Chapter 4

Well, lawks-a-day! things seem going on uncommon queer, For they say that the Tories are bowling out the Whigs almost everywhere; And the blazing red of my beadle's coat is turning to pink through fear, Lest I should find myself and staff out of Office some time about the end of the year. I've done nothing so long but stand under the magnificent portico Of Somerset House, that I don't know what I should do if I was for to go! What the electors are at, I can't make out, upon my soul, For it's a law of natur' that the _whig_ should be atop of the _poll_. I've had a snug berth of it here for some time, and don't want to cut the connexion; But they _do_ say the Whigs must go out, because they've NO OTHER ELECTION; What they mean by that, I _don't_ know, for ain't they been electioneering-- That is, they've been canvassing, and spouting, and pledging, and ginning, and beering. Hasn't Crawford and Pattison, Lyall, Masterman, Wood, and Lord John Russell, For ever so long been keeping the Great Metropolis in one alarming _bussel_? Ain't the two _first_ retired into private life--(that's the genteel for being rejected)? And what's more, the _last_ four, strange to say, have all been elected. Then Finsbury Tom and Mr. Wakley, as wears his hair all over his coat collar, Hav'n't they frightened Mr. Tooke, who once said he could beat them _Hollar_? Then at Lambeth, ain't Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Cabbell been both on 'em bottled By Mr. D'Eyncourt and Mr. Hawes, who makes soap yellow and mottled! And hasn't Sir Benjamin Hall, and the gallant Commodore Napier, Made such a cabal with Cabbell and Hamilton as would make any chap queer? Whilst Sankey, who was backed by a _Cleave_-r for Marrowbone looks cranky, Acos the electors, like lisping babbies, cried out "_No Sankee?_" Then South'ark has sent Alderman Humphrey and Mr. B. Wood, Who has promised, that if ever a member of parliament did his duty--he would! Then for the Tower Hamlets, Robinson, Hutchinson, and Thompson, find that they're in the wrong box, For the electors, though turned to Clay, still gallantly followed the Fox; Whilst Westminster's chosen Rous--not Rouse of the Eagle--tho' I once seed a Picture where there was a great big bird, very like a _goose_, along with a Leda. And hasn't Sir Robert Peel and Mr. A'Court been down to Tamworth to be reseated? They ought to get an act of parliament to save them such fatigue, for its always--ditto repeated. Whilst at Leeds, Beckett and Aldam have put Lord Jocelyn into a considerable fume, Who finds it no go, though he's added up the poll-books several times with the calculating boy, Joe Hume. So if there's been _no other election_, I should like to find out What all the late squibbing and fibbing, placarding, and blackguarding, losing and winning, beering and ginning, and every other _et cetera_, has been about!

* * * * *

TO THE BLACK-BALLED OF THE UNITED SERVICE.

Black bottles at Brighton, To darken your fame; Black Sundays at Hounslow, To add to your shame. Black balls at the club, Show Lord Hill's growing duller: He should change your command To the _guards_ of that colour.

* * * * *

ON THE INTRODUCTION OF PANTOMIME INTO THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.

English--it has been remarked a thousand and odd times--is one of the few languages which is unaccompanied with gesticulation. Your veritable Englishman, in his discourse, is as chary as your genuine Frenchman is prodigal, of action. The one speaks like an oracle, the other like a telegraph.

Mr. Brown narrates the death of a poor widower from starvation, with his hands fast locked in his breeches' pocket, and his features as calm as a horse-pond. M. le Brun tells of the _debut_ of the new _danseuse_, with several kisses on the tips of his fingers, a variety of taps on the left side of his satin waistcoat, and his head engulfed between his two shoulders, like a cock-boat in a trough of the sea.

