Chapter 2

On the subject of civilisation, two questions naturally present themselves--the one, what _is_ civilisation?--the other, have we such a superabundance of that commodity among us, that we should think about exporting it? To the former question, the journal especially devoted to the subject has, to the best of our belief, never condescended a reply; although, like the celebrated argument on the colour of the chameleon, no two persons, perhaps, have the same idea of it. In what then, does civilisation consist, and how is it to be generally promoted? Does it, as Sir E.L. B---- would doubtlessly assure us, does it lie in a strict adherence to the last month's fashions; and is it to be propagated throughout the world only by missionaries from Nugee's, and by the universal dissemination of curling-tongs and Macassar--patent leather boots and opera hats--white cambric pocket-handkerchiefs and lavender-water? Or, does it consist, as the Countess of B---- would endeavour to convince us, in abstaining from partaking twice of fish, and from eating peas with the knife? and is it to be made common among mankind only by distributing silver forks and finger-glasses to barbarians, and printing the Book of Etiquette for gratuitous circulation among them? Or, is it, as the mild and humane Judge P---- would prove to us, a necessary result of the Statutes at Large; and can it be rendered universal only by sending out Jack Ketch as a missionary--by the introduction of rope-walks in foreign parts, and the erection of gallows all over the world? Or, is it, as the Archbishop of Canterbury contests, to be achieved solely by the dissemination of bishops, and by diffusing among the poor benighted negroes the blessings of sermons, tithes, and church rates? Christianity, it has, on the other hand, been asserted, is the only practical system of civilisation; but this is manifestly the idea of a visionary. For ourselves, we must confess we incline to the opposite opinion; and think either the bishops or Jack Ketch (we hardly know which we prefer) by far the more rational means. Indeed, when we consider the high state of civilisation which this country has attained, and imagine for an instant the awful amount of distress which would necessarily accrue from the general practice of Christianity among us, even for a week, it is clear that the idea never could be entertained by any moral or religious, mind. A week's Christianity in England! What _would_ become of the lawyer, and parsons? It is too terrible to contemplate.

* * * * *

NOUVEAU MANUEL DU VOYAGEUR.

These are the continental-trip days. All the world will be now a-_tour_ing. But every one is not a Dr. Bowring, and it is rather convenient to be able to edge in a word now and then, when these rascally foreigners will chatter in their own beastly jargon. Ignorant pigs, not to accustom themselves to talk decent English! Il Signor Marchese Cantini, the learned and illustrious author of "Hi, diddlo-diddlino! Il gutto e'l violino!", has just rendered immense service to the trip-loving natives of these lovely isles, by preparing a "Guide to Conversation," that for utility and correctness of idiom surpasses all previous attempts of the same kind. With it in one hand, and a bagful of Napoléons or Zecchini in the other, the biggest dunce in London--nay, even a schoolmaster--may travel from Boulogne to Naples and back, with the utmost satisfaction to himself, and with substantial profit to the people of these barbarous climes. The following is a specimen of the way in which Il Signor has accomplished his undertaking. It will be seen at a glance how well he has united the classical with the utilitarian principle, clothing both in the purest dialect; ex. gr.:--

THIS IS ENGLISH. THIS IS FRENCH. THIS IS ITALIAN.

Does your mother know Madame, votre maman, La vostra signora you're out? sait-elle que vous madre sa che siete n'êtes pas chez vous? uscito di casa?

It won't do, Mr. Cela nese passera, Questo non fara Ferguson. Monsieur Ferguson, cosi, il Signore jamais! Fergusoni!

Who are you? Est-ce que vous aviez Chi è vossignoria? jamais un père?

All round my hat. Tout autour mon Tutto all' interno chapeau. del mio capello!

Go it, ye cripples! C'est ça! Battez-vous Bravo! bravo, bien--boiteux; stroppiati! cr-r-r-r-matin! Ancora-ancora!

Such a getting Diantre! comme on Come si ha salito-- up-stairs! monte l'escalier! è maraviglioso!

Jump, Jim Crow. Sautez, Monsiuer Salti, pergrazia, Jaques Corbeau! Signor Giamomo Corvo!

It would not be fair to rob the Signor of any more of his labour. It will be seen that, on the principle of the Painter and his Cow, we have distinctly written above each sentence the language it belongs to. It is always better to obviate the possibility of mistakes.

