DOI issue:
January to June, 1847
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16544#0092
82
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
i
(
And there were other beings present to my repentant
houghts. Where's his wife, thought I ? Where's poor, good,
kind little Laura ? At this very moment—it's about the
at that amusement; betting freely, playing tolerably, losing awfully to Captain
Spot and Col. Cannon. He played matches of a hundred games with these gen-
tlemen, and would not only continue until four or five o'clock in the morning at
this work, but would be found at the Club of a forenooD, indulging himself to nursery bed-time, and while yonder good-for-nothing is
the detriment of his business, the ruin of his health, and the neglect of his wife. ! swilling his wine—the little ones are at Laura's knees lisping
From billiards to whist is but a step—fed when a man gets to whist and their prayers ; and she is teaching them to say—
five pounds as the rubber, my opinion is, that it is all up with him. How was
the coal-business to go on, and the connexion of the firm to be kept up, and
the senior partner always at the card-table ?
Consorting now with genteel persons and Pall Mall bucks, Sackville be-
came ashamed of his snug little residence in Kennington Oval—and transported
his family to Pimlico—where, though Mrs. Chuff, his mother-in-law, was at
first happy, as the quarter was elegant and near her Sovereign, poor little
Laura and the children found a woeful difference. Where were her friends
who came in with their work of a morning ?—At Kennington and in the vicinity
of Clapham. Where were her children's little playmates ?—On Kennington
Common. The great thundering carriages that roared up and down the
drab-coloured streets of the new quarter, contained no friends for the sociable
little Laura. The children that paced the squares, attended by a Bonne or a
prim governess, were not like those happy ones that flew kites, or played
hop-scotch, on the well-beloved old Common. And ah ! what a difference at
Church, too !—between St. Benedict's of Pimlico, with open seats, service in
sing-song—tapers—albs—surplices—garlands and processions, and the honest
old ways of Kennington! The footmen, too, attending St. Benedict's were so
splendid and enormous, that James, Mrs. Chuff's boy, trembled amongst
them, and said he would give warning rather than carry the books to that
church any more.
The furnishing of the house was not done without expense.
And, ye gods ! what a difference there was between Sackyille's dreary
French banquets in Pimlico, and the jolly dinners at the Oval ! No more legs
of mutton, no more of "the best port wine in England ;" but entrees on plate,
and dismal twopenny champagne, and waiters in gloves, and the Club bucks
for company—among whom Mrs. Chuff was uneasy and Mrs. Sackville
quite silent.
Not that he dined at home often. The wretch had become a perfect epicure,
and dined commonly at the Club with the gormandizing clique there ; with
old Dr. Maw, Colonel Cramlet, (who is a9 lean as a greyhound and has pvpj ,
jaws like a jack,) and the rest of them. Here you might see the wretch, tippling
When she has put them to bed her day's occupation is gone -T
and she is utterly lonely all night, and sad, and waiting for
him.
0 for shame ! O for shame ! Go home, thou idle tippler.
How Sackville lost his health ; how he lost his business ;
how he got into scrapes ; how he got into debt ; how he
became a railroad director ; how the Pimlico house was shut
up ; how he went to Boulogne,—all this I could tell, only I
am too much ashamed of my part of the transaction. They
returned to England, because, to the surprise of everybody,.
Mrs. Chuff came down with a great sum of money (which
nobody knew she had saved) and paid his liabilities. He is in
England : but at Kennington. His name is taken off the
books of the Sarcophagus long ago. When we meet, he-
crosses over to the other side of the street ; and I don't call,,
as I should be sorry to see a look of reproach or sadness in
Laura's sweet face.
Sillery champagne and gorging himself with French viands ; and I often
looked with sorrow from my table (on which cold meat, the Club small-beer,
and a half-pint of Marsala form the modest banquet), and sighed to think it
Not, however, all evil, as I am proud to think, has been the
influence of the Snob of England upon clubs in general :—
Captain Shindy is afraid to bully the waiters any more, and
eats his mutton-chop without moving Acheron. Gobemouchb.
does not take more than two papers at a time for his private
reading. Tiggs does not ring the bell and cause the library-
waiter to walk about a quarter of a mile in order to give him
Vol. II., which lies on the next table. Growler has ceased
to walk from table to table in the coffee-room, and inspect
what people are having for dinner. Trottt Veck takes his
own umbrella from the hall—the cotton one, and Sidney
Scrafer's paletot lined with silk has been brought back by
Jobbins, who entirely mistook it for his own. Waggle has
discontinued telling stories about the ladies he has killed.
Snooks does not any more think it gentlemanlike to blackball
attornies. Snuffler no longer publicly spreads out his great
red cotton pocket-handkerchief before the fire, for the admira-
tion of two hundred gentlemen ; and if one Club Snob has
been brought back to the paths of rectitude; and if one poor
John has been spared a journey or a scolding—say, friends and
was my work. brethren, if these sketches of Club Snobs have been in vain ?