The cause of this natural diversity is not very apparent. The deficiency of gesture on our parts may be a necessary result of that prudence which is so marked a feature of the English character. Mr. Brown, perhaps, objects to using two means to attain his end when one is sufficient, and consequently looks upon all gesticulation during conversation as a wicked waste of physical labour, which that most sublime and congenial science of Pol. Econ. has shown him to be the source of all wealth. To indulge in pantomime is, therefore, in his eyes, the same as throwing so much money in the dirt--a crime which he regards as second in depravity only to that of having none to throw. Napoleon said, many years back, we were a nation of shopkeepers; and time seems to have increased, rather than diminished, our devotion to the ledger. Gold has become our sole standard of excellence. We measure a man's respectability by his banker's account, and mete out to the pauper the same punishment as the felon. Our very nobility is a nobility of the breeches' pocket; and the highest personage in the realm--her most gracious Majesty--the most gracious Majesty of 500,000l. per annum! Nor is this to be wondered at. To a martial people like the Romans, it was perfectly natural that animal courage should be thought to constitute heroic virtue: to a commercial people like ourselves, it is equally natural that a man's worthiness should be computed by what he is worth. We fear it is this commercial spirit, which, for the reason before assigned, is opposed to the introduction of pantomime among us; and it is therefore to this spirit that we would appeal, in our endeavours to supply a deficiency which we cannot but look upon as a national misfortune and disgrace. It makes us appear as a cold-blooded race of people, which we assuredly are not; for, after all our wants are satisfied, what nation can make such heroic sacrifices for the benefit of their fellow creatures as our own? A change, however, is coming over us: a few pantomimic signs have already made their appearance amongst us. It is true that they are at present chiefly confined to that class upon whose manners politeness places little or no restraint--barbarians, who act as nature, rather than as the book of etiquette dictates, (and among whom, for that very reason, such a change would naturally first begin to show itself:) yet do we trust, by pointing out to the more refined portion of the "British public," the advantage that must necessarily accrue from the general cultivation of the art of pantomime, by proving to them its vast superiority over the comparatively tedious operations of speech, and exhibiting its capacity of conveying a far greater quantity of thought in a considerably less space of time, and that with a saving of one-half the muscular exertion--a point so perfectly consonant with the present prevailing desire for cheap and rapid communication--that we say we hope to be able not only to bring the higher classes to look upon it no longer as a vulgar and extravagant mode of expression, but actually to introduce and cherish it among them as the most polite and useful of all accomplishments.

But in order to exhibit the capacities of this noble art in all their comprehensive excellence, it is requisite that we should, in the first place, say a few words on language in general.

It is commonly supposed that there are but two kinds of language among men--the written and the spoken: whereas it follows, from the very nature of language itself, that there must necessarily be as many modes of conveying our impressions to our fellow-creatures, as there are senses or modes of receiving impressions in them. Accordingly, there are five senses and five languages; to wit, the audible, the visible, the olfactory, the gustatory, and the sensitive. To the two first belong speech and literature. As illustrations of the third, or olfactory language, may be cited the presentation of a pinch of Prince's Mixture to a stranger, or a bottle of "Bouquet du Roi" to a fair acquaintance; both of which are but forms of expressing to them nasally our respect. The nose, however, is an organ but little cultivated in man, and the language which appeals to it is, therefore, in a very imperfect state; not so the gustatory, or that which addresses itself to the palate. This, indeed, may be said to be imbibed with our mother's milk. What words can speak affection to the child like elecampane--what language assures us of the remembrance of an absent friend like a brace of wood-cocks? Then who does not comprehend the eloquence of dinners? A rump steak, and bottle of old port, are not these to all guests the very emblems of esteem--and turtle, venison, and champagne, the unmistakeable types of respect? If the citizens of a particular town be desirous of expressing their profound admiration of the genius of a popular author, how can the sentiment be conveyed so fitly as in a public dinner? or if a candidate be anxious to convince the "free and independent electors" of a certain borough of his disinterested regard for the commonweal, what more persuasive language could he adopt than the general distribution of unlimited beer? Of the sensitive, or fifth and last species of language, innumerable instances might be quoted. All understand the difference in meaning between cuffs and caresses--between being shaken heartily by the hand and kicked rapidly down stairs. Who, however ignorant, could look upon the latter as a compliment? or what fair maiden, however simple, would require a master to teach her how to construe a gentle compression of her fingers at parting, or a tender pressure of her toe under the dinner table?

