DOI issue:
July to December, 1848
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16547#0110
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
103
THE MODEL WAITER.
very Model Waiter is single, of course. What
bottles of port for a party of gen lemen who are sittting in a box in the
corner of the picture, and who are portraits of Messrs. Brown,
Robinson, and Smith, three of the oldest chop-eaters of the house!
It is hung in a glittering frame over the mantelpiece of the room, in and
, , | out of which he has been running for the last forty years, and becomes
time has he to make love, excepting to the cook, ; the pr0perty of the establishment, there being a special clause let in the
and she is hot-tempered and cross, as all tavern- framej that it is never to be removec| from the room. The Model
cooks are; and he has far too many spoons to look Waiter, however, has been saving a little fortune of pennies during
after, to think of increasing his responsibilities his long career of chops and steaks—his only extravagances having been
with a family of children. the washing of his white handkerchiefs and Berlin gloves everv now and
He is always Coming comine! but rather lhen 0Q sta-e occasi0ns—and he purchases, in his grey old age, the
like the auctioneer, he is always Going ! going ! business of his landlord, takes unto himself the pretty barmaid as his
gone for he no sooner jerks out Coming ! wifg> and dies wltuout having once been fined for keeping open half a
than he bolts out of the room. Ask him lor his minute after twelve on a Saturday night, or serving a pint of beer on
name. It is • JJob, or Charrrles. lne Sundays during the hours of divine service. His portrait still hangs
Wai'er never has a surname. He takes his dinner over tjje mantelpiece as a moral public-house sigu to all future waiters,
how he can, off the sideboard or a chair m the passage. It he is very that> to become landlords, they have only to keep in view the Model
busy, he has no dinner at all. He approaches his plate to steal a , Waiter
mouthful, when fifty shouts of "Waitar/" call him away. Of many | '
contending cries, he attends to that of " Money," first.
The Model Waiter never says I. He is quite editorial, and always _
says We—&s, " We 're very fuil at present, Sir. We had two hundred ^ 0 ^nng ILinO.
dinners yesterday, Sir, and three hundred and thirty-five suppers. We AfUr LuKD BTKOII.a Linet l0 Thomas Mooai.
consume one hundred and sixty-nine rabbits regularly every night, Sir."
He puts a " Sir " on to everything, and an odd penny, if the same comes My shirts are pack'd and pinn'd
to an exact shilling. "Chop? yes, Sir, sixpence. Potatoes ? yes, Sir, Within my sac de nuit;
tuppence. Beer ? exactly Sir, tuppence ; and Bread ? yes, Sir, makes But before I go, Miss Lind,
tenpence ; and tuDpence makes tliirteenpence—precisely one and a Here's a double health to thee,
penny, Sir." His favourite word is " nice." He recommends " a nice TT ,
chop with a nice glass of half-and-half;" or he say?, " You'll find that a Here s my cap lor show ry weather,
nice glass of port, Sir or, " It's the nicest breast he ever saw." He And my hat lor sunshine gay,
can unravel the mysteries of Bradshaw, without turning over every one And my collars altogether,
of the tables two or three times ; and he knows all the playbills of the Making one for every day.
evening by heart He never calls a slice of Stilton " a cheese.". Though the steam shall roar around me
He is impartial m the distubu ion of the paper, and gives the That to Boulogne bears me on,
middle sheet invariably to him who has eaten the most, dir.iers m the Thv voi whose u bath bound
house He shows no favour either, with the evening paper?, but Shall haunt me when I'm gone,
awards them first to those who are dririkm? wine, to the spirits next,
whilst to the beer he gives the Supplement of yesterday's Times. Were't the last pound in my purse,
His shoes are perfect fellows, with upright heels, and the strings are And I stood on ruin's brink,
carefully tied ; and his handkerchief so whi'e, it would do credit to a For thee I'd all disburse,
pet parson in the heart of Belgravia. He has " everything in the house " Nor mourn its parting chink,
till you cross-examine him, when the "everything" sinks down to a _
"nice chop or tender steak, Sir." The joint is always in " very good Had I a ten-pound note,
cut," and has only been up these two minutes. He is mute for apennv, t? giye it to the wind,
says "Thank ye, Sir," for twopence, and helps on your coat for every-! J*or an air from out thy throat:
thing above it. Politics have no charm for him, and he never looks at j Here s a health to thee, J. Lind.
