DOI issue:
July to December, 1849
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16604#0267
PUNCH. OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
255
HOW DOES A RAILWAY LOOK UNDER A COM-
MITTEE OE INVESTIGATION?
Why it looks anything but pleasant.
You would scarcely know it to be the same railway that it was a
short twelvemonths ago. But it was happy then; and now it has
scarcelv a smiling feature left. It looks prematurely old and rusty.
All its lines, that ought still to have the bounding elasticity of youth
about them—for they are barely out of their teens—are hard and
deeply sunken, and seem like heavy lines of care, giving it s young face
a look of wrinkled childhood, as unpleasant to contemplate as the
Railway Share List.
Yet we can recollect when it was gay, very gay, and had a joke for
even one. During the week it was so 1 olio wed, you fancied it was a
perpei ual Greenwich Fair Day, or an everlasting Derby. On a Sunday
it was run after by thousands, and was so proud, it was a difficulty
sometimes to get near it. Hundreds were content to remain outside,
and to look at it with long faces through the railings, thinking them-
selves too happy if they heard its merry whistle. Mothers held up
their innocent babies to see it; old men hung for hours upon then-
crutches to get a passing peep at it; and the little dogs assembled
regularly, to bark as its Engine dashed buoyantly along. The very
cows leaped for joy directly they heard its hysterical scream of ecstatic
delight; and horses, sheep, and pigs, and even countrymen, all feln
within them a new impulse, and were violently moved, jumping over
hedges and ditches sometimes, in their mad excitement, so much were
they carried away by the animal spirits of the giddy thing before them.
All that came near it felt its joyful influence. The porters frisked
about. The smart superintendent slammed the doors with almost a
musical air; the sprightly lampman mostly carried "a light in his
laughing eye;" and the chivalrous guard wore his knowing cap cocked
saucily on one ear, and had generally a flower in the corner of his
mouth.
Every now and then, a busy, fat, rounded, Nassau-balloon of a man,
would attract attention by some lively sally, at which were invariably
discharged by all around him several loud Ha ! ha's ! like the favourable
report ol double-barrelled guns. He was a Director, and always had
a first-class carriage to himself. He was too big to be shovelled in
with the small dust of other passengers. How proud that great man
always looked! and no wonder, considering what spaniels, almost
licking the bright Day and Martin off his boots, all the splendid-
looking officials were to him. If he left his sandwich-box behind him,
the train was stopped. If he had dropped his pocket-handkerchief, the
train went back lor it. If he was too late lor dinner, another engine
was sent forward to clear the road for him. A director was something
like a director in those days. As he spoke, all hats flew off with the
practised energy of a sudden gust of wind. Purses flowed into his
pocket, like sewers into the Thames. Gentleman ran his ■ errands;
mothers kissed the tips of his gloves; Lords dunned him for
favours; Dukes prayed that "he would take charge of a few thousands
they really did not know what to do with :" and Bishops were not too
proud to beg of him to be the larder for their supernumerary loaves
and fishes. What is a director at present 'i Bun, ask the deserted
banks of the Hudson !
The railway altogether is different now. It looks haggard, careworn,
seedy—asif it had been going too "fast," and began tc show the ill
effects of its career.
At times it appears positively unhappy, and long attenuated groans
are heard to issue from its deep tunnels, as if the guilty creature had
something on its mind that was driving it to an early grave.
The officials are no longer the same. Their eyes scan their shoe-
strings— the porters hang their heads on their heaving chests; the
arms of the Telegraphic Signs droop pointedly to " Danger," and every-
thing has a lowering, downcast air, as if it were quite impossible just
at present, for anything connected with railway property to be
looking up. The engine is put on a half-allowance of coals. The
stokers,_the policemen, greasemen, guards, all walk about with an air of
injured innocence, as much as to say, " It wasn't I, Sir, who did it."
The little gardens attached to the stations are withered and neglected,
and are too plainly vegetating only in the hope that is ever blooming in
the bosom of Me. Micawber, of something " turning up."
Look into one of the once noisy offices. An unwholesome silence per-
vades the place, broken only by the fitful scratchmgs of steel pens. The
desks are groaning (grateful word) under the oppressive weigh of false
ledgers. Mysterious conferences take pkceinsly corners in muffled
whispers. Papers are exchanged, long bills examined, heaps of vouchers
sifted and re-sifted ; but it is cruelly impossible, the balance 'will not
come. They begin afresh: when out of the surrounding darkness, in
which it is almost vain to distinguish one figure from another, the first
streak of a fraud begins to dawn upon them, and, gradually looming
larger, bursts at last into the broad, blushing light of day. A chill
runs through all, which rises into horror, then sinks into despair, as
fraud fast follows fraud. The<e seems no end to the train.
Suddenly a clerk is called away. He is summoned for examination.
He goes out with the grace of a man that is summoned to an inquest.
As he leaves his comrades their faces grow longer. On his return he
is surrounded and eagerly questioned. Their faces grow longer still,
and at last drop lower than their own shares, as they learn that their
fellow clerk is dismissed ! They wonder with fear whose turn it will
be next ? From that moment a big Sack hangs over the office-door.
And what is that fearful room with the closed door, that every one
passes on tiptoe ? Not a person dares look at it. The station-keeper
subdues his whistle as he approaches the awful sanctuary. All hurry
past it, holding their breaths. From time to time, the door is opened
and closed as carefully as if it were a sickroom, and out issues a pale,
wan-looking clerk, the apparent messenger of Death. What can it be ?
Does the Plague dwell there ? No, not quite so bad as that, but the
Committee of Investigation sits in it from day to day ! Blue Beard's
closet was not more dreaded. Few Directors that enter that chamber
ever leave it alive.
The scene gets too painful,—so let us turn to the glorious Director.
But where is he ? That is the question, for he cannot be found. He
is summoned but he cannot attend,—he is too ill, and true enough, for
he is said by report to be no longer himself, having fallen away
completely to nothing; a fit end for one whose greatness was only the
stuffing of others, millions of geese having been plucked for the enrich-
ment of one.
When will this state of things come to a terminus ? We hope soon,
for among the many strange things travellers see in their travels, none
is more strange, and none certainly more sad, than that of a Railway
under a Committee of Investigation.
HERE ARE YOUR FINE FRENCH WATERLOOS!
tjB London Directory is full of meaning and sug-
gestion to ihe philosopher of quick perceptions.
The study all depends upon a man's address.
What applies to the London Directory, hold-
equally good with the Almanac des 25 mi lie
Addresses. The latter is full of the most
cunning truths that play at bo-peep with the
reader round the corner of every page. '1 he fol-
lowing, which we first spied on the Rue Rivoli,
and after pursuing it along the different Quais,
finally caught at the Hotel deYille, is well worth a five minutes' romp
with any one who is fond of a little intellectual fun.
In running through the pages of that most amusing Christmas
volume, we were surprised at the number of streets which have been
christened after their several victories. The city seemed as if it had
been built upon one immense battle-field. The victories succeeded one.
another so rapidly, that we could not refrain from smiling at the
military vanity of the thing. After smiling most good-humouredly at
this national egotism, we recollected how fond the French were of
laughing at us for the continual advertisement that is repeated.ail over
London, of Waterloo ! Waterloo! Nothing but Waterloo, from the
finest bridge in the world, down to the smallest potato-can in the
New Cut.
If we are fond of our Waterloo, how much fonder are our laughing
neighbours of their Waterloos—some of which are so extremely weak
and diluted, that we must, in the tame spirit of laughter, call them
Milk-and-Water-loos.
We subjoin a sample list of a few of these victories, which, like
Napoleon, take their rise from the Directory :—
Quai d'Arcole.
font d'Arcole.
Grande Rue d'Austerlitz.
Pont d'Austerlitz.
Quai Napoleon.
Rue Mazagran.
Impasse Mazagran.
Passage Mazagran.
Rue Mogador.
Cite de Trevise.
Rue de Trevise.
Rue Neuve de Trevise.
Quai de Jena.
Pont de Jena.
Passage Isly.
Quai Montebello.
Rue d'Erfuth.
Rue Moscow.
Rue de Navarin.
Rue de Rivoli.
Rue d'Ulm.
Rue d'Aboukir.
&c. ,&c, &c. &c.,&c, &c, &c.
Paris, in fact, is quite running over with a deluge of Waterloos. It
spreads from the Place des Victoires all the way up to the Champ de
Mars, and would probably overflow entire France if it were not checked
in time at the top of the Champs Elysees by the Arc de Triomphe.
Left-Handed Compliment.
The newspapers, speaking of the sailors who were to have borne the
Queen Dowager's body to the grave, say—"They behaved with great
propriety." Of course, it was expected that they would sing a song or
dance a hornpipe; and the reporters were correspondingly surprised
at the tars' " propriety t"
255
HOW DOES A RAILWAY LOOK UNDER A COM-
MITTEE OE INVESTIGATION?
