DOI issue:
January to June, 1848
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16546#0264
256
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
THE MODEL POLICEMAN.
at the ballet when stationed in the gallery of Her Majesty's.
He rarely releases the wrong person he has taken into custody
for disturbing: the performances. He has a virtuous horror of
Punch and Judy, and insists upon the Indiarubber Brothers
"moving on," in the midst even of the Human Pyramid. He
never stops at a print-shop, nor loiters before a cook-shop,
nor hangs about a pastrycook's, excepting to drive away
the little boys who choke up the door where the stale pastry
is exhibited.
He is not proud, but will hold a gentleman's horse at
an emergency, and take sixpence for it. He rings bells
the first thing in the morning, runs to fetch the doctor,
helps an early coffee-stall to unpack her cups and saucers,
pulls down shutters, gives " lights" to young gentlemen stag-
gering home, directs them to the nearest " public," and does
not even mind going in with them, "just to have a little
drop of something to keep himself warm." In fact the
Model Policeman does anything for the smallest trifle, to
make himself useful as well as ornamental. Above all, he never
laughs. He is the terror of publicans on Saturday nights, but
is easily melted with " a drop "—on the sly.
He is courageous, also, and will take up an applewoman, or
a " lone woman" with babies, without a moment's hesitation
He is not irritable, but knows his dignity. Do not speak to
him much, unless you have a very good coat. Especially do not
joke with him when on duty. You are sure to know it by
i his collar being up. Do not put a finger upon him, for he con-
time. He is never inside a kitchen, unless }Je street door ^ strues it into an assault, Of the two forces, he certainly
Hs is affable to the toot man and smiles to the page, but su pectsthe butler, . M fa pfa jd rather thaQ t th M p
and calls the French maid proud. His appearance and spirits are greatly ; . t ° i : ' row and cares no more for a " hnish" than
reeulated bv the neighbourhood In Bel°ravia he wears strarjs, plays with a 5 iremenuous in a row, ana cares no more: tor a orusu tnan
regiudieu uy iwo neigiiuoumuuu. iuDti0rdvw h fHiP,»« his?i>he*b* srPt 1 "is oilskin hat. He hates the name of Chartist, and cannot
pink, and buzzes to himself some popular tune. In St. biles s ins c heeks get „ll)lMK„,T?rn<>Jlniul ;„ nTlve},aT,p nnv mnrp +h'Qn „ w„np
hollow, his buttons grow rusty, his belt is put on anyhow, and his highlows are
polished only with blacklead ! !
The Model Policeman arrives at a row before it is quite over, and sometimes
gets at a tire a minute or two before the lire-escape. He knows every pick-
pocket in the world, and has seen everybody who is taken up two or three
times before. He has a vivid recollection of what another Policeman remembers,
and if the testimony of an Inspector is impugned, he shows a great love for his
cloth by swearing "(as the saying is) "till all is blue." He objects to "plain
e walks upright, as flexible as
a kitchen poker, his thoughts
and hands quite full—like the
King of Prussia—of his " be-
loved Berlins." He keeps his
eyes straight before him, even
if there is a leg of mutton from
the baker's running the oppo-
site way. He rarely looks
lower than the parlour win-
dows, when the servants are
on board wages. His heart
—unlike himself—is constantly
"on the beat," His taste for
beauty is only equalled by his
appetite for cold beef. He
shows the weakness of his body
bv calling Daniel Harvey
"'WlTTLES."
The Model Policeman
moves only in the most fashion-
able areas. He is rather par-
ticular in seeing if the coal
cellar is fast, about supper
clothes ;" he thinks them not uniform, and " unperfessional." He never smiles
when inside a theatre, nor sleeps at a sermon, nor takes an opera-glass to look
abide " a Frenchman in any shape, any more than a beggar,
especially if he has moustaches. He has a secret contempt
for ihe "Specials," whom he calls "amateurs." He rarely
fraternises with a Beadle, excepting when there is an insur-
rection of boys, and it comes to open snowballing, or splashing
with the fire-plug. He prohibits all sliding, puts down vaulting
over posts, leapfrog, grottos, chuckfarthing, and is terribly upset
with a piece of orange-peel, or the cry of "Peeler." He avoids
a lobster-shop, for fear of vulgar comparisons, and hates the
military—" the whole biling of 'em "—for some raw reason ;
but he touches his hat to "the Duke." He rarely sleeps
inside a cab of a cold night. He never lights a cigar till the
theatres are over. He is a long time in hearing the cry of " Stop
thief! "and is particularly averse to running; his greatest
pace is a hackney-coach gallop, even after a Sweep, who is
following, too literally, his calling. He is meek to lost children,
and takes them to the station-house in the most fatherly
manner.
