but free plunder. I'll illustrate my position. I'm a boy in a school, with a bag of apples, which, being the only apples on my form, I naturally sell at a penny a-piece, and so look forward to pulling in a considerable quantity of browns, when a boy from another form, with a bigger bag of apples, comes and sells his at three for a penny, which, of course, knocks up my trade.

MANAGER.--But it benefits the community, Mr. Punch.

PUNCH.--D--n the community! I know of no community but PUNCH and Co. I'm for centralization--and individualization--every man for himself, and PUNCH for us all! Only let me catch any rascal bringing his apples to my form, and see how I'll cobb him. So now--send round the hat--and three cheers for

PUNCH'S POLITICS.

* * * * *

SONGS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL.

No. 1.

O Reveal, thou fay-like stranger, Why this lonely path you seek; Every step is fraught with danger Unto one so fair and meek. Where are they that _should_ protect thee In this darkling hour of doubt? Love _could_ never thus neglect thee!-- _Does your mother know you're out?_

Why so pensive, Peri-maiden? Pearly tears bedim thine eyes! Sure thine heart is overladen, When each breath is fraught with sighs. Say, hath care life's heaven clouded, Which hope's stars were wont to spangle? What hath all thy gladness shrouded?-- _Has your mother sold her mangle?_

* * * * *

A PUBLIC CONVENIENCE.

We are requested to state, by the Marquis of W----, that, for the convenience of the public, he has put down one of his carriages, and given orders to Pearce, of Long-acre, for the construction of an easy and elegant _stretcher._

* * * * *

CANDIDATES UNDER DIFFERENT PHASES

* * * * *

FINE ARTS.

PUNCH begs most solemnly to assure his friends and the artists in general, that should the violent cold with which he has been from time immemorial afflicted, and which, although it has caused his voice to appear like an infant Lablache screaming through horse-hair and thistles, yet has not very materially affected him otherwise--should it not deprive him of existence--please Gog and Magog, he will, next season, visit every exhibition of modern art as soon as the pictures are hung; and further, that he will most unequivocally be down with his _coup de baton_ upon every unfortunate nob requiring his peculiar attention.

That he independently rejects the principles upon which these matters are generally conducted, he trusts this will be taken as an assurance: should the handsomest likeness-taker gratuitously offer to paint PUNCH'S portrait in any of the most favourite and fashionable styles, from the purest production of the general mourning school--and all performed by scissars--to the exquisitely gay works of the President of the Royal Academy, even though his Presidentship offer to do the nose with real carmine, and throw Judy and the little one into the back-ground, PUNCH would not give him a single eulogistic syllable unmerited. A word to the landscape and other perpetrators: none of your little bits for PUNCH--none of your insinuating cabinet gems--no Art-_ful_ Union system of doing things--Hopkins to praise for one reason, Popkins to censure for another--and as PUNCH has been poking his nose into numberless unseen corners, and, notwithstanding its indisputable dimensions, has managed to screen it from observation, he has thereby smelt out several pretty little affairs, which shall in due time be exhibited and explained in front of his proscenium, for special amusement. In the mean time, to prove that PUNCH is tolerably well up in this line of pseudo-criticism, he has prepared the following description of the private view of either the Royal Academy or the Suffolk-street Gallery, or the British Institution, for 1842, for the lovers of this very light style of reading; and to make it as truly applicable to the various specimens of art forming the collection or collections alluded to, he has done it after the peculiar manner practised by the talented conductor of a journal purporting to be exclusively set apart to that effort. To illustrate with what strict attention to the nature of the subject chosen, and what an intimate knowledge of technicalities the writer above alluded to displays, and with what consummate skill he blends those peculiarities, the reader will have the kindness to attach the criticism to either of the works (hereunder catalogued) most agreeably to his fancy. It will be, moreover, shown that this is a thoroughly impartial way of performing the operation of soft anointment.

THE UNERRING FOR PORTRAITS ONLY:

Portrait of the miscreant who \ attempted to assassinate Mr. Macreath. | VALENTINE VERMILION. | | Portrait of His Majesty the | The head is extremely King of Hanover. | well painted, and the light BY THE SAME. | and shade distributed with | the artist's usual judgement. Portrait of the boy who got into | Buckingham Palace. | GEOFFERY GLAZEM. | OR THUS: | Portrait of Lord John Russell. | BY THE SAME. | An admirable likeness of \ the original, and executed Portrait of W. Grumbletone, Esq., / with that breadth and clearness in the character of Joseph Surface. | so apparent in this clever PETER PALETTE. | painter's works. | Portrait of Sir Robert Peel. | BY THE SAME. | OR THUS: | Portrait of the Empress of Russia. | VANDYKE BROWN. | A well-drawn and brilliantly | painted portrait, calculated Portrait of the infant Princess. | to sustain the fame already BY THE SAME. | gained by this our favourite | painter. Portrait of Mary Mumblegums, | aged 170 years. | BY THE SAME. /

THE UNERRING FOR EVERY SUBJECT:

The Death of Abel. \ MICHAEL McGUELP. | | Dead Game. | THOMAS TICKLEPENCIL. | | Vesuvius in Eruption. | This picture is well arranged, CHARLES CARMINE, R.A. | and coloured with much truth | to nature; the chiaro-scuro Portraits of Mrs. Punch and Child. | is admirably managed. R.W. BUSS. | | Cattle returning from the Watering | OR THUS: Place. \ R. BOLLOCK. / | This is one of the cleverest "We won't go home till Morning." | productions in the Exhibition; M. WATERFORD, R.H.S. | there is a transparency in the | shadows equal to Rembrandt. The infant Cupid sleeping. | R. DADD. | | Portrait of Lord Palmerston. | A.L.L. UPTON. | | Coast Scene: Smugglers on the look | out. | H. PARKER. | | Portrait of Captain Rous, M.P. | J. WOOD. | /

Should the friends of any of the artists deem the praise a little too oily, they can easily add such a tag as the following:--"In our humble judgment, a little more delicacy of handling would not be altogether out of place;" or, "Beautiful as the work under notice decidedly is, we recollect to have received perhaps as much gratification in viewing previous productions by the same."

FOR THE HALF CONDEMNED:

This artist is, we much fear, on the decline; we no longer see the vigour of handling and smartness of conception formerly apparent in his works: or, "A little stricter attention to drawing, as well as composition, would render this artist's works more recommendatory."

THE TOTALLY CONDEMNED:

Either of the following, taken conjointly or separately: "A perfect daub, possessing not one single quality necessary to create even the slightest interest--a disgrace to the Exhibition--who allowed such a wretched production to disgrace these walls?--woefully out of drawing, and as badly coloured," and such like.

* * * * *

A COMMENTARY ON THE ELECTIONS.

BY THE BEADLE OF SOMERSET HOUSE.