Punch (16.1849)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

213

building up a name for himself, better than all the marble busts, and
MISS BENIMBLE'S TEA-AND-TOAST. bronze horses in the world. I'm glad he's given up the business of

' batter. He '11 make a much better job of it, with hearts than hats. Why
even the smallest tiger will feel himself somebody, when he knows

i

prince ALBEBff s gracious appearance in the servants hall. j. he's cared for in this way

— the OXFORD TRUMPET. — ROME AND EXETER-HALL. — LORD '
BROUGHAM AND THE APOLLO.—THE THIMBLE FUND.

ear Mr. Punch,—I couldn't think what was the matter
with Mr. Lovelace, when he last dropped in. He'd
a smile on his face like anew guinea, and kept rubbing
his hands one round the other, as if he was washing
'em in otto of roses. "Been anywhere partic'iar ?" says
I. " "Why, yes, ma'am," says Lovelace, beginning to
coax the tip of his nose—as he's a habit—with his right
thumb and two first fingers,—"Yes, ma'am, I've been
on duty—and I may say the duty was a pleasure. 1
have been, Miss Benimble, to Hanover Square."
Whereupon, my woman's heart beat with a bounce,
and sent the words to my mouth. " I see it;" says I. " You've been
to St. George's Church, and the world's no better than a cinder-heap—
Jenny Lind is married. The nightingale has put her neck in the
wedding-ring, and we may all go into short mourning."

" It's very odd," says Lovelace. "But my 'pinion is, that the third
thought of every woman is, always going to the altar. It's a crotchet
of mine, that every female baby comes into the world with the whole
marriage-service ready printed in it's little head, besides all the figures
of the quadrilles, the fashions of the month, the "—

" Nonsense !" says L " And suppose it was so, what then ?
Marriage is nothing to you creatures. But what a weight it is upon
us ! You may laugh, Mr. Lovelace : I'm sure of it. Hymen makes
fetters of adamant—if I may be allowed the word—for we women:
while, for you men, they 're nothing more than a chain of buttercups
and daisies. Lor it doesn't hold you—and you know it doesn't."

" Can't say," said Lovelace, stirring his tea. " I've never yet been
married." (And, upon my word, Mr. Punch, at that little word yet—
for I did suspect him to be a widower, he's so shy of marriage—at that
little word my heart went against my breast like a wild bird in a cage).
" And," says he, going on—" and I hav'n't been to St. George's Church.
Though, I've heard in Scotland Yard, that when Miss Lind is married,
the force—foot and horse—is to line the streets, with cutlasses and
ball-cartridge, to awe down the mob. And the Duke, who will of
course give the bride away, as Lieutenant of the Tower, has promised
a small park of artillery to make rescue impossible."
" But where have you been?" says I.

" I've been to Hanover Square Booms, and heard Prince Albert.
Upon my life, his Royal Highness is getting quite into a Pitt—growing
to a very Fox." (I stared, but said nothing; what could Lovelace

" Don't talk of tigers," says L " Think of the cooks, and the house-
maids, and the maids-of-all-work. Think of them, Mr. Lovelace."
" I do," says he.

" How they wih love the Prince ! He '11 reign in the very heart of
the kitchen ! Por when Molly black-leads her grate, she'll think of
the lustre of her Prince, and the stove will be the brighter for it. When
Susan cleans the windows, she'11 breathe a blessing on his Royal
Highness, and the glass will shine like a diamond. And the speecti
wasn't a short one but long ?" says I.

" Long," says Lovelace. "Long, and like a silver eel, bright from
head to tail. Lord Russell, too, spoke well. And the Bishop of
Oxford "- _

" What did Oxford say ? I'm sure "—says I—" he talked a lump of
honev. To hear him speak, why it's like the gurgling out of salad oil."

" Humph!" says Lovelace, *" Why, the Bishop said that, ' if the folks
present supported the Society, they would give to his Royal Highness
the best proof that, they were sensible of the great favour he had con-
ferred on the Society by being present on the occasion !' Now the
Prince's speech was so true, so manly, such a real thing, that—to my
sense—this flourish of the Bishop's trumpet came in a little bold and
brassy."

"The Bishop meant well," says I, taking his part.

"No doubt," says Lovelace, "and so does my dog Pop ; but he's
got such a bad habit, that though it goes against me, I'm obliged now
and then to kick him in the stomach." (It was his very word,.¥r. Punch.)

" Begging your pardon, Mr. Lovelace," says I, with a laugh, "you 're
a brute."

"Great provocation, Miss Benimble. You see, sometimes when
I'm drest, and my boots shine like looking-glasses, that spaniel, Pop, to
show his love, will come about my feet, and lick the blacking off. Poor
thing ! he may mean it for affection; but for all that, it's only slaver."
" Why, you didn't intend to insinuate of the Bishop "—
" I insinuate nothing, Ma'am," says Lovelace. But I will boldly
say this : when the Prince next presides, I hope the Bishop will leave
his Royal Highness alone. I'm sure the thing is much better simple;
without the Oxford mixture."

