Punch or The London charivari (3.1842)

82

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

PHYSIOLOGY OF THE LONDON IDLER.

CHAPTER VIII.— OF THE MOOTER.

FTER a diligent search
in Johnson's Dictionary,
to which authority we ge-
nerally rush for informa-
tion concerning any word,
we find no other meaning
given to " moon," than its
ordinary astronomical sig-
nification. We must there-
fore coin our own epithet,
and define the subject of
our present chapter, as
an individual who moons
about, without any object,
half absent, half contem-
plative ; and differing from
the majority of loungers
we have already portray-
ed, in being neither young,
nor over-particular in his
toilette. He is most pro-
bably an old bachelor,
with a hundred and fifty
pounds a year.

In zoological classifica-
tion, the Mooner evidently
belongs to the Ruminantia.
He lounges and strays
about, taking four times
the period usually allotted
to walk any distance, fid-
dle-faddling the space of time away in a lamentably unprofitable
manner, and finding intense amusement in objects which the Regent-
street Idler, or even the Gent, would pass by in contempt. The
laying-down of wooden blocks, to form a new pavement, detains him
a sure half-hour. The opening of a water-main, or a course of gas-
pipes, is another riveting spectacle ; but the attraction of both these
is exceeded by the elevation of a fresh block of stone to the top of
an embryo building—which is a process of so absorbing a nature,
as to make him unmindful of everything else in the world, until it
is properly fixed. It is lucky for him that the view of the river has
been shut out on the Palace-side of Westminster-bridge, or his head
would certainly grow between the balustrades, whilst he watched the
laying of each successive piece of masonry, hereafter to form the
New Houses of Parliament.

The Mooner, like other Idlers, is exceedingly fond of the shops—
more especially those where some mechanical performance is going
on in the windows. In this respect a cork-cutter's ranks very high ;
he wonders what the men do with the bits they take off, and how it
is they never slice their fingers. He also admires the gratuitous
exhibition in natural philosophy afforded by the working of the
coffee-shop steam-engine in Rathbone-place, and thinks what a quan-
tity of coffee the people in the neighbourhood must get through, if
the mill is obliged to work all day to grind it for them. He is also
much gratified at the table-knives and teapots revolving on a bottle-
jack in the windows of the cheap ironmongers ; which attractive
display is only exceeded in interest by a gold-beater's or a paper-
stainer's, where the arcana of those trades are displayed to the
passers by.

If the Mooner patronises other shop-windows, they are never the
usually frequented ones. He cultivates cheap literature at the
second-hand book stalls ; or otherwise stops at that uninteresting
class of shops which only gain our attention when we are loitering
about for a coach to arrive or start. Indeed, the Mooner, in his
common appearance, has the air of a person perpetually waiting for
the chimerical omnibus of an imaginary railroad which never
arrives. We have, however, no right to find fault with his occupa-
tions—or, rather, bis perfect want of any—for every man has the
privilege of amusing himself in the manner most congenial to his
own feelings ; but we must object to entering into any conversation
with the Mooner. He possesses that diverting property, which some
people appear to cultivate with such care, of totally losing the point
of any anecdote he relates; and strolls and wanders just as much in
his conversation as he does in his peregrinations, lingering as long on
the way as a Charing-Cross omnibus.

If you meet him, you cannot mention a word but it puts him in
mind of a story that has no connexion at all with the subject in
question ; but there appears to exist an imaginary link in his brain5
and you had better see a friend on the other side of the street,
"whom you wish to speak to," or suffer, and be silent until he baa
concluded.

If it should happen that the Mooner has to go from Piccadilly to
Lincoln's-inn Fields, the journey lasts an entire afternoon, so many
reasons for delay does he find upon the road. Having seen soire

coaches start from the Regent Circus, read the directions upon the
boxes, whenever it was practicable, and refused to buy a pen-knife
with fourteen blades, he casts a side-long glance up Windmill-street,
towards the morning figure at the wax-work establishment, and then
saunters on to Leicester Square, where he remains for a very indefi-
nite period, lost in wonder at the various objects in that bustling
thoroughfare. He watches the man making wire toasting-forks and
pipe-stoppers, tintil he is almost competent to undertake the manu-
facture himself, and then gazes for some time at the little mechanical
man on horseback, who rides so gallantly across three panes of the
window next to Miss Linwood's Exhibition once in every two minutes
and a quarter. From this he turns to a vendor of the class of seedy-
respectables, arrayed from top to toe in rusty black, and carrying an
inverted saucepan-lid full of small medals, which he expresses his
reasons for parting with by the following address :—

" Now, you have the last opportunity of becoming rich, and deciding
the celebrated wager, of which you have read so much in "Bell's
Life in London," laid at Sir Robert Peel's grand dinner, between
Prince Esterhazy and Mr. Feargus O'Connor, as to whether it was
possible to dispose of five hundred full-weight sovereigns at one penny
each before six o'clock this evening. It's against the law of the land
to sell gold so cheap, therefore I let you have the case for a penny,
containing two bodkins and a darning-needle, and give you the sove-
reign in, together with this new and favourite ballad, a gold wedding-
ring, a five-pound note, and a pith tumbler. Now, who's the lucky
buyer of the last half dozen."

After this oration, and when he has listened to an organ playing
Ma Normandie, he loiters on a little further to a stall where a man is
joining cracked pieces of plate, and making pennies look like crown-
pieces ; and having expressed his approbation at the process, he after-
wards enters with vivid interest into the speech of a vendor of small
Napoleons shut up in glass bottles, and once again loses himself for
twenty minutes in a searching chain of inquiry as to the probable-
mode of accomplishing this apparently impossible piece of ingenuity.
He then moves forward again to the door of the Panorama, and li>?