Why it looks anything but pleasant.
You would scarcely know it to be the same railway that it was a
short twelvemonths ago. But it was happy then; and now it has
scarcelv a smiling feature left. It looks prematurely old and rusty.
All its lines, that ought still to have the bounding elasticity of youth
about them—for they are barely out of their teens—are hard and
deeply sunken, and seem like heavy lines of care, giving it s young face
a look of wrinkled childhood, as unpleasant to contemplate as the
Railway Share List.
Yet we can recollect when it was gay, very gay, and had a joke for
even one. During the week it was so 1 olio wed, you fancied it was a
perpei ual Greenwich Fair Day, or an everlasting Derby. On a Sunday
it was run after by thousands, and was so proud, it was a difficulty
sometimes to get near it. Hundreds were content to remain outside,
and to look at it with long faces through the railings, thinking them-
selves too happy if they heard its merry whistle. Mothers held up
their innocent babies to see it; old men hung for hours upon then-
crutches to get a passing peep at it; and the little dogs assembled
regularly, to bark as its Engine dashed buoyantly along. The very
cows leaped for joy directly they heard its hysterical scream of ecstatic
delight; and horses, sheep, and pigs, and even countrymen, all feln
within them a new impulse, and were violently moved, jumping over
hedges and ditches sometimes, in their mad excitement, so much were
they carried away by the animal spirits of the giddy thing before them.
All that came near it felt its joyful influence. The porters frisked
about. The smart superintendent slammed the doors with almost a
musical air; the sprightly lampman mostly carried "a light in his
laughing eye;" and the chivalrous guard wore his knowing cap cocked
saucily on one ear, and had generally a flower in the corner of his
mouth.
Every now and then, a busy, fat, rounded, Nassau-balloon of a man,
would attract attention by some lively sally, at which were invariably
discharged by all around him several loud Ha ! ha's ! like the favourable
report ol double-barrelled guns. He was a Director, and always had
a first-class carriage to himself. He was too big to be shovelled in
with the small dust of other passengers. How proud that great man
always looked! and no wonder, considering what spaniels, almost
licking the bright Day and Martin off his boots, all the splendid-
looking officials were to him. If he left his sandwich-box behind him,
the train was stopped. If he had dropped his pocket-handkerchief, the
train went back lor it. If he was too late lor dinner, another engine
was sent forward to clear the road for him. A director was something
like a director in those days. As he spoke, all hats flew off with the
practised energy of a sudden gust of wind. Purses flowed into his
pocket, like sewers into the Thames. Gentleman ran his ■ errands;
mothers kissed the tips of his gloves; Lords dunned him for
favours; Dukes prayed that "he would take charge of a few thousands
they really did not know what to do with :" and Bishops were not too
proud to beg of him to be the larder for their supernumerary loaves
and fishes. What is a director at present 'i Bun, ask the deserted
banks of the Hudson !
The railway altogether is different now. It looks haggard, careworn,
seedy—asif it had been going too "fast," and began tc show the ill
effects of its career.
At times it appears positively unhappy, and long attenuated groans
are heard to issue from its deep tunnels, as if the guilty creature had
something on its mind that was driving it to an early grave.
The officials are no longer the same. Their eyes scan their shoe-
strings— the porters hang their heads on their heaving chests; the
arms of the Telegraphic Signs droop pointedly to " Danger," and every-
thing has a lowering, downcast air, as if it were quite impossible just
at present, for anything connected with railway property to be
looking up. The engine is put on a half-allowance of coals. The
stokers,_the policemen, greasemen, guards, all walk about with an air of
injured innocence, as much as to say, " It wasn't I, Sir, who did it."
The little gardens attached to the stations are withered and neglected,
and are too plainly vegetating only in the hope that is ever blooming in
the bosom of Me. Micawber, of something " turning up."
Look into one of the once noisy offices. An unwholesome silence per-
vades the place, broken only by the fitful scratchmgs of steel pens. The
desks are groaning (grateful word) under the oppressive weigh of false
ledgers. Mysterious conferences take pkceinsly corners in muffled
whispers. Papers are exchanged, long bills examined, heaps of vouchers
sifted and re-sifted ; but it is cruelly impossible, the balance 'will not
come. They begin afresh: when out of the surrounding darkness, in
which it is almost vain to distinguish one figure from another, the first
streak of a fraud begins to dawn upon them, and, gradually looming
larger, bursts at last into the broad, blushing light of day. A chill
runs through all, which rises into horror, then sinks into despair, as
fraud fast follows fraud. The<e seems no end to the train.