"Talking of Oxford," says I, " it leads one nat'rally to Rome. Dread-
ful state of things there, Mr. Lovelace. All sorts of bombs firing into
St. Peter's. Pictures riddled like colanders; and statues with their
limbs knocked all to pieces."

"Why, they do say, but I don't believe it," says Lovelace, " that
the head of the Apollo Belvedere has been knocked off bv a French

mean?) "He made a speech that was really beautiful." cannon-ball; and that Lord Brougiiam, in the handsomest May, has

"What about ?" says I. offered his own bust to repair the damage. Only think, Brougham to

"Why, about the 'Servants' Provident and Benevolent Society.' ; be continued in Apollo."
Not a drip-drip speech, filtered drop by drop, but a flowing silver, "Dreadful," says I. "But, altogether, what a shocking thing!
stream of sweet fine sense." j They've burnt the cardinals' carriages, and"—

Well, Mr. Punch, I did stare. "I never thought, Mr. Lovelace, j "Humph!" says Lovelace. "1 wonder what sort of carriage
says L "to hear you talk in this way of any Prince in the 'versal j Peter rode in—if any, I suppose, a fish-cart."

world." "Now, Mr. Lovelace, 1 won't have any such dispersion. But the

"There's the mistake, Miss Benimble. It's one thing for to go fuct is, you goto Exeter Hall so often, that you haven't a bit of respect
down upon one's knees and make an idol of human clay, and another to for anything that's of Rome. I do think even a Roman nose is a sin in
take one's hat off, and make a seemly bow to a good man, doing goodness your eyes."

with a grace that makes even the good the better for the courtesy." " Quite a mistake," says Lovelace. " Besides, Rome is now quite

" Go on," says I, not caring to answer him. "What's the Society 1 the pet of Exeter Hall. Or if it isn't, it ought to be. Ms.
for ?—not but what I shall read all about it." ; Plumptre himself wouldn't give it the Pope more lustily than

"The Society is to put in the way of domestic servants—and there is ' Mazzini. What says the triumvir to the Prench? Why, I've heard
a million of 'em, says Lord Russell—the means of defying the Union j 1 he same thing—though by no means in such noble, drum-beating words,
in their old age : the means of independence "— ! —a thousand times in the Strand. What does he say ? He says—'Ask

" It must be in a very small way," says I. j those time-honoured monuments of the ever glorious past, and they will

" It's the beauty of the spirit of independence," says Lovelace : tell you they have been soiled and too long sullied by a sacerdotal
boldly, "always to double a little. It's a wonderful spirit, quite a despotism. Question our women and our youth, and they will tell of
household fairy, and any day makes half-a-crown go as far as five ' the seductions, of the debaucheries, of the barter and sale of consciences
shillings." and of chastity, of which a black clerical band of impostors has made

"And how did the Prince—la, bless us ! to think he should come : them the victims.'"
from Buckingham Palace; from the silver tea-pot of her blessed "Well," says I, "how could I have missed that? Why, Mazzini-

Majesty—how did the Prince speak up for the servants p

" Beautifully," says Lovelace, his cheek flushing. " He asked
' whose heart would fail to sympathise with those who minister to us
for all the wants of daily life—who attend us during sickness—who
receive us on our first appearance in this world, and extend their
care even to our mortal remains—who live under our roof, form our
household, and are a part of our family ?' "

" Did the Prince say all that ? " says I, and I do assure you I felt in
such a glow just as if I'd swallowed mulled wine. " Did he say all
that ?"

" And twenty times as much, and all as good," said Lovelace.
m "Well then," says I, " here's his Royal Higlmess's health, though
it's only humble Twankay."

" The Prince is really a wise young man," says Lovelace. " He's

beats Newdegate to bits ! The Scarlet Lady "—

" The Scarlet Lady," says Lovelace, " may send her robes to be dyed,
in Luther's ink, Rome seems to give her up. What do you think ? I
read in the Daily News—(and, by the way, all the letters in the News
are capitally written; penned by a strong Roman light)—I read that
the church confessional boxes—the places where folks poured their sins-
into monks' gaping ears—those very boxes go to make barricades."

" I'm delighted to hear it," says I. " Only to think of those boxes,
makes me shiver."

" 'Twould be droll, wouldn't it,—if in one of'em, King Bombastes of
Naples—Lord Brougham's cheerful friend—if just by the fortune of
war, his Majesty was shriven by a Roman bullet, and made a clean
breast of it to Bather Death. Very droll, eh, Miss Benimble ? "
" Don't talk in that horrid way," says T, "I'd rather have him put