a paper, excepting when he is waiting for the last customer, and is
tired of killing flies. The onlv news that interest him are the " Want
Places," and the pictures. He is good-humoured, and lauahs at any
joke, even those of a Past Man. A stranger in his vocabulary is a
"party." He talks of persons according to the boxes they sit in, and
Cuts down all gentlemen to " gents." He is not mean with his mustard
or the vinegar cruets, and does not hide them in a dark corner. He
carries a lofty pillar, quite a falling-tower, of plate% without dropping
anything out of them, and does not spill the gravy down an old gentle-
man's neck. If anything is done to rags, or to a cinder, or under-done,
SIBTHOBP'S SPEECHES.
eally in a Session like the past, so full of talk and so
empty of wit, it is, after all, very cheering to select one
man who keeps up the old eloquence of St. Stephen's;
one man who is a sort of vestal Colonel, charged
with the sacred fire. Of course we allude to Colonel
or not done at all—if ThT punch is as weak as waterro7tie7e 'sToo mrch Slbthorp. We write this with all that great man's
sugar in it, or it's as sour as a pew-opener, he bears it all with unruffled Vli speeches before us ; and they are worthy to be tolled
meekness, and onlv begins wiping down the table wrh his napkin. If! W 'be tongue of his own native Tom, church orator of
the wine is too old, or too young, or too fruity, or too tawny, his ; Lincoln ! We have gone through all the speeches, and we are
waiter's fine instinct tells him at once what the gentleman will like, and | enabled to give their quintessential properties in the following sparklin
he rushes out furiously in a waiter's gallop to get it, and returns with
something that elicits "Ah! that's just the thing." However, as a
general rule, the port has never been less than ten years in bottle. The
cigars, too, are imported direct from the Havannah, and cost us full 32,?. a
pound, Sir. We do not clear a farthing by them, Sir.
The Model Waiter very seldom has a holiday. If he does, it is to
see some other waiter, or to help at the Freemasons', or to assist a friend
at some grand dinner in a nobleman's family. His life vibrates between
the kitchen and the parlour, and he never sits down from morning till
long past midnight. He attempts to doze sometimes, but the loud
chorus of " We won't go home till morning! " wakes him up, and he
execrates in his heart the monster who ever composed that song; it
must have been some wretch, he is sure, who owed a long score to an
unfortunate waiter, who had sued him for it. He makes a faint effort to
turn off the gas, but is repulsed with an unanimous call for " more
kidneys." It is not wonderful, therefore, if in the morning he jawns
over the knives and forks, and drops several involuntary tears whilst
replenishing the mustard-pot.
After wearing out, innumerable pairs of shoes, a Testimonial is got
up for the Model Waiter by the " Gents of his Room," and they present
him with a full-length portrait of himself, " as a slight token of their
warm appreciation of his unfailing civility, cheerful demeanour, and
uniform attention during a term of forty years." This testimonial
syllables:—
Colonel Slbthorp would not believe the present Ministers on their
oaths. {Laughter)
Colonel Slbthorp thought Lord John Russell's answer most
contemptible. {Much laughter)
Colonel Slbthorp said (on the Intramural Burial Clause, in the
Sanitary Bill) he opposed the whole thing. Like Ruth, where his
father lay, he would lie. He would; for he felt that he was the last
man to be offensive, dead or alive. {Shouts of laughter.)
Colonel Sibthorp (on the Corrupt Practices at Elections Bill) said
he knew what a goose was. {Hear!) Had, moreover, some experience
of what a donkey was. He could lay his hand upon his heart, and say
that. {Loud cheers.) But the wretches opposite—not that he wished
to be personal—the wretches opposite were the greatest of geese, and
the hugest of donkeys. {Screams of laughter.) The Bill was a low,
sneaking, paltry, contemptible measure. For his own part, he should
continue to give away blankets like a man—to broach his ale like a
Christian—and to buy kittens of his constituents like a legislator.
{Loud and continued cheering.)
As many of the gallant Colonel's constituents may desire to possess
the essence of their representative's wisdom for the session, we have
been at the pains of distilling it for their service. It must be very
represents him in the act of drawing the cork of one of the ten years' I precious to the intellectuality of Cathedral Lincoln.
