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PUNCH'S 
 
 LETTERS TO HIS SON; 
 
 PUNCH'S 
 COMPLETE LETTER-WRITER 
 
 DOUGLAS JEEROLD. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, 11, BOUVERIE STREET. 
 
 1858. 
 
LONDON : 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS. WHITEFRIARS. 
 
PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 efctcatfon. 
 
 TO 
 
 THE EIGHT HON. THE LORD CHAMBERLAIN, 
 
 (whoever he may be.) 
 
 My Lord, Take my word for it, you have greater reason to 
 be proud of this Dedication than of your wand of office. Having 
 read it, you may, for the remainder of your official life, walk in 
 the eyes of all men, at least half an inch higher. As, however, 
 persons in your exalted rank are not always inevitably promoted 
 to the eminence by the invincibility of their reasoning powers, or 
 the subtlety of their wit, it may perhaps be necessary for me to 
 explain to you why, from this day forward, you should enjoy an 
 increase of official altitude. Few things irk a man more, than to 
 know he has inflicted the heaviest, yet withal the sweetest, obli- 
 gation on another, who nevertheless obstinately remains in the 
 most Stygian ignorance of the fact. Taney, my lord, a pearl- 
 diver your lordship may possibly guess the perils of the 
 trade having plunged to the bottom of the oozy deep ; strange, 
 horrid monsters about him ; the ocean booming and rolling over 
 him ; fearful thoughts of his wife and little ones stirring in his 
 breast ; imagine him groping for the treasure which, it may be, 
 is destined to repose upon the palpitating bosom of an Eastern 
 queen. He rises to the surface of the deep he is on dry land. 
 Happy diver ! he hath fished up a union 
 
 " Richer than that which four successive kings 
 In Denmark's crown have worn! " 
 
 He believes his fortune made ; the precious pearl has enriched 
 him, his wife, and little ones for life. Alas, no ! the waywardness 
 
 468607 
 
PUNCH'S LETTERS* TO HIS SON. 
 
 of fate denies to his pearl the asylum of a crown refuses to it 
 the ear of a queen. No : that pearl, by the very wilfulness of 
 destiny, is flung among the wash of pigs, and is swallowed with 
 a grunt by that bacon hog, altogether unconscious of the treasure 
 to be dissolved into nothing by his porcine chyle. Now he must 
 be a hardhearted man a lout, a churl who would deny to the 
 poor pearl-diver the barren satisfaction of pinching the pig's 
 tail, to assure the beast, as well and as reasonably as a beast can 
 be assured of anything, that he has swallowed the jewel that he 
 has the worth of I know not how many bars of gold in his igno- 
 rant bowels. No : justice who though she may not choose to use 
 them, yet keeps her scales and weights in every man's breast 
 justice declares that the man shall have the rightful privilege of 
 pinching the pig's tail ; or, in familiar phrase, that he shall not lose 
 his pearl without as the vulgar hath it having a squeak for it ! 
 
 Now, my lord, hold me not guilty, of any unseemly parallels. 
 It is true, in the following Letters you will, I know, meet with 
 as many pearls as you ordinarily see at a royal drawing-room : 
 nevertheless do not for an instant believe that I libel you as a 
 hog. No, my lord, repress, annihilate the nascent thought. Yet, 
 consider, that as this Dedication, like a patent iron coffin, is 
 expressly hammered out to last until doom's-day consider, my 
 lord, how many chamberlains, and how various their capacities, 
 may exist between this time and the world's end ! It is to meet 
 all possible accidents that may occur to all future Lords 
 Chamberlain, that I here insist on dwelling upon the obligation 
 I have laid them under, by dedicating to them these adamantine 
 Letters. 
 
 Having resolved to publish, I looked serenely round the world 
 for a nominal patron. At first I thought the Lord Chancellor, 
 as legal guardian of the defenceless rich for there is not one of 
 these Letters that may not be considered as the orphan inheritor 
 of invaluable wealth, that is, if wisdom always went as at the 
 trunkmaker's, by avoirdupois weight, yes, I thought the genius 
 of the woolsack might fitly protect these costly epistles ; but 
 reflecting upon the many orphans, the many lunatics, too, still 
 upon his lordship's hands, I instantly resolved not to swell the 
 number of his responsibilities, and, therefore, thought again. 
 
 Next, the rattle of the Prince of Wales fell upon my ear. 
 "These Letters," said I, "shall be dedicated to the Prince: they 
 will especially serve to commemorate the day on which his Eoyal 
 Highness was taken out of long frocks the brevity of every 
 epistle will touchingly illustrate the shortness of his coats." My 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 wife exulted at the idea. " The very thing," said she ; " for, 
 insn't there our last boy, Ugolino ? he'll want something as he 
 grows up ; and the Prince can't do less than make him a tide- 
 waiter." The mercenary speculation for all women are not 
 mothers of Gracchi determined me to give up the Prince of 
 Wales. "No," said I, "the dirty motive-makers of the world 
 will be sure to misconstrue the act ; they will swear that Punch 
 was only loyal that he might be prosperous ; they will say that 
 he only worshipped the rising pap-spoon that his own brat might 
 catch the fragments that fell from it." My heart swelled at the 
 suspicion, like a new-blown bladder, and I struck off from my 
 list the Prince of Wales. 
 
 I next looked into the Houses of Parliament. Here, I thought, 
 are people whom the world sometimes persist in taking for my 
 blood relations ; and, it must be confessed, that both in the 
 Upper and Lower Senate words are spoken and capers cut, that 
 were I to be impeached for either it would, I fear, be very 
 difficult for me to prove an alibi. "Why, there's fifty of 'em, at 
 least," said my wife, " that you can't persuade the world ar'n't 
 your own kith and kin." "And for that reason, wife," I replied, 
 " I will have none of 'em. No ; I am fully aware of the relation- 
 ship myself; but it's their dirty pride that chokes me their 
 arrogance that makes them sometimes pass me, even in Parlia- 
 ment-street, as if I was to them an alien in blood, in manners, and 
 religion. And why 1 I get my living in the open air. Well ; 
 didn't Julius Caesar, the Duke of Marlborough, do the same ? 
 And when Wellington and Wagstaff were on service, didn't 
 they labour, too, sub dio ? Can you gather laurels in a back 
 parlour can you grow bays upon a hearth-rug ? " 
 
 It was then, my lord, I resolved to dedicate these Letters to 
 you. The reason is obvious : 
 
 THE LORD CHAMBERLAIN NEVER DID ANYTHING FOR 
 PUNCH ! 
 
 You have graciously let me alone ; and I have flourished 
 under the benignity of your neglect. I pitch my stage where- 
 soever I will, in Westminster or not, without your warrant : I 
 act my plays without your license. I discourse upon the world 
 as it is, on the life that is moving about us, and on the invisible 
 emotions of the heart of man, and pay no penny to your deputy. 
 I increase in social importance ; for I am not withered by your 
 patronage, 
 
 b2 
 
PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 Had fate made me, for these last two hundred years, the 
 master of a play-house, how different might have been my 
 condition ! Had I, since the Act which made you protector and 
 censor of the dramatic sisters, Melpomene and Thalia poor 
 girls ! there are people who swear you have treated 'em worse 
 than Mrs. Brownrigg used her appprentices had I felt your 
 patronage, how often had I been banco rotto ; how often had I 
 played understand me, not paid a "doleful dump" in Portugal- 
 street ! 
 
 Wherefore, then, do I dedicate to you these Letters ? From 
 an exalted spirit of independence. I owe you nothing, my lord, 
 and have flourished upon the obligation. 
 
 $2FHC&, 
 
INTRODUCTION: 
 
 In, humane compliance with the incessant and affecting suppli- 
 cation of many hundred bosom friends, these epistles are for the 
 first time submitted to print. Yes, I swear it : and to solemnise 
 the oath, I am ready to kiss a bank-note of any amount above 
 fifty pounds, I am wholly won to type by the entreaties of 
 sundry fathers, for whose children I have as, indeed, I feel I 
 ought to have yearnings of peculiar affection. 
 
 These letters were originally addressed to, I verily believe, my 
 own son. In them, I have endeavoured to enshrine the wisdom 
 of my life. In them, I have sought to paint men as they are to 
 sketch the scenes of the world as they have presented themselves 
 to my observation to show the spring of human motives to 
 exhibit to the opening mind of youth the vulgar wires that, 
 because unseen, make a mystery of common-place. 
 
 I am prepared to be much abused for these epistles. They 
 are written in lemon-juice. Nay, the little sacs in the jaws of 
 the rattle-snake, wherein the reptile elaborates its poison to strike 
 with sudden death the beautiful and harmless guinea-pigs and 
 coneys of the earth, these venomous bags have supplied the quill 
 that traced the mortal sentences. Or if it be not really so, it is no 
 matter ; the worthy, amiable souls, who would have even a Sawney 
 Bean painted upon a rose-leaf, will say as much ; so let me for 
 once be beforehand, and say it for them. 
 
 The child for whose instruction and guidance through life these 
 letters were especially composed, has passed from this valley of 
 shadows he is dead. Death, in its various modes of approach, is 
 an accordant mystery with the mystery of life. To one man it, 
 comes in the guise of a grape-stone to another in the aspect of 
 a jackass eating figs. To my dear son death appeared in the 
 tempting shape of a fine South-down wether. Yes, mutton was 
 his fate. 
 
 Had it pleased fortune to make me a man of bank-paper, the 
 life of my darling child might have been spared. Then had I 
 
PU-NCSTS LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 shown that the dear boy acted only in obedience to an irresistible 
 impulse born with him strengthened by maternal milk made 
 invincible by oft indulgence. Then had I proved that the child 
 in what he did was but the innocent accessary of his unconscious 
 mother. 
 
 I have dried my eyes and will endeavour to explain myself. 
 
 Three months, to a day, before the birth of my child, we had 
 not for the previous eight-and-forty hours rejoiced our loyalty 
 with the sight of his majesty's head even upon copper ; and yet 
 be Mercury my judge ! we worked most gallantly handed round 
 the hat most perse veringly laughed most jocosely, and all 
 with bleeding hearts and a slow fire burning in our bowels. 
 Nathless, halfpence came not. At that time, I remember, we 
 were terribly run upon by Parliament. The madness of politics 
 took away the people's brains ; and literature, and art, and 
 Punch, while the mania lasted, were strange infatuation of 
 men ! neglected for the House of Commons. 
 
 Four-and-twenty times in four-and-twenty streets had we 
 acted that day, and yet no coin fell in the oft-presented hat. 
 With thoughts of an empty garret, a supperless destiny if money- 
 came not of my unrepining, much-enduring wife of all her 
 wants in that her time of weakness, with all these horrid 
 memories blazing in my brain, I rattled away, and laughed, and 
 cried and crowed roo-tooit-roo-tooit in every key and cadence, and 
 heard myself bruited by the mob as a merciless, unfeeling rascal, 
 without one touch of humanity for aught that breathed. Alas ! 
 at that moment I had an ulcer in my heart big as a rat-hole. 
 
 Evening came on, and with it cold and drizzling rain. We 
 were preparing for our twenty-fifth representation, when a 
 delicious odour suddenly steamed through the canvas, and on 
 the instant, a voice to my foolish ear sweet as the multitudinous 
 voices of cherubim cried 
 
 " Hot, hot all hot mutton pies all hot ! " 
 
 My dear wife placed her hand upon her heart she knew I 
 had not a penny softly sighed, then fell in a dead swoon into 
 my arms. There she lay, and still the retreating voice rang 
 through the night 
 
 " Hot, hot all hot mutton pies, all hot ! " 
 
 At length my spouse returned to life. With the fine delicacy, 
 the mighty self-denial of her sex, she breathed not her wish. 
 But I looked in her eyes, and read Mutton pies all hot hot, hot ! 
 
 And who, after this, can wonder at much more blame my 
 darling, blighted son for his uncontrollable affection for South- 
 down, or in fact any other, wethers ? 
 
 Oh, ye thousands of philosophers, dozing, dreaming, yawning 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 in garrets oh, ye broad-brimmed, long-skirted, ankle-jacked 
 sages, who look into men's skulls as men look into glass hives 
 who untwist the cords of the human heart carefully yet surely 
 as the huswife untangles a skein of silk could not twelve of 
 ye be found to go into a box to discuss, and by your verdict 
 dignify, as pretty a case of morals and metaphysics as ever came 
 from the Press-yard 1 But no ; drysalters, hardwaremen, yea, 
 ropemakers (for my innocent boy never thought to challenge the 
 last juryman as peculiarly interested in the verdict), judged him, 
 and of course he was lost. 
 
 As a further illustration of the benighted intellect of the jury, 
 it was argued against my boy my doomed one from the womb ! 
 that he had on a previous occasion shown a violent love for a 
 bale of Welsh flannel, the property of a hosier on Ludgate-hill. 
 Of course, he had. It was the inevitable result of his constitu- 
 tion. The flannel was part of the sheep. "What he did, he did 
 from necessity. He was organised for the act. The jury 
 asses ! called it a second offence. Why, it was one and the 
 same thing. Nay, had my child made off with a gross or two 
 of lamb's-wool socks, and half-a-dozen Witney blankets, a 
 philosophic jury would have considered the collective acts as but 
 an individual emanation of pre-organised temperament ; and, 
 pitying the mother in the son, have returned a triumphant 
 acquittal. But what knew the jury of affinities 1 
 
 Had I been rich I could have proved all this, and my boy had 
 been saved upon a constitutional eccentricity. As it was but I 
 will no longer dwell upon the theme. Enough for the curious. 
 My boy's fate may be found in the archives of Seven Dials. 
 
 These letters will, I trust, testify my paternal solicitude. It 
 is my pride, that they were treasured by my son, and were 
 bequeathed by him, with other effects, to the individual whose 
 adroit attention to my boy in his last moments was witnessed 
 by hundreds, and commented upon in the handsomest way by 
 various distinguished writers of the English press. It is to the 
 liberality of this individual I am indebted for the original 
 documents ; for, elevated far above the petty spirit of huckstering, 
 he at a word took a pot of porter for the treasure, and with a 
 significant wink and a light-hearted laugh, wished me joy of my 
 bargain 
 
PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 LETTEE I. 
 
 THE BRIGHT POKER. 
 
 My dear little Boy, So early as cock-crow this morning, 
 your dear mother reminded me that you were this day nine 
 years old. The intelligence delighted, yea, and saddened me. 
 My sweet little pet, you will think this strange : I will explain 
 myself. "When I remembered that I was the author of a rational 
 being, of a creature destined, it might be, to have a great stake 
 in this world, and a still greater in the next, my heart rose 
 within me, and I was in a transport of happiness. When, again, 
 I reflected that I had given to the earth an intelligent animal, 
 doomed, perhaps, to continual fisticuffs with fortune ; marked, 
 branded with poverty ; sentenced to all the varieties of the 
 elements ; a cold, hungry, houseless, haggard, squalid piece of 
 human offal ; a thing with the hopes and aspirations of man, 
 now hardened by the injustice of the world to callous, calculating 
 insensibility, now stung into the activity of craft ; when I saw 
 you ragged and despairing, an outcast in this life, and hopeless 
 
 for but then I banished the picture from my brain. " Things," 
 
 I thus communed with myself, " must not be thought of after 
 this melancholy fashion ; otherwise little boys will become 
 extinct." 
 
 You are now, however, called upon to remember for you are 
 sufficiently old to understand the obligation, and I shall therefore 
 no longer address you as a mere child that to me you owe your 
 life. It is now nine years (metaphysicians would say something 
 more,) since you opened a debtor account with me : an account 
 never to be payed off by laying down the principal, but to be 
 duly acknowledged by the punctual payment of interest in the 
 shape of love, duty, and obedience. "Understand, you owe me 
 your life : whether you were, or were not, a party to the debt at 
 the time it was contracted whether at my own whim and 
 caprice I fixed upon you an obligation, never in reality thinking 
 of you at all, matters not : you are my debtor, up to the present 
 period, for nine springs, as many summers, the like number of 
 autumns, and not one less winter. Consider the hold I have 
 upon you remember the debt that will be every year increasing, 
 and be docile, be obedient. 
 
THE BRIGHT POKER. 
 
 It is related of St. Francis that, being destitute of children, he 
 made to himself a family of snow-balls ; and, that, when made, 
 he gave to them pretty and endearing names, and took them in 
 his arms, and hugged them to his bosom, and doubtless thought 
 himself quite a family man. Now, my dear child, I am not a 
 St. Francis (though I think I have at least patrons under other 
 names in the Calendar,) and am therefore incapable of begetting 
 a snow-ball for my heir ; but shall I feel less for my own flesh 
 and blood than the first of the grey coats cared for congealed 
 water 1 
 
 My affection, then, speaks for you in this, and shall be audible 
 in many, letters. The world is opening upon you. In a few 
 years you will enter upon that fearful struggle for the daily 
 shoulder of mutton that terrible fight which every day shakes 
 the earth to its foundations that never-ceasing squabble which, 
 when Jove is melancholy for who shall say that Jove himself 
 has not his megrims 1 makes laughter for his majesty and his 
 court assembled. How, then, to get the best of the fray how 
 to secure the best cut of the shoulder 1 My son, give heed to a 
 short story. 
 
 The widow Muggeridge was the cleanliest of huswives. You 
 might, in vulgar phrase, have eaten your dinner off her floor ; 
 the more especially as plates for two were never known upon 
 her table. Her household gods were a scrubbing-brush and 
 scouring paper. She fairly washed the world from under the 
 feet of her husband. She insisted, as she worded it, upon his 
 being nice and comfortable ; and therefore plentifully sluicing 
 the sick man's chamber, as he lay, knocked down by a fever, 
 Muggeridge died of cold water and a clean helpmate. When 
 assured of her husband's death, it was the touching regret of the 
 new-made widow that he had not staid to change his shirt. If 
 any man ever took pleasure in his grave, it must have been 
 Muggeridge ; for never since his marriage had he known what it 
 was to enjoy a piece of wholesome dirt. 
 
 And here, my dear child, let me advise you, if it should be 
 your destiny to wed, and live in humble state, to avoid by all 
 means what is called a clean wife. You will be made to endure 
 the extreme of misery, under the base, the invidious pretext of 
 being rendered comfortable. Your house will be an ark tossed 
 by continual floods. You will never know what it is to properly 
 accommodate your shoulders to a shirt, so brief will be its visit 
 to your back ere it again go to the wash-tub. And then for 
 spiders, fleas, and other household insects, sent especially into 
 our homesteads to awaken the inquiring spirit of man, to at 
 
10 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 once humble his individual pride oy the contemplation of their 
 sagacity, and to elevate him by the frequent evidence of the 
 marvels of animal life, all these calls upon your higher faculties 
 will be wanting ; and, lacking them, your immortal part will be 
 dizzied, stunned, by the monotony of the scrubbing-brush, and 
 poisoned, past the remedy of perfume, by yellow soap. Your wife 
 and children, too, will have their faces continually shining like 
 the holiday saucers on the mantel-piece. Now, consider the 
 conceit, the worse than arrogance of this : the studied callous 
 forgetfulness of the beginning of man. Did he not spring from 
 the earth? from clay dirt mould mud garden soil, or 
 compost of some sort ; for theological geology (you must look 
 into the dictionary for these words) has not precisely denned 
 what ; and is it not', he basest impudence of pride to seek to 
 wash and scrub and rub away the original spot 1 Is he not the 
 most natural man who, in vulgar meaning, is the dirtiest ? 
 Depend upon it, there is a fine natural religion in dirt : and yet 
 we see men and women strive to appear as if they were 
 compounded of the roses and lilies of Paradise, instead of the 
 fine rich loam that fed their roots. Be assured of it, there is* 
 great piety in what the ignorant foolishly call filth. Take some 
 of the saints for an example. Off with their coats, and away 
 with their hair-shirts ; and even then, my son, so intently have 
 they considered, and been influenced by the lowly origin of man, 
 that with the most curious eye, and most delicate finger, you 
 shall not be able to tell where either saint or dirt begins or ends. 
 
 I have, however, been led from my promised narrative. 
 
 The widow Muggeridge, in her best room, had two pokers. 
 The one was black and somewhat bent : the other shone like a 
 ray of summer light it was effulgent, speckless steel. 
 
 Both pokers stood at the same fire-place. " What ! " you ask, 
 " and did the widow Muggeridge stir her fire with both ] " 
 Certainly not. Was a coal to be cracked the black poker 
 cracked it ; was the lower bar to be cleared the black poker 
 cleared it ; did she want a rousing fire the black poker was 
 plunged relentlessly into the burning mass, to stir up the sleeping 
 heart of Vulcan ; was a tea-kettle to be accommodated to the 
 coals the black poker supported it. " And what," methinks 
 you ask, " did the bright poker 1 " I answer nothing nothing 
 save to stand and glisten at the fire-side ; its black, begrimed 
 companion, stoking, roking, burning, banging, doing all the 
 sweating work. As for the bright poker, that was a consecrated 
 thing. Never did Mrs. Muggeridge go to Hackney for a week 
 to visit her relations, that the bright poker was not removed 
 from the grate ; and, carefully swathed in oiled flannel, awaited 
 
WORDS AND THEIR COUNTERFEITS, ETC. 11 
 
 in greasy repose the return of its mistress. Then, once more in 
 glistening idleness, would it lounge among shovel and tongs ; the 
 jetty slave, the black poker, working until it was worked to the 
 stump, at last to be flung aside for vile old iron ! One dozen 
 black pokers did the bright poker see out ; and to this day 
 doing nothing it stands lustrous and inactive ! 
 
 My son, such is life. When you enter the world, make up ail 
 your energies to become A Bright Poker. 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 WORDS AND THETR COUNTERFEITS HOW TO RECEIVE AND PASS 
 OFF THE SAME, WITH OTHER USEFUL COUNSEL. 
 
 My dear Boy I am much pleased with your last letter. 
 Your remarks on the copies set you by your excellent master, 
 Dr. Birchbud, convince me that schooling has not been lost upon 
 you. However, beware lest you look too closely into the signi- 
 ficance and meaning of words. This is an unprofitable custom, 
 and has spoilt the fortunes of many a man. You may have 
 observed a team of horses yoked to a heavy waggon ; may have 
 heard the bells hanging about their head-gear tinkle, tinkle, 
 tinkle. The bells are of no use none, save to keep up a mono- 
 tonous jingle ; although, doubtless, Giles the waggoner will 
 assure you that the music cheers the horses on the dusty road, 
 and, under the burning sun, makes them pull blithely and all 
 together. Now, there is a certain lot of sentences in use among 
 men, precisely like these bells. They mean nothing are not 
 intended to mean anything but custom requires the jingle. 
 Thus, when you meet a man whom you have seen, perhaps, 
 thrice before and he declares that " he is delighted to see you," 
 albeit it would give him no concern whatever if you were deco- 
 rating the next gibbet you must not, for a moment, look a 
 doubt of his joy, but take his rapture as a thing of course. If he 
 squeeze your hand until your knuckles crack squeeze again. If 
 he declare that " you're looking the picture of health," asseverate 
 upon your honour that " he has the advantage of you, for you 
 never saw him look better." He may at the time be in the last 
 stage of a consumption you may have a hectic fever in your 
 cheek ; no matter for that ; you have both jingled your bells, and 
 with lightened consciences may take your separate way. 
 
 I could, my dear child, enlarge upon this subject. It is enough 
 
12 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 that I caution you in your intercourse with the world, not to 
 take words as so much genuine coin of standard metal, but 
 merely as counters that people play with. If you estimate them 
 at anything above this, you will be in the hapless condition of 
 the wretch who takes so many gilt pocket-pieces for real Mint 
 guineas : contempt and beggary will be your portion. Thinking 
 yourself rich beyond the wealth of Abraham Newland in the golden 
 promises of men, you will risk a kicking from the threshold of 
 the first verbal friend whom you seek for small change. 
 Your last copy, you tell me, was 
 
 " Command you may your mind from play." 
 