* * * * *

THE OMNIBUS

The horrors of an omnibus, Indeed, I've cause to curse; And if I ride in one again, I hope 'twill be my hearse. If you a journey have to go, And they make no delay, 'Tis ten to one you're serv'd like _curds_, They _spill you on the_ WHEY.

A short time since my wife and I A short call had to make, And giving me a _kiss_, she said-- "A _buss_ you'd better take!" We journey'd on--two lively cads, Were for our custom triers; And in a twinkling we were fix'd Fast by this _pair of pliers_!

My wife's arm I had lock'd in mine, But soon they forced her from it; And she was lugg'd into the _Sun_, And I into the _Comet_! Jamm'd to a jelly, there I sat, Each one against me pushing; And my poor gouty legs seem'd made For each one's _pins--a cushion_!

My wife some time had gone before: I urged the jarvey's speed, When all at once the bus set off At fearful pace, indeed! I ask'd the coachee what caused this? When thus his story ran:-- "Vy, _a man shied at an oss_, and so _An oss shied at a man_!"

Oh, fearful crash! oh, fearful smash! At such a rate we run, That presently the _Comet_ came In contact with the _Sun_. At that sad time each body felt, As parting with its soul, We were, indeed, _a little whirl'd_, And shook from _pole to pole_!

* * * * *

Dunn, the miller of Wimbledon, has recently given his infant the _Christian_ name of Cardigan. If there is truth in the adage of "_give a dog a bad name and hang him_," the poor child has little else in perspective than the gallows.

* * * * *

PRAY DON'T TELL THE GOVERNOR.

A SONG OF TON.

Why, y-e-s--'twas rather late last night; In fact, past six this morning. My rascal valet, in a fright, Awoke, and gave me warning. But what of that?--I'm very young. And you've "been in the Oven," or, Like me, you're wrong'd by rumour's tongue, So--pray don't tell the Governor.[1]

I dined a quarter after seven, With Dashall of the Lancers; Went to the opera at eleven, To see the ballet-dancers. From thence I saunter'd to the club-- Fortune to me's a sloven--or, I surely must have won one rub, But--mind! don't tell the Governor!

I went to Ascot t'other day, Drove Kitty in a tandem; Upset it 'gainst a brewer's dray-- I'd dined, so drove at random. I betted high--an "outside" won-- I'd swear its hoofs were cloven, or It ne'er the favourite horse had done, But--don't you tell the Governor.

My cottage ornée down at Kew, So picturesque and pretty, Cost me of thousands not a few, To fit it up for Kitty. She said it charm'd her fancy quite, But (still I can't help loving her) She bolted with the plate one night-- You needn't tell the Governor.

My creditors are growing queer, Nay, threaten to be furious; I'll scan their paltry bills next year, At present I'm not curious. Such fellows are a monstrous bore, So I and Harry Grosvenor To-morrow start for Gallia's shore, And leave duns--to the Governor.

[1] The author is aware there exists a legitimate rhyme for _Porringer_, but believes a match for governor lies still in the _terra incognita_ of allowable rhythm.

* * * * *

THE EXPLOSIVE BOX.

Sir Hussey Vivian was relating to Sir Robert Peel the failure of the Duke of Normandie's experiment with a terrible self-explosive box, which he had buried in a mound at Woolwich, in the expectation that it would shortly blow up, but which still remains there, to the great terror of the neighbourhood, who are afraid to approach the spot where this destructive engine is interred. Sir Robert, on hearing the circumstance, declared that Lord John Russell had served him the same trick, by burying the corn-law question under the Treasury bench. No one knew at what moment it might explode, and blow them to ----. "The question," he added, "now is--who will dig it out?"

* * * * *

EXCLUSIVE INTELLIGENCE.

(_From_ OUR _West-end and "The Observer's" Correspondent._)

We have every reason to believe, unless a very respectable authority, on whom we are in the habit of relying, has grievously imposed upon us, that a very illustrious personage has consulted a certain exalted individual as to whether a certain other person, no less exalted than the latter, but not so illustrious as the former, shall be employed in a certain approaching event, which at present is involved in the greatest uncertainty. Another individual, who is more dignified than the third personage above alluded to, but not nearly so illustrious as the first, and not half so exalted as the second, has nothing whatever to do with the matter above hinted at, and it is not at all probable that he will be ever in the smallest way mixed up with it. For this purpose we have cautiously abstained from giving his name, and indeed only allude to him that there may be no misapprehension on this very delicate subject.

