DOI Heft:
July to December, 1844
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16520#0144
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 137
I Prisoner. Will they buy my Clown's dress, then ? It *s sure to fit
DREADFUL STATE OF DESTITUTION. some of em.
Sir Peter. Quite out of the question. Notwithstanding, I feel such
an interest in you—I may almost say that it amounts to a sympathy,
that—
Prisoner. Heaven bless you, Sir Peter !
Sir Peter. That I will see what can be done for you and your wife.
Hereupon Sir Peter directed the officer to go to Mr. Osbal-
distok, of the Victoria Theatre, to inquire if, with his known
benevolence, he could not give shelter in his asylum to the unhappy
couple.
In a short time the officer returned with a letter to Sir Peter
from Mr. 0., stating that he should be happy to engage the prisoner
for the next Christmas pantomime, and that there would always be
employment for his wife, the Ghost, in the continual run of some
domestic drama.
The poor fellow was so overcome with gratitude, that he threw a
summerset out of court.
LAW IN DANGER.
aving heard of the panic caused in the legal
profession by the passing of Lord
Brougham's Bill, we were not
astonished when we were told that an
Yesterday, a miserable object—we present his portrait—was j f|«g>3:* T^vl association will shortly be formed
brought up before Sir Peter Laurie, at Guildhall, by Policeman
A 1, who stated that he had taken the prisoner into custody on the
heinous charge of begging. He had found him seated on the pave-
ment, the culprit having written thereon with chalk " I am starving."
The general boldness and flourish of the writing was of the most
hardened description. Several of the aldermen had been consider-
ably disgusted with it, as another evidence of the effrontery of the
lower classes,
Sir Peter Laurie. Starving, eh ? Humph ! a growing abuse. I must
put it down in the same way that I crushed suicide. What is your
name, my man ? and what your occupation !
Prisoner. My name's my own property, and I shall keep it to my-
self. As for my occupation Qiere the prisoner laughed hysterically), my
occupation's gone.
Sir Peter. Come, come, no laughing here. I'm an alderman, and
won't allow such fellows as you to write "starving " on the
Queen's highway, with the London Tavern, Birch's, and a hundred
cook-shops beside, in the City. What are you \
Here the policeman informed Sir Peteh that the prisoner was
the Clown of Richardson's Show. Since last Bartholomew's-day
he had been wandering about the City—abusing the Court of Alder-
men—swearing that they had robbed him of his birthright—and that
he'd have compensation, or his friend Lord Brougham should
know it.
under the name of the " Pettifog-
gers' Protection, United Bailiffs'
and Amicable Turnkeys' Society,"
the object of which will be to re-
serve the classes above named from
that gulf—which, in anticipation of
their ultimate descent into a larger
abyss, threatens immediately to
swallow them. We have been given
to understand that the following
resolutions will be proposed at the
preliminary meeting :—
That Lord Brougham's bill is
calculated to injure the trade in parchment, by diminishing the number
of writs—and is, therefore, in direct opposition to one of our greatest
commercial interests.
That the iron works of this country give employment to several thou-
sands of souls. That it is expedient to preserve our manufacturing
superiority. That iron gives employment to an enormous amount of
labour and capital; and that Lord Brougham's bill will cripple this branch
of our industry by lessening the demand for bolts, locks, and bars to our
prisons, and that, therefore, all the great iron making districts ought
immediately to organise an opposition to this very obnoxious measure.
That it is a grand principle of philosophy to turn an evil into a good—
and to derive a profit from misfortune. That the attorneys, bailiffs, and
turnkeys have hitherto profited largely from the misfortunes of other
Sir Peter. Oh, oh j And pray, fellow, is this true ? | people—a piece of practical philosophy which Lord Brougham's bill will
henceforth render impossible. (It will be seen from the above resolutions
that self-interest has nothing whatever to do with the hostility to Lord
Brougham's new measure.) The objections to it are founded on a deep
sympathy with the parchment and iron trade, as well as a zealous regard
for the principles of practical philosophy.
Prisoner. Yes, it is; even though the policeman swears it. The
Court of Aldermen have robbed me of my birthright. I was born
a Clown—I have a wested interest in Bartlemy Fair, and was brought
up to get my living by making a fool of myself: and now, the Court
of Aldermen, like a pack of amatoors—
Policeman. He means amateurs, your worship.
Prisoner. Didn't I say so ? Like a pack of amatoors, come and
take the bread out of my mouth. Is flesh and blood to stand this !
I married the Ghost of the Show—as sweet a cretur as ever stood
in a white sheet—on the strength of Bartlemy Fair : I'm the father
ANOTHER NEW COMET.
(From our own Astronomer.)
of a family on the understanding that Bartlemy should last for ever, j Having read a letter in the Times from Professor South, who has dis-
And now it's put down, I should like to know why I'm not to have covered another Comet which nobody can see, 1 took out my lorgnette, and
■what they call compensation ? I can't do nothing but grin, and
what's to become of me ? I tumbled from the werry breast, and
now I'm brought to a stand-still.
Here the worthy magistrate, becoming visibly affected, asked the
prisoner what had become of the rest of the troop.
Prisoner. Why, the Pantaloon's married the Columbine—she'd
saved five pound—and gone into the baked tatur business. The
Harlequin now and then gets a job as mute with his cousin, an
undertaker. As for me, -why I tell you—me and the Ghost of my
bosom is starving!
Sir Peter. Nevertheless, you mustn't write "starving" in the City
—it is offensive to the aldermen, and, as I say, is flying in the faces
of the chop-houses.
Prisoner (tnucli excited). Will the aldermen give me compensation,
then!
Sir Peter. Be quiet, my man. Impossible !
watched with considerable intensity. Having detected a bit of coagulated
vapour in an altitude of two and a half, I looked for its right ascension,
but as it did not ascend right, but was left on the end of my glass, I dis-
covered that the phenomenon was occasioned by a bit of what is usually
termed flue, or flough, adhering to the end of my opera-glass. Having
manoeuvred a little so as to get my lorgnette to a better focus, I continued
my observations, and ultimately espied what I suppose must have been
the Comet, and which the following table may perhaps enable the public
to trace the course of.
Dag 1 Hour. Mean Altitude. Average Declination.
Monday ..0 a 24 06 S. XXX
Tuesday . . I V □ — K 00009
Wednesday .6 — O — — O —
Thursday . > 9 \X
Friday . , . 2f 12 yards 2 fathoms
Saturday . . 8 The Monument Tiie Thames
Sunday ... — Relache Relache.
Vol. 7.
5—2
I Prisoner. Will they buy my Clown's dress, then ? It *s sure to fit
DREADFUL STATE OF DESTITUTION. some of em.
Sir Peter. Quite out of the question. Notwithstanding, I feel such
an interest in you—I may almost say that it amounts to a sympathy,
that—
Prisoner. Heaven bless you, Sir Peter !
Sir Peter. That I will see what can be done for you and your wife.
Hereupon Sir Peter directed the officer to go to Mr. Osbal-
distok, of the Victoria Theatre, to inquire if, with his known
benevolence, he could not give shelter in his asylum to the unhappy
couple.
In a short time the officer returned with a letter to Sir Peter
from Mr. 0., stating that he should be happy to engage the prisoner
for the next Christmas pantomime, and that there would always be
employment for his wife, the Ghost, in the continual run of some
domestic drama.
The poor fellow was so overcome with gratitude, that he threw a
summerset out of court.
LAW IN DANGER.
aving heard of the panic caused in the legal
profession by the passing of Lord
Brougham's Bill, we were not
astonished when we were told that an
Yesterday, a miserable object—we present his portrait—was j f|«g>3:* T^vl association will shortly be formed
brought up before Sir Peter Laurie, at Guildhall, by Policeman
A 1, who stated that he had taken the prisoner into custody on the
heinous charge of begging. He had found him seated on the pave-
ment, the culprit having written thereon with chalk " I am starving."
The general boldness and flourish of the writing was of the most
hardened description. Several of the aldermen had been consider-
ably disgusted with it, as another evidence of the effrontery of the
lower classes,
Sir Peter Laurie. Starving, eh ? Humph ! a growing abuse. I must
put it down in the same way that I crushed suicide. What is your
name, my man ? and what your occupation !
Prisoner. My name's my own property, and I shall keep it to my-
self. As for my occupation Qiere the prisoner laughed hysterically), my
occupation's gone.
Sir Peter. Come, come, no laughing here. I'm an alderman, and
won't allow such fellows as you to write "starving " on the
Queen's highway, with the London Tavern, Birch's, and a hundred
cook-shops beside, in the City. What are you \
Here the policeman informed Sir Peteh that the prisoner was
the Clown of Richardson's Show. Since last Bartholomew's-day
he had been wandering about the City—abusing the Court of Alder-
men—swearing that they had robbed him of his birthright—and that
he'd have compensation, or his friend Lord Brougham should
know it.
under the name of the " Pettifog-
gers' Protection, United Bailiffs'
and Amicable Turnkeys' Society,"
the object of which will be to re-
serve the classes above named from
that gulf—which, in anticipation of
their ultimate descent into a larger
abyss, threatens immediately to
swallow them. We have been given
to understand that the following
resolutions will be proposed at the
preliminary meeting :—
That Lord Brougham's bill is
calculated to injure the trade in parchment, by diminishing the number
of writs—and is, therefore, in direct opposition to one of our greatest
commercial interests.
That the iron works of this country give employment to several thou-
sands of souls. That it is expedient to preserve our manufacturing
superiority. That iron gives employment to an enormous amount of
labour and capital; and that Lord Brougham's bill will cripple this branch
of our industry by lessening the demand for bolts, locks, and bars to our
prisons, and that, therefore, all the great iron making districts ought
immediately to organise an opposition to this very obnoxious measure.
That it is a grand principle of philosophy to turn an evil into a good—
and to derive a profit from misfortune. That the attorneys, bailiffs, and
turnkeys have hitherto profited largely from the misfortunes of other
Sir Peter. Oh, oh j And pray, fellow, is this true ? | people—a piece of practical philosophy which Lord Brougham's bill will
henceforth render impossible. (It will be seen from the above resolutions
that self-interest has nothing whatever to do with the hostility to Lord
Brougham's new measure.) The objections to it are founded on a deep
sympathy with the parchment and iron trade, as well as a zealous regard
for the principles of practical philosophy.
Prisoner. Yes, it is; even though the policeman swears it. The
Court of Aldermen have robbed me of my birthright. I was born
a Clown—I have a wested interest in Bartlemy Fair, and was brought
up to get my living by making a fool of myself: and now, the Court
of Aldermen, like a pack of amatoors—
Policeman. He means amateurs, your worship.
Prisoner. Didn't I say so ? Like a pack of amatoors, come and
take the bread out of my mouth. Is flesh and blood to stand this !
I married the Ghost of the Show—as sweet a cretur as ever stood
in a white sheet—on the strength of Bartlemy Fair : I'm the father
ANOTHER NEW COMET.
(From our own Astronomer.)
of a family on the understanding that Bartlemy should last for ever, j Having read a letter in the Times from Professor South, who has dis-
And now it's put down, I should like to know why I'm not to have covered another Comet which nobody can see, 1 took out my lorgnette, and
■what they call compensation ? I can't do nothing but grin, and
what's to become of me ? I tumbled from the werry breast, and
now I'm brought to a stand-still.
Here the worthy magistrate, becoming visibly affected, asked the
prisoner what had become of the rest of the troop.
Prisoner. Why, the Pantaloon's married the Columbine—she'd
saved five pound—and gone into the baked tatur business. The
Harlequin now and then gets a job as mute with his cousin, an
undertaker. As for me, -why I tell you—me and the Ghost of my
bosom is starving!
Sir Peter. Nevertheless, you mustn't write "starving" in the City
—it is offensive to the aldermen, and, as I say, is flying in the faces
of the chop-houses.
Prisoner (tnucli excited). Will the aldermen give me compensation,
then!
Sir Peter. Be quiet, my man. Impossible !
watched with considerable intensity. Having detected a bit of coagulated
vapour in an altitude of two and a half, I looked for its right ascension,
but as it did not ascend right, but was left on the end of my glass, I dis-
covered that the phenomenon was occasioned by a bit of what is usually
termed flue, or flough, adhering to the end of my opera-glass. Having
manoeuvred a little so as to get my lorgnette to a better focus, I continued
my observations, and ultimately espied what I suppose must have been
the Comet, and which the following table may perhaps enable the public
to trace the course of.
Dag 1 Hour. Mean Altitude. Average Declination.
Monday ..0 a 24 06 S. XXX
Tuesday . . I V □ — K 00009
Wednesday .6 — O — — O —
Thursday . > 9 \X
Friday . , . 2f 12 yards 2 fathoms
Saturday . . 8 The Monument Tiie Thames
Sunday ... — Relache Relache.
Vol. 7.
5—2