Punch or The London charivari (4.1843)

20G

PUNCH, Oil THE LONDON CHARIVARI

JENKINS ON " SOCIETY.'*


Homer sometimes donned a nightcap—Jenkins has, of late, slept
a little. Envy and malice have hinted that Jenkins has written
himself out: this we do not helieve. Nevertheless, the Morning Post
lias of late been dull as a dowager in her first mourning. On Monday,
however, Jenkins showed signs of returning consciousness; for he
wrote as follows :—
" There was in the refined audience which assembled at the Opera on Saturday night a
palpable increase of spirit and of inclination for the appreciation of the source's of plea-
sure. This animation confers a most essential charm on the reunions at Her Majesty's
Theatre—ami on this occasion it was no doubt due to the unproved prospects of
SOCIETY."
This is tolerable ; but still, very far below Jenkins at Jenkins'
best. He very properly looks upon the condition of Opera boxes as
the barometer of " society." If Duchesses turn out in their best
diamonds and sweetest smiles,—why, the weavers must be doing
better at Bolton and Paisley : if Marquesses rush to GazzaLadra, the
agricultural interest must be looking up. There is true philosophy
in this ; albeit above the apprehension of common minds. But then
Jenkins' is deep as his tailor's thimble—as deep, and as bottomless !

Hccipc to mafcc a " J%ipolcon."
Take an English Baron, with a curly head of hair. Let him have a
most invincible opinion of his own powers, over which sprinkle a few
handsful of arrogance and self-sufficiency ; mix and stir well together.
Then let him be taken to Leadenhall-street, to simmer over a gentle
fire of eloquence. That done, let him be carefully shipped to India
with a copy of Buonaparte's Despatches en papillate. Arrived in India,
let him get by heart the highest phrases out of Ossian, which he is to
write and talk on all occasions, seasoning his discourse and compo-
sitions with "insults of 800 years"—" cities looking down upon
despoiled tombs "—" swords of deliverers," and such other spices and
condiments. When he is fully stuffed with this stuffing, serve with
his "arms folded,"—in a word, trussed a Vempereur. Garnish with
cocked hat with gold binding—a coat with breast and tail worked
with gold—and inexpressibles " to follow," trimmed with the same
material. In default of brains, add plenty of sweet-sauce for General
Officers.

THE PIG-SKIN SOLOMON.


I*/ Passenger. I sav he isn't!
2nd Passenger. I say he is !
Apples have not yet worked their direst mischief upon man.
There is still perdition in pippins. We have the authority of Sir
Peter Laurie—the pig-skin Solomon of the City of London—for
that mournful creed. Sir Peter, sitting in the chair of authority, and
holding the balance of Justice—(tf Justice, like a romping wench at
blind-man's-buff, could now and then slip the bandage from either
eye, how she would giggle at her scale-holders !)—has declared it
impossible for a thief, let him be a thief in callow childhood, ever
to grow into a true man. No : the thread of his boyhood will but
thicken into a halter ; the chain of his being must be the chain of
Newgate. The infantine scoundrel who puts his unlawful thumb and
finger into a sugar-basin is a Barring ton in the bud. Master
Shepherd of six years old, who breaks through an orchard hedge
for codlins, as truly contains the Jack Sheppakd of Tyburn,as does
the kernel of the stolen apple contain the future tree. Sir Peter
Laurie " never knew a convicted thief become a reformed man,"
and upon this knowledge, knowing Sir Peter a few days since, com-
mitted a boy to Newgate (albeit his first offence) and despite the
entreaties and charitable offers of the prosecutor. But then Sir
Peter knew the wickedness of the human animal : he is an alder-
man, and could not help knowing it.
Reader, did you ever 6ee a monkey with a watch ? No ? W ell,
then, we will find some sport for you. ' There is that old shagreen
thing, cast by in your desk-drawer. 'Tis fit for nothing but an expe-
riment. So put it in your pocket ; and one of these fine May-days
walk to Mr. Cross's Zoological Gardens, and forthwith betake your-
self to the monkey-house, or rather go to any single monkey—there
are a dozen chained to as many poles about the grounds—and having
selected your monkey for the smirk and self-satisfied snigger that,
may animate his countenance—pull from your fob your old shagreen
time-keeper, and straightway present it to the monkey of your choice.
The animal takes the watch, and ere you can wink, he has climbed
with it to the top of his pole. He is in the height of place, about to
contemplate the works of your shagreen dial. Do you mark his
gravity ? See with what " lack-lustre eye" he gazes on the hour-plate !
Mark, how he shakes the watch. Andnow—what an extraordinarily
clever monkey !—he has, either by sagacity or accident, opened the
watch. And now, how the people'gather around the pole, and gaze
upward at that monkey in his pride of eminence ! Look, sir, look.
Does not the monkey ponder on the works of your shagreen, ay,
like any Christian ? Do you perceive the gravity of the monkey's
face ? Would you not swear, from his looks, that the monkey knew
the whole machinery of that watch ? The balance-wheel—the con-
trate-wheel—the centre-wheel—the spring—the fusee? And now
the monkey chatters audibly (from hi? high place,) and—it is impossible
to doubt from his self-satisfied look that he does not believe ha
knows every corresponding part of that shagreen chronometer !
Gentle reader, Sir Peter Laurie and the human heart are tha