 You object to this as an unreasonable dogma. You say, you 
 cannot command your mind from play ; and insinuate it to be an 
 impertinence of your master to assume any such likelihood on 
 your part. In fact, you deny it in toto. More than this ; you 
 had the hardihood to contest the propriety of the text with your 
 worthy master, who, you further inform me, appealed to your 
 moral sense through your fleshly tabernacle, and for some 
 minutes left you not a leg to stand upon. 
 
 I cannot, my dear boy, regret this last incident. It will, I 
 hope, impress upon your mind the necessity of taking certain 
 sentences current in the world for precisely what they are worth, 
 without hallooing and calling a crowd about you to show their 
 cracked and counterfeit condition. Dr. Birchbud, when a boy, 
 had written 
 
 " Command you may your mind from play," 
 
 a hundred and a hundred times in fine large text. "Well, did he 
 believe in the saw any more for that ? Did he, think you, expect 
 you to believe in it ? " Then, wherefore " you may ask in your 
 ignorance " did he scourge me, for not believing 1 " Foolish boy ! 
 it was for not seeming to believe. This is precisely the treat- 
 ment you will meet with in the world, if, with courageous 
 conceit, you attempt to test the alloy in so much of its verbal 
 coinage coinage that is worn thin with handling ; which wise 
 men know the true value of, and pocket for what it's worth, and 
 which only fools (and the worst of fools they call martyrs) ring, 
 and rub, and look at, and having done so, screech out, " Bad 
 money ! " 
 
 Now, my dear boy, the next time the worthy Doctor Birchbud 
 gives you the copy 
 
 " Command you may your mind from play, 
 
 look at it with sudden reverence, square your elbow with deter- 
 
WORDS AND THEIR COUNTERFEITS, ETC. 13 
 
 mined energy, take up your pen as . though you were about to 
 book the text " in the red-leaved tablet of your heart," and 
 having, in solemn silence, made the required number of copies, 
 take the book up to your master, and, as you give it in, let your 
 countenance appear at once informed and dignified with the 
 beautiful truth you have consigned to paper, nay, let your whole 
 anatomy seem at that moment absorbing the grand lesson you 
 have inscribed in the copy-book. This done, you may return to 
 your seat, and whenever the master's head is turned aside 
 you may go on with your game of " odd or even " under the desk 
 with Jack Eogers, play at " soldiers " on your slate, or any other 
 pastime that may take your fancy. It is sufiicient that you have 
 gravely registered your belief, that 
 
 " Command you may your mind from play." 
 
 The registration is enough ; whether you can, or will, is alto- 
 gether another matter. 
 
 This subject reminds me of an inquiry you once made, at a 
 time when you were too young to comprehend the matter. On 
 the paper covering a square of Windsor soap were printed the 
 Eoyal Arms. I recollect your charming smile at the lion and 
 unicorn ; and the childish curiosity which prompted you to 
 inquire the meaning of the royal legend 
 
 " Dieu et mon droit." 
 
 That, my child, it is now proper for you to learn, means, " God 
 and my right." When you shall have mastered something more 
 of the History of England, and shall have read all that certain 
 kings have done under that motto, you will then more fully 
 understand what I have written to you upon taking words as 
 counters, not as real things ; of the necessity of always seeming 
 to believe them the true coin, and the danger of crying 
 counterfeit. " God and my right ! " Ha, my dear boy, there 
 have been men, who because they would stand out from the rest 
 of the world, and would not believe in the divine origin of these 
 syllables, have had their heads sliced like turnips from their 
 shoulders, and their quarters hung up like sides of bacon over 
 city gates ; whilst other men, not one jot more believing, have, 
 with a knowing wink at their fellows, and thrusting their tongue3 
 in their cheeks, bowed like willow wands to the words, and 
 found their reward in beef, ale, and, in fulness of years, death in 
 a goose-bed. 
 
 You say you employed the last half-holiday in birds'-nesting. 
 This was very right. I would have you train your mind to 
 
14 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 manly sports. In due season, with the grace of fortune, you will 
 be able to hunt hares, those pestilent and dangerous creatures 
 having been especially provided to exercise the muscles and the 
 intellects of man. Should you obtain that position in the world, 
 which it is my fervent prayer you will arrive at, you may also be 
 permitted to join in a royal hunt, a pastime of the highest 
 dignity, utility, and humanity. For instance, you will chase a 
 stag, for the express and only purpose of terrifying it ; and 
 having put it to an hour or two of serviceable agony, you will 
 have it caught and conducted back to the pasture, to be left for 
 future enjoyment. As, however, these must be the sports of 
 your manhood, you are quite right now to begin with linnets and 
 sparrows. You, my dear son, will one day have to quit the 
 paternal roof for the great world. By reflecting on what the 
 parent linnets and sparrows suffer, deprived of their young, you 
 will have some wholesome idea of the anxiety of your loving 
 parents under a like affliction. 
 
 You ask me to send you some corking-pins that you may spin 
 cockchafers upon them. Your mother sends them, with her 
 blessing and her best love. I trust, however, you will turn this^ 
 amusement to your profit. As, under the blessing of heaven, I 
 may probably article you to Mr. Abednego, the attorney and 
 money-lender of Jewish prejudice, I would counsel you to take 
 particular notice of the conduct of the cockchafer, when buzzing 
 and spinning with the pin through its bowels that you may 
 know exactly how long it will live, and how much pin it will 
 bear. This knowledge, for wisdom comes to us from so many 
 channels, will be of great use to you as a disciple of Abednego, 
 when making out your costs. 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 OBJECTS WORTHY OF DISCOVERY SHORT STORY OF MAN AND 
 HIS DUCK. 
 
 My dear Boy, You tell me you have been reading Captain 
 Cook's Voyages, and are so much pleased with them, that you 
 would start round the world on a voyage of discovery to-morrow 
 morning. You will seriously offend me by any repetition of this 
 folly. Leave such mad adventures to fools and zealots. Stay 
 you, and make greater discoveries, at home. 
 
 Do you know the reward of the simpletons who peril life, and 
 
OBJECTS WORTHY OF DISCOVERY. 15 
 
 forego all the comforts of the fleshly man for what ? To give, 
 it may be, their name to an iceberg, and their carcases to the 
 sharks. Columbus discovered America, and was at last rewarded 
 with fetters for his pains. Who can point out the two yards of 
 dust that cover Cabot the mariner, who found a home and a 
 retreat for tens of thousands ? Ask of the sea, in which of its 
 multitudinous caves repose the bones of Hudson ? 
 
 The known world is quite large enough for you ; let fools, if 
 they will, leave their snug arm-chairs, and sea-coal fires, to 
 extend its boundaries. What matters it to you where the Niger 
 begins or ends ? Have you not the pleasant banks of Thames, 
 the tens of thousands of unsophisticated natives thronging its 
 shores ; all of them ready to exchange their gold-dust for any 
 glass-beads you may bring for barter, if, by your confidence and 
 swagger, you can pass off the glass for veritable diamonds ? If 
 you can, great and sufficient will be your reward. If you cannot, 
 you will undergo the rightful penalty of your ignorance. But 
 the thing is done every day. Do not imagine they are the onlv 
 savages whose skins are soot-colour, who wear rings through 
 their noses, stick parrots' feathers in their woolly hair, and bow 
 to Mumbo Jumbo as their only deity. My dear boy, you will 
 find amongst the whitest, the most carefully-dressed, and most 
 pious of London, absolute children of nature ; men, as it would 
 seem, expressly made for the support of their fellow-creatures, as 
 shoals of herrings are every season spawned expressly for the 
 nutriment of whales. Therefore, trust yourself to no canoe on 
 the Senegal, but prosper on the banks of your paternal river. 
 
 You would like to be a discoverer 1 Very well. London is a 
 boundless region for the exercise of the greatest sagacity. Leave 
 to dreamers the solution of the shortest cut to India find you 
 the north-west passage to the pockets of your fellow-creatures. 
 Discover the weaknesses of men ; they will be to you more than 
 the mines of Potoso, bring you richer merchandise than cargoes 
 of gold-dust and ivory. 
 
 If, however, forgetful of my paternal lessons and unworthy of 
 your progenitor, you address yourself solely to what is absurdly 
 termed the dignity of human nature and the amelioration of the 
 condition of mankind, if you choose to make one of the fools 
 who have lost their labour and their soap in the vain attempt to 
 wash the negro white, why, starvation, obloquy, and wretched- 
 ness in every shape attend you ! Your heart's blood may dry 
 up in a garret, and if your carcass be not arrested by the bailiff 
 you may rot in the pauper's corner of the parish church-yard. 
 To be sure, after some hundred years or so, it may be some 
 comfort for your ghost to slip from your forgotten grave, and 
 
16 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 make midnight visits to the statue that may be at length erected 
 to the genius that died, the debtor of a twopenny loaf to a bene- 
 volent baker. If you will be contented with such reward, try 
 of course to elevate your species. If, however, you would rather 
 enjoy present sixpences, why then spin pewter plates on a 
 balanced sword, or poise a donkey. My dear boy, work for 
 ready money. Take no bill upon posterity : in the first place, 
 there are many chances against its being paid ; and in the next, 
 if it be duly honoured, the cash may be laid out on some piece of 
 bronze or marble of not the slightest value to the original. Sure 
 I am, that no statue or monument is erected to the memory of 
 one who is at length called the benefactor of his race, that the 
 ceremony is not a holiday for famine and all the household furies. 
 They behold in the thing an irresistible temptation to other fools. 
 One late-rewarded martyr inevitably raises a new regiment to 
 bleed and suffer. 
 
 It is upon this truth for truth is not always to be disregarded 
 that I would have you stand : it is upon this principle I would 
 have you eschew all romantic notions of travels to Abyssinia, 
 and voyages to the Pole, for the more profitable discovery of the 
 weaknesses of your fellow-creatures. Are you fond of wild 
 countries, curious plants, rare animals, strange adventures ? 
 Munge into the heart of man. There you will find deserts, 
 poisonous weeds, snakes, and a host of iniquities arrayed against 
 a host. You will also find streams gushing with health, amaran- 
 thine flowers, cooing doves, and things of divine aspect and 
 heavenly utterance : with these, however, meddle not. No ; 
 turn from them, and, spite of yourself, convince yourself that 
 they exist not, that they are the mere phantasma of the brain 
 the mere offspring of the imagination, that, sickened with arid, 
 ourning tracts, sees in its sweet disease palms and silver springs, 
 and in the tinkling of the camel's bell hears the heart-delighting 
 nightingale. Not so with the dreary places and the venomous 
 things. Learn every nook of these ; catalogue every object. It is in 
 such spots you are to drive a prosperous trade ; it is such articles 
 you are to use in barter. Does not the wise tradesman put on 
 his comeliest looks, and bow lowest to his best customer ? Virtue 
 is a poor, paltry creature, buying her miserable penn'orths at 
 miserable chandlers'. Now Vice, Weakness, and Co., are large, 
 burly traders, and " come smug upon the mart." Therefore, 
 make yourself master of their tempers find your way to their 
 heart? ; for they have hearts, even as blocks of marble sometimes 
 contain within them the torpid, sweating toad, "ugly and 
 venomous." 
 
 However, in opening an account with this firm, be sure you 
 
OBJECTS WORTHY OF DISCOVERY. 17 
 
 never apply to them the names spat upon them by clean-mouthed 
 Virtue. Oh, no ! although you know them to be leprous to the 
 bones, you must treat them, must speak of them, as though they 
 were the very incarnation of health. Though their corrupt 
 practices are to the nostril like the foulness of a new battle-field, 
 snuff them as though you inhaled the odours of myrrh and 
 frankincense burning in the temple. 
 
 When you have become a scholar in the weaknesses of the 
 human heart, you may then lay them under what impost you 
 will. You may but I will tell you a little story in illustration 
 of the ti uth of this. - 
 
 You must know that the greater number of the inhabitants of 
 Ceylon have it, as their firm belief, that, when dead, their souls 
 will take up their habitation in the bodies of various animals. 
 A wise fellow too wise to work, and sage enough to be deter- 
 mined to enjoy himself without labour turned the superstition 
 of his neighbours to constant profit. Whenever his pockets were 
 empty he would rush into the streets, and carrying a live duck 
 in one hand, and brandishing a knife with the other, he would 
 exclaim to the terrified people 
 
 " Wretches, this duck may be your grandfather your 
 grandmother your father your mother your brother your 
 sister your son your daughter ! Wretches ! I'll kill the 
 duck ! " 
 
 Whereupon, men, women, and children would throw them- 
 selves upon their knees, and offering what money they had, beg 
 of the man not to kill their grandfather, their grandmother, 
 their son, their daughter, but in the depths of his mercy, and 
 for the sake of ready money, to touch not a feather of the 
 duck ! 
 
 And the man, pocketing the cash, would walk away, for that 
 time sparing the duck. 
 
 My son, you are not an inhabitant of Ceylon, but a denizen of 
 enlightened London ; nevertheless, in every city every man has 
 some sort of a grandmother in some sort of a duck. 
 
18 PUNCH'S LETTERS. TO HIS SON. 
 
 LETTEE IV. 
 
 ON THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 
 
 Mr dear Child, You say you are anxious to select for 
 yourself an agreeable and profitable profession, and solicit my 
 paternal counsel to assist you in your choice. This brings to my 
 recollection, that your darling mother once begged that I would 
 accompany her to a mercer's, to choose a gown. We entered the 
 shop, and desired an inspection of the warehouseman's commo- 
 dities. Velvets cut, flowered, and plain ; satins of all colours ; 
 sarsnets ; silks, shot with thunder and lightning ; muslins, 
 poplins, bombazeens, pompadours ; all the beautiful products of 
 the loom were graciously taken from the shelves, and displayed 
 upon the counter before us. Some two to three hours were 
 agreeably passed in this way ; when your dear mother, with one 
 of her sweetest smiles, thanked the shopmen for their trouble,* 
 then said, "she thought she could only afford a tenpenny 
 gingham." 
 
 My dear boy, I fear it will be thus with you in your choice 
 of a profession. I may, it is true, unroll an archbishop's lawn 
 before you may call your earnest attention to a Lord Chan- 
 cellor's ermine may request you to feel the weighty bullion of a 
 commander-in-chief's epaulets to weigh in your hand the gold- 
 headed cane of a court physician, and when all this is done, you 
 may be compelled to call for the leather apron of a cobbler, or 
 the goose and needle of a tailor. 
 
 I wish and Heaven witness the aspiration that at your 
 birth the law of primogeniture had bound you apprentice to 
 15,000?. per annum, besides my good-will, when I slept beneath 
 a slab of marble. Such a calling must be a very pretty busi- 
 ness, and, believe me, I should have mightily liked to be your 
 master. As fortune has ordered it otherwise, let us look at the 
 professions. 
 
 Will you enter the church 1 Alas ! what a prospect lies before 
 you. Can you discipline your mind and body to fulfil the 
 functions of your office ? I will at once suppose you a bishop. 
 Can you, I ask it, satisfy your appetite with merely locusts and 
 wild honey ? Will you be content with raiment of sack-cloth, 
 or at the best, linsey-woolsey ; and can you answer for your 
 conscience that you will, at all times and in all weathers, be 
 ready to make a pilgrimage to the hovels of the poor : to give 
 
ON THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 19 
 
 comfort to the wretched ; to pray beside the straw of the 
 repentant guilty ; to show, by your own contempt of the creature 
 blessings of this world, that you look upon the earth as a mere 
 temporary tarrying-place, a caravanserai, where you are 
 awaiting until called beyond the clouds 1 Consider it ; as a 
 bishop, you will be expected to take your seat in the House of 
 Lords. When there, shall you be prepared, with the rest of your 
 brethren, to set a continual pattern of piety and self-denial to 
 the lay-nobles 1 Will you be ever prompt as bishops always 
 are to plead the cause of the wretched ; to stand between the 
 sinking poor and the arrogant rich ; and with a voice of almost 
 divine thunder, wake in the callous hearts of worldlings a 
 slumbering conscience for their fellow-men 1 Will you be in the 
 House of Lords, a lump of episcopal camphor a bundle of 
 spikenard a pot of honey ? Can you as all bishops always do 
 abstain from the lusts of Mammon, and keep your lawn, white 
 and candid as the wings of angels, from the yellow soil of filthy 
 Plutus 1 Thinking only of the broadest, the shortest, and the 
 best way to heaven, will you (like all bishops) never meddle 
 with turnpike acts, or job with wooden pavements 1 Eschewing 
 the vanity of coach and footman (as John the Baptist did, and 
 all bishops do,) will you think only of the carriage of Elisha ; and 
 turning from the pomps and vanities of an episcopal palace, 
 can you (as all bishops do) feed humbly, lodge lowly, hun- 
 gering only for immortal manna, waiting only to be called to 
 that home 
 
 M Whose glory is the light of setting suns." 
 
 My dear boy, examine yourself, and say, are you equal to all 
 this 1 I think you are ftiy own flesh and blood, and thinking so, 
 doubt your constancy in this matter. Hence, I would advise you 
 to eschew the church ; for unless you could live a life apostolical, 
 as all bishops always do, what disgrace would you bring upon the 
 bench what slander and a by-word would you be in the mouths 
 of the heathen ! 
 
 Let us now consider the law, and suppose you called to the 
 bar. Have you the fortune to support your dignity? Have 
 you, for this is more, that gentleness of spirit, that philanthropy 
 of soul, which would make all men brothers, which would pluck 
 from the hearts of your fellow-creatures, malice and dissent, the 
 foul hemlock and nightshade that poison the sweet sources of 
 human love ? Consider the change that has come upon the law 
 and its guileless professors. There was, indeed, a golden time, 
 when you might have amassed a fortune by playing bo-peep with 
 Truth ; by abusing, reviling her ; by showing her virgin innocence 
 
 c 2 
 
20 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 to be strumpet infamy ; by plucking every pinion from her 
 sky-cleaving wing, and making her a Avretch of sordid earth : by 
 causing Truth herself to blush for her nakedness. More, you 
 might have successfully " moved the court " to punish her for the 
 indecent exposure ; and thus Truth, by the potency of your 
 eloquence, might have been handed over to the scourging arm of 
 the beadle, whilst Falsehood, your successful client, should have 
 gone triumphant home, in a carriage-and-four, with white 
 favours. These golden times are past. Then, you might have 
 walked the Hall, gowned and wigged, with a harlot tongue to 
 let for hire, carrying any suit into court, as a porter carries any 
 load ; then at the Old Bailey you might even have shaken hands 
 with avowed murder in his cell, and fresh from the blood-shot 
 eye, and charnel breath of homicide, have called Heaven, and its 
 angels, to bear witness to the purity of the cut-throat who had 
 paid you so many golden pieces for your exordium, your meta- 
 phors, your peroration ; your spattering of witnesses, your fierce 
 knocking at the startled hearts of half- bewildered jurymen ; 
 threatening the trembling twelve with midnight visits from the 
 ghost of the innocent creature in the dock, if the verdict went 
 for hemp. This you might have done, but this is past. Now, 
 Conscience wig3 itself, and sits with open door, giving advice 
 gratis. Therefore, can you afford it in purse 1 And more ; have 
 you the necessary milkiness of humanity for such is the term 
 simpletons give it to play the peace-maker between man and 
 man, giving advice, allaying feuds, reconciling neighbour to 
 neighbour, weighing out justice in her golden scales, and 
 charging not one maravedi for the trouble ? Can you, as 
 barrister, write over your door as may now be seen in 
 thousands of places, "Advice given against going to law, 
 gratis?" 
 
 In the olden time, I should have advised you to make an 
 effort for the bar ; but with the present romantic notions for I 
 can give them no worthier name operating on the profession, 
 you can afford it neither in pocket nor in spirit. To such an 
 extent have barristers carried their peace-making quixotisms (of 
 course, considerably assisted by their worthier brethren, the 
 attorneys), that the judges have nothing to do. Already the 
 moth is eating up the official ermine ! 
 
 Will you be a soldier ? "Well, I will presume you are a Field- 
 Marshal. A war breaks out : a wicked, unjust war. It may be 
 thought necessary (such a case occurred about a century ago, 
 and may occur again,) to cut the throats of a few thousands of 
 Chinese, for no other reason than that the Celestial Emperor 
 hath, with his " vermilion pencil," written an edict against the 
 
THE ADVANTAGES OF BEING NOTHING." 21 
 
 swallowing of British opium. You are ordered for the Chinese 
 waters, to blow up, burn, slay, sink in a word, to commit all 
 the beautiful varieties of mischief invented by the devil's toy- 
 woman, Madame Bellona. "Well, with the spirit that is now 
 growing in the army a spirit that has lately developed itself in 
 so many bright examples you are compelled to throw up in 
 " sublime disgust," your Marshal's baton, and, like Cincinnatus, 
 retire to Battersea to cultivate cress and mustard ; philoso- 
 phically preferring those pungent vegetables to laurels stained 
 with the blood of the innocent, defiled with the tears of the 
 orphan. You may then send your epaulettes to Holywell-street, 
 to be burnt for the gold or sell your uniform to be used, on 
 masquerade nights, at the Lowther Arcade. My dear boy, 
 military glory is not what it used to be. Once people thought 
 it a jewel a solid ruby. But philosophy has touched what 
 seemed a gem, and has proved it to be only congealed blood. 
 
 No, you shall be neither Bishop, Chancellor, nor Generalissimo ; 
 but, my boy, you shall be 
 
 But that I'll tell you in my next. 
 
 LETTER Y. 
 
 THE ADVANTAGES OF BEING "NOTHING." 
 
 In my last, my dear boy, I promised to advise you on the 
 choice of a profession. I hasten to redeem that promise. Then 
 I say to you, strive to be neither bishop, chancellor, generalis- 
 simo, nor court physician ; but, my beloved child, be Nothing. 
 
 By not trammelling your mind with the subtleties of divinity 
 or law by maintaining a perfect freedom from the prejudices of 
 a military or medical life, you will be able to take a more 
 dispassionate view of the world about you ; will be the more 
 ready to accommodate yourself to any profitable circumstance 
 that may present itself. Consider how many curates who devote 
 their lives to divinity shiver in a brown-black coat ; fight a daily 
 fight with the meanest necessities ; and with wife, and it may be 
 half-a-dozen children ill-clothed and ill-fed at home, are paid 
 forty pounds a-year to be pattern pieces of holiness and benevo- 
 lence to all the country round. The clerk, who to his Sunday 
 duties, unites the profitable trade of soleing and heeling dilapi- 
 dated shoes, is a nabob ; the clerk is not cursed with the brand 
 of a gentleman ; he may ply with wax-end and awl may vend 
 
22 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 soap, brick-dust, and candles run of errands, beat carpets, do 
 any servile work to make up his income ; his Sabbath " amen " 
 being in no way vulgarised by the labour of the week. But the 
 curate alas, poor man ! he has been to college, and is a gentle- 
 man. Thus, by virtue of his gentility, he must be content with 
 beggary, nor soil his orthodox hands with vulgar task-work. 
 He must be satisfied with daily bread in its very literalness, nor 
 dare to hope the luxury of butter. You are not my own flesh 
 and blood, if you would stand this. 
 