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
i
(
And there were other beings present to my repentant
houghts. Where's his wife, thought I ? Where's poor, good,
kind little Laura ? At this very moment—it's about the
at that amusement; betting freely, playing tolerably, losing awfully to Captain
Spot and Col. Cannon. He played matches of a hundred games with these gen-
tlemen, and would not only continue until four or five o'clock in the morning at
this work, but would be found at the Club of a forenooD, indulging himself to nursery bed-time, and while yonder good-for-nothing is
the detriment of his business, the ruin of his health, and the neglect of his wife. ! swilling his wine—the little ones are at Laura's knees lisping
From billiards to whist is but a step—fed when a man gets to whist and their prayers ; and she is teaching them to say—
five pounds as the rubber, my opinion is, that it is all up with him. How was
the coal-business to go on, and the connexion of the firm to be kept up, and
the senior partner always at the card-table ?
Consorting now with genteel persons and Pall Mall bucks, Sackville be-
came ashamed of his snug little residence in Kennington Oval—and transported
his family to Pimlico—where, though Mrs. Chuff, his mother-in-law, was at
first happy, as the quarter was elegant and near her Sovereign, poor little
Laura and the children found a woeful difference. Where were her friends
who came in with their work of a morning ?—At Kennington and in the vicinity
of Clapham. Where were her children's little playmates ?—On Kennington
Common. The great thundering carriages that roared up and down the
drab-coloured streets of the new quarter, contained no friends for the sociable
little Laura. The children that paced the squares, attended by a Bonne or a
prim governess, were not like those happy ones that flew kites, or played
hop-scotch, on the well-beloved old Common. And ah ! what a difference at
Church, too !—between St. Benedict's of Pimlico, with open seats, service in
sing-song—tapers—albs—surplices—garlands and processions, and the honest
old ways of Kennington! The footmen, too, attending St. Benedict's were so
splendid and enormous, that James, Mrs. Chuff's boy, trembled amongst
them, and said he would give warning rather than carry the books to that
church any more.
The furnishing of the house was not done without expense.
And, ye gods ! what a difference there was between Sackyille's dreary
French banquets in Pimlico, and the jolly dinners at the Oval ! No more legs
of mutton, no more of "the best port wine in England ;" but entrees on plate,
and dismal twopenny champagne, and waiters in gloves, and the Club bucks
for company—among whom Mrs. Chuff was uneasy and Mrs. Sackville
quite silent.
Not that he dined at home often. The wretch had become a perfect epicure,
and dined commonly at the Club with the gormandizing clique there ; with
old Dr. Maw, Colonel Cramlet, (who is a9 lean as a greyhound and has pvpj ,
jaws like a jack,) and the rest of them. Here you might see the wretch, tippling
When she has put them to bed her day's occupation is gone -T
and she is utterly lonely all night, and sad, and waiting for
him.
0 for shame ! O for shame ! Go home, thou idle tippler.
How Sackville lost his health ; how he lost his business ;
how he got into scrapes ; how he got into debt ; how he
became a railroad director ; how the Pimlico house was shut
up ; how he went to Boulogne,—all this I could tell, only I
am too much ashamed of my part of the transaction. They
returned to England, because, to the surprise of everybody,.
Mrs. Chuff came down with a great sum of money (which
nobody knew she had saved) and paid his liabilities. He is in
England : but at Kennington. His name is taken off the
books of the Sarcophagus long ago. When we meet, he-
crosses over to the other side of the street ; and I don't call,,
as I should be sorry to see a look of reproach or sadness in
Laura's sweet face.
Sillery champagne and gorging himself with French viands ; and I often
looked with sorrow from my table (on which cold meat, the Club small-beer,
and a half-pint of Marsala form the modest banquet), and sighed to think it
Not, however, all evil, as I am proud to think, has been the
influence of the Snob of England upon clubs in general :—
Captain Shindy is afraid to bully the waiters any more, and
eats his mutton-chop without moving Acheron. Gobemouchb.
does not take more than two papers at a time for his private
reading. Tiggs does not ring the bell and cause the library-
waiter to walk about a quarter of a mile in order to give him
Vol. II., which lies on the next table. Growler has ceased
to walk from table to table in the coffee-room, and inspect
what people are having for dinner. Trottt Veck takes his
own umbrella from the hall—the cotton one, and Sidney
Scrafer's paletot lined with silk has been brought back by
Jobbins, who entirely mistook it for his own. Waggle has
discontinued telling stories about the ladies he has killed.
Snooks does not any more think it gentlemanlike to blackball
attornies. Snuffler no longer publicly spreads out his great
red cotton pocket-handkerchief before the fire, for the admira-
tion of two hundred gentlemen ; and if one Club Snob has
been brought back to the paths of rectitude; and if one poor
John has been spared a journey or a scolding—say, friends and
was my work. brethren, if these sketches of Club Snobs have been in vain ?