103
THE MODEL WAITER.
very Model Waiter is single, of course. What
bottles of port for a party of gen lemen who are sittting in a box in the
corner of the picture, and who are portraits of Messrs. Brown,
Robinson, and Smith, three of the oldest chop-eaters of the house!
It is hung in a glittering frame over the mantelpiece of the room, in and
, , | out of which he has been running for the last forty years, and becomes
time has he to make love, excepting to the cook, ; the pr0perty of the establishment, there being a special clause let in the
and she is hot-tempered and cross, as all tavern- framej that it is never to be removec| from the room. The Model
cooks are; and he has far too many spoons to look Waiter, however, has been saving a little fortune of pennies during
after, to think of increasing his responsibilities his long career of chops and steaks—his only extravagances having been
with a family of children. the washing of his white handkerchiefs and Berlin gloves everv now and
He is always Coming comine! but rather lhen 0Q sta-e occasi0ns—and he purchases, in his grey old age, the
like the auctioneer, he is always Going ! going ! business of his landlord, takes unto himself the pretty barmaid as his
gone for he no sooner jerks out Coming ! wifg> and dies wltuout having once been fined for keeping open half a
than he bolts out of the room. Ask him lor his minute after twelve on a Saturday night, or serving a pint of beer on
name. It is • JJob, or Charrrles. lne Sundays during the hours of divine service. His portrait still hangs
Wai'er never has a surname. He takes his dinner over tjje mantelpiece as a moral public-house sigu to all future waiters,
how he can, off the sideboard or a chair m the passage. It he is very that> to become landlords, they have only to keep in view the Model
busy, he has no dinner at all. He approaches his plate to steal a , Waiter
mouthful, when fifty shouts of "Waitar/" call him away. Of many | '
contending cries, he attends to that of " Money," first.
The Model Waiter never says I. He is quite editorial, and always _
says We—&s, " We 're very fuil at present, Sir. We had two hundred ^ 0 ^nng ILinO.
dinners yesterday, Sir, and three hundred and thirty-five suppers. We AfUr LuKD BTKOII.a Linet l0 Thomas Mooai.
consume one hundred and sixty-nine rabbits regularly every night, Sir."
He puts a " Sir " on to everything, and an odd penny, if the same comes My shirts are pack'd and pinn'd
to an exact shilling. "Chop? yes, Sir, sixpence. Potatoes ? yes, Sir, Within my sac de nuit;
tuppence. Beer ? exactly Sir, tuppence ; and Bread ? yes, Sir, makes But before I go, Miss Lind,
tenpence ; and tuDpence makes tliirteenpence—precisely one and a Here's a double health to thee,
penny, Sir." His favourite word is " nice." He recommends " a nice TT ,
chop with a nice glass of half-and-half;" or he say?, " You'll find that a Here s my cap lor show ry weather,
nice glass of port, Sir or, " It's the nicest breast he ever saw." He And my hat lor sunshine gay,
can unravel the mysteries of Bradshaw, without turning over every one And my collars altogether,
of the tables two or three times ; and he knows all the playbills of the Making one for every day.
evening by heart He never calls a slice of Stilton " a cheese.". Though the steam shall roar around me
He is impartial m the distubu ion of the paper, and gives the That to Boulogne bears me on,
middle sheet invariably to him who has eaten the most, dir.iers m the Thv voi whose u bath bound
house He shows no favour either, with the evening paper?, but Shall haunt me when I'm gone,
awards them first to those who are dririkm? wine, to the spirits next,
whilst to the beer he gives the Supplement of yesterday's Times. Were't the last pound in my purse,
His shoes are perfect fellows, with upright heels, and the strings are And I stood on ruin's brink,
carefully tied ; and his handkerchief so whi'e, it would do credit to a For thee I'd all disburse,
pet parson in the heart of Belgravia. He has " everything in the house " Nor mourn its parting chink,
till you cross-examine him, when the "everything" sinks down to a _
"nice chop or tender steak, Sir." The joint is always in " very good Had I a ten-pound note,
cut," and has only been up these two minutes. He is mute for apennv, t? giye it to the wind,
says "Thank ye, Sir," for twopence, and helps on your coat for every-! J*or an air from out thy throat:
thing above it. Politics have no charm for him, and he never looks at j Here s a health to thee, J. Lind.