 Next for the law. I should have no objection to your being 
 called to the bar, as a sort of genteel thing. A wig and gown 
 may often prove a tolerable bait for decently endowed heiresses. 
 They give you the nominal standing of a gentleman, under which 
 character you may make various practical speculations on the 
 innocence of mankind ; but for living upon your business, you 
 might as soon hope to make a daily dinner on the flag- stones of 
 Pump-court. Consider, my son, what a thing is a briefless 
 barrister ! A cockatrice, that cannot lay eggs a spider, with- 
 out an inch of web ! 
 
 I have no vote for any borough or county ; and though in my* 
 time I have served multitudes of politicians with votes when in 
 and out of office, there is not one of them who has the gratitude 
 to own the obligation. Hence, what will be your fate if you go 
 into the army ? I might with assistance from a few loan 
 societies be able to purchase you a pair of colours ; but as 
 neither myself nor your mother have any interest with anybody 
 at the Horse Guards, what would be your fate, if unhappily alive, 
 at seventy % Why, still the pair of colours ; and, if you have 
 served long in India, a face of orange-peel, and a piece of liver 
 no bigger than your thumb. Glory, my boy, is a beautiful thiDg 
 in the Battle of Waterloo at Astley's ; and there, if you have 
 military yearnings, take your shilling's-worth of it. 
 
 As for medicine, if you set up in what is called an honourable 
 manner, to kill by diploma, you will find the game so beaten 
 and hunted, that 'tis ten to one you bag a patient once a 
 twelvemonth. If, indeed, fortified by your own unauthorised 
 opinion, you can persuade people into patent remedies against 
 disease and death, disarming the destroyer by a learned name 
 attached to bread-pills or coloured Thames water, take my 
 blessing, and straightway having entered into a sleeping 
 partnership with a confidential undertaker found a College of 
 Health. There is no such golden walk to fortune as through 
 the bowels of the credulous ; and when sick, all men are credu- 
 lous. Pain is a great leveller, alike hurling down scepticism, 
 philosophy, and mere prosaic common-sense. The man, who 
 
THE ADVANTAGES OF BEING " NOTHING." 23 
 
 before his friends will sneer at a vaunted specific, will sneak out 
 by himself to seek the quack vendor of the despised anodyne : 
 in the same way, that fine ladies who profess to laugh at astro- 
 logy, will disguise themselves in old shawls and bonnets, and 
 venture up dirty lanes and into foul garrets, to consult bed- 
 ridden fortune-tellers on the whereabout and when-coming of 
 their future husbands. If you have any feeling for medicine, 
 and have face and nerve to cry " Quack " lustily away with 
 you into the market-place, and begin. But if, with the unprofit- 
 able pride of science, you would only physic, bleed, and blister 
 on the strength of a diploma, the boy who carries out your medi- 
 cine shall be happier than his master, and when he gets his 
 wages better paid. 
 
 Again, then, I say it, my son, be Nothing ! Look at the 
 flourishing examples of Nothing about you ! Consider the men 
 in this vast .metropolis whose faces shine with the very marrow 
 of the land, and all for doing and being Nothing ! Then, what 
 ease what unconcern what perfect dignity in the profession ! 
 Why, dull-brained, horn-handed labour, sweats and grows thin, 
 and dies worn out, whilst Nothing gets a redder tinge upon 
 its cheek, a thicker wattle to its chin, and a larger compass of 
 abdomen. There are hundreds of the goodly profession of 
 Nothing who have walked upon three-piled velvet from their 
 nurses' arms to the grave : men who in the most triumphant 
 manner vindicate the ingenuity of the human mind ; for enjoy- 
 ing and possessing every creature comfort of existence, not even 
 a conjuror, nay, sometimes not even a police magistrate, can 
 discover how they get it. 
 
 Consider man as Nothing, and what a glorious spectacle ! A 
 man following an allowed, a known profession, is a vulgar object, 
 let his in-comings be ever so great : we know his whole mystery 
 we can tell whence flows his tide of wealth. The Thames is a 
 gorgeous river, but knowing its name, we talk little of its mag- 
 nificence. 'Tis otherwise with the Niger. The man who with 
 nothing, has all things, is to us a sort of Friar Bacon. We 
 approach him with a feeling deeper than respect. He is the 
 Cornelius Agrippa of our times. We know not that some 
 familiar spirit does not act his bidding. He may, on the con- 
 trary, be a king's son by a left-handed marriage. He moves in 
 a cloud of mystery he is away, apart from the common. We 
 know that if other men were to cease from their ordinary 
 occupations, the whole train of human wants would immediately 
 set in upon them ; whilst the man professing Nothing lives, 
 independent, tabooed, from all the annoyances of life. Oh, my 
 son ! I grant the secret may be difficult to compass ; but study 
 
24 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 for it search it out, though your brain become dry and rattle 
 in your skull like a withered hazel-nut still, once discover how- 
 to live with Nothing, and you may snap your fingers at all 
 mortal accident. Nothing, when a successful Nothing, is the 
 nabob of the world ! 
 
 You will, in your progress through life, be called upon to 
 wonder at the discoveries of Galileo, who swore that the world 
 moved round the sun and then, or I mistake, that the sun 
 moved round the world ; you will hear a great deal of Homer 
 and Shakspere, who shaped out worlds upon paper, and begot 
 men and women with drops of ink : folks will talk to you upon 
 the discovery of the circulation of the blood, and other gossip of 
 the like sort, demanding your admiration, your homage, for 
 what they will call the triumph of human genius. Fiddle-de- 
 dee ! What should you care how the world moves, or whether 
 it move at all, so you move well in it 1 As for Homer and 
 Shakspere, the first was a beggar, and for the second for the 
 great magician, who as people will cant to you, has left im- 
 mortal company for the spirit of man in its weary journey 
 through this briary world has bequeathed scenes of immortal 
 loveliness for the human fancy to delight in founts of eternal 
 truth for the lip of man to drink, and drink and for aye be 
 renovated with every draught, he, this benefactor to the world, 
 could not secure a comfortable roof from the affections and 
 gratitude of men, for the female descendant of his flesh, who 
 withered from the world, almost an outcast and a pauper ! 
 Now, the man who can live a long and jovial life upon Nothing, 
 has often (by some strange wizard craft) the wherewithal to 
 bequeath to his heirs. As for literature and science, tales of 
 fairy-land, and the circulation of the blood, be it your care to 
 make nothing your Ariel ; and for your blood, heed not how it 
 passes through your heart, so that as it flow, it be enriched with 
 the brightest and strengthened with the best. 
 
 JBe a successful Nothing, my son, and be blessed ! 
 
INTRODUCTION TO " HEEMETICAL " PHILOSOPHY. 25 
 
 LETTEE VI. 
 
 PUNCH INTRODUCES HIS SON TO " HERMETICAL " PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 What ! my dear boy, my last letter has thrown you into a fit 
 of melancholy 1 You look hopelessly, recklessly, on the prospects 
 of human life, and would fain flee into a hermitage, there to 
 ponder on the mysteries of social humbug of life and death ; 
 the toils and the trifles of mankind ? This resolution on your 
 part reminded me that I was the fortunate possessor of a few 
 fragmentary thoughts on the vast subjects you would contem- 
 plate of thoughts born in solitude of a restless brain that has 
 long since mingled with the earth. Take them ponder on them 
 and for the present be content to know them as 
 
 " Fragments on Humbug, Solitude, Life, Death, and 
 Self-knowledge, by the Hermit of Coney-hatch." 
 
 I have thought it wise and pleasant in my solitude, having no 
 ready-money market for my time, to devote my hours on hand 
 to the intellectual wants of my fellow-man. The reader, affected 
 by the beauty of my subject, may haply feel a generous curiosity, 
 may yearn to know the condition of the sage who seeks to 
 discourse upon the most vital, the most profound, the most 
 mysterious principle of human society, for such is humbug. 
 It is the cement of the social fabric. It is the golden cord tying 
 together, and making strong, the sticks and twigs of the world. 
 It is the dulcet bell, whose ravishing sound calls the great family 
 of man to eat, drink, and be merry ! Hapless are they, whose 
 leathern ears list not the music ; for if they feed at all, at best they 
 feed on draff, and are to the revellers even as swine are to bipeds. 
 
 Let not the reader seek to know more of me than, with a most 
 white conscience, I am permitted to tell him. The great events 
 of my life are not my own. I speak without any oracular 
 quibble ; I mean this, and no other. The great accidents of my 
 mortal travail have been sold ; yea, bartered by me for so many 
 Mint medals, and a stamp receipt given for the payment. Thus 
 it was. In a moment of pecuniary impatience, I offered a choice 
 of the events of my life to a gentleman in want of materials for 
 a popular novel. With a frankness that has been of singular 
 loss to me throughout my existence, I opened the goods unre- 
 servedly before him. As market-wives say, I let him have the 
 pick and choose of the lot ; kept nothing back for a second 
 
26 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 huckstering. "Well, the buyer left me without a decent event in 
 my basket. Every picturesque accident, from exaggerated 
 homicide to the forgery of a will in a moment of vinous intoxica- 
 tion, was bought, and I confess as much, honestly paid for by the 
 novelist 'fore-mentioned ; and, if there be truth in human 
 bargains, as indeed there must be when solemnised by a stamp, 
 for otherwise, casuists have their opinions, the incidental pro- 
 perty of my life belongs to the purchaser. 1 have this consola- 
 tion : my mundane struggles have affected, delighted, and 
 instructed the world, though labelled with the name of another. 
 Though I have remained, and must remain unknown, my deeds, 
 dressed to the best advantage, have enraptured thousands. Like 
 the ostrich plume waving above the whiter brow of lovely 
 peeress, my life has found its way among the richest, and by 
 consequence, the noblest of the earth, whilst I, the liver, the 
 poor plucked bird, have wandered over barren sand and fed on 
 iron. But this is a story older than quills. 
 
 I have nothing, then, of my life at the service of the reader, 
 but that part of it, the poor remnant following the bargain 
 narrated above. This being my own property, I shall invest it 
 in the present volume. My birth and parentage I have sold, 
 and, I honestly believe, at their full value. There, however, 
 remain to me a few fragments which, like sweepings of a spicery, 
 though not good enough to season a holiday dish, may give an 
 enduring sweetness to a cold body of philosophy. The cloves 
 and cinnamon which the clean-handed huswife would reject 
 for her pudding or custard, may serve for the dead belly of an 
 embalmed Plato. In these days, philosophy itself must be spiced 
 and sweetened, and have its eyes taken out, lest it become 
 noisome in the nostrils of society. That too shall sometimes be 
 the most acceptable body of philosophy, which retains the least 
 hint of bowels. 
 
 I know not what business women have with goose-quills, 
 beyond that of" plucking them from the bird of mischief that 
 the animal may become the better companion for apple-sauce. 
 The later prejudices of the world have, however, concluded 
 otherwise ; hence, my maiden aunt, Abishag Jones, excelled all 
 the family in her writing ; perhaps it was, that she was the only 
 one of her tribe who wrote bank cheques. My poor father was 
 never so happy as when he could get a pen between the fingers 
 of Aunt Abishag. We grew up, it may be said, with an in- 
 stinctive reverence, an increasing admiration, of the handwriting 
 of Aunt Jones. Now, I believe it is an acknowledged principle 
 of human action, that what we greatly admire, we often seek to 
 imitate. At all events, it happened so to me. With untiring 
 
INTRODUCTION TO " HERMETICAL " PHILOSOPHY. 27 
 
 energy, I laboured to emulate the flowing delicacy of Aunt 
 Abishag's pen : and at length succeeded to such a nicety, that a 
 gentleman, a perfect stranger, handed over to me fifty pounds as 
 a reward for my zealous ingenuity. 
 
 Women are fantastic animals. T make no flourish of this 
 discovery ; indeed, I almost fear that others, it may be in the 
 dark, have stumbled on the hidden truth. My Aunt Abishag 
 was, however, a living and most energetic illustration of the 
 fact ; for it was to be reasonably supposed that she would have 
 felt a flutter of pride at the successful genius of her nephew ; 
 that she would have considered his delicate imitation of her 
 caligraphic powers as an elaborate homage to her best endow- 
 ment. It was otherwise. Vindicating the prerogative of her 
 sex, she became so capriciously obstreperous, that, respecting 
 eVen her most violent whimsies, I renounced the world and all 
 its selfishness, and became that which I now am. 
 
 " What is that 1 " asks the reader. 
 
 With a brevity, which I hope will distinguish the small-talk of 
 my future life, I will endeavour to answer the query. 
 
 My Aunt Abishag confined not her inquiries of the where- 
 about of her ingenious nephew to her personal exertions. Hence, 
 availing herself of the bounteous powers of the press, she caused 
 my portrait to be typographically delineated, and as a most 
 touching proof of her regard for me, offered the princely sum of 
 twenty pounds to whosoever should snatch me from the wily 
 temptations of liberty, and hold me in safe keeping. 
 
 I will not attempt to describe the emotions which stirred 
 within my breast, and rose to my throat, as I perused this last 
 affecting evidence of my aunt's regard. Happily, I was diverted 
 from a too intense contemplation of woman's tenderness, by 
 a notice, that, in the same gazette, somewhat irreverently 
 shouldered the manifesto of Aunt Abishag. From that notice I 
 take these words : 
 
 " A Hermit wanted. To philosophers, misanthropes, or gen- 
 tlemen in difficulties, a singularly eligible opportunity presents 
 itself. A nobleman of enlarged social views is desirous of 
 engaging an individual for the term of three years in the capacity 
 of hermit. The party engaging will be required to conform to 
 the most rigid discipline of eremite life. No Irishman need 
 apply ; and as the nobleman is desirous of assuring to himself 
 every probable guarantee for the due performance of the contract, 
 married men only will be treated with." 
 
 I looked from my Aunt Abishag to the nobleman of enlarged 
 social views I wavered but for a moment between my affection, 
 my duty to my aunt, and a new-born, romantic desire to let my 
 
23 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 beard and nails grow. In brief, for it is in the result only that 
 the reader is interested, here I am, at this moment, in my 
 hermitage a snug, weatherproof box, eighteen feet by ten with 
 an oak table, one stool, one platter, one maple cup, a bed of dried 
 rushes, one blanket, one gown, one hat, one staff. Here I am, 
 
 on the night of this day of , in the year of Christiau 
 
 hopes , with the bell of Coney-hatch Church jerking twelve. 
 
 Here have I been these twelve months ; and if a neighbouring 
 fountain reflect truly, then am I as reverend and venerable an 
 anchorite, especially about the chin, as any nobleman could 
 desire to spend his cash upon. 1 have more than once thought 
 and strange to say, there has been a fearful pleasure in the 
 errant notion that if in this drear solitude I should be made 
 the subject of a popular murder, my locks and beard worked in 
 brooches, earrings, and bracelets, would realise sufficient from 
 the romantic and the curious to endow sundry anxious persons 
 with becoming fortitude for my untimely loss. I have, however, 
 as speedily banished this vanity as unworthy of my new self 
 as unworthy of a cell, that, according to a very stringent agree- 
 ment drawn up by the attorney of Coney-hatch, is to be a shrine 
 for unselfish contemplation ; a retreat, wherein the highest 
 powers of intellectual man are, by daily exercise, by nightly 
 discipline, to climb the golden chain of necessity, and strike 
 delicious music from every link. 
 
 LETTEE VII. 
 
 THE HERMIT'S " PHILOSOPHY " CONTINUED. 
 
 How pure this atmosphere ! How sweet, with opening lungs 
 and in-drawn chest, to take a long, deep, bacchanal draught of 
 midnight air; cool from the stars and odorous with May ! With 
 not a taint of urban smoke with not the fever-heat of corroding 
 mortal life to infect the soul with maladies of which men daily 
 die, albeit doctors dream not of the true disease ! How grand at 
 this moment to hear, int he profound of night, the heart of the 
 earth beat beat towards eternity ! To feel a new affection, as 
 we recognise a new life closer sympathies with all that presses 
 upon us ! To lose our old habitual eyes, that blink dreamily at 
 common-place ; with true vision to see spirits ascending and 
 descending from every blade and leaf ; and with ears tuned to 
 the most secret melody of nature that like a happy huswife, 
 
THE HERMIT'S "PHILOSOPHY" CONTINUED. 29 
 
 sings as she toils list the working of that vast laboratory com- 
 passed in yon giant oak ! 
 
 We can do more. Drop through the earth, and, with strength- 
 ening heart and health-obtaining brain, look face to face at death, 
 and see a new-found beauty in his barren bones. We can scan 
 him, talk to him, and see a thousand curious beauties odd, 
 grave blandishments, in the abused wight ; the worthy creature, 
 wronged in our half-knowledge, slandered in the malice of our 
 ignorance. What filthy names when the broad sun was shining 
 upon us, and we were laughing in the glory of a new doublet and 
 jerkin have we spat upon him ! How have we mauled him, 
 when we have thought of his wicked will with cousin Bridget 
 a red-lipped creature with the breath of a heifer ! How did we 
 rate him for a wretch, a beast, a monster dining upon heart- 
 strings an ogre that blotted out the beauty of the sun that 
 put a poison into the violet's leaf that turned all gracious and 
 all lovely things to hideous, ghastly masquerade ! How did we 
 clench our fist, and stamp at him, as, with reeling brain and 
 bursting heart, we stood at thy grave, O Admetus ! and wished 
 ourselves a clod of the valley, to mingle with thy bones ! 
 
 Fortune is called harlot every hour of the day, and that, too, 
 by grave gentlemen who only abuse the wench before company 
 because they have never known her private favours. Bad 
 as she is, however, let sour-faced Seneca and all the other 
 philosophers of the vinegar-cruet stalk with paper lanterns 
 before her door, they will never bring the romping hoyden into 
 ill repute. No ; she will still be visited, prayed to, cajoled, 
 flattered ; and when she plays a jilt's trick, will be abused as 
 lustily as ever. Yet, what is this universal abuse this polyglot 
 reviling for fortune is damned by all colours and in all tongues, 
 to the foul, ungrateful, scandalous, mean-spirited, shabby aye, 
 and hypocritical, abuse of death ! 
 
 Oh, no ! do not believe what is said of death. All folks 
 abuse him, and therefore, if for nothing else, out of the very 
 chivalry of your nature shake hands with him. No not hands ; 
 that, for a few years at least, is a little too near. But there 
 give him the end of your walking-stick, and let him shake that. 
 Well done ! Now, look at him. Hath he not been scurvily 
 limned 1 The dirty portrait-painters of the world, learning that 
 the good fellow had so many enemies, have villanously libelled 
 him. Should you recognise, in the fine benevolence now smiling 
 upon you and surely no chamberlain, with finger on his golden 
 key, ever looked a visitor a sweeter welcome should you see, in 
 the frank hospitality before you, the sneaking, haggard, noiseless 
 stabber, painted by a million brushes ? Is he not all over 
 
PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 gentleman ! Behold his face his frame ! Hath he not the 
 countenance of Adonis, with perhaps a somewhat downward 
 look ? The outline of an Apollo 1 He carries a dart. It is no 
 vulgar implement no piece of torturing cold iron, to pierce and 
 grope in human bowels, but an arrow from the quiver of Eternal 
 Day. It has been used so much in this thick-dew world, that, to 
 the filmy eyes of men, it has lost its brightness ; but it is not so : 
 the immortal ray is under the rust. The meanest, the scurviest 
 abuse has been cast upon all-suffering death. Not one fair gift 
 has been left him. Even the sweetness of his breath has been 
 traduced. Now, madam nay, put aside your smelling-bottle, 
 and fearlessly approach. There ! Death breathes. Is it not an 
 air from Elysium ? Amaranth, madam amaranth ! 
 
 We are content to take up the abuse of the world as truthful 
 censure to believe in the hard sayings flung in the teeth of 
 death as well-earned reproach. We condemn him by hearsay ; 
 and join in the halloo of an unthinking, ignorant mob. But invite 
 death to a tete-a-tete : divesting yourself of vulgar prejudice, sit 
 down in a place like this for you are in my hermitage, reader, 
 and calmly and dispassionately chat with him, and you will find 
 the fine old fellow to have been villanously maligned shamefully 
 scandalised. You will, to your own surprise, and no less comfort, 
 discover in death the noblest benefactor the staunchest, truest 
 friend. All the naughty things you have heard of him will seem 
 to you as the gossip of cowards the malice of fools. All 
 the foul paraphernalia the shroud, the winding-sheet the wet 
 heavy clay, the worm and corruption at which serious gentlemen 
 shaka their heads, and talk for an hour upon, have no more to 
 do with you than with the hare that may nibble the grass above 
 what once was yours : no more touch you than they touch the 
 red-faced urchins making chains of buttercups and daisies on a 
 falsifying tombstone. When moralising wordmongers seize you 
 by the button, and holding up a skull or old earth-smelling tibia 
 to your eye, look straight down their noses, and tell you that in 
 a short time you will be no more than that they thrust in your 
 face, tell them, with all reverence, they lie. What will your 
 skull, your bones, be to you, more than your corn that was cut 
 out on Thursday more than that vile double-tooth which, 
 having tortured you for a fortnight, was, a week since, lugged 
 out of your jaw, and left at the dentist's ? It is the vile literalness 
 of people's brains that gives an unhandsomeness to the dead 
 bones of men ; that makes them in the grave a part and parcel of 
 the sentient thing ; that would make their foulness and disgrace a 
 humiliation to the soaring man. You show me his lordship's 
 cast-off court-suit of tarnished silver : that it is cast off, proves to 
 
THE HERMIT'S " PHILOSOPHY " CONTINUED. 31 
 
 me that he has possessed himself of a better. Show me the skull 
 of a dead philosopher nay, of a defunct pickpocket ; commence a 
 dumpish morality on the terrible change of head undergone by 
 sage or thief, and I shall reply to you It is excellent that it is 
 so ; for, depend upon it, the change is for the better ; he has 
 obtained a much handsomer article. 
 
 "We libel the sanctity of death, when we dress it in artificial 
 terrors. "We profane it, when, applying a moral galvanism to 
 its lineaments, we make it mope and mow at the weak and 
 credulous. 
 
 The truth is, we have made too much a mystery of the common- 
 places of death : we have made scarecrows of skeletons, instead 
 of looking upon them with a sort of respect as we look upon 
 the hat, coat, and breeches of one we once loved, of one who 
 once wore the articles that were a necessary part of his dress for 
 this world, but that in fact never made any portion of that thing, 
 that essence, which we knew as he. You say, that was his thigh- 
 bone : very well this was his walking-stick. Bone or cane, 
 one was as much of him as the other : he is alike independent of 
 both. I deny that he is changed that his dignity is in the 
 remotest degree compromised, because his human furniture is 
 nailed in a box, and crammed in a hole. You might as well 
 preach upon the disgrace of walking-sticks, because our friend's 
 bit of dragon's-blood, after sundry domestic revolutions, has been 
 cut into a dibber. To make a death's-head horrible to preach 
 from its pretended loathsomeness a lesson to the pride of 
 humanity to extract from it terrors to the spirit of man, whilst 
 yet consorted with flesh and blood, the churchyard moralist 
 should prove that the skull remains the ghastly, comfortless 
 prison of the soul, that, for a certain time, it is ordained its 
 blank and hideous dungeon. Then, indeed, would a death's- 
 head be horrible ; then would it appal a heart of stone and ribs 
 of steel. But, good sexton-preacher, when now you show me a 
 skull, what do I look upon 1 The empty shell, through which 
 the bird has risen to the day. 
 
 I have learned this in my hermitage learned it, sitting cheek 
 by jowl with death, talking over his doings, and deeply contem- 
 plating the loveliness of his attributes. 
 
32 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 LETTEE VIII. 
 
 CONCLUSION OF THE " HERMETICAL " PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 I have learned another trick in this solitude. I have learned 
 to separate the twin natures with which, it is my belief, every 
 man is born, and to sit in judgment upon the vices, the follies, the 
 high feelings, and grovelling appetites, that make up the double 
 rue. Make a trial of the process, reader. Quit the world for a 
 season. Look boldly into yourself ; and however high may have 
 been your notion of the cleanliness of your moral temple, you 
 will, if you look with steady, courageous eyes, blush and marvel 
 at its many dirty little holes and corners, the vile, unswept nooks 
 the crafty spiders and their noisome webs. And in this temple, 
 to your surprise, you will behold two pulpits for two preachers. 
 In the innocency of your knowledge you thought there was but 
 one divine, and that a most respectable, orthodox, philanthropic 
 creature ; punctual in his discourses, exemplary in his discipline 
 indeed, the very pattern of a devout and cheerful man. You 
 look, and behold, there is another preacher, a fellow with no 
 more reverence in him than in a Malay amuck ; a pettifogging, 
 mean-spirited, albeit quick-witted, shuffling scoundrel, whose 
 voice, too, in the throng and press of the world has appeared to 
 you so like the voice of the good, grave gentleman whom you 
 deemed alone in his vocation, that you have a thousand times, 
 without reflection, followed his bidding unhesitatingly obeyed 
 his behests, and only now, when you have set apart a season for 
 consideration, only now perceive the imposture recognise the 
 counterfeit. 
 
 " What ! " you exclaim, " and was it he who prompted me 
 with that bitter answer to poor inoffensive Palemon ? " " Was 
 it he who bade me button up my pocket and growl ' No/ to 
 such a petitioner on such a day ? " " Was it he who whispered 
 me to cross the road, and cut to the heart the ruined, shabby- 
 coated Damon 1 " And still further considering the matter, you 
 remember that the interloper monitor, the fellow whose very 
 existence you never suspected, has had nearly all the talk to 
 himself; the grave gentleman, whose voice has been so well 
 imitated, and whom you thought your pastor and your master, 
 having been silenced, out-talked, by the chattering of an unsus- 
 pected opponent. I say it, you are twin-souled. Step into my 
 hermitage. Submit to wholesome discipline of thought, and, be 
 
CONCLUSION OF " HERMETICAL " PHILOSOPHY. 33 
 
 assured of it, you will, in due season, be able to divorce self from 
 self ; to arraign your fallen moiety at the bar of conscience ; 
 to bring against it a thousand score of crimes, a thousand 
 peccadilloes, all the doings of the scurvy rascal you bear 
 withiD you, and whose misdeeds are for the first time made 
 known to you. 
 
 Well, the court is open. 
 
 Who, you cry, is that beetle-browed, shuffling, cock-eyed 
 knave at the bar 1 Is he a poacher, a smuggler, a suborner of 
 false testimony, a swindler, a thief 1 
 
 Gently, gently, sir : that unfortunate creature is your twin- 
 soul. It was he who in the case of Mr. Suchathing advised 
 you to 
 
 God bless me ! I remember don't speak of it shocking ! 
 I'm very sorry. 
 
 And it was he who, when poor widow Soandso 
 
 There, hold your tongue ! I recollect all about it. How have 
 I been deceived by that scoundrel ! But then, how could I ever 
 have believed that I carried such a rascal about me ? 
 
 For my own part, I am firm in the faith that I should never 
 have discovered my own twin varlet had I not shut the door 
 upon the world and taken a good inside stare at myself. No ; 
 my hair would have grown grey and my nose wine-coloured for 
 it hath a purpureal weakness, and as a distinguished statesman, 
 whose name I forget, once said, I might have patted the back of 
 my naughty twin soul, deeming him a remarkably fine sample ot 
 the article ; and so gone on, working for a handsome epitaph, 
 and dying with a Christian-like assurance that I had earned the 
 same. I might have lived and died thus self-deluded, but for 
 this retreat so happily opened to me by the illustrious nobleman 
 aforesaid. 
 
 " A work of this nature is not to be performed upon one leg ; and 
 should smell of oil, if duly and deservedly handled." 
 
 Such is the solemn avowal of a fantastically grave philosopher, 
 on the completion of his opus magnum ; but surely that vaunt 
 hath a more fitting abiding-place in the present page. My 
 subject, too, like that of my brother philosopher, from its innate 
 dignity, its comprehensive usefulness, might employ the goose- 
 quills of a whole college. It were easy to tell off at least five 
 hundred men many of them having the ears of kings, and what 
 is more, the purse-strings of nations at their command all oi 
 them, by nature and practice, admirably fitted for the work. 
 From their verv successes, the world has a claim upon them for 
 
 D 
 
34 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 the encyclopaedic labour. However, until the time arrive 
 when these men, touched by a sense of their ingratitude, shall 
 repair the wrong, let the present little book receive the welcome 
 due to good intentions. I am content, in the whirl and mutation 
 of all mundane things, to be trumped by a minister, a cardinal, 
 a philosopher, a commercial philanthropist, by any one or one 
 hundred of these. When such men shall have grown sufficiently 
 ingenuous to respond to the crying wants of their fellow- 
 creatures, and shall publish Humbug in extenso, I shall sleep 
 quietly beneath the marble monument which the gratitude of my 
 country will erect to my memory, although this little volume, 
 superseded by the larger work, shall be called in like an old 
 coinage, and no longer be made the class-book of the young, the 
 staff of the middle-aged, and the solacing chronicle of the 
 old. 
 
 Imperfect as the work may be, it would, I feel, have been 
 impossible to write at all upon Humbug amid the delicious 
 distractions of a city. Is it asked, wherefore ? Alas ! the 
 writer would have been confounded by the quantity of his 
 materials. Solitude continued, profound solitude was necessary 
 to the gestation and safe delivery of this book. I have endea- 
 voured to show that the true solemnities, the real sweetnesses of 
 death the mystery of our inner selves, which said mystery we 
 walk about the world with, deeming it of no more complexity 
 than the first mouse-trap, are only to be approached and 
 looked upon in their utter nakedness when safe from the elbows 
 and the tongues of the world. Now, if life be a mystery, 
 Humbug is at once the art and heart of life. A man may, indeed, 
 get a smattering of moral philosophy in a garret within ear-shot 
 of the hourly courtesies of hackney-coachmen ; but Humbug, 
 though she often ride in a coach of her own through the 
 highways of the city, like a fine lady, suffers her pulse to be felt 
 only in private. Humbug is the philosopher's Egeria, and to be 
 wooed and truly known in secret. 
 
 Think you, reader, there is no other reason for the sundry 
 prorogations of Parliament, than that the excellent men (selected 
 only for their wisdom and their virtue from their less wise and 
 less virtuous fellows,) having generously presented so many 
 pounds to the state, their services are for a time no longer 
 required 1 Such is not the profound intent of prorogation. Its 
 benevolent purpose is to send every senator into healthful 
 solitude, that he may fortify himself with a frequent contem- 
 plation of his past votes ; that he may call up and question his 
 twin soul, and rejoice himself to know that the Dromios within 
 him have given their voices in accordance that one of the 
 
THE UNALLOYED GUINEAS. 35 
 
 sneaking gemini, out of the baseness of expected gains, has 
 
 not cried " Ay," when its nobler fellow stoutly intended 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 ****** 
 
 ****** 
 
 CONCLUSION OF THE " HERMIT'S " FRAGMENTS. 
 
 LETTEE IX. 
 
 ON THE "BEAUTY" AND "LUXURY" OF TRUTH. THE UNALLOYED 
 GUINEAS. 
 
 So, my dear child, you have had enough of philosophy have 
 read enough of the speculations of the Hermit of Coney-hatch, 
 to feel that your yearnings for solitary contemplation were but a 
 passing weakness ; to know, that it is in the bustling world 
 about you, true wisdom finds its best, its most enduring reward ? 
 Parchment, my dear child, though writ and illuminated with all 
 the glories of the human brain, is a perishable commodity : now ? 
 gold in bars will last till the world crack. 
 
 I now come to the principal subject of your last letter, " the 
 beauty of Truth." 
 
 My dear boy, truth is, no doubt, a very beautiful object ; so 
 are diamonds, pearls, rubies, emeralds ; but, like those sparkling, 
 precious things, it is by no means necessary to your condition of 
 life ; and if sported at all, is only to be enjoyed by way of 
 luxury. Beware, lest a vain conceit should ruin you. The 
 nobleman, the man of independence, may speak truth, as he may 
 wear a brilliant in his breast, worth a hundred guineas. Now, 
 as you must be content with at best a bit of Bristol-stone, with 
 a small imitation of the lustrous reality, so, in like way, can you 
 not afford to utter the true sparkling commodity at all times. 
 Do not suppose, however, that I would have you never speak the 
 truth. Pray, do not misunderstand me. You may, as a man of 
 the world, and a trader who would turn the prudent penny, 
 you may always speak the truth when it can be in no way to 
 your advantage not to utter it. 
 
 At the same time, my beloved boy, take heed that you obtain 
 not the evil reputation of a liar. " What ! " I think I hear you 
 exclaim, " your advice, papa, involves a contradiction." By no 
 means. "What I wish to impress upon you, is the necessity of so 
 uttering your verbal coinage, that to the superficial eye and 
 
 D 2 
 
PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 careless ear, it may have all the appearance, all the ring of the 
 true article. Herein consists the great wisdom of life. The 
 thousands who have grown rich by its application to all their 
 worldly concerns are incalculable. The world, as at present 
 constituted, could not go on without lying. And, I am convinced, 
 it is only the full conviction of this fact that enables so many 
 worthy, excellent people to club their little modicum of daily 
 falsehood together, for the benevolent purpose of keeping the 
 world upon its axis. 
 
 For a moment, consider the effect produced in London alone, 
 if from to-morrow morning, for one month only, every man, 
 woman, and child were to speak the truth, the whole truth, and 
 nothing but the truth. You have read of towns besieged, of cities 
 sacked, of the unbridled fury of a sanguinary soldiery j but all 
 this would be as sport to the horrors of this our most civilised 
 metropolis. Gracious Plutus ! Think of the bankruptcies ! 
 Imagine the confessions of statesmen ! Consider the internal 
 revelations of churchmen ! Only reflect upon the thousands and 
 thousands of at present most respectable, exemplary people, 
 congregated in the highways and market-places, making a " clean 
 breast" to one another, each man shocking his neighbour with 
 the confession of his social iniquity, of his daily hypocrisy, of his 
 rascal vice that he now feeds and cockers like a pet snake in 
 private ! If all men were thus to turn themselves inside out, 
 the majority of blacks would, I fear, be most alarming. We 
 might have Hottentot chancellors, and even Ethiopian bishops ! 
 
 A wise German, named Goethe, has observed "There is 
 something in every man, which, if known to his fellow, would 
 make him hate him." How, then, could the world go on with 
 this reciprocal passion of hatred ? Philosophic statesmen, con- 
 scious of this fact, have therefore leavened every social institution 
 with a necessary and most wholesome amount of falsehood. 
 Hence, too, we have what are called legal fictions. Hence, 
 Justice, the daughter of Truth, debauched by Law, gives, with a 
 solemn smirk, short weight to the poor, and a lumping pen'orth 
 to the rich. 
 
 What are the fees paid to hungry, hundred-handed office, but 
 offerings exacted by falsehood ? What is the costliness of Justice, 
 but the wilful extravagance of lying the practical mendacity 01 
 life ? Truth, by a paradoxical fiction, is painted naked ; and 
 Justice is robed in plain, unspotted white. Why, the old 
 harridan must have as many gew-gaws as many big-beaded 
 necklaces brooches pins chains, and armlets, as the wife of a 
 Jew bailiff. These things she must have, or what does she with 
 the presents made to her the fees exacted ? 
 
THE UNALLOYED GUINEAS. 
 
 I tell you again and again, all truth will not do in this 
 world. I will give you a short story, in illustration of the 
 reality of this. 
 
 How, or by what accident, they escaped from the Mint, was 
 never known, but certain it is, that one hundred guineas of pure 
 gold, without the least alloy, were once upon a time issued to the 
 world. Old Gregory Muckly, by chance, obtained half-a-dozen 
 pieces of this coin, which, together with a few other pieces, were 
 carefully hoarded in a worsted stocking : and when Gregory was 
 safely deposited in churchyard clay, they became the rightful 
 property of his son Hodge. 
 
 Hodge was a simple, honest creature ; caring nothing for the 
 pomps of the world ; 
 
 " The sum of all his vanity, to deck 
 With one bright hell some fav'rite heifer's neck." 
 
 Business, however, brought him to London. "Well, before he 
 returned to Gammon Farm, he would purchase a London present 
 a bran new scarlet shawl for sister Suke. Two guineas did 
 Hodge, with fraternal self-complacency, set apart for this gift. 
 Caught by the truthful assurance exhibited in a mercer's window 
 that the stock was " selling off under prime cost," Hodge thought 
 he was sure of at least a three-guinea shawl for two. Hereupon, 
 he entered the shop ; rolled his eyes from side to side, seeking 
 the radiant present for sister Suke. 
 
 " Have you a nice, bran new scarlet shawl for two guineas ? " 
 asked Hodge. 
 
 " Sir," replied the shopkeeper, " you come at a lucky mo- 
 ment : we have the most delicious article the most wonderful 
 scarlet. To anybody else, sir, it would be three guineas and 
 a half ; but as you have frequently been a customer to 
 us" 
 
 " Nay, nay," cried Hodge, " I was never here before." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir ; humbly beg your pardon another 
 gentleman like you," said the tradesman. 
 
 " I'm no gentleman, neither," said Hodge ; " and all I want is, 
 you to show me the shawl." 
 
 " There, sir," said the mercer, throwing the shawl upon the 
 counter ; " there's a scarlet." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! so it be like a poppy," chuckled Hodge. 
 
 " A poppy, sir, a poppy's brickdust to it," said the 
 tradesman. 
 
 "Nay, nay, not so," cried Hodge ; "and I think I've seen more 
 poppies than thee." 
 
PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! no doubt, sir very true. Well, I assure you, to 
 anybody else this article would be three guineas and a half ; but 
 to you, we'll say two." 
 
 " There they be," said Hodge ; and he laid down the two 
 unalloyed guineas on the counter. 
 
 As the tradesman took up the coin, a shadow fell upon his 
 face ; and turning to his shopman, he whispered, " Eun for a 
 constable." Then addressing himself to Hodge, he said " Walk 
 this way, if you please." 
 
 In two minutes Hodge was in the mercer's back parlour ; in 
 five, in the custody of a constable ; and in ten more, arraigned 
 before a magistrate, being charged with an attempt to pass off 
 bad money. 
 
 " Look at the things, your worship ; look at their colour feel 
 'em they'll bend like pewter ; and to attempt to pass such 
 pocket-pieces upon an honest tradesman, really ! " and the 
 mercer was bursting with indignation. 
 
 Hodge's defence was not listened to, and he was sent to gaol 
 for two days, until a proper officer from the Mint could be in 
 attendance to pronounce judgment on the suspected guineas. - 
 
 " Indeed, this is curious," said Mr. Testem, the Mint func- 
 tionary ; " but I don't wonder at your suspicions : the fact 
 is, these guineas are too good? Mr. Testem then narrated 
 that a hundred pieces of coin, of pure, unalloyed gold, had 
 been accidentally issued, and that Hodge's two guineas were 
 of them. 
 
 My son he who in this world resolves to speak only the 
 truth, will speak only what is too good for the mass of mankind 
 to understand, and, like Hodge, will be persecuted accordingly. 
 
 LETTEK X. 
 
 EVERY MAN HIS OWN APPRAISER. LEGEND OF THE RIGHT LEG. 
 
 Your last letter, my dear son, annoyed, oppressed me. What ! 
 you wish you had been born an Esquimaux, a Chippewaw, a 
 Hottentot, rather than a member of the most civilised, most 
 generous nation (as every people modestly say of themselves) on 
 the face of the earth. Ungrateful boy ! is this the return you 
 make me for the very handsome present of your existence, is 
 this your gratitude for being called out of nothing to become an 
 eating, drinking, tax-paying animal ? 
 
LEGEND OF THE RIGHT LEG. 39 
 
 Despondency, my child, is the slow suicide of the mind. 
 Heaven knows what I have suffered at the hands of the world ! 
 how, with my heart bleeding into my very shoes, I have still 
 chirped and crowed roo-tooit-tooit, despising while I laughed with 
 and chattered to the reeking rascals, niggard of their pence, 
 who still thronged and gaped about me. 
 
 " Alas ! 'tis true, I have gone here and there, 
 And made myself a motley to the view, 
 Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, 
 Made old offences of affections new." 
 
 Nevertheless, if now and then my heart has been a little slack, 
 I have braced it up again with my drum, and looking upon life 
 at the best as composed of just so many pleasurable sensations, I 
 have enjoyed myself as often as I could, which I have thought 
 the very wisest way of showing my gratitude for my existence. 
 When I could not obtain large pleasures, I put together as many 
 small ones as possible. Small pleasures, depend upon it, lie 
 about as thick as daisies ; and for that very reason are neglected, 
 trodden under foot, instead of being worn in our button-holes. 
 We cannot afford to buy moss-roses at Christmas, or camellias at 
 any time : and so, all the year round we couple buttercups with 
 vulgarity ; and the lovely, odorous things that grow in the hedge- 
 side, we let wither where they grow, for no other reason than 
 that the king's highway is not a royal garden. 
 
 At the same time, my dear boy, I would not have you copy the 
 contentment of your father. Contentment is very well in a 
 pastoral ; and I have seen something which called itself Content- 
 ment, sitting smugly at a small-coal fire, enjoying its crust and 
 half-a-pint of beer in a tin mug on the hob, only because it 
 would not stir itself to get the port and olives, that with very 
 little exertion were within its reach. Though I know this to be 
 pusillanimity, and not contentment, nevertheless, my dear child, 
 I cannot altogether acquit myself of it. Be warned by your sire. 
 I might, with my genius, have trod the boards of a play-house, 
 have had my name upon the walls, in type that blacking-makers 
 should have envied ; I might have danced quadrilles in Cavendish- 
 square on my off-nights, and been trundled about the town in 
 my own air-cushioned carriage ; for I have all the qualifications 
 in the highest degree which lead to such a golden result. Of 
 this I am assured by their success as poorly and extravagantly 
 copied by another : but no, I was doomed to be a street vagabond, 
 and came into the world with a base taste for mud in my infant 
 mouth, and an ear throbbing for drum and pandeans. Hence, I 
 have when doing my best been scoffed at, and abused by 
 
40 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 fish-wives, when, with the sagacious application of the same 
 powers, I might have been pelted by heiresses with nosegays 
 from the boxes ! 
 
 My child, know not diffidence : it is an acquaintance that 
 hourly picks your pocket that makes you hob-and-nob with 
 fustian, when otherwise, you might jostle it with court ruffles. 
 Receive this for an axiom : nineteen times out of twenty the 
 world takes a man at his own valuation. A philosopher I 
 forget his name has called the human soul, on its first manifes- 
 tation in this world, thickly veiled as it is in baby-flesh a blank 
 sheet of paper. Now I, my son, call every full-grown man at his 
 outset in life, a piece, not of blank, but of bank-paper ; in fact, a 
 note, in all things perfect save that the amount is not written in. 
 It is for the man himself to put down how many pounds it shall 
 pass for ; to snatch an eagle-quill, and, with a brow of bronze 
 and eye of brass, to write down 
 
 @nt Stfjousatttr 
 
 or else, with shaking hand and lips of indigo, to scratch a miser- 
 able, pauper-stricken, squalid 
 
 nc 
 
 It is, I say, for the man himself to give value to his own moral 
 paper : and though, I grant, now and then the prying and ill- 
 natured may hold up the article to the light to search for the 
 true water-mark, the owner of the note has only to swagger and 
 put the face of a Csesar on the transaction, to silence every 
 scruple. 
 
 As an instance, my dear boy, of what perseverance will do 
 of what an inexorable advocacy of merit (or fancied merit, for 
 that is the thing) will do for the professor, I will give you a 
 short story, drawn from a Dutch annalist of the sixteenth 
 century. 
 
 Serene and balmy was the 9th of June morning, 1549, when 
 three men dressed as heralds, and superbly mounted on piebald 
 horses, appeared in the streets of Utrecht. Immediately behind 
 them, mounted on a mule richly caparisoned, rode a man, or 
 rather a human bundle a hunchback, with his right leg less 
 than a goose's over-roasted drumstick ; the leg was, moreover, 
 bowed like a pot-hook ; and, as at first was thought, that its 
 deformity might be fully seen, was without hose or shoe : in 
 
LEGEND OF THE RIGHT LEG. 41 
 
 plain words it was a naked leg. The dwarf was followed by 
 six horsemen, handsomely arrayed, and strongly mounted. 
 
 The procession halted before the burgomaster's door, when 
 the heralds, putting their trumpets to their lips, blew so loud a 
 blast that every man's money danced in his pocket. The crowd 
 with gaping mouths and ears awaited the proclamation of the 
 herald, who thus unburthened himself : 
 
 " Let it be known to all corners of the creation, that our most 
 noble, most puissant master, now present, the right valorous and 
 worthy Yandenhoppenlimpen, has the most perfect right leg of 
 all the sons of earth ! In token whereof, he now exhibiteth the 
 limb ; whereat, let all men shout and admire ! " 
 
 On the instant, the dwarf cocked up his withered stump, self- 
 complacently laying his hand upon his heart ; and at the same 
 moment the crowd screamed and roared, and abused and reviled 
 the dwarf, whilst some market-women discharged ancient 
 eggs and withered apples at him, until the procession, fol- 
 lowed by the roaring populace, made their way back to their 
 hostelry. 
 
 The next morning, at the same place and like hour, the same 
 proclamation was made. Again the undaunted dwarf showed 
 his limb, and again he was chased and pelted. 
 
 And every day for six months, the unwearied heralds pro- 
 claimed the surpassing beauty of Yandenhoppenlimpens right 
 leg, and every day the leg was exhibited. And after a time, 
 every day the uproar of the mob decreased ; and the leg was 
 considered with new and growing deference. 
 
 "After all, we must have been mistaken there surely is 
 something in the leg," said one contemplative burgher. 
 
 " I have some time thought so," answered another. 
 
 " 'Tisn't likely," said a third, " that the man would stand so to 
 the excellence of his leg, unless there were something in it, not 
 to be seen at once." 
 
 " It is my faith," said the burgomaster's grandmother " a faith 
 I'll die in, for I have heard the sweet man himself say as much 
 a hundred-and-fifty times, tha.t all other right legs are clumsy 
 and ill-shaped, and that Yandenhoppenlimpen's leg is the only 
 leg on the earth, made as a leg should be." 
 
 In a short season, this faith became the creed of the mob ; 
 and, oh, how the neighbouring cities, towns, and villages emptied 
 themselves into Utrecht, to gaze and marvel at Yandenhoppen- 
 limpen's leg ! When he died, a model of the limb was taken, and 
 cast in virgin gold, is now used as a tobacco-stopper on state 
 occasions at the Stadt-house of Utrecht. 
 
 My child, there are at this moment many Yandenhoppen- 
 
42 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 linipens eating bread very thickly buttered, from having stoutly 
 championed the surpassing merits of their bowed and bucked 
 right leg. 
 
 LETTER XI. 
 
 ON THE NECESSITY OF HYPOCRISY STORY OF THE LEMON 
 MERCHANT. 
 