* * * * *

ANIMAL MAGNETISM.

The _Times_ gives a horrible description of some mesmeric experiments by a M. Delafontaine, by which a boy was deprived of _all sensation_. We suspect that some one has been operating upon the Poor Law Commissioners, for their _total want of feeling_ is a mesmeric phenomenon.

* * * * *

ON SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER, BART., _not_ M.P. FOR LINCOLN.

That Bulwer's from fair Lincoln bann'd, Doth threaten evil days; For, having much waste time on hand, Alas! he'll scribble plays.

* * * * *

THE NEW HOUSE.

"This is the House that Jack (Bull) built."

Once there lived, as old histories learnedly show, a Great sailor and shipbuilder, named MISTER NOAH, Who a hulk put together, so wondrous--no doubt of it-- That all sorts of creatures could creep in and out of it. Things with heads, and without heads, things dumb, things loquacious, Things with tails, and things tail-less, things tame, and things pugnacious; Rats, lions, curs, geese, pigeons, toadies and donkeys, Bears, dormice, and snakes, tigers, jackals, and monkeys: In short, a collection so curious, that no man E'er since could with NOAH compare as a show-man At length, JOHNNY BULL, with that clever fat head of his, Design'd a much stranger and comical edifice, To be call'd his "NEW HOUSE"--a queer sort of menagerie To hold all his beasts--with an eye to the Treasury. Into this he has cramm'd such uncommon monstrosities, Such animals rare, such unique curiosities, That we wager a CROWN--not to speak it uncivil-- This HOUSE of BULL'S beats Noah's Ark to the devil. Lest you think that we bounce--the great fault, we confess, of men-- We proceed to detail some few things, as a specimen Of what are to be found in this novel museum; As it opens next month, you may all go and see 'em. Five _Woods_, of five shades, grain, and polish, and gilding, Are used this diversified chamber in building. Not a nail, bolt, or screw, you'll discover to lurk in it, Though six _Smiths_ you will find every evening at work in it. A _Forman_ and _Master_ you'll see there appended too, Whose words or instructions are never attended to. A _Leader_, whom nobody follows; a pair o' _Knights_, With courage at ninety degrees of old Fahrenheit's; Full a hundred "Jim Crows," wheeling round about--round about, Yet only one _Turner_'s this House to be found about. Of hogs-heads, Lord knows, there are plenty to spare of them, But only one _Cooper_ is kept to take care of them. A _Ryder's_ maintain'd, but he's no horse to get upon; There's a _Packe_ too, and only one _Pusey_ to set upon. Two _Palmers_ are kept, holy men, in this ill, grim age, To make every night their Conservative pilgrimage. A _Fuller_, for scouring old coats and redressing them; A _Taylor_ to fashion; and _Mangles_ for pressing them. Two _Stewarts_, two _Fellowes_, a _Clerk_, and a _Baillie_, To keep order, yet each call'd to order are, daily. A _Duke_, without dukedom--a matter uncommon-- And _Bowes_, the delight, the enchantment of woman. This house has a _Tennent_, but ask for the rent of it, He'd laugh at, and send you to Brussels or Ghent for it. Of the animals properly call'd so, a sample We'll give to you gentlefolks now, for example:-- There are _bores_ beyond count, of all ages and sizes, Yet only one _Hogg_, who both learned and wise is. There's a _Buck_ and a _Roebuck_, the latter a wicked one, Whom few like to play with--he makes such a kick at one. There are _Hawkes_ and a _Heron_, with wings trimm'd to fly upon, And claws to stick into what prey they set eye upon. There's a _Fox_, a smart cove, but, poor fellow, no tail he has; And a _Bruen_--good tusks for a feed we'll be bail he has. There's a _Seale_, and four _Martens_, with skins to our wishes; There's a _Rae_ and two _Roches_, and all sorts of fishes; There's no sheep, but a _Sheppard_--"the last of the pigtails"-- And a _Ramsbottom_--chip of the old famous big tails. Now to mention in brief a few trifles extraneous, By connoisseurs class'd, "odds and ends miscellaneous:"-- There's a couple of _Bells_--frights--nay, Hottentots real! A _Trollope_, of elegance _le beau ideal_. Of _Browne_, _Green_, and _Scarlett_ men, surely a sack or more, Besides three whole _White_ men, preserved with a _Blakemore_. There's a _Hill_, and a _Hutt_, and a _Kirk_, and--astounding! The entire of old _Holland_ this house to be found in. There's a _Flower_, with a perfume so strong 'twould upset ye all; And the beauty of _Somers_ is here found perpetual. There's a _Bodkin_, a _Patten_, a _Rose_, and a _Currie_, And a man that's still _Hastie_, though ne'er in a hurry. There is _Cole_ without smoke, a "sou'-_West_" without danger; And a _Grey_, that to place is at present a stranger. There's a _Peel_,--but enough! if you're a virtuoso You'll see for yourself, and next month you may do so; When, if you don't say this _New House_ is a wonder, We're Dutchmen--that's all!--and at once knuckle under.

