Punch (9.1845)

60

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

ELECTION NEWS.

Speech ok the Worshipful the Mayor of Cambridge on declaring
the state of the poll at the late election.

Mr.Ficklin. (Sotto voce.) Now, Mr. Mayor, come—go on.

Mayor. Eh ? How do I begin % Eh ? .

Mr. Ficklin. It now becomes my duty—

Mayor. It now becomes my duty—

Mr. F. To declare the state—

Mayor. To declare the state—

Mr. F. Of the Poll—

Mayor. Of the Poll. {Cheers).

Mr. F. I find the numbers polled to be—

Mayor. I find the numbers polled to be—

Mr. F. For Fitzroy Kelly, Esq., 746—

Mayor. For Fitzroy Kelly, Esq., 746—

Mr. F. And for Shafto Adair, Esq., 729—■

Mayor. And for Shafto Adair, Esq , 729—

Mr. F. I therefore declare Fitzroy Kelly, Esq.—

Mayor. I therefore declare Fitzroy Kelly, Esq.—

Mr. F. Duly elected to serve in—

Mayor. Duly elected to serve in—

Mr. F. The present Parliament—

Mayor. The present Parliament—

Mr. F. For the Borough of Cambridge.

Mayor. For the Borough of Cambridge.

Mr. F. That '11 do—that'll do.

Mayor. That '11 do—that '11-here his Worship put his hat on

amidst general cheering.

^uncfj's ofon Iftaflruali.

Our own little snug suburban railway, comprising the great trunk-line
from Warwick Square to Wormwood Scrubs, with projected branches to
the Addison Road and Lord Holland's Lane, carried by a tunnel through
the common sewer, and a series of gradients over an adjacent hedge,
connecting the coal-wharf iu the south with the riding-school on the
north-east, and the public-house on the west—this delicious little
railway-ette has been under discussion by a committee of the House of
Lords, of which our friend Brougham was chairman. Punch having
quizzed the Kensington Railway, Brougham thought it would be good fun
to quiz the witnesses, and he consequently commenced mistaking an archi-
tect, who came to give evidence about the building of a station, for a
market gardener, who wished to prove that the line would cut through a
bed of strawberries, and that the tunnelling would annihilate a lot of very
promising summer cabbages.

His Lordship, on seeing the architect taking the oath, exclaimed with
much vehemence, " Who 's this 1 Beazley, the market-gardener, I
suppose ;" and had almost plunged into a series of querie9 as to the effect
of a railway on the price of a peck of peas or a pound of new potatoes,
when the learned counsel suggested to the noble chairman, that the gen-
tleman about to be examined, was an architect, and not a market-gardener.

His Lordship was very anxious to know why everybody did not buy
everybody else out, and gave all the parties time to pay each other's
demands, for which purpose an adjournment was agreed upon.

We understand that the proprietor of the apple-stall at the two-and-a-
half milestone, insists on compensation for the smoke of the one engine,
which blacks her apples and knocks nearly a farthing a lot off the value
of them. One of the directors came and sat upon the board—where her
apples are placed for sale—to talk it over with her, but no compromise
could be effected.

PUNCH'S VISIT TO THE COLOSSEUM.

HIS splendid pile of architectural stucco, which rears its proud dome of zinc towards a
Regent's Parkian sky, was on the eve of being crumbled to atoms beneath the hammer of
the auctioneer, when it was suddenly snatched from its impending fate by the hand of a
capitalist and the eye of an artist. The classic ground on which the Colosseum stauds
was about to be actually covered with ordinary houses, and a row of common-place
structures would have filled the spot hallowed by the truly Roman recollections which
extend from the Camera Obscura, on the south, to the Lodge, on the north, of the
Colosseum. Fortunately, however, the classic eye of Bradwell saw the site, and
wept its expected desecration. He could not bear the horrible idea of kitchen sinks
and wash-house pumps standing on the ground where the Swiss Cottage and the
indomitable Eagle had been so often seen. Bradwell recollected the prediction—

*' While stands the Colosseum, Rome shall stand ; "

and it occurred to him that the stability of London might depend on the same contingency.
There can be no doubt that unless the Colosseum in the Regent's Park continues to
stand, London, which is exhibited inside, must inevitably perish. Thanks to a spirited
capitalist, who summoned the genius of Bradwell to his aid, the Colosseum has not
only been restored to all its original stability, but made to surpass in splendour and taste
anything that Eastern or Western magnificence can display. We may in vain turn
our eye with the weathercock to every point of the compass, for " we shall never look upon
its like," or anything like its like, " again."

On entering the portico, and turning to the left, we get into a corridor, which we may,
if we like, fancy is the entrance to the Vatican.

Having dropped a tear over the fate of the six unfortunate popes, we rush forward
into the refreshment-room, and seek consolation in Bath-buns and cherry-brandy. We
next find ourselves in the Glyptotheca, or Museum of Sculpture, formerly called the
Saloon of Arts, from its having been artfully covered in with calico : the old Saloon of
Arts used to be pitch dark, and was well supplied with old newspapers, which, as it was
impossible to see to read them, were as good as new to the visitors. The magic wand of
Bradwell has effected a truly fairy chauge ; and in place of the old original temporary
booth of pink cotton, we have now a magnificent circular saloon, fitted up with works of
sculpture from the studios of some of the most eminent sculptors. But while the mind
may feast, our physical refreshment has not been neglected, for there peeps from beneath
the'tapestry — nestling under tasteful hangings of silk —a snug little stall, where the
joyous Banbury, and the cheerful jam-puff may be had by asking—and paying—for.

But let us look at some of the works of art. There is Canute reproving his courtiers, as
he sits in a pair of wash-leather highlows on the margin of the ocean. A sprinkling of
periwinkles, and an odd cockle-shell or two on the ground, tell the story that his majesty
is on the beach, and that the tide is coming up rather rapidly. Then there is Lord Bacon,
looking as corpulent as he ought, for if "learning makes a full man," Bacon must have
been as fat as the sculptor has made him. There is a beautiful statue of our old friend
Chaucer, with nothing on him but a sheet and a pair of slippers, as if a bright idea had
occurred to him before he got up, and he had sprung out of bed for the purpose of
" booking it." But who can doubt the likeness of that old gentleman with the jack-
chain suspended to his wrists ? It is, it must be, Caractacus, for when we see a man in
nothing but a shirt and some fetters, we always know it must be the hero alluded to.

A little further on we come to Richard Cosur de Lion, planting the Standard of: