Punch: Punch (11.1846)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

23

THE SNOBS OF ENGLAND.

by one of themselves.

CHAPTER XX.
ON CONSERVATIVE OR COUNTRY-PARTY SNOBS.

Stanleys. They have turned out in force, and for another struggle ;
they have taken " the Rupert of debate," Geoffrey Stanley, for
leader, and set up their standard of " no surrender" on Whitebait Hill.

As long as we have Cromwell and the Ironsides, the honest
Country-party are always welcome to Rupert and the cavaliers.
Besides, hasn't the member for Pontefract come over to us ? and isn't
it all up with the good old cause now he has left it ?

My heart then, far from indulging in rancour towards those poor
creatures, indulged only in the softest emotions in their behalf ; I
blessed them as they entered the dinner-room by twos and threes,
as they consigned their hats to the waiters with preternatural solem-
nity, and rushed in to conspire. Worthy, chivalrous, and mistaken
Snobs, I said, mentally, " Go and reclaim your rights over bowls of water
souchy ; up with your silver forks and chivalry of England, and pin to
earth the manufacturing caitiffs who would rob you of your birth-
rights. Down with all Cotton-spinners ! St. George for the Country-
party ! A Geoffrey to the rescue ! " I respect the delusion of those

n the whole Court of Kino Charles there was no
more chivalrous and loyal a Conservative than
Sir Geoffrey Hudson, Knight ; who, though
not much better than a puppy dog, was as brave
as the biggest lion, and was ready to fight any
body of any stature. Of the same valour and in-
trepidity was the ingenious hidalgo Don Quixote,

of la Mancha, who would level his lance, cry his

, „ . . , .,, , poor souls. What repeal the repeal of the Corn-laws ? Brina: us

war-cry, and gallop at a windmill, if he mistook I F , t , ,, ^ x- o -vr tt j. j j. v.

back to the good old Tory times ? No, no. Humpty-dumpty has

had a great fall, and all the Queen's horses and all the Queen's meD

can't put Humpty-dumpty straight again.

Let the honest creatures cry out " No Surrender !" and let us laugh

as we are winning, and listen to them in good humour. We know

what " No Surrender " means—any time these fifteen years. " It is

the nature of the popular bellua," says the dear old Quarterly Review,

with its usual grace, and polite felicity of illustration, " never to be

sated, and to increase in voracity and audacity by every sop that is

thrown to it." Bit by bit, day by day, ever since the Reform Bill,

the poor devils whom the old Quarterly represents have had to feed

the popular bellua—as anybody may see who reads the periodical in

question. " No Surrender ! " bellows the Quarterly, but Bellua demands

a Catholic Emancipation Act, and bolts it, and is not satisfied—a

Reform Act—a Corporation and Test Act—a Free-Trade Act—

Bellua swallows all. 0 horror of horrors ! 0 poor dear bewildered old

Quarterly! O Mrs. Gamp! 0 Mrs. Harris! When everything is

given up, and while you are still shrieking " No Surrender ! " Bellua

will be hungry still, and end by swallowing up the Conservative

party too.

And shall we be angry with the poor victim ? Have you ever seen
the bellua called a cat with a mouse in preserve ? " No Surrender ! "
pipes the poor little long-tailed creature, scudding from corner to
corner. Bellua advances, pats him good-humouredly on the shoulder,
tosses him about quite playfully, and—gobbles him at the proper
season.

Brother Snobs of England ! That is why we let off the Conservative
and Country-party Snob so easily.

it for a giant or any other nuisance ; and though
nobody ever said that the Don's wits were of
the sound order—every one acknowledged his
courage and constancy, his gentle bearing and
purity of purpose.

We all of us have a compassionate sweetness of
temper for all half-witted persons — for all
ludicrous poor dwarfs engaged in enterprises,
utterly beyond their ability ; for all poor blind,
cracked, honest idiots, who fancy that the}' are
heroes or commanders or emperors or champions
—when they are only a little way removed from a
strait-waistcoat, and barely tolerated at large.

In regard of Political Snobs, the more I consider them the more
this feeling of compassion predominates, until, were all the papers
upon Snobs to be written in the same key, we should have, instead of
a lively and facetious series of essays, a collection that would draw
tears even from undertakers, and would be about as jovial as Doctor
Dodd's " Prison Thoughts " or Law's 1: Serious CalL" We cannot
afford (I think) to scorn and laugh at Political Snobs ; only to pity
them. There is Peel. If ever there was a Political Snob—a dealer
in cant and common-places—an upholder of shams and a pompous
declaimer of humbugs—Heaven knows he was a Snob. But he repents
and shows signs of grace : he comes down on his knees and confesses
his errors so meekly, that we are melted at once. We take him into
our arms and say, " Bobby, my boy, let bygones be bygones, it is
never too late to repent. Come and join us, and don't make Latin
quotations, or vent claptraps about your own virtue and consistency ;
or steal anybody's clothes any more. We receive him, and protect
him from the Snobs, his ex-companions, who are howling without,
and he is as safe in Judy's arms as in his mamma's.

Then there are the Whigs. They rejoice in power ; they have got
what they panted for—that possession in Downing Street for which,
to hear some of them, you would have fancied they were destined by
Heaven. Well—now they are in place—to do them justice, they are
comporting themselves with much meekness. They are giving a share
of their good things to Catholics as well as Protestants. They don't say
" No Irish need apply," but enliven the Cabinet with a tolerable
sprinkling of the brogue. Lord John comes before his constituents
with a humble and contrite air, and seems to say, " Gentlemen !
Although the Whigs are great, there is something, after all, greater—
I mean the People ; whose servants we have the honour to be, and
for whose welfare we promise to look zealously." Under such dispo-
sitions, who can be angry with Whig Snobs ?—only a misanthropic
ruffian who never took in a drop of the milk of human kindness.

Finally, there are the Conservative, or—as the poor devils call them-
selves now—the Country-party Snobs. Can anybody be angry with
them « Can any one consider Don Quixote an accountable being, or
alarmed by Geoffrey Hudson's demeanour when he arms in a fury
and threatens to run you through ?

I had gone down last week (for the purpose of meditating at ease
and in fresh air, upon our great subject of Snobs) to a secluded spot
called the Trafalgar Hotel, at Greenwich, when, interrupted by the
arrival of many scores of most wholesome-looking men, in red faces
and the fairest of linen, I asked Augustus Frederick, the waiter,
what this multitude was that was come down to create a scarcity
amongst white bait ? " Don't you know, Sir ! " says he, " Its the
Country-party." And so it was. The real, original, unbending, no
surrender, aristocrats ; the men of the soil ; our old, old leaders ; our
Plantagenets ; our Somersets ; our Disraelis ; our Hudsons, and our

Ministerial Rumour.

Lord John Russell was closeted with Punch on Thursday last till
a very late hour. The interview is said to have lasted till the candles
went out. The result is not yet known, further than his Lordship left
Punch in very high spirits. The Funds rose the following morning.

an easy capture.

We are informed by the French papers that Abd-el-kader is de -
fenceless ; that he has lost his army—his baggage ; that he is without
a horse; that he has not a friend; that he is alone in the Desert. If this
is all true, the greatest wonder is, the French do not take him.