a paper, excepting when he is waiting for the last customer, and is
tired of killing flies. The onlv news that interest him are the " Want
Places," and the pictures. He is good-humoured, and lauahs at any
joke, even those of a Past Man. A stranger in his vocabulary is a
"party." He talks of persons according to the boxes they sit in, and
Cuts down all gentlemen to " gents." He is not mean with his mustard
or the vinegar cruets, and does not hide them in a dark corner. He
carries a lofty pillar, quite a falling-tower, of plate% without dropping
anything out of them, and does not spill the gravy down an old gentle-
man's neck. If anything is done to rags, or to a cinder, or under-done,
SIBTHOBP'S SPEECHES.
eally in a Session like the past, so full of talk and so
empty of wit, it is, after all, very cheering to select one
man who keeps up the old eloquence of St. Stephen's;
one man who is a sort of vestal Colonel, charged
with the sacred fire. Of course we allude to Colonel
or not done at all—if ThT punch is as weak as waterro7tie7e 'sToo mrch Slbthorp. We write this with all that great man's
sugar in it, or it's as sour as a pew-opener, he bears it all with unruffled Vli speeches before us ; and they are worthy to be tolled
meekness, and onlv begins wiping down the table wrh his napkin. If! W 'be tongue of his own native Tom, church orator of
the wine is too old, or too young, or too fruity, or too tawny, his ; Lincoln ! We have gone through all the speeches, and we are
waiter's fine instinct tells him at once what the gentleman will like, and | enabled to give their quintessential properties in the following sparklin
he rushes out furiously in a waiter's gallop to get it, and returns with
something that elicits "Ah! that's just the thing." However, as a
general rule, the port has never been less than ten years in bottle. The
cigars, too, are imported direct from the Havannah, and cost us full 32,?. a
pound, Sir. We do not clear a farthing by them, Sir.
The Model Waiter very seldom has a holiday. If he does, it is to
see some other waiter, or to help at the Freemasons', or to assist a friend
at some grand dinner in a nobleman's family. His life vibrates between
the kitchen and the parlour, and he never sits down from morning till
long past midnight. He attempts to doze sometimes, but the loud
chorus of " We won't go home till morning! " wakes him up, and he
execrates in his heart the monster who ever composed that song; it
must have been some wretch, he is sure, who owed a long score to an
unfortunate waiter, who had sued him for it. He makes a faint effort to
turn off the gas, but is repulsed with an unanimous call for " more
kidneys." It is not wonderful, therefore, if in the morning he jawns
over the knives and forks, and drops several involuntary tears whilst
replenishing the mustard-pot.
After wearing out, innumerable pairs of shoes, a Testimonial is got
up for the Model Waiter by the " Gents of his Room," and they present
him with a full-length portrait of himself, " as a slight token of their
warm appreciation of his unfailing civility, cheerful demeanour, and
uniform attention during a term of forty years." This testimonial
syllables:—
Colonel Slbthorp would not believe the present Ministers on their
oaths. {Laughter)
Colonel Slbthorp thought Lord John Russell's answer most
contemptible. {Much laughter)
Colonel Slbthorp said (on the Intramural Burial Clause, in the
Sanitary Bill) he opposed the whole thing. Like Ruth, where his
father lay, he would lie. He would; for he felt that he was the last
man to be offensive, dead or alive. {Shouts of laughter.)
Colonel Sibthorp (on the Corrupt Practices at Elections Bill) said
he knew what a goose was. {Hear!) Had, moreover, some experience
of what a donkey was. He could lay his hand upon his heart, and say
that. {Loud cheers.) But the wretches opposite—not that he wished
to be personal—the wretches opposite were the greatest of geese, and
the hugest of donkeys. {Screams of laughter.) The Bill was a low,
sneaking, paltry, contemptible measure. For his own part, he should
continue to give away blankets like a man—to broach his ale like a
Christian—and to buy kittens of his constituents like a legislator.
{Loud and continued cheering.)
As many of the gallant Colonel's constituents may desire to possess
the essence of their representative's wisdom for the session, we have
been at the pains of distilling it for their service. It must be very
represents him in the act of drawing the cork of one of the ten years' I precious to the intellectuality of Cathedral Lincoln.