He is polite to elderly ladies who have lost a cat or
a parrot, and gives directions to a porter in search of a
particular street, without losing his temper. He is fond of
a silver watch, and he reaches the summit of a policeman's
pride and happiness if he gets a silver chain with it. Next
to himself, however, there is nothing he loves half so closely
as his whiskers. He would sooner throw up staff, station, and
be numbered amongst the dead letters of the Post Office, or
the rural police, than part with a single hair of them; for the
Model Policeman feels that without his whiskers he should
cut but a contemptible figure in the eyes of those he loves,
even though he exhibited on his collar the proud label of A 1!
Beyond his whiskers, his enjoyments are but few. He watches
the beer as it is delivered at each door, he follows the silvery
sound of " muffins ! " through streets and squares, he loves to
speculate upon the destination of the fleeting butcher's tray>
and on Saturday night he threads the mazy stalls of the
nearest market, his love growing at the sight of the savoury
things it is wont to feed on.
His principal amusement is to peep through the keyhole
of a street-door at night with his bull's eye—especially if
any one is looking at him. This is the great difficulty,
however, for the policeman's clothes are of that deep,*'Invi-
sible Blue" that persons have lived for years in London
without seeing one. This is the reason, probably, when he is
seen, that he throws so much light upon himself, as if the
creature wished to engrave the fact of his curiosity strongly
upon the recollection of the startled beholder by means of
the most powerful illumination. Without some such proof, the
incredulous world would never believe in the existence of a
Model Policeman.
Printed by William Bradbury, of No. 6, York Place, Stoke Newington, and Frederick
Mullett Evans, of No. 7. Church Sow, Stoke Newington, both in the County of
Middlesex, Printers, at their Office, in Lombard Street, in the Precint of Whitefriars,
in the City of London, and Published by them, at No. So, Fleet Street, in the
Parish of St. Bride, in the City of London.— Saturday, Ju.ib 17th, 1343.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
THE MODEL POLICEMAN.
at the ballet when stationed in the gallery of Her Majesty's.
He rarely releases the wrong person he has taken into custody
for disturbing: the performances. He has a virtuous horror of
Punch and Judy, and insists upon the Indiarubber Brothers
"moving on," in the midst even of the Human Pyramid. He
never stops at a print-shop, nor loiters before a cook-shop,
nor hangs about a pastrycook's, excepting to drive away
the little boys who choke up the door where the stale pastry
is exhibited.
He is not proud, but will hold a gentleman's horse at
an emergency, and take sixpence for it. He rings bells
the first thing in the morning, runs to fetch the doctor,
helps an early coffee-stall to unpack her cups and saucers,
pulls down shutters, gives " lights" to young gentlemen stag-
gering home, directs them to the nearest " public," and does
not even mind going in with them, "just to have a little
drop of something to keep himself warm." In fact the
Model Policeman does anything for the smallest trifle, to
make himself useful as well as ornamental. Above all, he never
laughs. He is the terror of publicans on Saturday nights, but
is easily melted with " a drop "—on the sly.
He is courageous, also, and will take up an applewoman, or
a " lone woman" with babies, without a moment's hesitation
He is not irritable, but knows his dignity. Do not speak to
him much, unless you have a very good coat. Especially do not
joke with him when on duty. You are sure to know it by
i his collar being up. Do not put a finger upon him, for he con-
time. He is never inside a kitchen, unless }Je street door ^ strues it into an assault, Of the two forces, he certainly
Hs is affable to the toot man and smiles to the page, but su pectsthe butler, . M fa pfa jd rather thaQ t th M p
and calls the French maid proud. His appearance and spirits are greatly ; . t ° i : ' row and cares no more for a " hnish" than
reeulated bv the neighbourhood In Bel°ravia he wears strarjs, plays with a 5 iremenuous in a row, ana cares no more: tor a orusu tnan
regiudieu uy iwo neigiiuoumuuu. iuDti0rdvw h fHiP,»« his?i>he*b* srPt 1 "is oilskin hat. He hates the name of Chartist, and cannot
pink, and buzzes to himself some popular tune. In St. biles s ins c heeks get „ll)lMK„,T?rn<>Jlniul ;„ nTlve},aT,p nnv mnrp +h'Qn „ w„np
hollow, his buttons grow rusty, his belt is put on anyhow, and his highlows are
polished only with blacklead ! !