Suddenly a clerk is called away. He is summoned for examination.
He goes out with the grace of a man that is summoned to an inquest.
As he leaves his comrades their faces grow longer. On his return he
is surrounded and eagerly questioned. Their faces grow longer still,
and at last drop lower than their own shares, as they learn that their
fellow clerk is dismissed ! They wonder with fear whose turn it will
be next ? From that moment a big Sack hangs over the office-door.
And what is that fearful room with the closed door, that every one
passes on tiptoe ? Not a person dares look at it. The station-keeper
subdues his whistle as he approaches the awful sanctuary. All hurry
past it, holding their breaths. From time to time, the door is opened
and closed as carefully as if it were a sickroom, and out issues a pale,
wan-looking clerk, the apparent messenger of Death. What can it be ?
Does the Plague dwell there ? No, not quite so bad as that, but the
Committee of Investigation sits in it from day to day ! Blue Beard's
closet was not more dreaded. Few Directors that enter that chamber
ever leave it alive.
The scene gets too painful,—so let us turn to the glorious Director.
But where is he ? That is the question, for he cannot be found. He
is summoned but he cannot attend,—he is too ill, and true enough, for
he is said by report to be no longer himself, having fallen away
completely to nothing; a fit end for one whose greatness was only the
stuffing of others, millions of geese having been plucked for the enrich-
ment of one.
When will this state of things come to a terminus ? We hope soon,
for among the many strange things travellers see in their travels, none
is more strange, and none certainly more sad, than that of a Railway
under a Committee of Investigation.
HERE ARE YOUR FINE FRENCH WATERLOOS!
tjB London Directory is full of meaning and sug-
gestion to ihe philosopher of quick perceptions.
The study all depends upon a man's address.
What applies to the London Directory, hold-
equally good with the Almanac des 25 mi lie
Addresses. The latter is full of the most
cunning truths that play at bo-peep with the
reader round the corner of every page. '1 he fol-
lowing, which we first spied on the Rue Rivoli,
and after pursuing it along the different Quais,
finally caught at the Hotel deYille, is well worth a five minutes' romp
with any one who is fond of a little intellectual fun.
In running through the pages of that most amusing Christmas
volume, we were surprised at the number of streets which have been
christened after their several victories. The city seemed as if it had
been built upon one immense battle-field. The victories succeeded one.
another so rapidly, that we could not refrain from smiling at the
military vanity of the thing. After smiling most good-humouredly at
this national egotism, we recollected how fond the French were of
laughing at us for the continual advertisement that is repeated.ail over
London, of Waterloo ! Waterloo! Nothing but Waterloo, from the
finest bridge in the world, down to the smallest potato-can in the
New Cut.
If we are fond of our Waterloo, how much fonder are our laughing
neighbours of their Waterloos—some of which are so extremely weak
and diluted, that we must, in the tame spirit of laughter, call them
Milk-and-Water-loos.
We subjoin a sample list of a few of these victories, which, like
Napoleon, take their rise from the Directory :—
Quai d'Arcole.
font d'Arcole.
Grande Rue d'Austerlitz.
Pont d'Austerlitz.
Quai Napoleon.
Rue Mazagran.
Impasse Mazagran.
Passage Mazagran.
Rue Mogador.
Cite de Trevise.
Rue de Trevise.
Rue Neuve de Trevise.
Quai de Jena.
Pont de Jena.
Passage Isly.
Quai Montebello.
Rue d'Erfuth.
Rue Moscow.
Rue de Navarin.
Rue de Rivoli.
Rue d'Ulm.
Rue d'Aboukir.
&c. ,&c, &c. &c.,&c, &c, &c.
Paris, in fact, is quite running over with a deluge of Waterloos. It
spreads from the Place des Victoires all the way up to the Champ de
Mars, and would probably overflow entire France if it were not checked
in time at the top of the Champs Elysees by the Arc de Triomphe.
Left-Handed Compliment.
The newspapers, speaking of the sailors who were to have borne the
Queen Dowager's body to the grave, say—"They behaved with great
propriety." Of course, it was expected that they would sing a song or
dance a hornpipe; and the reporters were correspondingly surprised
at the tars' " propriety t"