Such is an imperfect sketch of the five languages appertaining to man. There is, however, one other--that which forms the subject of the present article--Pantomime, and which may be considered as the natural form of the visible language--literature being taken as the artificial. This is the most primitive as well as most comprehensive, of all. It is the earliest, as it is the most intuitive--the smiles and frowns of the mother being the first signs understood by the infant. Indeed, if we consider for a moment that all existence is but a Pantomime, of which Time is the harlequin, changing to-day into yesterday, summer into winter, youth into old age, and life into death, and we but the clowns who bear the kicks and buffets of the scene, we cannot fail to desire the general cultivation of an art which constitutes the very essence of existence itself. "Speech," says Talleyrand, that profound political pantomimist, "was given to _conceal_ our thoughts;" and truly this is the chief use to which it is applied. We are continually clamouring for acts in lieu of words. Let but the art of Pantomime become universal, and this grand desideratum must be obtained. Then we shall find that candidates, instead of being able, as now, to become legislators by simply professing to be patriots, will be placed in the awkward predicament of having first to _act_ as such; and that the clergy, in lieu of taking a tenth part of the produce for the mere preaching of Christianity, will be obliged to sacrifice at least a portion to charitable purposes, and _practise_ it.

Indeed, we are thoroughly convinced, that when the manifold advantages of this beautiful art shall be generally known, it cannot fail of becoming the principle of universal communication. Nor do we despair of ultimately finding the elegant Lord A. avowing his love for the beautiful Miss B., by gently closing one of his eyes, and the fair lady tenderly expressing that doubt and incredulity which are the invariable concomitants of "Love's young dream," by a gentle indication with the dexter hand over the sinister shoulder.

* * * * *

AN ALLIGATOR CHAIRMAN.

An action was recently brought in the Court of Queen's Bench against Mr. Walter, to recover a sum of money expended by a person named Clark, in wine, spirits, malt liquors, and other refreshments, during a contest for the representation of the borough of Southwark. One of the witnesses, who it appears was chairman of Mr. Walter's committee, swore that _every thing the committee had to eat or drink went through him._ By a remarkable coincidence, the counsel for the plaintiff in this tippling case was _Mr. Lush._

* * * * *

AN ODE.

PICKED UP IN KILLPACK'S DIVAN.

Cum notis variorum.

"Excise Court.--An information was laid against Mr. Killpack, for selling spirituous liquor. Mr. James (the counsel for the defendant) stated that there was a club held there, of which Mr. Keeley, the actor, was treasurer, and many others of the theatrical profession were members, and that they had a store of brandy, whiskey, and other spirits. Fined £5 in each case."--_Observer_

INVOCATION.

Assist, ye jocal nine[1], inspire my soul! (Waiter! a go of Brett's best alcohol, A light, and one of Killpack's mild Havannahs). Fire me! again I say, while loud hosannas I sing of what we were--of what we _now_ are. Wildly let me rave, To imprecate the knave Whose curious _information_ turned our porter sour, Bottled our stout, doing it (ruthless cub!) Brown, Down Knocking our snug, unlicensed club; Changing, despite our _belle esprit_, at one fell _swop_, Into a legal coffee-crib, our contraband cook-shop!

ODE.