 No, I have no sympathy, my son none whatever, for you. 
 What ! to have scraped a very promising acquaintance with a 
 man of Alderman Bilberry's wealth to have had him more 
 than once nod to you ; and then, when fortune a happy fortune ! 
 as it might have turned out throws you both together in the 
 same Greenwich boat, to lose the alderman for ever ! You will 
 say, the alderman acted meanly, dirtily, shabbily ; will tell me, 
 that you saw him only five minutes before take twopence in 
 change for a glass of ginger-beer, when, at the same time, he 
 regretted to the trumpeter, who came round the deck to gather 
 for himself and musical companions, that " he had not a copper 
 about him, or would give it with the greatest pleasure." What 
 devil, may I ask you, tempted you to jog the alderman's memory 
 on the ginger-beer and penny-pieces ? You will say to me, the 
 alderman told a lie, the alderman acted shabbily ; and, therefore, 
 you reproved him ; and, what you doubtless think a splendid 
 peacock's feather in your cap, you reproved him with a joke ! I 
 shall certainly write no more to you, if I find my letters do you 
 so little service. 
 
 My son, never see the meanness of mankind. Let men hedge, 
 and shirk, and shift, and lie, and with faces of unwrinkled 
 adamant tell you the most monstrous falsehoods, either in their 
 self-glorification, or to disguise some habitual paltriness, still, 
 never detect the untruth ; never lay your finger on the patch 
 they have so bunglingly sewed upon their moral coat, but let 
 them depart with the most religious persuasion that they have 
 triumphantly bamboozled you. By these means, although you 
 are most efficiently assisting in the hypocrisy of life, you will be 
 deemed a sociable, a most good-natured fellow. Be stone-blind, 
 and you will be benevolent ; be deaf, and you will be all heart. To 
 have an insight or at least to show you have it into the dirty 
 evasions of life, is to have a moral squint. To lay your finger 
 upon a plague-spot, is to be infected with malice. No : though 
 you meet with men scurfed with moral leprosy, see not the scales, 
 
THE LEMON-MERCHANT. 43 
 
 but cry out lustily, " What perfect gentlemen ! " To discover 
 meanness in men, is, in men's opinion, to be strongly tinctured 
 with the iniquity. 
 
 Mr. Chaucer, in allusion to the devil, says of him, 
 
 " He hath in Jewe's heart his waspe's nest." 
 
 Now, what we call the devil, has built by the agency of his 
 demon wasps, Pride, Avarice, Scorn, Oppression, Selfishness, and 
 others thousands of nests in the hearts both of Jews and Chris- 
 tians. Well, suppose you have the power of looking into their 
 hearts as though they were so many crystal hives, suppose you 
 behold in them the rapacious insects hear their buzzing 
 almost see their stings ; if you cry " Wasps ! wasps !" men will 
 shake their heads at you for a malicious, evil-minded fellow ; 
 but, my dear boy, clap your hands, and cry, " What a honey- 
 comb ! " and you shall pass from mouth to mouth as the " best 
 of creatures." When you have seen something more of the 
 world, you will know that men rarely attribute an exposure of a 
 social evil to an inherent indignation of the evil itself, but to an 
 unhealthy appetite for moral foulness. Then, my boy, will they 
 most virtuously defame you then will they, in the name of out- 
 raged virtue, call you hard, high-sounding names. The wrestlers 
 of old, says Plutarch, threw dirt on one another that they might 
 get a better grasp, and more successfully trip up each other's 
 heels. In the like way, 'does ignorance or hypocrisy, in the 
 name of virtue, cast dirt upon him who would trip up a giant 
 wrong. There were, doubtless, those among the Philistines 
 particular and most virtuous friends of Goliath who called 
 David a very sour-natured little fellow. 
 
 It is extraordinary, too, how this scandal will stick upon you ; 
 how it will be used to misinterpret all your motives to give a 
 twist to your most heroic, most benevolent actions. I will sup- 
 pose that you are crossing a bridge, or walking by a river's side. 
 Well, a nursery-maid thinking, it may be, of Jack Bobinson, 
 whom she is to meet when the child is put to bed is so far 
 buried in her thoughts that she lets the baby tumble souse into 
 the stream. You may not swim like a dolphin, yet without 
 waiting to take off your coat, or lay your gold repeater on the 
 grass, you leap into the water, and with no small personal risk 
 manage to bring the baby safe to the bank. Well, you think 
 yourself entitled to at least the good opinion of the world for 
 your heroism. Alas ! you have been such a bitter person all 
 your life, you have told such disagreeable verities, you have so 
 constantly refused to club in with that conventional hypocrisy 
 that has neither eyes nor nose for social blotch or social taint, 
 
44 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 that Detraction denies to you one word of praise for your duek- 
 ing ; but gravely insists that your sole reason for jumping into 
 the river was this, you thought you saw a silver spoon shining 
 at the bottom. 
 
 Having obtained a name for ill-nature, or in reality having 
 acquired a fatal reputation for using your eyes, it will be in vain 
 for you to deal in praise of anything. No : the people who 
 profess to know you will, like witches, read even your prayers 
 backwards ; will insist that there is some lurking mischief, some 
 subtle abuse, in what appears to be unmixed and heartfelt 
 eulogy. Offer what you will to the world, the world will declare 
 you only deal in one commodity. You will be in the condition 
 of the man who sold lemons. His history being very short, and 
 at the same time touchingly illustrative of the evil I would warn 
 you against, shall be set down in this letter. 
 
 There was, in a certain city, a man who sold lemons. From 
 boyhood until forty, he had dealt in no other fruit ; and with 
 those who needed lemons, his stock was in good request. And 
 so years passed away, and the man made a tolerable living of his 
 merchandise, though a certain bluntness of manner, a resolution 
 never to take one farthing less of a customer than he first asked, 
 did somewhat keep down the profits of his calling. Throughout 
 the city the man was known by no other title than the Lemon 
 Merchant. At length, but how it came to pass I know not, 
 lemons ceased to be in demand : no man, woman, or child, pur- 
 chased a lemon lemons seemed, henceforth, to be the forbidden 
 fruit : crowds of passengers passed the man's basket, but no one 
 spent a single obolus. "Want, starvation, threatened our lemon- 
 merchant. What was he to do ? It was plain the fashion had 
 turned from lemons, and had set in for nothing but oranges. 
 Well, my son, you would think it was some good genius that 
 whispered to the man, " Give up thy lemon basket ; do not 
 vainly strive to huckster with what is now the accursed fruit, 
 but sell what little goods thou hast, and hieing to the market, 
 there buy thee oranges ; sweet, delicious oranges ; oranges, 
 luscious as the flesh of Venus." The lemon-merchant followed 
 the advice of his counsellor, and selling up all he had in the 
 world, invested the money in a box of magnificent oranges : they 
 were the finest in the market ; the mouths of emperors might 
 have watered for them ; they were a gladdening picture to the 
 eye a restorative perfume to the nose. Since the oranges that 
 wooed the lip of Eve in Paradise, there never had been such 
 oranges. 
 
 It was a grand holiday, when for the first time our henceforth 
 
HOPKINS'S UMBRELLA. 45 
 
 orange-merchant took his customary stand at the steps of the 
 Church of St. Angelica. His eye twinkled, and his heart 
 swelled with honest pride as he looked at the passengers who 
 thronged by him, and then again looked at the golden fruit 
 piled in his basket at his foot. It was very strange ; but though 
 all the orange-dealers about him sold their stock in a trice, 
 although he was left with the only oranges near the church, no 
 one, albeit seeking oranges, offered to buy the fruit of him. At 
 last, the man took heart, and cried to the people as they passed, 
 " Oranges ; sweet, sweet oranges ! Buy my oranges ! " 
 
 " Oranges, fellow ! " cried the passengers, " what impudence 
 is this ? Isn't it clear that there isn't an orange in your basket 
 isn't it certain that you deal in nothing but lemons 1 " 
 
 It was in vain for the man to bawl " Oranges ! " for there was 
 no one who heard him, who did not laugh and sneer, and 
 answer, " Pooh ! pooh ! Lemons ! " 
 
 My dear son, once get a reputation (as you have done with 
 Alderman Bilberry) for the acidity of truth, and though your 
 lips, like the lips of the infant Plato, shall distil honey, the world 
 will not believe in the sweetness. Offer what oranges you will, 
 the world will repay the offering with the cry of " Lemons." 
 
 LETTEE XIL 
 
 ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF BORROWING. HOPKINS'S UMBRELLA. 
 
 You ask me to supply you with a list of books, that you may 
 purchase the same for your private delectation. My dear boy, 
 receive this, and treasure it for a truth : no wise man ever 
 purchases a book. Pools buy books, and wise men borrow 
 them. By respecting, and acting upon this axiom, you may 
 obtain a very handsome library for nothing. 
 
 Do you not perceive, too, that by merely borrowing a volume 
 at every possible opportunity, you are obtaining for yourself the 
 reputation of a reading man ; you are interesting in your studies 
 dozens of people who, otherwise, would care not whether you 
 knew A, B, C, or not ? With your shelves thronged with 
 borrowed volumes, you have an assurance that your hours of 
 literary meditation frequently engage the thoughts of, alike, 
 intimate and casual acquaintance. To be a good borrower of 
 books is to get a sort of halo of learning about you, not to be 
 obtained by laying out money upon printed wisdom. For 
 
46 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 instance, you meet Huggins. He no sooner sees you than, pop, 
 you are associated with all the Caesars ; he having simple 
 Huggins ! lent you his Roman History bound in best historic 
 calf. He never beholds you but he thinks of Romulus and 
 Remus, the Tarpeian Rock, the Rape of the Sabines, and ten 
 thousand other interesting and pleasurable events. Thus, you 
 are doing a positive good to Huggins by continually refreshing 
 his mind with the studies of his thoughtful youth ; whilst, as I 
 say, your appearance, your memory, is associated and embalmed 
 by him with things that " will not die." 
 
 Consider the advantage of this. To one man you walk as 
 Hamlet ; why ? you have upon your shelves that man's best 
 edition of Shakspere. To another, you come as the archangel 
 Michael. His illustrated Paradise Lost glitters amongst your 
 borrowings. To this man, by the like magic, you are Robinson 
 Crusoe ; to this, Telemachus. I will not multiply instances ; 
 they must suggest .themselves. Be sure, however, on stumbling 
 upon what seems a rare and curious volume, to lay your borrow- 
 ing hands upon it. The book may be Sanscrit, Coptic, Chinese ; 
 you may not understand a single letter of it ; for which reason, 
 be more sternly resolved to carry it away with you. The very 
 act of borrowing such a mysterious volume implies that you are 
 in some respects a deep fellow invests you with a certain 
 literary dignity in the eyes of the lending. Besides, if you know 
 not Sanscrit at the time you borrow, you may before you die. 
 You cannot promise yourself what you shall not learn ; or, once 
 having borrowed the book, what you shall not forget. 
 
 There are three things that no man but a fool lends or having 
 lent, is not in the most hopeless state of mental crassitude if he 
 ever hope to get back again. These three things, my son, are 
 books, umbrellas, and monet ! I believe, a certain fiction of 
 the law assumes a remedy to the borrower ; but I know no case 
 in which any man, being sufficiently dastard to gibbet his 
 reputation as plaintiff in such a suit, ever fairly succeeded 
 against the wholesome prejudices of society. 
 
 In the first place, books being themselves but a combination 
 of borrowed things, are not to be considered as vesting even their 
 authors with property. The best man who writes a book, 
 borrows his materials from the world about him, and therefore, 
 as the phrase goes, cannot come into court with clean hands. 
 Such is the opinion of some of our wisest law-makers ; who, 
 therefore, give to the mechanist of a mouse-ti ap, a more lasting 
 property in his invention than if he had marie an Iliad. And why ? 
 The mouse-trap is of wood and iron : trees, though springing 
 from the earth, are property ; iron, dug from the bowels of the 
 
HOPKINS'S UMBRELLA. 47 
 
 earth, is property : you can feel it, hammer it, weigh it : but 
 what is called literary genius is a thing not ponderable, an 
 essence (if, indeed, it be an essence) you can make nothing of, 
 though put into an air-pump. The mast, that falls from beech, 
 to fatten hogs, is property ; as the forest-laws will speedily let 
 you know, if you send in an alien pig to feed upon it : but it has 
 been held, by wise, grave men in Parliament, that what falls 
 from human brains to feed human souls, is no property whatever. 
 Hence, private advantage counsels you to borrow all the books 
 you can ; whilst public opinion abundantly justifies you in never 
 returning them. 
 
 I have now to speak of Umbrellas. "Would you, my son, 
 from what you have read of Arab hospitality would you think 
 of counting out so many penny-pieces, and laying them in the 
 hand of your Arab host, in return for the dates and camel's milk 
 that, when fainting, dying, with thirst, hunger, and fatigue, he 
 hastened to bestow upon you ? % Would you, I say, chink the 
 copper coin in the man's ear, in return for this kindly office, 
 which the son of the desert thinks an " instrumental part of 
 his religion 1 " If, with an ignorance of the proper usages of 
 society, you would insult that high-souled Arab by any tender 
 of money, then my son but no ! I think you incapable of the 
 sordidness of such an act, then would you return a Borrowed 
 Umbrella 1 
 
 Consider it. What is an umbrella but a tent that a man 
 carries about with him in China, to guard him from the sun, 
 in England, to shelter him from the rain 1 Well, to return such 
 a portable tent to the hospitable soul who lent it, what is it 
 but to offer the Arab payment for shelter 1 What is it but to 
 chaffer with magnanimity, to reduce its greatness to a mercenary 
 lodging-house-keeper 1 Umbrellas may be " hedged about " by 
 cobweb statutes ; I will not swear it is not so ; there may exist 
 laws that make such things property ; but sure I am that the 
 hissing contempt, the loud-mouthed indignation of all civilised 
 society, would sibilate and roar at the bloodless poltroon, who 
 should engage law on his side to obtain for him the restitution 
 of a lent umbrella ! 
 
 We now come to Money. I have had, in my time, so little 
 of it, that I am not very well informed on monetary history. I 
 think, however, that the first Roman coin was impressed with a 
 sheep. A touching and significant symbol, crying aloud to all 
 men, " Children, 'fleece one another." My son, it is true that 
 the sheep has vanished from all coin : nevertheless, it is good to 
 respect ancient symbols : therefore, whatever the gold or silver 
 may bear whatever the potentate, whatever the arms upon the 
 
48 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 obverse see with your imaginative eye nothing but the sheep ; 
 listen with your fancy's ear to nought but "fleece" "fleece !" 
 
 I am aware, that a prejudice exists amongst the half-educated, 
 that borrowed money is as money obtained by nothing ; that, in 
 fact, it is not your own ; but is only trusted in your hands for 
 such and such a time. My son beware of this prejudice ; for it 
 is the fruit of the vilest ignorance. On the contrary, look upon 
 all borrowed money, as money dearly, richly earned by your 
 ingenuity in obtaining it. Put it to your account as the wages 
 of your intellect, your address, your reasoning or seductive 
 powers. Let this truth, my son, be engraven upon your very 
 brain-pan. To borrow money is the very highest employment 
 of the human intellect : to pay it back again, is to show yourself 
 a traitor to the genius that has successfully worked within you. 
 
 You may, however, wish to know how to put off your creditor 
 how to dumbfound him, should the idiot be clamorous. One 
 answer will serve for books, umbrellas, and money. As for 
 books, by the way, you may always have left them in a hackney- 
 coach. (This frequent accident of book-borrowers, doubtless, 
 accounts for the literary turn of most hackney-coachmen.) Still, 
 I will supply you with one catholic answer. 
 
 Hopkins once lent Simpson, his next-door neighbour, an 
 umbrella. You will judge of the intellect of Hopkins, not so 
 much from the act of lending an umbrella, but from his insane 
 endeavour to get it back again. 
 
 It poured in torrents. Hopkins had an urgent call. Hopkins 
 knocked at Simpson's door. "I want my umbrella." Now 
 Simpson also had a call in a directly opposite way to Hopkins ; 
 and with the borrowed umbrella in his hand, was advancing to 
 the threshold. "I tell you," roared Hopkins, "I want my 
 umbrella." " Can't have it," said Simpson. " Why, I want to 
 go to the East-end, it rains in torrents ; what " screamed 
 Hopkins " what am I to do for an umbrella 1 " 
 
 " Do ! " answered Simpson, darting from the door " do as I 
 did ; borrow one ! " 
 
HOW LEARNING MAY BE OBTAINED. 49 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 HOW LEARNING MAT BE OBTAINED BY SHAVING: AND 
 OTHER MEANS. 
 
 You tell me, I have not answered your request. You say, you 
 feel and I hope you do the full force of my arguments on the 
 beauty of borrowing : nevertheless, I have not forwarded to 
 you the list of books that, of all others, are the first to be 
 borrowed. You say you wish to become a reader. It is a laud- 
 able aspiration. 
 
 Readers, my dear son, are of two sorts. There is a reader who 
 carefully goes through a book ; and there is a reader who as 
 carefully lets the book go through him. Which do you desire 
 to be? 
 
 Whilst it is necessary that you should have the mere cant 
 phrases of literature, I would, as your affectionate father, counsel 
 you against any unseemly pedantry. You may, without sacri- 
 ficing any of the time due to the serious purposes of life, obtain a 
 sufficient knowledge of books, whereby to pass for a man of very 
 considerable information ; and, in this world, a successful seeming 
 is every bit as good as the real thing. Look around upon men ; 
 behold the stations they fill, and tell me if it be not so. 
 
 You shave once a day. Well, purchase a cheap copy of Black- 
 stone's Commentaries on the Laws of England. You will perceive 
 that in his Preface, Sir William speaks of the necessity of every 
 gentleman knowing something of the statutes he lives under. 
 Now, my dear boy, I would have you learn the laws of your 
 country, as I would have you, ere you entered an orchard to 
 pluck the best fruit growing there, know the whereabout of the 
 man-traps and the wires of the spring-guns. Having such know- 
 ledge, you may here pluck a pippin, here gather a plum ; and 
 cramming your pockets full of the juiciest produce of the place, 
 return over the wall whence you came without a single scratch, 
 and altogether shot-free. Now, you have only to consider the 
 whole world an orchard guarded by the man-traps and spring- 
 guns of laws : and have only to know where the laws are laid, 
 that though you intrude upon them ever so closely, you are never 
 caught or hit by them. Do this, and who is to charge you with 
 having pilfered a single codlin 1 You have never been caught in 
 the trap, the law has never fired upon you, and you have there- 
 fore your action for libel against any man who shall dare so 
 much as to wink at you and whisper " Codlins ! " 
 
50 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 To return. You shave once a day.* 
 Blackstone, and whilst you are stropping your razor, carefully 
 read it. This is so much time saved ; and by this daily practice, 
 you will in due season digest the whole of the Commentaries. 
 Sometimes you will go over your beard a second or a third time, 
 whereupon, strop your razor again and again, and go through two 
 or three pages. I knew a Lord Chancellor who, like Lord Chester- 
 field's friend, was " such an economist of time," that he went 
 through all the statutes only in this manner. Being happily 
 blessed with a very stubborn beard, he lathered himself at least 
 thrice a morning ; on each occasion getting by heart three leaves 
 of legal wisdom. I have known him declare that as a lawyer, he 
 was confident he owed all his prosperity in life to close shaving. 
 
 You are to consider that the operation of shaving is singularly 
 auspicious to study. The soul seems retired from the surrounding 
 vanities of the world, and takes refuge in itself. A great novelist 
 has declared that if, when he rose from his desk, he left a pair of 
 lovers in a quandary, had his hero or heroine at a dead lock, 
 wanted a lucky escape, or an ingenious discovery, he went to 
 bed serenely certain that the whole difficulty would be solved 
 with the shaving soap of the next morning.f Hence, his novels 
 may be considered as much the offspring of the razor as of the 
 goose-quill. I much question whether the lack of imaginative 
 works among the modern Jewish Eabbis may not be attributed 
 to their copiousness of beard ; they never shave ; hence, in a 
 lofty, dignifying sense, they never think. 
 
 Having gone through Blackstone, razor in hand, you may then 
 in like manner address yourself to ancient and modern history. 
 
 You will know quite as much of the Medes and Persians, the 
 builders of the Pyramids, Magna Charta, and all such shadowy 
 matters, after a month's good stropping, as if you had sat with 
 your brow between your thumbs, pondering and dreaming for a 
 twelvemonth. You will have got by heart a pretty catalogue of 
 names ; and names, not things, are quite sufficient for a man, if 
 he will but troll them boldly over his tongue, as though he had 
 the most intimate acquaintance with all that belonged to them. 
 * Virtue and learning," says Philip Lord Chesterfield, " like 
 gold, have their intrinsic value ; but if they are not polished, 
 they certainly lose a great deal of their lustre : and even polished 
 brass will pass upon more people than rough gold." Lord 
 Chesterfield knew what was due to life and the peerage. 
 
 * Punch confesses that he owes the idea of this process to the Earl of 
 Chesterfield, who in his " Letter ci." to his son, suggests even a more 
 ingenious mode of absorbing the essence of " all the Latin Poets." 
 
 f See Lockhart's " Life of Scott." 
 
HOW LEARNING MAY BE OBTAINED. 51 
 
 There is also another way of obtaining the wisdom of books. 
 You have doubtless seen the advertisements of benevolent sages 
 who profess to cure disease by simply smelling certain drugs and 
 simples. Nothing need be swallowed, nothing need be adminis- 
 tered. These doctors owe nothing to the natural teaching of the 
 ibis, to whom, if history speak truly, Esculapius was so much 
 indebted. All they require is, that a patient shall have a nose ; 
 and that organ granted, they guarantee a cure. In like manner, 
 do many very clever people obtain learning : they smell the 
 volumes nothing more. They take a good sniff of a book, and 
 history, politics, poetry, polemics, all fly up their nose in particles, 
 like so much hartshorn ; nor is such a mode of education, in the 
 words of the Rev. Dr. Busby, to be sneezed at. 
 
 If this were not the fact, do you think so many persons would 
 purchase libraries ? Do you suppose they buy the books to pore 
 over them ? Certainly not. It is sufficient that they have the 
 volumes on the shelves ; an aroma of learning arises from them ; 
 it is received into the system of the owner, and he is, and 
 cannot help it, learned. If this were not the case, think you so 
 many human asses would lay out so much money on russia- 
 bindings ? No : they carefully shelve the books, and catch 
 learning, as they sometimes catch cold, by coming- down the 
 staircase. 
 
 Having said thus much, it is, I think, unnecessary for me to 
 give you a list of books for your private study. All that is 
 necessary, is to borrow the volumes, and those as handsome as 
 possible, and having once secured the books, the learning in 
 them is, of course, your own. I would, however, advise you to 
 carefully study The Newgate Calendar, a work enshrining so 
 many instances of human ingenuity, courage and suffering ; a 
 mine of gold from which philosophic novelists have cast pocket- 
 heroes for ladies, and mantel-piece ornaments for boarding- 
 schools. You will find in the literary off-shoots of the records of 
 the gallows, that the human soul is in its composition, very like 
 a ball of India-rubber ; the lower it falls, the higher it bounds. 
 OiAt may be likened to the Greek fire, that burns the brightest 
 in a common sewer. 
 
 I would advise you also to take a peep into the Grecian 
 mythology ; there are some pretty names there with which you 
 may sometimes spangle your discourse, not unprofitably. There 
 is also much moral instruction to be gathered from the stories. 
 Let me particularly recommend to you the tale of the abduction 
 of Proserpine by Pluto. Proserpine has been promised a full 
 divorce from the king of hell, if she have tasted nothing in 
 his dominions. Unable to control herself, she has taken a 
 
 2 
 
PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 pomegranate seed, and the divorce does not stand good. I have 
 no doubt (if it could be discovered) that this case has been con- 
 sidered in many nice judgments of the Ecclesiastical Court. 
 
 History has been called "philosophy teaching by example." 
 You may, if you will, consult it in this spirit ; but the truest 
 philosophy teaching by example that ever came under my 
 notice, was in a little town in France, at a bookseller's shop. 
 
 The beautiful national song Malbrough s'en va-t-en guerre, 
 words and music, lay open in the window ; and there stood an 
 old Frenchwoman, holding in her hand a little Gaul of some six 
 years old, whom like a young starling she was at once teaching 
 words and song. What a labour of love she made of her task ! 
 How she crowed forth the air, jigging, as it does, with contempt 
 for England, and how the child chirrupped after her ! 
 
 " Malbrough s'en va-t-en guerre, 
 Mironton, mironton, mirontaine, 
 Malbrough s'en va-t-en guerre, 
 Ne sait quand reviendra ! " 
 
 * There, indeed," said I to myself, gazing on the old woman 
 and her pupil ; " there, indeed, is History there is Philosophy 
 teaching by example ! " 
 
 LETTEE XIV. 
 
 THE EVIL OF SENSIBILITY. STORY OF THE BANKER'S CLERK. 
 
 A man who would thrive in the world has no such enemy as 
 what is known by the term sensibility. It is to walk bare- 
 footed in a mob : at every other step your toes are crushed by 
 the iron-shod shoon of crowding vagabonds, who grin from ear to 
 ear at the wry faces you make, at the cries that may escape you. 
 " Why didn't you stay at home 1 " asks one ; " Put your toes in 
 your pocket," counsels another ; quite unconscious of the deep 
 philosophy enriching his advice. Yes, my son ; difficult as it 
 may appear, the only thing for the man to do that is, the poor 
 man born with sensibility is to put his toes into his pocket ; in 
 plain words, to smother his sensibility in the place where he 
 hopes some day to carry his money. 
 
 Many are the martyrs, my son, whose lives will never be 
 penned. Many the victims who, in garrets and in cellars, have 
 vindicated what is called the heroism of human nature, and by 
 
THE BANKER'S CLERK. 53 
 
 the awful magnanimity of suffering, given assurance of the 
 ethereal temper of the human spirit. How many, even with 
 earthly famine whitening their lips, have smiled in lovely patience, 
 thinking of immortal tables ! How many, in the tatters of beggary, 
 reeking in the nostrils of their fellow-man, have apparelled them- 
 selves for God ! The looks of angels have made bright the dark- 
 ness of a dungeon ; and the odours of seraphic wings sweetened 
 the vapours of a vault. 
 
 But no, my son, I must not pursue this theme. Who would 
 think that I could talk thus ? I ! a mountebank a mummer 
 the buffoon for halfpence 1 Oh, my son, it was shallow philosophy ; 
 it was worse ; it was a wicked want of charity in Dr. Johnson to 
 exclaim, " Punch has no feelings ! " The world, I grant gives 
 me but little credit for such possessions ; and, therefore, I am 
 prone to wrap myself up in the pride of mystery, and to affect 
 insensibility, that I may escape the charge of hypocrisy. Who 
 would believe in the tears of Punch ? Who, though he saw 
 them, trickling down my nose, would believe they came hot and 
 bitter from my heart ? A heart ! Said I a heart 1 Who would 
 believe I had such an organ ? Albeit I were laid upon the 
 surgeon's table, the crucial incision made in my breast nay, the 
 heart itself plucked out who would believe in its ventricles 1 
 A heart ! A cushion a thing stuffed with bran, to stick pins 
 in : for so the world has used it. My son, Punch is not the only 
 creature thus libelled, because inwardly unknown. The Poverty 
 of the world is but a pale-faced, melancholy Punch ; a creature 
 denied sensibility, that it maybe made to bear the harder buffets. 
 Allow to Poverty all the fine moral organisation the same 
 susceptibility that makes the system of the rich man delicately 
 melodious as a musical snuff-box, and we should give ear to the 
 utterance of human wants as to a flood of holy song ; as to the 
 most plaintive, yet most sacred music of the habitable earth. 
 But no ; the organisation is disallowed, and therefore such music 
 is impossible. Thus is it with Poverty in the ears of Worldly 
 Pride ; and thus to Worldly Ignorance is Punch ! 
 
 However, the purpose of these letters is to fit you for a 
 prosperous career in life ; and therefore, I charge you, by all 
 your hopes of larder, wine-cellar, banker's account, and carriage 
 I charge you put down, smother every rising of sensibility. 
 You might as well take a voyage to the North Pole in your shirt, 
 as hope to live comfortably in the world, if endowed with sensi- 
 bility. Had you been born to a golden pap-spoon, it might have 
 been otherwise ; but you, a child of the gutter, the spawn of the 
 highway you to talk of sensibility you might as well talk of 
 the family jewels. 
 
54 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 Beware of sensibility. If it become morbidly affected, the 
 result is 
 
 But I will narrate to you a history, my son, illustrative of its 
 perils : a true history true as my hunch. How I came by it, 
 matters not. Suffice it to say, it is as true as the sunbeams. 
 
 Stephen Gladstone for that shall be his name in his seven- 
 teenth year, was placed at a banker's desk. His gentleness, his 
 almost feminine tenderness of manner, made him the favourite 
 of all who knew him. He was endowed with a most fatal sensi- 
 bility. His cheeks would redden at the sudden accost of a 
 stranger ; and when his employer, as would often happen, spoke 
 in commendation of his labours, the tears would gush from his 
 eyes, and he would tremble from head to foot, like a detected 
 culprit. For three years Stephen remained in the employ of 
 
 Messrs. ; and every year, such was his assiduity, such his 
 
 exemplary conduct, his salary was increased. Already the oldest 
 clerks began to predict that " Stephen Gladstone would soon be 
 a junior partner." 
 
 When Stephen had attained his twentieth year, a sudden 
 alteration was visible in his features his manner. Day by day, 
 he became haggard careworn. His face was pale and juiceless ; 
 and his eyes, ordinarily dull and filmed, would suddenly flash 
 with lustrous brightness. The slightest sound would make him 
 start as at a thunder-crash. His employers speedily noticed the 
 change ; and again and again desired Stephen to forego his 
 duties for a month or two, to have change of air and scene ; but 
 every such desire seemed to inflict inexpressible torture upon 
 the clerk. He would declare he was very well ; if he looked ill, 
 he knew not why he should do so, for he was in excellent health ; 
 never never better. And still day by day he seemed to waste 
 and wither ; and day by day the weight upon his spirits grew 
 the heavier. 
 
 At length, Stephen's employers resolved to address themselves 
 to a physician ; who, having heard their story, managed to obtain 
 what seemed an accidental meeting with the clerk. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Gladstone, you are not well. Come, come ! I see 
 what this is." 
 
 " Indeed, sir, you mistake : I am well quite well. Surely, 
 sir, I should know best," said Stephen, a little irritated. 
 
 " Never tell me," said the physician, whose cordial tone and 
 benevolent manner would have gained the confidence of a misan- 
 thrope ; I see your case plainly ; it's love nothing but love." 
 
 Stephen looked a look of misery in the physician's face, 
 suppressed a groan, and broke from him. 
 
 A week elapsed, and Stephen suddenly appeared before the 
 
THE BANKER'S CLERK. 55 
 
 doctor. His face was distorted with anguish ; he reeled, and 
 fell into a chair ; and sat gasping with the brain's agony. 
 Instantly the physician was at his side soothing, comforting 
 him. 
 
 " I can endure it no longer : you shall know all, doctor, all, 
 though the hangman be at the door. Listen ! you know not, for 
 these six months, what scorpions have been stinging me. To-day 
 again this very day my employers raised my income : they 
 reward me me ! Doctor, look at that hand ! It is a thief s I 
 tell you it is a thief s ! But I said you should know all. My 
 masters kind souls ! have praised me for my zeal have desired 
 me to seek recreation to absent myself from the house ! Oh, 
 God ! if late and early I was at the desk, it was that my books 
 might escape detection ! And they call this zeal, and they 
 reward me for it me, who have robbed, have pillaged them ! " 
 
 Long and kind was the speech of the physician, who at length 
 charged himself to break the business to the masters of the 
 wretched youth, and with heavy heart departed on his mission. 
 His tale was soon told. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! Impossible," cried the bankers. " Gladstone 
 embezzle money ! why, he couldn't take a farthing not a 
 farthing : all his books have been regularly balanced." It was 
 indeed so. His morbid sensibility, worked upon by the possibility 
 of the act, had, in his fantastic terrors, made him a criminal. 
 
 " This is a mistake, quite a mistake : " and the physician sought 
 to soothe the mind of the excited clerk. 
 
 " Then I am no thief % " asked Stephen, as if awakened from a 
 horrid trance. 
 
 " You've been unwell nothing more ; a little unwell," said 
 the physician. 
 
 The discovery of his innocence was, however, too much for 
 the young man's reason : from that moment it was utterly 
 shattered. The banker's clerk alas ! poor human nature! 
 died a maniac. 
 
56 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 WEALTH AND ITS USES. STORY OF THE SLIPPERS. 
 " JUST ENOUGH." 
 
 One of the best and most satisfactory uses of wealth, my dear 
 boy, is to dazzle with our riches the eyes of our neighbours. 
 Your dear mother once hit this point to a nicety. We had long 
 expected the payment of a small legacy bequeathed to her by a 
 distant relation, whose exact degree of kindred I cared not much 
 to inquire into. It was enough for us that your dear mother's 
 name was down in the will ; and that the executors promised 
 some day to faithfully perform the injunctions of the dear 
 deceased. " And when we get this money," said your mother to 
 me in a moment of connubial confidence, " I tell you what we'll 
 do with it I tell you, my love, what we'll do with it." As I 
 knew she would proceed no further until I begged to know her 
 intentions, I at once put the question. " What, my dearest, 
 what will you do with it?" "Why, my love," answered your, 
 parent, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, " we'll take the plate 
 out of pawn, and give a party." Yes ; the great gratification to 
 be gathered from the legacy was, that we might flash our four tea- 
 spoons and pair of tongs in the eyes of people for whom we had 
 not the slightest esteem ; and to one of whom your mother had, 
 I know, on three occasions captiously refused the loan of her 
 bellows. 
 
 You will find, as you know more of the world, that your 
 mother's tea-spoons and tongs are, albeit the humble, yet the true 
 representatives of whole buffets of plate. You will possibly find 
 yourself invited to feast with a man who cares not a tittle 
 wnetner you have a dinner or not ; his only object is to show 
 you your envious face in his golden salvers, to make your mouth 
 water with his Dutch fruit pieces ; in a word, not to fill your 
 belly with his turtle and venison, but to abase your mind with a 
 prostrating sense of his wealth. He takes possession of your 
 admiration, as a feudal chief receives the homage of his vassal. 
 And this you are to consider the true use the real dignity of 
 wealth. 
 
 There are some enthusiasts that is, the generous mob of 
 philanthropists with empty pockets who vow that wealth is 
 only given to the rich in trust for the poor. Whilst you remain 
 a pauper, remain of this religion when you obtain money, read 
 your recantation before Midas. 
 
WEALTH AND ITS USES, ETC. 57 
 
 Philosophers have held that the aurum potabile, if taken into the 
 human system, tends to refine mortal clay of its inherent grossness, 
 and by degrees to assimilate the flesh of earthly man to the flesh 
 of the gods. Whether gold be swallowed, or a sufficient quantity 
 of it be merely carried in the pocket, the grateful result is precisely 
 the same. Consider hundreds of the heavy purse-bearers of the 
 world, and tell me if it be otherwise with them. They have the 
 lineaments of men ; they are bipeds like the poorest beggar : but 
 their moral and physical systems are so coloured, so permeated 
 with the precious metal, that they are creatures quite apart from 
 the ordinary race of mortals. Do their daily acts betray their 
 affinity with them 1 Are they not as far above the pauper who 
 quenches his thirst at the brook, as the pauper above the frog he 
 disturbs there 1 
 
 I think I have heard you say, you love the face of Nature 1 
 The open sky the fields, the trees, the shining river, all are 
 glorious to you ! My dear boy, whatever may be your present 
 delight in contemplating these objects, as yet you know nothing 
 of their value. Look upon them with the eye of a proprietor, 
 and what a bloom will come upon the picture ! Every bit of 
 turf will be an emerald to you ; every grasshopper will chirrup 
 a very angel to your self-complacency ; every tree, moved by 
 the wind, will bow to you as you pass by it ; the very fish in the 
 river will 
 
 " Show to the sun their wav'd coats dropp'd with gold," 
 
 reflecting there your wealth, and not their beauty. Nay, that 
 portion of the sky which rains and shines its blessings upon your 
 land, you will behold as yours ; yea, human pride, strong in its 
 faith of property, will read upon the face of heaven itself 
 " Meum ! " Every sunbeam will be to you as tangible as if it 
 were an ingot. How delicious and how entrancing must have 
 been the feelings of Adam when he awoke in Eden, to find him- 
 selfa landed proprietor ! 
 
 If you can walk the fields and look upon the sky with these 
 ennobling emotions, then, my son, you will know the real merits 
 the true uses of wealth. You will then own that it is only the 
 man of money who can worship Nature as she ought to be 
 worshipped ; inasmuch as it is only he who can truly estimate 
 her thousand beauties ; who can feel his heart rise and glow 
 as he surveys her charms ; and, putting his hands in his pockets, 
 can love her with a lover's tenderness. 
 
 This man, rejoicing on his own land, meets something in shape 
 like himself plodding the sod. This two-legged animal envies 
 the squirrel in the wood the hare he has startled from its form : 
 
58 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 he has nothing ; his very hands are useless to him : he is denied 
 a spade to delve with, a plough to guide. Poor wretch ! he is 
 incrusted with ignorance ; covered like a tortoise. What eyes, 
 what thoughts has he for the loveliness of Nature 1 Let the 
 gracious gentleman who owns the soil and the pauper encum- 
 bering it, sit with him upon two hillocks and discourse on the 
 loveliness of life. 
 
 Well, they have talked there three hours ; for see, the sun is 
 blazing in the west. What have you heard from the man 01 
 wealth ? Has he not spoken of Nature as a benignant goddess 
 has he not painted life with the bloom of Paradise still upon it ? 
 His whole speech has been a thanksgiving ! What have you 
 heard from the pauper ! evidence of grossest ignorance. 
 
 " A primrose by a river's brim, 
 
 A yellow primrose is to him 
 
 And it is nothing more." 
 
 He looks upon the meads, pranked with a thousand flowers, with 
 a heavy, leaden look ; they are, he says, to him a blank a 
 nothing. And for life, he feels it most when it is gnawing at 
 his bowels. 
 
 Will you, after this, my son, say that one of the highest uses of 
 wealth is not to quicken our apprehension to the thousand 
 beauties showered about us ? Hence, my child, the inevitable 
 intelligence and superiority of the rich hence, the gloom and 
 crassitude of the poor. If you love nature, you must obtain 
 wealth for the true the lawful enjoyment of her. You must 
 wed her with a golden ring. 
 
 Having obtained wealth, you are only to consider your own 
 gratification in its outlay. There are foolish people who stint 
 their appetites of many pleasant fillips, that when the worm is 
 wriggling in their shrouds their thankful children may be sure of 
 dinners. Leave your children to shift for themselves Desti- 
 tution is a fine whetstone to ingenuity. 
 
 In the course of my travels, I once entered a church in 
 Amsterdam. I was attracted to a monument by a pair of 
 slippers, cut in marble ; and underneath was written, as I was 
 told, in Flemish, 
 
 " Just Enough." 
 
 I found upon inquiry that this was the monument of a wise, rich 
 man, who resolved to make his living appetites the tomb of his 
 wealth ; and so nicely adjusted his outlay, that when he died 
 nought was left of his magnificent fortune but his pair of old 
 slippers. " It is just enough," he said, and expired. 
 
HOW TO CHOOSE A FRIEND, ETC. 59 
 
 There are rich men who live and die in the spirit of the 
 Flemish spendthrift : for to them, this world and this world 
 only is * Just Enough." 
 
 LETTEE XVI. 
 
 HOW TO CHOOSE A FRIEND : THE PURPOSES OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 A STORY OF " FRIENDS." 
 
 My dear Boy, Choose your friend as you would choose an 
 orange ; for his golden outside, and the promise of yielding much, 
 when well squeezed. 
 
 Lord Chesterfield has beautifully and truly remarked : " what- 
 ever is worth doing at all, is worth doing well." This axiom 
 applies admirably to the treatment of a friend. 
 
 There is no surer evidence of a contented meanness of spirit 
 in a young man, than a disposition to club a friendship with 
 merely his equals in life : whilst, on the other hand, the ardent, 
 speculative mind, that, looking abroad for a communion of feeling, 
 selects his Pylades from the rich and powerful, indicates a just 
 knowledge of the whole and sole purposes of human friendship. 
 What is its object 1 Is it not to succour and assist the man elected 
 for its twin brother 1 And how are you, poor and powerless, to 
 expect aid and practical consolation from one as helpless as your- 
 self ? Can the naked clothe the naked 1 Can the beggar bestow 
 alms upon the beggar ? No ; be assured of this truth ; it is to 
 defeat the purpose of all friendship, it is to frustrate its most 
 beneficent and humanising end, to ally yourself with any com- 
 panion, who cannot better your fortunes : to whom you cannot 
 on all occasions resort, either for the interest of his word, or for 
 what must be indisputably acceded to be the purest, the noblest- 
 offering of the human soul, ready money. 
 
 For a poor man to boast of a poor man for his friend, is to 
 flourish in the face of the world an empty purse. To such a man 
 a poor friend is a clog, an incumbrance ; a reduplication of his 
 own wants ; an exaggeration of his own squalor. "What should 
 Lazarus do but burden Lazarus 1 To enter into such a compact 
 is to make friendship a bubble the echo of a name an empty 
 sound ! 
 
 How different your condition with Gloriosus for your friend ! 
 The jewel on your finger is a brilliant evidence of the value of 
 friendship. The horse you sometimes ride proves to yourself and 
 
60 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 all the world that amity is a substantial matter ; the burgundy 
 that at Gloriosus's table beams in your eyes, and circulates in 
 your system, makes your bosom glow with the sweetest feelings ; 
 and you lay your hand upon your heart, and feel friendship to be 
 a lovely, a most sufficing thing ! Thus, you build an altar to 
 friendship in your very self. You are a breathing, moving, 
 satin-cheeked evidence that friendship is not, what cynics and 
 misanthropes call it, a thing of air the dream of fools. 
 
 Can you do this if you hang upon the skirts of your fellow- 
 poor ? No, my son. Therefore, if you have a nature capable 
 of friendship, if you would prove to the world the surpassing 
 beauties of the feeling which poets have sung, and sages melo- 
 diously discoursed of, hang on the rich, select the man of 
 wealth, and him only for your friend ; dwell and glitter in his 
 bosom like his diamond shirt-stud. 
 
 Possibly there may be ill-mannered people who for this will 
 call you a toad-eater. Let them : I will in few words, and from 
 truthful history, teach you how to answer them. 
 
 The ill-natured antiquaries of the Netherlands, with bile 
 against the politest nation upon earth of course, I mean the 
 French have declared that what are now quartered as the lilies 
 of France, were originally toads. The Abbe" >ubos gives a 
 reasonable excuse for this ; an excuse that ought to disarm 
 malignity of its sneer : the French could not help it. The 
 Germanic nations the French then being a part of them having 
 engaged all the courageous and terrible birds and beasts, such as 
 eagles, lions, griffins, dragons, and the like, left nothing whatever 
 for the poor Franks ; who were therefore compelled to go to 
 the puddles for their bearings, and so contented themselves with 
 a toad. This toad, in process of time, became metamorphosed 
 into a bee, for on the 27th of May, 1655, the Cure" of St. Brie, 
 at Tournay, wishing to enlarge his wine-cellar, the workmen he 
 had employed upon that benevolent object, came plump upon the 
 coffin of King Childeric I. It was then discovered that upon his 
 Majesty's royal robe were sewed innumerable golden bees. 
 These were subsequently removed to the royal cabinet of France. 
 Whether, however, they took flight at the revolution, I know not. 
 " I do not doubt," says the Abbe Dubos, " that our bees, by the 
 ignorance of painters and sculptors, have become lilies." Lilies, 
 that, according to Malherbe, were once especially fragrant in the 
 nostrils of John Bull. 
 
 " A leur odeur PAnglais se relachant, 
 Notre amitie va recherchant. 
 Et l'Espagnol, prodige merveiileux, 
 Cesse d'etre orgueilleux." 
 
HOW TO CHOOSE A FRIEND, ETC. 61 
 
 You may ask me, my son, what has this antiquarian rigmarole 
 about the toads, the bees, and the lilies of France, to do with the 
 lesson I would propound on the beauty of friendship ? My son, 
 be instructed. 
 
 Let the envious call you toad-eater ; make you of that toad a 
 golden bee, still gathering honey from your friend, and turning 
 it to your private advantage. And then, if detraction accuse you 
 of hoarding from the treasures of your Pylades, declare your 
 friendship to have no bee-like propensity whatever, but that it 
 grows in your heart, pure and odorous as 
 
 " The lily, lady of the flowering field." 
 
 Thus, when the world throws the toad in your face, take a 
 lesson of the Frenchmen, and declare there was never aught 
 toad-like in the matter ; but always, always a lily ! Toads you 
 never eat ; you only snuff lilies. 
 
 Friendship, like love, may, I know, have very odd beginnings. 
 I speak, however, of the friendship of simpletons and penniless 
 enthusiasts. I will narrate to you what I think a very comical 
 incident, illustrative of the mysterious working of friendship. 
 
 Lieutenant Montgomery had seen much military service. 
 However, the wars were over, and he had nought to do, but to 
 lounge as best he could through life upon half-pay. He was one 
 day taking his ease at his tavern, when he observed a stranger, 
 evidently a foreigner, gazing intently at him. The lieutenant 
 appeared not to notice the intrusion, but shifted his position. 
 A short time, and the stranger shifted too, and still with 
 unblenched gaze he stared. This was too much for Montgomery, 
 who rose and approached his scrutinising intruder. 
 
 " Do you know me, sir ? " asked the lieutenant. 
 
 " I think I do," answered the foreigner. He was a Frenchman. 
 
 " Have we ever met before 1 " continued Montgomery. 
 
 " I will not swear for it ; but if we have and I am almost 
 sure we have," said the stranger, " you have a sabre cut, a deep 
 one, on your right wrist." 
 
 " I have," cried Montgomery, turning back his sleeve, and 
 displaying a very broad and ugly scar. " I didn't get this for 
 nothing, for the brave fellow who made me a present of it, 
 I repaid with a gash across the skull." 
 
 The Frenchman bent down his head, parted his hair with his 
 hands, and said " You did : you may look at the receipt." 
 
 The next moment they were in each other's arms. They 
 became bosom friends for life. 
 
62 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 
 ON POLITICAL FLATTERY. THE SKULL GOBLET. 
 
 One Gemelli Carreri, a travelled Italian, has preserved the 
 following story. Ponder on it, my son; for, duly considered, 
 'twill be found to enshrine the noblest worldly wisdom. 
 
 You have doubtless heard of Shah- Abas, called the Great ? 
 If not, it is no matter. A good story is just as good, and what 
 may seem strange to your unripe reflection, is just as true, 
 whether the hero of it ever lived or not. To the philosophic 
 mind, Tom Thumb is as real a thing as Alexander. The wise 
 man is as well taught by a shadow, as by Caesar at the head of his 
 legions. However, to get back to Shah- Abas. He was a great 
 man, for he killed a certain king of the Usbecks ; and having killed 
 him, did not ingloriously thrust all his carcass into a hole, but 
 preserved the royal skull from worms and darkness, and made it 
 the companion of his carousals and his merry nights. Briefly, 
 the great Shah- Abas had the king's skull set in gold, for a 
 drinking cup. Well had it been for the world, had all kingly 
 skulls been ever as socially employed ! The Shah died ; and for 
 what we know, had a merry laugh in the shades with the king 
 of the Usbecks, when he met and told him of the late hours his 
 skull still kept on the earth, of the wine that sparkled in it, 01 
 the free talk that passed about it, of the jokes that were cracked, 
 of the songs that were chirrupped ! The Shah's descendant 
 much treasured the skull ; and feeling death to be the great 
 teacher, never slept, without taking copious advice from the king 
 of the Usbecks. It happened that the Usbeck people sent an 
 ambassador to the Shah's descendant, to permit and ratify a 
 treaty of commerce. In those days, commercial principles were 
 in the bud ; and therefore, the prejudice of the Usbecks is not to 
 be considered in the strong light of present wisdom. The 
 Usbecks prayed that they might be permitted to export their 
 fleas free of duty into the realm of the Shah ; offering as an 
 equivalent, to admit the Shah's blue-bottle flies on the same 
 enlightened footing. The question, as you may conceive, was of 
 great national importance : many of the oldest Usbecks declaring 
 they were a lost folk from the moment they admitted blue-bottles 
 duty free : whilst some of the Shah's people maintained the 
 exclusive privilege of their fleas, as though they were creatures 
 of their own flesh ; and loudly clamoured for stringent restric- 
 tions, for the sharpest scrutiny. Every Usbeck should be 
 
THE SKULL GOBLET. G3 
 
 searched to the skin, to prevent the smuggling of fleas : whilst 
 the Usbecks, firing at this, threatened to throw up a line of 
 observatories on the frontiers to prevent the entry of a single 
 blue-bottle into their kingdom. The Shah's people were not 
 behindhand ; for albeit they had all along admitted the Usbecks' 
 sheep, they prayed the Shah that he would henceforth have 
 every beast shaved bare as his hand, fleas having been known 
 it had been proved upon committee to be conveyed into the 
 kingdom by means of the wool. The people also called for an 
 army of inspection on the annual flight of the swallows from the 
 Usbecks to the country of the Shah : they, too, had brought 
 fleas into the country, to the manifest injury of the home-breeder. 
 
 Matters were at the height, when the Shah gave a handsome 
 banquet to the ambassador of the Usbecks. In the midst of the 
 iollity, the Shah called, in the irony of his heart, for the loving- 
 cup. The cup-bearer approached, and on bended knee presented 
 the skull of the Usbeck king ; the ambassador started at the 
 indignity ; and felt a nervous contraction of his fingers that 
 suddenly seemed to hunger for the handle of his scimetar. 
 Another second, and he had certainly made a cut at the throat of 
 the Shah, when his eye falling on the goblet-skull of his late 
 revered monarch, he thought he saw the bony cavity, wherein 
 was wont to roll and flash the burning eye of fiery despotism, 
 quickly and most significantly contract as with a wink, and the 
 l'aw-bone slightly move, as much as to look and say " Don't 
 make a noodle of yourself." Happily, too, at the same moment, 
 the Usbeck ambassador felt the fleas of his native country close 
 at his bosom. The ambassador smiled. 
 
 " What think you of the goblet ? " asked the Shah, with a 
 very ungentlemanly leer. 
 
 " I think," said the ambassador, " my monarch was most 
 happy, most honoured, in falling by the hands of a great king : 
 but he is still happier, still more honoured, in having his skull 
 preserved by a greater." 
 
 The king was mollified : from that moment the Usbeck fleas 
 hopped without any fiscal restriction into the Shah's dominions, 
 and the blue-bottles of the Shah, without let or hindrance on the 
 part of custom-house mercenaries, sang their household music in 
 the parlours of the Usbecks, and in their hospital larders made 
 provisions for their oviparous little ones. 
 
 I trust, my son, you can apply the moral of this veracious 
 story 1 If the ambassador had given vent to his rising imagina- 
 tion if on the introduction of the royal skull, he had delivered 
 himself of some red-hot sentence or two, why, the anti-flea-law 
 bigots had triumphed. Until this day, perhaps, fleas had been 
 
64 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 smuggled into the lands of the Shah ; and blue-bottles, save as 
 pets for the rich, been unknown in the land of the Usbecks. 
 But the ambassador rightly taking the wink from the royal 
 skull, the lowest subject of the Shah has the luxury of fleas ; 
 whilst fly-blown mutton allowing he can get mutton at all is 
 within the reach of the meanest Usbeck. 
 
 Here, my son, you perceive the beauty, the utility of political 
 flattery ! If Fortune, determining to show a great example to 
 men, resolve to make you a cabinet minister, engrave this story 
 on your heart. Never do any political act by straightforward 
 means. Always go round about your purpose. And for this 
 reason ; straightforward honesty is the last resource of a fool 
 mere honesty is the white chicken's feather in the cap of the 
 simpleton. 
 
 You were six years old when I took you to see my friend 
 Mr. Polito's elephant, and gave you a halfpenny. With a nascent 
 generosity, which nearly brought tears to my paternal eyes, you 
 flung down the copper coin at the feet of the majestic animal. 
 Remember you not your first wonder, when the elephant took 
 the halfpenny up 1 What a curve he gave his trunk ! How 
 many bendings and turnings he employed ere he placed the 
 halfpenny cake, purchased with Christian-like sagacity of the 
 tradesman near his den, in his capacious mouth ! The same 
 action employed by that elephant to pick up a halfpenny, would 
 be applied to the tearing up of the forest plane. My son, the 
 elephant is a practical politician : remember him, and if you get 
 exalted, do nothing great or small unless you do it with a twist. 
 
 As the remainder of the sheet is not sufficient for us to discuss 
 a new subject, let me fill up the blank that remains with a few 
 thoughts on the drinking goblet of the Shah. In the matter of 
 kings, you must acknowledge, from what I narrated, that their 
 influence passes not from the earth with their death. Though 
 they are nothing, for good or ill, their skulls so to speak 
 remain. What a great lesson does Napoleon offer to those French- 
 men who every morning wash themselves ! Understand me. 
 
 The French are, above all nations of the earth, a people of 
 practical wisdom of practical morality. They make the glory 
 of their great men a household thing. 
 
 Napoleon is on his death-bed, his eagles flee upon their golden 
 wings to darkness the trumpet wails in his ear the last flutter 
 of his heart rises with the muttering drum and " tete d'arme'e ! " 
 is his death-sob. Napoleon is dead. A few minutes the plaster 
 is poured above the face of imperial clay, and posterity is insured 
 the vera effigies of that thunderbolt of a man, just as the bolt 
 was spent. 
 
ON SOCIAL FLATTERY. 65 
 
 Now that face, in its dreadful calmness, is multiplied in silver 
 in bronze in marble in richest metal and in purest stone ! 
 And now, to teach a daily lesson to the common mind, that 
 awful countenance, with the weight of death upon it, is sold 
 modelled in soap ! 
 
 Thus, have we not moral reflections brought to the very 
 fingers' ends of the people 1 As the mechanic cleanses his 
 palms, and feels his emperor's nose wasting away in his fingers, 
 he thinks of Marengo and Austerlitz ! With the imperial face 
 the pickpocket makes his hands clean from last night's work, 
 thinking the while of the rifled halls and galleries of Italy : the 
 butcher, new from his morning's killing, washes his hands with \ 
 the countenance of the emperor, the while he muses on Waterloo, 
 and whistles the " Downfall of Paris :" and the philosopher 
 peeps into the tub, and sees the type and memory of the warrior's 
 deeds in bubbles floating upon dirty water. 
 
 LETTEE XVIII. 
 
 ON SOCIAL FLATTERY : STORY OF THE DOG PONTO PIG AND 
 PRUNE SAUCE. 
 
 My dear Son, Having in my last dwelt upon flattery, as 
 necessary to the success of a politician, I dedicate this letter to a 
 consideration of its utility to every man who would, by the 
 exercise of his wits, make his way in the world. There is a 
 negative flattery, as there is a positive flattery. A knowledge of 
 the one is equally vital with the practice of the other. Eor 
 instance : You would conciliate the good graces of a man of 
 wealth or interest 1 You hang and flutter about him for the 
 bounty of his purse, or the magic of his good word in high places. 
 This man may be a fool : I do not, understand me, fall in with 
 the vulgar cry of paupers, that every man who is born rich is 
 therefore born brainless ; but your patron, or the man you would 
 make your patron, may be a fool ; and, consequently, is the more 
 frequently tempted, like the climbing ape, to show his natural 
 destitution. I think it is Mr. Addison who says, " He who is 
 injured, and having brought his enemy on his knees, declines to 
 punish him, was born for a conqueror." This is the sentiment, 
 though not perhaps the exact words ; for I have long since put 
 aside The Spectator with your mother's cracked china. Mark my 
 son, a higher, a severer test of magnanimity. He who hears the 
 
PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 abortive jest of a rich fool, yet refuses to turn his folly inside out, 
 is born to finger ready money. This, my son, is flattery by 
 negative. Have what wit you will, but carry it as courtiers 
 carry their swords in the royal presence in the scabbard. 
 Suffer your patron to run you, as he thinks, through and through 
 with his wooden dagger of a joke ; but never let yourself be 
 tempted to draw. Flattery has its martyrdom, the same as 
 religion and this is of it. Bear all the wounds inflicted upon 
 you by wealth with a merry face ; join in the laugh that's raised 
 against you ; but as you value success in life, never show an inch 
 of steel in self-defence. Men who do otherwise may be chronicled 
 for brave, expert wits ; but they die beggars. 
 
 Come we now to positive flattery. Whatever dirty-shirted 
 philosophers may say to the contrary, flattery is a fine social 
 thing ; the beautiful handmaid of life, casting flowers and odori- 
 ferous herbs in the paths of men, who, crushing out the sweets, 
 curl up their noses as they snuff the odour, and walk half an inch 
 higher to heaven by what they tread upon. 
 
 Your patron is an ass : you hear his braying you see his ears : 
 asinus is written all over him in Nature's boldest round-hand. 
 Well, by delicately dwelling upon the melodious wisdom of his 
 words by adroitly touching on the intellectual beauty with 
 which fate has endowed him, you make him for the time love 
 wisdom because he thinks it a part of himself you draw his 
 admiration towards the expression of the intellectual every time 
 he looks in a mirror. You are thus, in an indirect way, serving 
 the cause of wisdom and intellect by juggling a fool into a 
 worshipper. Let it be granted, that you have your reward for 
 this that, in fact, you undertake the labour for the wages of 
 life : what of it ? Is not the task worthy of payment 1 When 
 men, in the highest places too, are so well paid for fooling 
 common sense, shall there be no fee for him who elevates a 
 nincompoop 1 
 
 You see an ass browsing upon thistles. On this you fall into 
 raptures at his exquisite taste for roses ; the ass, with great 
 complacency, avers that he always had a peculiar relish for them. 
 The ass brays. Whereupon you make a happy allusion to the 
 vibrations of the iEolian harp. The ass declares it is an instru- 
 ment above all others he is most inclined to. Are not roses 
 and ^Eolian harps thus honoured, even by the hypocrisy of 
 admiration 1 
 
 Believe whatever the rich and powerful say ; that is, seem to 
 believe it. Albeit they narrate histories wilder than ever Ariosto 
 fabled, averring themselves to have been eye and ear witnesses 
 to what they tell, yet, without a smile upon your face, gulp it all. 
 
ON SOCIAL FLATTERY. 67 
 
 Though the stories be long and nauseous as tape-worms, yet 
 swallow them as though they were delicate as macaroni. You 
 recollect Sir Peter Bullhead 1 He owed all his fortune to a dog. 
 I will tell you the story. 
 
 In early life, Sir Peter became footboy to Lord Tamarind ; a 
 man who returned from the East Indies with a million of money, 
 and his liver no bigger than the roasted liver of a capon. Lord 
 Tamarind was a liar of the very finest courage. There was no 
 story he would not undertake, and make his own. Had he 
 resolved upon it, he would have been present at the siege of Troy, 
 and more, have shown you the knee-buckles he had, in single 
 combat, won of Nestor. 
 
 Lord Tamarind had a favourite story of a dog : which story he 
 would drag in upon all occasions. His Lordship, go where he would, 
 never went without his dog. " Very curious, indeed, very ; and 
 talking of that, reminds me of an extraordinary anecdote of a 
 dog. You never heard it, I know ; a remarkable case of con- 
 science, very remarkable ; " and then his Lordship proceeded 
 his hearers meekly resigning themselves to the too familiar tale. 
 
 " You must know that in Batavia it was when I was there 
 there was a certain Dutch merchant ; I mention no names, for I 
 respect his family. Well, this merchant a shocking thing ! 
 he was a married man : sweet little woman five or seven 
 children, and all that. Well, this merchant very dreadful ! 
 kept a mistress, country-house, and all things proper. Well, 
 every evening he used to leave his lawful home to pass an hour 
 or two with the fatal syren. He had a dog, a faithful, humblo 
 dog, that always followed him ; that was, moreover, greatly 
 petted by the illegal enchantress. The dog, being particularly 
 fond of his lawful mistress, became, day by day, very melancholy, 
 sad, heavy-eyed and moping.* Then arose suspicions of hydro- 
 phobia talk of poison, double-barrelled gun, and all that. Still the 
 
 * The sagacity of Ponto is nothing to the sensibility of the race of King 
 Charles's spaniels, that ever since the martyrdom of Charles the First have 
 betrayed an inconsolable melancholy. The spaniels lost their liveliness 
 when Charles lost his head. We take this assurance from a French author. 
 In the Journal des Chasseurs, ou Sporting Magazine Francais, for March 
 
 1842, will be found the story as related by the Comte de St. P . The 
 
 Count in the autumn of 1841, is shooting with a spaniel, when he falls in 
 with an Englishman, who enlarges in this way (as told by the Count) on 
 the merits of spaniels generally : 
 
 " ' Ce sont des queteursinfatigables', me dit-il ; ' excellens pour les fourres, 
 dont ils fouillent les moindres buissons : nous les employons beaucoup en 
 Angleterre, ou le prix de tel individu est, suivant sa genealogie, fort eleve. 
 II n'ya qu'un seal reproche a leurfaire? mais, ajoute-il,' ce defaut s'applique 
 malheureusement a. l'espece entiere.' 
 
 F 2 
 
(58 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 dog followed his master on his evening call. One evening, however 
 all day long it had been remarked that Ponto was more than 
 usually meditative the dog paused at the Dalilah's door. ' Ponto, 
 Ponto,' cried the merchant, gaily entering the abode of wicked- 
 ness, and whistling his dog to follow him ' Ponto, Ponto ! ' But 
 the dog stood with his fore-feet on the door-step, and wouldn't 
 budge. ' Ponto, Ponto sweet Ponto good Ponto,' cried the 
 wicked woman herself, coming to the door, and offering from her 
 white hand the whitest cake. Ponto was immovable. Then 
 looking at his master, the dog shook his head four or five times, 
 as much as to say, ' Ar'n't you ashamed of yourself 1 ' sighed 
 very deeply, and dropping his tail, walked solemnly home. The 
 merchant was so affected by the dog's reproof, (all this happened 
 while I was in Batavia,) that he followed Ponto back to his 
 lawful hearth, and for the rest of his natural life was never 
 known to make an evening call again." 
 
 Lord Tamarind had three nephews ; he cut every one off wi',ii 
 a shilling for having boisterously expressed a doubt of the truth 
 of what had occurred whilst he was in Batavia ; but Peter Bull- 
 head, who never failed to ask for the story of the dog Peter, 
 who had risen from footboy to his Lordship's secretary inherited 
 all the personal property of the Eastern story-teller. My son, 
 every rich man has some sort of Ponto. 
 
 There will be occasions when it may be necessary for you 
 to use considerable address. You must not flatter one at the 
 expense of another ; that is, when you have equal hopes of each. 
 A friend of mine, who had lived all his life at court, told me a 
 story that will illustrate what I mean. It happened that the 
 king and queen were in the garden, and some of the courtiers 
 with them. My friend was called by the king. Now it happened 
 that their majesties were so placed that my friend could not go 
 to the king without turning his back an act at court only little 
 less than high treason upon the queen. Here was a dilemma ! 
 "And how did you get out of the scrape ?" I asked my friend. 
 " In this way," he answered, " I walked sideways." I have known 
 many men in life get to the golden gate of fortune by walking 
 every inch of the path sideways. 
 
 In your flattery of mankind, you must also discriminate 
 character, lest you throw away a valuable commodity. I have 
 known men so unprincipled, that they have received the incense 
 
 ' Et quel est-il ? ' demandai-je a mon interlocuteur. 
 ' Ils sonttristes' reprit^rawmen^celui-ci ' depuis la mort dii 
 rot Charles ! ' " 
 (Upon this the Count observes, as well he may) 
 " Superstition naive et touchante ! " 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF DRUNKENNESS. 69 
 
 of adulation half their lives, and, dying, have left the man who 
 burnt his myrrh and frankincense for them, nothing in reward 
 but a miserable jest in the codicil. 
 
 There was my poor friend Sniffton. He hated pig and prune- 
 sauce as he hated a poor relative. Nevertheless, for twenty 
 years did 'he consent to eat it at his uncle's table ; nor could he 
 find words rich enough wherewith to do honour to uncle's pig 
 and prune-sauce. Uncle died. " Thank heaven ! " cried Sniffton, 
 " I shall now receive my reward in hard cash for my sacrifice to 
 that damned pig and prune-sauce." The will was read, and thus 
 was Sniffton rewarded : 
 
 " And I hereby give and bequeath to my dearly-beloved 
 nephew, Peter Sniffton, in consideration of his peculiar love of my 
 pig and prune-sauce, the whole and sole recipe whereby he may 
 cook it." 
 
 My son, be wary, and avoid such wretches. 
 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF DRUNKENNESS : THE GENIUS OF THE CORK. 
 
 My dear Boy, I know few things that tell so fatally against a 
 young man, when entering the world, as a weak stomach. I 
 therefore most earnestly entreat you to fortify it by every means 
 that may present themselves. It is true, that the increasing 
 effeminacy of the world requires of the ingenuous youth a less 
 capacity for the bottle than when I was young ; nevertheless, there 
 are occasions, when a man's previous habits and education will be 
 tested by vintner's measure. Can there be anything more disgust- 
 ing than to see a young man after, say, the third bottle, in a state 
 of maudlin drunkenness 1 What tricks he perpetrates ! How he 
 lets all the world peep through the loop-holes of his soul ; and 
 how they who spy, grin at him and chuckle over the exhibition ! 
 What, too, is the end of this ? I have known an otherwise 
 promising young fellow so forget himself, as to render back in 
 the most ungracious manner the hospitality of the host, who 
 suppressing his indignation by contempt has ordered the 
 servants to take off the gentleman's cravat, and lay him upon 
 the mat for recovery. Then what running to and fro for vinegar 
 what wet towels for the temples what hints, in desperate 
 cases, of the lancet until at length the wretched victim rolls 
 roni side to side, and gargles his throat with "Better 
 
PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 better m-uch better ! " This is not only disgusting, it is un- 
 profitable. 
 
 No, my son ; never get drunk that is, in company, above 
 the girdle. There is a thermometer of drunkenness which every 
 wise young man who has to elbow his way through the world 
 would do well to consider. A man may be knee-drunk hip- 
 drunk shoulder-drunk nay, chin-drunk ; but the wine should 
 be allowed to rise no higher. Then he sits with a fine fluency 01 
 speech his countenance brightened, his wit irradiated by what 
 he has swallowed. And, perhaps, there is no situation in mortal 
 life which so magnificently vindicates the ethereal nature of man, 
 as that which presents him to us triumphing with rosy face above 
 the mists and clouds of wine that roll around him ! He is like 
 the peak described by the poet : although vapours obscure him 
 midway 
 
 ' Eternal sunshine settles on his head." 
 
 There he sits ! His toes, it is true, may be of clay but his head 
 is of lustrous gold. Like the oracles of the ancient day, he 
 speaks wisdom through the clouds that circle him ! 
 
 My son, by all means labour to arrive at this blessed, this 
 most profitable condition. Then, though you stumble a little on 
 going away, your stumbling will never be seen ; for the potency 
 of your head and stomach has survived the observation of your 
 co-drinkers ; and thus, though you are helped to your hackney- 
 coach, a wine-skin, a very Silenus up to the shoulders, you have 
 the unclouded head of Socrates to adorn them ! How many a 
 worthy gentleman lives and dies with an undeniable character 
 for sobriety, from only having kept his head above the port ! A 
 character is to be saved like a life, by merely keeping the chin 
 above the fluid it swims in. 
 
 To obtain this power requires, I allow it, great practice : 
 therefore, as a scholar, make your bottle your private com- 
 panion. Take your liquor, as you would take your book, in 
 profoundest solitude. " Try conclusions " with yourself in your 
 own garret, that you may achieve victories in other men's 
 dining-rooms. 
 
 I know that shallow, inexperienced moralists declaim against 
 what they are pleased to call the vice of solitary drinking. Why, 
 there is no such thing. A man can no more drink alone, than 
 he can drink without his shadow. 
 
 Pop ! There the cork's drawn. Gurgle gurgle gurgle 
 good good good No ! it is in vain ; there is no type there 
 are no printed sounds (allow me the concetto) to describe the 
 melody, the cadence of the out-pouring bottle. "Well, the bottle 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF DRUNKENNESS. 71 
 
 has rendered its virgin soul. You have resolved to sate yourself 
 upon its sweetness. You think yourself alone. Oh, the vanity 
 of ignorance ! Why, the cork of what is called a solitary 
 drinker, drawn from the bottle, is an audible charm that calls up 
 a spirit (angel or devil, according to contending moralists) to 
 come and sit with the toper. You have, therefore, only to retire 
 with a full bottle to your own garret to be sure of company 
 and of the most profitable sort too ; for your companion carries 
 away no drop of your liquor ; but there he sits with a jocund, 
 leering look, on that three-legged stool ; and there he tells stories 
 to you and sings to your rapturous spirit and now hangs your 
 white-washed walls with Sidonian tapestries and now fills your 
 gaping pockets with ideal gold ! 
 
 "What a world are you in ! How your heart grows and grows ! 
 How, with frantic benevolence you rend aside your waistcoat 
 (how you'll hunt for the two dropt buttons in the morning !) to 
 give the creature room for its uttermost expansion ! What a 
 figure you resolve to make in the world ! What woman nay, 
 what women you will marry ! Now, you are gathering roses 
 with dallying houris, and now (with old Eonsard) 
 
 " Peschant ne sgay quelles pierres, 
 Au bord de PIndique mer ! " 
 
 And whilst you take your flight here and there, how the spirit 
 evoked by the cork hugs himself, and grins at you ! 
 