* * * * *

WATERFORD ELECTION.

The Tories at Waterford carried the day, And the reign of the Rads is for ever now past; For one who was _Wyse_ he got out of the way, And the hopes of the other proved _Barron_ at last.

* * * * *

STATE OF TRADE.

We are sorry to perceive that trade was never in a more alarming state than at present. A general _strike_ for wages has taken place amongst the smiths. The carpenters have been dreadfully _cut up_; and the shoemakers find, at the _last_, that it is impossible to make both _ends_ meet. The bakers complain that the pressure of the times is so great, that they cannot get the bread to _rise_. The bricklayers swear that the monopolists ought to be brought to the _scaffold_. The glaziers, having taken some _pains_ to discover the cause of the distress, declare that they can _see through_ the whole affair. The gardeners wish to get at the _root_ of the evil, and consequently have become _radical_ reformers. The laundresses have _washed_ their hands clean of the business. The dyers protest that things never looked so _blue_ in their memory, as there is but a slow demand for

The butchers are reduced to their last _stake_. The weavers say their lives hang by a single _thread_. The booksellers protest we must _turn over a new leaf_. The ironmongers declare that the times are very _hard_ indeed. The cabmen say business is completely at a _stand_. The watermen are all _aground_. The tailors object to the government _measures_;--and the undertakers think that affairs are assuming a _grave_ aspect. Public credit, too, is tottering;--nobody will take doctors' _draughts_, and it is difficult to obtain cash for the best bills (of the play). An extensive brandy-ball merchant in the neighbourhood of Oxford-street has called a meeting of his creditors; and serious apprehensions are entertained that a large manufacturer of lollypops in the Haymarket will be unable to meet his heavy liabilities. Two watchmakers in the city have stopped this morning, and what is more extraordinary, their watches have "_stopped_" too.

* * * * *

THE NORMANDIE "NO GO."

The figure, stuffed with shavings, of a French grenadier, constructed by the Duke of Normandie, and exhibited by him recently at Woolwich, which he stated would explode if fired at by bullets of his own construction, possitively objected to being blown up in such a ridiculous manner; and though several balls were discharged at the man of shavings, he showed no disposition to move. The Duke waxed exceedingly wroth at the coolness of his soldier, and swore, if he had been a true Frenchman, he would have _gone off_ at the first fire.

* * * * *

A CONUNDRUM BY COL. SIBTHORP.

"What's the difference between the top of a mountain and a person afflicted with any disorder?"--"One's a _summit of a hill_, and the other's _ill of a summut_."

* * * * *

A CLASSICAL INSCRIPTION FOR A CIGAR CASE.

[Greek: To bakchikhon doraema labe, se gar philo.].--EURIPIDES.

FREE TRANSLATION.

"Accept this gift of To-_Baccha_--cigar fellow."

* * * * *

FASHIONS FOR THE PRESENT WEEK.

Though the dog-days have not yet commenced, _muzzlin_ is very general, and a new sort of _shally_, called _shilly-shally_, is getting remarkably prevalent. _Shots_ are still considered the greatest hits, for those who are anxious to make a good impression; flounces are _out_ in the morning, and _tucks in_ at dinner-parties, the latter being excessively full, and much sought after. At _conversaziones_, puffs are very usual, and sleeves are not so tight as before, to allow of their being laughed in; jewels are not now to be met with in the head, which is left _au naturel_--that is to say, as vacant as possible.