Then little Bob arose, And doff'd his clothes, Exclaiming, "Momus! Stuff! I've played him long enough," And, as the public seems inclined to sack us, Behold me ready _dressed_ to play young Bacchus. He said[2] his legs the barrel span, And thus the Covent Garden god began;-- "GENTLEMEN,--I am--ahem--!--I beg your pardon, But, ahem! as first low com. of Common Garden-- No, I don't mean that, I mean to say, That if we were--ahem!--to pay So much per quarter for our quarterns, [Cries of 'Hear!'] Import our own champagne and ginger-beer; In short, _small_ duty pay on all we sup-- Ahem!--you understand--I give it up." The speech was ended, And Bob descended. The club was formed. A spicy club it was-- Especially on Saturdays; because They dined extr'ordinary cheap at five o'clock: When there were met members of the Dram. A. Soc. Those of the sock and buskin, artists, court gazetteers-- Odd fellows all--_odder_ than all their club compeers. Some were sub-editors, others reporters, And more _illuminati_, joke-importers. The club was heterogen'ous By strangers seen as A refuge for destitute _bons mots_-- _Dépôt_ for leaden jokes and pewter pots; Repertory for gin and _jeux d'esprit_, Literary pound for vagrant rapartee; Second-hand shop for left-off witticisms; Gall'ry for Tomkins and Pitt-icisms;[3] Foundling hospital for every bastard pun; In short, a manufactory for all sorts of fun! * * * * Arouse my muse! such pleasing themes to quit, Hear me while I say "_Donnez-moi du frenzy, s'il vous plait!_"[4] Give me a most tremendous fit Of indignation, a wild volcanic ebullition, Or deep anathema, Fatal as J--d's bah! To hurl excisemen downward to perdition. May genial gin no more delight _their_ throttles-- _Their_ casks grow leaky, bottomless _their_ bottles; May smugglers _run_, and they ne'er make a seizure; May _they_--I'll curse them further at my leisure. But for our club, "Ay, there's the rub." "We mourn it dead in its father's halls:"[5]-- The sporting prints are cut down from the walls; No stuffing there, Not even in a chair; The spirits are all _ex_(or)_cised_, The coffee-cups capsized, The coffee _fine_-d, the snuff all taken, The mild Havannahs are by lights forsaken: The utter ruin of the club's achieven-- Our very chess-boards are ex-_chequered_ even. "Where is our club?" X--sighs,[6] and with a stare Like to another echo, answers "Where?"

[1] "Ye jocal nine," a happy modification of "Ye vocal nine." The nine here so classically invocated are manifestly nine of the members of the late club, consisting of, 1. Mr. D--s J--d. 2. The subject of the engraving, treasurer and store-keeper. 3. Mr. G--e S--h, sub-ed. J---- B----. 4. Mr. B--d, Mem. Dram. Author's Society. 5. C--s S--y, ditto. 6. Mr. C--e. 7. Mr. C--s, T--s, late of the firm of T--s and P--t. 8. Mr. J--e A--n, Mem. Soc. British Artists. 9, and lastly, "though not least," the author of "You loved me not in happier days."

[2] "He said."--Deeply imbued with the style of the most polished of the classics, our author will be found to exhibit in some passages an imitation of it which might be considered pedantic, for ourselves, we admire the severe style. The literal rendering of the '_dixit_' of the ancient epicists, strikes us as being eitremely forcible here.--PUNCH.

[3] A play-bill reminiscence, viz. "The scenery by Messrs. Tomkins and Pitt."--THE AUTHORS OF "BUT, HOWEVER."

[4] "Donnez-moi," &c.--The classics of all countries are aptly drawn upon by the universal erudition of our bard. A fine parody this upon the exclamation of Belmontel's starving author: "La Gloire--donnez-moi do pain!"--FENWICK DE PORQUET.

[5] "They mourn it dead," &c.--A pretty, but perhaps too literal allusion to a popular song--J. RODWELL.

[6] "X--sighs."--Who "X" may happen to be we have not the remotest idea. But who would not forgive a little mystification for so brilliant a pun?--THE GHOST OF PUNCH'S THEATRE.

* * * * *

MR. HUME.

We are requested by Mr. Hume to state, that being relieved from his parliamentary duties, he intends opening a day-school in the neighbourhood of the House of Commons, for the instruction of members only, in the principles of the illustrious Cocker; and to remedy in some measure his own absence from the Finance Committees, he is now engaged in preparing a Parliamentary Ready-reckoner. We heartily wish him success.

* * * * *

"PRIVATE."