The Model Policeman arrives at a row before it is quite over, and sometimes
gets at a tire a minute or two before the lire-escape. He knows every pick-
pocket in the world, and has seen everybody who is taken up two or three
times before. He has a vivid recollection of what another Policeman remembers,
and if the testimony of an Inspector is impugned, he shows a great love for his
cloth by swearing "(as the saying is) "till all is blue." He objects to "plain
e walks upright, as flexible as
a kitchen poker, his thoughts
and hands quite full—like the
King of Prussia—of his " be-
loved Berlins." He keeps his
eyes straight before him, even
if there is a leg of mutton from
the baker's running the oppo-
site way. He rarely looks
lower than the parlour win-
dows, when the servants are
on board wages. His heart
—unlike himself—is constantly
"on the beat," His taste for
beauty is only equalled by his
appetite for cold beef. He
shows the weakness of his body
bv calling Daniel Harvey
"'WlTTLES."
The Model Policeman
moves only in the most fashion-
able areas. He is rather par-
ticular in seeing if the coal
cellar is fast, about supper
clothes ;" he thinks them not uniform, and " unperfessional." He never smiles
when inside a theatre, nor sleeps at a sermon, nor takes an opera-glass to look
abide " a Frenchman in any shape, any more than a beggar,
especially if he has moustaches. He has a secret contempt
for ihe "Specials," whom he calls "amateurs." He rarely
fraternises with a Beadle, excepting when there is an insur-
rection of boys, and it comes to open snowballing, or splashing
with the fire-plug. He prohibits all sliding, puts down vaulting
over posts, leapfrog, grottos, chuckfarthing, and is terribly upset
with a piece of orange-peel, or the cry of "Peeler." He avoids
a lobster-shop, for fear of vulgar comparisons, and hates the
military—" the whole biling of 'em "—for some raw reason ;
but he touches his hat to "the Duke." He rarely sleeps
inside a cab of a cold night. He never lights a cigar till the
theatres are over. He is a long time in hearing the cry of " Stop
thief! "and is particularly averse to running; his greatest
pace is a hackney-coach gallop, even after a Sweep, who is
following, too literally, his calling. He is meek to lost children,
and takes them to the station-house in the most fatherly
manner.
He is polite to elderly ladies who have lost a cat or
a parrot, and gives directions to a porter in search of a
particular street, without losing his temper. He is fond of
a silver watch, and he reaches the summit of a policeman's
pride and happiness if he gets a silver chain with it. Next
to himself, however, there is nothing he loves half so closely
as his whiskers. He would sooner throw up staff, station, and
be numbered amongst the dead letters of the Post Office, or
the rural police, than part with a single hair of them; for the
Model Policeman feels that without his whiskers he should
cut but a contemptible figure in the eyes of those he loves,
even though he exhibited on his collar the proud label of A 1!
Beyond his whiskers, his enjoyments are but few. He watches
the beer as it is delivered at each door, he follows the silvery
sound of " muffins ! " through streets and squares, he loves to
speculate upon the destination of the fleeting butcher's tray>
and on Saturday night he threads the mazy stalls of the
nearest market, his love growing at the sight of the savoury
things it is wont to feed on.
His principal amusement is to peep through the keyhole
of a street-door at night with his bull's eye—especially if
any one is looking at him. This is the great difficulty,
however, for the policeman's clothes are of that deep,*'Invi-
sible Blue" that persons have lived for years in London
without seeing one. This is the reason, probably, when he is
seen, that he throws so much light upon himself, as if the
creature wished to engrave the fact of his curiosity strongly
upon the recollection of the startled beholder by means of
the most powerful illumination. Without some such proof, the
incredulous world would never believe in the existence of a
Model Policeman.
Printed by William Bradbury, of No. 6, York Place, Stoke Newington, and Frederick
Mullett Evans, of No. 7. Church Sow, Stoke Newington, both in the County of
Middlesex, Printers, at their Office, in Lombard Street, in the Precint of Whitefriars,
in the City of London, and Published by them, at No. So, Fleet Street, in the
Parish of St. Bride, in the City of London.— Saturday, Ju.ib 17th, 1343.