* * * * *

"Why is the _Gazette_ like a Frenchman's letter?"--"Because it is full of _broken English_."

* * * * *

BREACH OF PRIVILEGE.

In the strangers' gallery in the American house of representatives, the following notice is posted up:--"Gentlemen will be pleased not to place their feet on the boards in front of the gallery, _as the dirt from them falls down on the senators' heads_." In our English House of Commons, this pleasant _penchant_ for dirt-throwing is practised by the members instead of the strangers. It is quite amusing to see with what energy O'Connell and Lord Stanley are wont to bespatter and heap dirt on each other's heads in their legislative squabbles!

* * * * *

SHOCKING WANT OF SYMPATHY.

Sir Peter Laurie has made a sad complaint to the Lord Mayor, of the slippery state of the wooden pavement in the Poultry, and strongly recommended the immediate removal of the _blocks_. This is most barbarous conduct on the part of Sir Peter. Has he lost all natural affection for his kindred, that he should seek to injure them in public estimation? Has he no secret sympathy for the poor blocks whom he has traduced? Let him lay his hand upon his _head_ and confess that--

"A fellow feeling; makes us wondrous kind."

* * * * *

PUNCH AND PEEL

THE NEW CABINET.

PUNCH.--Well, Sir Robert, have you yet picked your men? Come, no mystery between friends. Besides, consider your obligations to your old crony, Punch. Do you forget how I stood by you on the Catholic question? Come, name, name! Who are to pluck the golden pippins--who are to smack lips at the golden fish--who are to chew the fine manchet loaves of Downing-street?

PEEL.--The truth is, my dear Punch--

PUNCH.--Stop. You may put on that demure look, expand your right-hand fingers across the region where the courtesy of anatomy awards to politicians a heart, and talk about truth as a certain old lady with a paper lanthorn before her door may talk of chastity--you may do all this on the hustings; but this is not Tamworth: besides, you are now elected; so take one of these cigars--they were smuggled for me by my revered friend Colonel Sibthorp--fill your glass, and out with the list.

PEEL.--(_Rises and goes to the door, which he double locks; returns to his seat, and takes from his waistcoat pocket a small piece of ass's skin._) I have jotted down a few names.

PUNCH.--And, I see, on very proper material. Read, Robert, read.

PEEL.--(_In a mild voice and with a slight blush._)--"First Lord of the Treasury, and Chancellor of the Exchequer, Sir Robert Peel!"

PUNCH.--Of course. Well?

PEEL.--"First Lord of the Admiralty--Duke of Buckingham."

PUNCH.--An excellent man for the Admiralty. He has been at sea in politics all his life.

PEEL.--"Secretary for Foreign Affairs--Earl of Aberdeen."

PUNCH.--An admirable person for Foreign Affairs, especially if he transacted 'em in Sierra Leone. Proceed.

PEEL.--"Lord Lieutenant of Ireland--Lord Wharncliffe."

PUNCH.--Nothing could be better. Wharncliffe in Ireland! You might as well appoint a red-hot poker to guard a powder magazine. Go on.

PEEL.--"Secretary for Home Department--Goulburn."

PUNCH.--A most domestic gentleman; will take care of home, I am sure. Go on.

PEEL.--"Lord Chancellor--Sir William Follett."

PUNCH.--A capital appointment: Sir William loves the law as a spider loves his spinning; and for the same reason Chancery cobwebs will be at a premium.

PEEL.--"Secretary for the Colonies--Lord Stanley."

PUNCH.--Would make a better Governor of Macquarrie Harbour; but go on.

PEEL.--"President of the Council--Duke of Wellington."

PUNCH.--Think twice there.--The Duke will be a great check upon you. The Duke is now a little too old a mouser to enjoy Tory tricks. He has unfortunately a large amount of common sense; and how fatal must that quality be to the genius of the Wharncliffes, the Goulburns, and the Stanleys! Besides, the Duke has another grievous weakness--he won't lie.

PEEL.--"Secretary for Ireland--Sir H. Hardinge."

PUNCH.--Come, that will do. Wharncliffe, the flaming torch of Toryism, and Hardinge the small lucifer. How Ireland will be enlightened, and how oranges will go up!

PEEL.--"Lord Chamberlain--Duke of Beaufort."