"In the event of the Tories coming into power, it is intended to confer the place of Postmaster-General upon Lord Clanwilliam. It would be difficult to select an individual more _peculiarly_ fitted for the situation than his lordship, whose _love of letters_ is notorious in the Carlton Club."--_Extract from an Intercepted Letter._

* * * * *

"AND DOTH NOT A MEETING LIKE THIS MAKE AMENDS?"

It is currently reported at the Conservative Clubs, that if their party should come into power, Sir Robert Peel will endeavour to conciliate the Whigs, and to form a coalition with their former opponents. We have no doubt the cautious baronet sees the necessity of the step, and would feel grateful for support from any quarter; but we much doubt the practicability of the measure. It would indeed he a strange sight to see Lord Johnny and Sir Bobby, the two great leaders of the opposition engines, with their followers, meeting amicably on the floor of the House of Commons. In our opinion, an infernal crash and smash would be the result of these

* * * * *

THE DRAMA.

The "star system" has added another victim to the many already sacrificed to its rapacity and injustice. Mr. Phelps, an actor whose personation of _Macduff_, the _Hunchback, Jaques_, &c., would have procured for him in former times no mean position, has been compelled to secede from the Haymarket Theatre from a justifiable feeling of disgust at the continual sacrifices he was required to make for the aggrandisement of one to whom he may not possibly ascribe any superiority of genius. The part assigned to Mr. Phelps (_Friar Lawrence_) requires an actor of considerable powers, and under the old _régime_ would have deteriorated nothing from Mr. Phelps' position; but we can understand the motives which influenced its rejection, and whilst we deprecate the practice of actors refusing parts on every caprice, we consider Mr. Phelps' opposition to this ruinous system of "starring" as commendable and manly. The real cause of the decline of the drama is the upholding of this system. The "stars" are paid so enormously, and cost so much to maintain them in their false position, that the manager cannot afford (supposing the disposition to exist) to pay the working portion of his company salaries commensurate with their usefulness, or compatible with the appearance they are expected to maintain out of the theatre; whilst opportunities of testing their powers as actors, or of improving any favourable impression they may have made upon the public, is denied to them, from the fear that the influence of the greater, because more fortunate actor, may be diminished thereby. These facts are now so well known, that men of education are deterred from making the stage a profession, and consequently the scarcity of rising actors is referable to this cause.

The poverty of our present dramatic literature may also be attributable to this absurd and destructive system. The "star" must be considered alone in the construction of the drama; or if the piece be not actually made to measure, the actor, _par excellence_, must be the arbiter of the author's creation. Writers are thus deterred from making experiments in the higher order of dramatic writing, for should their subject admit of this individual display, its rejection by the "star" would render the labour of months valueless, and the dramatist, driven from the path of fame, degenerates into a literary drudge, receiving for his wearying labour a lesser remuneration than would be otherwise awarded him, from the pecuniary monopoly of the "star."

It is this system which has begotten the present indifference to the stage. The public had formerly _many_ favourites, because all had an opportunity of contending for their favour--now they have only Mr. A. or Mrs. B., who must ultimately weary the public, be their talent what it may, as the sweetest note would pall upon the ear, were it continually sounded, although, when harmonised with others, it should constitute the charm of the melody.

We have made these remarks divested of any personal consideration. We quarrel only with the system that we believe to be unjust and injurious to an art which we reverence.

* * * * *

VAUXHALL.--Vauxhall! region of Punch, both liquid and corporeal!--Elysium of illumination lamps!--Paradise of Simpson!--we have been permitted once again to breathe your oily atmosphere, to partake of an imaginary repast of impalpable ham and invisible chicken--to join in the eruption of exclamations at thy pyrotechnic glories--to swallow thy mysterious arrack and

We have seen Jullien, the elegant, pantomimic Jullien, exhibit his six-inch wristbands and exquisitely dressed head--we have roved again amid those bowers where, with Araminta Smith, years ago,

"We met the daylight after seven hours' sitting."