 It is by such discipline, my son, that you will be enabled when 
 in society to maintain the look and something of the reasoning 
 powers of a man, when your whole carcass is throbbing with 
 alcohol. You will also find a bottle the handmaid (bottles are, 
 evidently, feminine) of philosophy. After every night's good set 
 in with the genius of the cork, you will be the better able to 
 judge of the true value of all worldly endowments. You will 
 also have a finer, a deeper, a more enlarged comprehension of 
 the weakness of human nature. If, before, you were not 
 sufficiently impressed with the utility of money, you will, 
 shortly after every visit of the genius of the cork, know its 
 increasing beauty. It may be, too, you have not paid sufficient 
 attention to that wondrous machinery that complex simplicity 
 of the human animal, that you have not essentially considered 
 your immortal essence to be what it really is 
 
 " A soul, hung up as 'twere in chains, 
 Of nerves, and arteries, and veins ! " 
 
 This inattention will be remedied this ignorance informed by 
 frequent appeals to the bottle. You will, in a short time, 
 
72 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 acknowledge the exquisite sensibility of the nerves ; for you 
 shall not be able to lift your morning tea-cup without marvelling 
 at the wondrous machinery vibrating before you. And the 
 tongue, too, that delicate instrument of silver sound, that 
 shall lie like dry dirt in your mouth, heavy, hot, and voiceless ! 
 And from this you will learn and feel that man is clay, and be 
 at once raised and humbled by the knowledge. 
 
 Depend upon it, the bottle is the spring, the true source of all 
 human inspiration the fountain from which all philosophers, all 
 sages, have drunk their best wisdom. 
 
 What would have been Newton without a bottle 1 Do you 
 think he would ever have made his grand discovery unless he 
 had dined first ? Sitting in his orchard he saw an apple fall, 
 (what a part have apples played in human history !) and as it fell 
 it turned and turned. Do you imagine that Newton would have 
 been so delicately susceptible of the turning of a pippin, if he had 
 not that day drawn a cork 1 Struck with the nascent idea, he 
 called for another bottle, and then for another ; and when the 
 philosopher had pondered upon the apple, had worked his 
 analogies, and had drunk a third bottle, he was convinced, that 
 not only had the apple spun as it fell, but that the whole world 
 turned round. If you would prove the centre of gravity get 
 drunk. 
 
 My son, in conclusion, it is well to drink from your own 
 bottle ; but it is still better to drink from another man's. 
 
 LETTEE XX. 
 
 ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF GAMING. 
 
 My dear Son, You will, I trust, after these many fond and 
 anxious epistles, look upon all men as divided into two classes 
 the men who eat men, and the men who are eaten. With this 
 conviction, it will, I hope, be your determination always to obtain 
 a good sufficing bellyful of your fellow creatures ; and never to 
 contribute in your own person a single mouthful to the banquet 
 of the anthropophagi. 
 
 It is a vulgar mistake, the very crassitude of ignorance, to 
 look upon only those men as man-eaters, who dispatch their 
 victims with a club or tomahawk, and lighting the festive fire 
 make their own man an honourable tomb for their enemies. This 
 mode of eating only distinguishes the savage from his more 
 
ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF GAMING. 73 
 
 refined brother, who disguises and sophisticates his cookery, and 
 by the aid of certain social sauce, makes even himself forgetful 
 of the horror which to use the cook's phrase is the stock of the 
 feast. 
 
 In your boyhood, you were, I know, a most active taker of 
 birds' nests. It was your delight to possess yourself of the eggs, 
 ere the process of incubation had commenced, and having very 
 adroitly sucked out the contents, you would thread the mere 
 shell on a piece of grass, as a trophy of your success and good 
 fortune. My dear boy, it is quite possible indeed, it is every 
 day accomplished to treat the substance of men, as you have 
 treated the eggs of larks and sparrows. How many successful 
 egg-suckers could I point out to you, who applying the thousand 
 means with which law and social chicanery supply every man, 
 wise and adroit enough to use them, have so sucked and sucked 
 that they have left nothing but the mere outside the fragile 
 shells of men ! There is my old acquaintance, Barabbas Moses, 
 with his sixty in a hundred. Twenty years ago he lived by 
 putting off pencils, with apocryphal lead in them. How has he 
 grown thus rich how has he become thus treble-gilt ? My son, 
 he has been a most enterprising egg-sucker. How many birds of 
 fine feather has he destroyed in the egg how many shells of 
 men might he wear about him ! It is a poor thing to scalp a 
 man j a coarse, rough, operation : but to feast upon his vitals, 
 nay, to abstract his very marrow from him, to leave no blood- 
 mark there, yet leave him with sufficient vitality to crawl about 
 and look like a man, that, my son, is the master-piece of civilisa- 
 tion, the genius of refined life. 
 
 There is, however, a more open, a more generous mode of 
 living upon men ; a mode, dignified by fashion, exalted by 
 authority I mean gaming. 
 
 The gamester is, indeed, a privileged person ; a creature, who 
 merges all the petty, wearying anxieties of life into one sublime 
 passion. Become a gamester, and you are fortified, nay, exempt 
 from the assaults of divers other feelings that distract and worry 
 less happy men. Gaming is a moral Aaron's rod, and swallows 
 up all meaner passions. 
 
 Consider, my son, the vigilance, the self-concentration, the 
 judgment, the quickness of wit, and at times, the dexterity of 
 finger, necessary to a successful gamester ; and you will look 
 upon the character with still-increasing veneration. Did you 
 ever know a gamester fall madly in love ? Did you ever know 
 him, if a married man, waste his profitable time, his profitable 
 thoughts, upon the woman he has buckled himself to ? If he be 
 a father, what is the laughter of his children to the melody of 
 
74 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 the dice ? What, human hearts to the ace and king of the same 
 suit, when trumps 1 He is exalted far above the weakening 
 influences that pull down other men, and from his elevation 
 looks with a cold eye of dignity upon the pettiness of human 
 affections. You will hear other men rave about the beauties of 
 nature ; of hill and dale, mountain and flood. To the gamester, 
 how small the space that bounds his imagination but then 
 how rich, how fertile those half-dozen yards of bright green 
 cloth ! 
 
 You will hear men talk about the sweets of industry ; of the 
 dignity of labour ; the more especially those men who never yet 
 set their foot to a spade, or their hand to a plough. The sweets 
 of industry ! what are they to the sweets of fortune ? And for 
 the dignity of labour, give me, say I, the dignity of luck ! 
 
 Observe what is called the industrious man. Mark his daily 
 martyrdom. He rises early ; breakfasts lightly ; hurries off 
 with his bread-and-butter yet undigested to his labour. He toils 
 his eight, ten, nay twelve hours ; comes home ; eats his crust ; 
 and with hardly strength remaining to take off his stockings, 
 slinks wearied to bed. In a brief time how very brief ! the 
 cock crows, and the industrious man has serious thoughts of 
 shaving : again he is up again has he bolted his morning meal, 
 and again is he out to go over the drudgery of how many 
 thousand yesterdays ! The year's wound up ; and for all this 
 toil, this anxiety, this daily crucifixion of spirit, the industrious 
 man counts one two shall we say three hundred golden pieces ? 
 For all this tedious misery three hundred pounds ! 
 
 My son, turn your eyes to the gamester. He rises when he 
 likes dallies, at "his own sweet will," with his breakfast. He 
 then lounges away the hours, pleasantly meditating on the 
 coming night. He enters the arena. With what a graceful 
 assurance doth he take the box in his hand. One two three ; 
 he throws sixes, and pockets five hundred pounds ! What a 
 miserable, felon, outcast sneak-up does your industrious man 
 appear after this ! What a poor sweating slave ! Whilst on 
 the other hand, what an air of power is about the gamester ! 
 What a glory what a magic ! He inherits in one minute, by 
 the potent shake of his elbow, all that poor, sordid labour wears 
 its back into a hoop for its eyes into blindness ! Will you, 
 after this, ever dream of becoming that miserable negative an 
 industrious man 1 Depend upon it, the true jewels of life 
 rightly worn are the four aces. Hope has been vulgarly 
 pictured with an anchor. Let your hope carry a dice-box ! 
 
 As for luck, you may nearly always ensure that, if you pro- 
 perly educate your perceptions, and your fingers. Cultivate 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF GLORY, ETC. 
 
 your thumb-nails, my dear boy ; the smallest sacrifice to the 
 personal graces is not lost upon the gamester. 
 
 But I will take the worst side of the picture. You are doomed 
 to be unlucky you are fated always to lose. You have no 
 genius like the genius of Socrates, that always popped into its 
 master's hand the very trump required to aid and abet you. 
 The world turns its back on you ; and neither by cards nor dice 
 can you fob your brother mortal out of a single guinea. Debts 
 come in like the waves about you : you have no home no 
 abiding place ! This is the moment, my son, for you to exercise 
 the most heroic of virtues. There is cord there is steel there 
 are silver rivers. If you cannot live, you can die ; and dying you 
 will have this consolation : if you have steadily and inexorably 
 vindicated the character of a gamester, your death will inflict no 
 pang upon a single creature left behind you ; and you will have 
 the pleasing consolation to reflect that you never did the world a 
 greater service than when you quitted it. 
 
 LETTEK XXI. 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF GLORY : THE SWORD AND THE GOSLINGS. 
 
 My dear Boy, I hoped that, long ere this, your hankering 
 passion after what is called glory, had died a natural death ; and 
 that you had begun to consider glory at the best but as a dull 
 mountebank a thing of strut, and frippery, and emptiness. 
 When St. Austin was a little boy, he and his mother went on a 
 day's pleasure with a certain Eoman praetor, to pay their 
 respects to the tomb of Caesar. St. Austin has handed down to 
 us the following lively portrait of the imperial corpse. "It 
 looked of a blue mould ; the bone of the nose laid bare ; the flesh 
 of the nether lip quite fallen off ; his mouth full of worms ; and 
 in his eye-pit a hungry toad, feasting upon the remnant portion 
 of flesh and moisture ; and so," moralises the saint, " he dwelt in 
 his house of darkness." He did no such thing ; he had vacated 
 his dwelling. Death had written on the corpse " This house to 
 let," and the worms and the toad became the tenants. Well, and 
 what had they to do with Caesar ? What had the " blue mouldy 
 flesh " and the " nose laid bare " to do with Csesar dead, more 
 than the paring of Caesar's nails with Caesar living ? Is the evil 
 fame that may be flung upon a house, to attach to a pre- 
 vious occupant ? Our maiden queen Elizabeth made sundry 
 
76 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 progresses ; honoured sundry mansions with her night-cap. What, 
 if in lapse of time, one of these houses should have so fallen in 
 reputation, that its after iniquity has been published by candle 
 and paper lanthorn 1 Does the evil fame of the house taint or 
 soil the ermine fame of our spotless Elizabeth ? 
 
 One Jeremy Taylor, who can occasionally twine death's-heads 
 with rose-buds, and strew a coffin with spices, tells us a story of 
 a fair young German gentleman who, though much importuned 
 by many young ladies to sit for his portrait, would never consent. 
 (So far he was right ; for if there be a plague upon earth, it is 
 the plague of sitting under a continual struggle to call into your 
 face and keep there your very prettiest and most amiable look, 
 until duly fastened by pigments, upon wainscot or canvas.) The 
 fair young Herr, however, made at last a compromise. He, in 
 the handsomest manner, consented to sit for his portrait after a 
 few days' burial, upon the honourable understanding that the 
 painter, visiting the vault, should limn the corpse just as it 
 appeared ; giving no cheek " a little red," putting no compli- 
 mentary dimple in the chin, but painting death to the life. The 
 painter was sent upon his mission, and found his sitter with 
 "his face half eaten, and his midriff and backbone full of 
 serpents ; and so he stands pictured among his armed ancestors." 
 And a very foolish figure he must cut among such goodly 
 company. 
 
 Fear not, my son ; I am not about to clap in with shallow 
 moralists who would show the nothingness of glory, by showing 
 that which is, indeed, no part of it ; who would put the living 
 Caesar's nose out of joint by displaying his nose " laid bare " in 
 his coffin ; who would prove that it was a vanity of vanities, to 
 paint a fair young German whilst in the flesh, because, when he 
 took his departure from it, and was no longer in any way 
 answerable for any disgrace it might fall into serpents might 
 gender there. Let us follow out this philosophy. 
 
 The* Germans, as you know, are a nation of cabbage-eaters. 
 They sophisticate good wholesome worts with vinegar, and 
 Beelzebub alone, who supplies some nations with cooks, knows 
 what beside. This vegetable wickedness they call sauer kraut. 
 Now, let us imagine the immediate descendant of the fair-haired 
 young German, with his napkin tucked under his chin, about to 
 plunge his fist into the dish. He pauses looks serious a tear 
 steals into the corner of his eye : solemnly removing the napkin 
 from his button-hole, he rises, and remembering that the 
 churchyard wherein his ancestor was decently deposited, has 
 been converted into a vegetable garden, he points to the sauer 
 krauts and exclaims, " Behold the vanity of all earthly things ; 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF GLORY, ETC. 77 
 
 the particles of our beloved ancestors have undergone a very 
 peculiar arrangement ; what was our dear friend Karl, is now a 
 Cabbage ! " 
 
 Now do we not gather as fine philosophy from the savoy as 
 from the serpent ? "What is either cabbage or snake to Karl, 
 who, crowned with amaranth, looks down from his starry home 
 upon his would-be- wise descendant, and thinks him a prodigious 
 noodle for pausing in his dinner ? 
 
 I have, I know, in a former letter, indicated the shallowness 
 of this reasoning, as exposed by my very intimate friend the 
 Hermetic Philosopher ; but your last letter, my son, in which 
 you would fain draw a picture of military glory, has tempted me 
 to this iteration. I have pondered upon your picture ; now, 
 look at mine. 
 
 Many years ago I solaced myself with a brief residence in 
 France. Purchasing a blouse, and donning a cap, I avoided the 
 intrusive honours that might otherwise have been paid to the 
 reputation of Punch, and to the vulgar I 
 
 " appeared some harmless villager." 
 
 On a certain Sunday, I had taken my customary stroll towards 
 the fields. I well recollect it was Sunday, from a sudden jarring 
 of my moral sense a shock to my feelings. 1 was overtaken by 
 a cart rattling on at a good pace : it contained half-a-dozen men 
 and women, laughing as if there were no world to come, and 
 looking as joyous and as happy as though the devil himself were a 
 mere abstraction. The worst remains to be told ; the cart, in addition 
 to the merry-makers, contained a fiddle and a bass-viol ; and it 
 was but too evident, from the affectionate way in which the 
 instruments of sin were hugged by two of the men in the cart, 
 that the unhallowed catgut was to be fingered that very day to 
 the tripping toes and heels of the wicked. I, who had for years 
 been disciplined by the moral regularity of an English Sunday 
 I, who had spiritually paid reverence even to Sabbath-keeping 
 housemaids, as, with noses flattened against parlour and kitchen 
 panes, they solemnly pondered on sin and death, and the vacant 
 street before them, wondering when the milkman would come, 
 and especially wondering if John Eoberts would keep his hour ; 
 I, thus naturalised to the proprieties, felt my blood bubble to 
 my cheek as I beheld the fiddle and the viol, and was rushing 
 forward to check the horse, and remonstrate with the wicked 
 holiday-keepers, when, happily, I observed that the driver 
 was furnished w T ith a long and unusually substantial whip. 
 I stopped, said a short prayer for their souls, and struck into 
 the fields. 
 
PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 Sunk, many fathoms deep in my feelings, I was wandering 
 orer a field of vetches, when I was startled by the loud and 
 significant utterance of miscellaneous oaths, while a half-quacking, 
 half-whistling noise rose as a sort of under accompaniment to 
 the execration. Lifting up my eyes, I beheld a garde-champetre, 
 in cocked hat, with a drawn-sword. Now, a garde-champStre, 
 my son, is a sort of field-constable, who takes charge of the crows 
 in his district, with the sloe and blackberry-bushes ; who sees 
 that the moles are not disturbed in their subterranean operations, 
 and who benevolently assists the hogs out of the mud, should 
 they chance to stick in it ; albeit the provision of nature was 
 never more beautifully displayed than in the anatomy of French 
 hogs ; for nature, knowing what dreadful miry roads they have 
 to walk upon, has benevolently put them upon stilts. To return 
 to the garde-champitre. 
 
 I looked and beheld this field-officer, as I have said, in cocked 
 hat and with drawn sword : and there he was swearing and 
 shouting, at what think you 1 Why, a drove of goslings ! 
 They had bold birds ! intruded beyond their own proprietary ; 
 and there was the garde-cliampkre with his drawn sword 
 methinks I see the blade now, gleaming in a July sun ! driving 
 those bits of quacking, whistling, waddling flannel before him, > 
 now with his weapon patting a straggler into the ranks now 
 urging one now chiding another -until he got them all into 
 very good marching order and then with a sweet serenity, he 
 subsided from swearing into singing, and cocking his cocked hat, 
 he struck up 
 
 u En avant, marchons ! 
 Contre leur cannon ; " 
 
 the goslings, with all their might, quacking and whistling in 
 chorus. 
 
 I turned round, and pensively leaning my back against a tree, 
 watched the garde-champetre as he marched along ; and as he 
 sang and the goslings responded to him the hapless goslings, 
 guided by the sword to have their throats cut some day for the 
 kitchen, I said to myself 
 
 " There goes glory ! " 
 
 From that day, my son, I have never seen a regiment of horse 
 or foot without thinking of the goslings. 
 
. 
 
 ON THE CHOICE AND TREATMENT OF A WIFE. 70 
 
 LETTEE XXII. 
 
 ON THE CHOICE AND TREATMENT OF A WIFE. 
 
 My dear Son, It was the remark of a no less distinguished 
 mountebank than Cardinal de Eetz (he and I were very 
 intimate, albeit he never publicly acknowledged the acquaint- 
 anceship,) that it mattered little what were the talents of a 
 man, what was his good fortune in every other respect, if he 
 were unlucky in a wife. By which the Cardinal meant and if 
 he did not, I do that a wife to be justly called the better part 
 of a man, must bring with her a sufficient quantity of the 
 precious metal : otherwise, she is only flesh of his flesh, and bone 
 of his bone ; a burden of clay, and not an ornament of gold. 
 Happily, my son, this truth is now so generally acknowledged in 
 good society that, unless you were wilfully callous to its 
 influence, you could not fail to be affected by it. A wife is the 
 husband's chattels the philosophy of law declares it : indeed, 
 the spouse of your bosom is considered by the law to be goods in 
 a more especial degree than any other property. A man robs 
 you of your wife, and thereby I put an extreme case snaps 
 your heart-strings : you lose your better half, and you sue the 
 thief to make good the loss by the payment of so many pieces of 
 metal. The same man, respecting your heart-strings, makes a 
 snatch at your watch-chain, and takes to his heels with the 
 booty. You shout " Stop thief," but the rogue escapes you. 
 "Well, the thief would quietly arrange the matter ; would, for a 
 fair consideration that should remunerate him for skill and loss 
 of time, render back the abstracted chronometer. Hereupon 
 the law cries " What are you about 1 what ! compromise a 
 felony 1 Beware of the penalty ! " No : you must put the thief 
 into the dock, if he can be caught ; you must punish him for the 
 wrong he has done to society by stealing your repeater. If, 
 on the other hand, he steal your wife, the matter by the 
 benevolent aid of judge and jury may be settled between you, 
 and your attorney empowered to give a fair receipt for the 
 damages. Thus, above all other mundane possessions, a wife is 
 property. 
 
 It is with this conviction of the true value of female excellence, 
 that you must cast your eyes about you for a wife. You are to 
 reflect upon the huge amount of evil brought upon man by 
 woman, and are therefore in your own person to obtain as great 
 
80 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 a degree of reparation as is possible from the daughters of the 
 first offender. 
 
 You know the condition of a wife in the savage state. She is 
 the drudge of her despotic lord ; who does little but look at 
 himself in a glass, if he have been lucky enough to change skins 
 for one ; sings, eats, plays, and meets- in council. His wife, with 
 a wooden mattock, or the shoulder-blade of a buffalo, digs the 
 earth, and sows the corn ; she drives away the birds, and, in due 
 season, gathers the harvest : she pounds corn and salts buffalo's 
 meat ; and hews wood and draws water, and prepares the feast ; 
 in journeys, she carries the poles of the wigwam, and when a 
 station is pitched upon, it is she who sets the wigwam up, her 
 sovereign lord, the Great Eagle, doing nothing. My dear boy, it 
 is even so in the very best society : that is, if the woman herself 
 do not labour in all these menial offices, she brings the money 
 by which they are done, and the convenience and enjoyment 
 of her husband equally well insured. In whatever rank of 
 life you are doomed to move, you are to choose your wife as the 
 Indian chooses his squaw for her ability to minister to your 
 idleness. 
 
 I am sorry to say it, in England women are held in even 
 superstitious veneration ; for the most part treated as creatures 
 of superior sensibility of heart and refinement of spirit. (There 
 are, certainly as I have already indicated many exceptions to 
 the rule, proved by those successful husbands who are lodged, 
 boarded, dressed, and allowed pocket-money by their helpmates.) 
 The absurd deference paid by us to our women is finely rebuked 
 by continental nations, where they have the prettiest words for 
 the beau sexe, and nothing beyond. I know not a more dignified 
 condition of man than that frequently exhibited at a French 
 cafS ; where, at ten in the morning, husbands and fathers are to 
 be seen immersed in ecarte, the wife the mere squaw keeping 
 a fitful eye upon her shop from the recesses of her back-parlour. 
 My son, I know you are fond of billiards. Obtain a wife who by 
 the work of her fingers, or by the produce of acquired gain, 
 enables you to grow grey making cannons, and at the worst, 
 you will know something of the true dignity of wedlock, its 
 beauty and its excellence. 
 
 In your choice of a wife, never forget that age is to be 
 honoured when associated with money. Nothing more reverent 
 than silver hairs with gold in the pockets. Besides, by marrying 
 a woman well-stricken in years, you will be insured against the 
 tortures of jealousy, at least on your own part ; and what is 
 more, you will have continually by your side (that is, when you 
 are at home,) a memento of the certain decay of mortality; 
 
ON THE CHOICE AND TREATMENT OF A WIFE. 81 
 
 which memento, if you rightly consider it, will be the surest 
 inducement for you to enjoy life by every strictly legal means in 
 your power. In all your pleasures, however, respect the laws of 
 your country. Remember, that an act of Parliament is like a 
 rock ; it matters not how nearly you approach it, so you do not 
 bump against it. 
 
 As' for your days of courtship, you are to remember that as 
 woman is the weaker animal, it behoves your magnanimity 
 never to cross her fancy, even in its most ridiculous whimsies. 
 Give her, as horsemen have it, her head as much as she 
 likes, until you turn from the church : you may afterwards 
 assert the supremacy of manhood, and revenge the wrongs of 
 Adam. 
 
 There are various ways of attaching the sex : but the surest 
 is not to attempt to shine and sparkle, and go off in crackers of 
 jokes before them. Women, somehow, have the same fear of 
 witty men as of fireworks ; and thus, how often do pretty lively 
 creatures link themselves to fools ! The most certain plan of 
 success (I have it from a woman, and I believe an excellent 
 authority,) is any way to interest them. In my own case (I 
 thought your poor mother had a deal of money, but well, never 
 mind,) I at last affected consumption. For a long time your 
 mother refused to have me ; when, however, I made her believe 
 that I should not live six weeks, she married me directly. If an 
 heiress refuse you, pretend to take to your bed with typhus 
 fever, and ten to one but she'll insist upon your getting up to go 
 to church with her. 
 
 If, after long courtship, you find the lady has not the money 
 you at first imagined, hesitate not a moment, but drop her. 
 It may seem cruel, but depend upon it, 'tis all for her good. As 
 for the nonsense of romantic writers about the wear and tear of 
 the female heart, 'tis a lie m print, and nothing more. Wear 
 and tear ! Female hearts never tear : no, my son ; they always 
 stretch. 
 
82 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 LETTEK XXIII. 
 
 A FEW LAST WORDS. PUNCH REVIEWS HIS LABOURS. THE 
 LOTTERY OF LIFE. 
 
 Well, my Son, I now approach the end of my labours. 
 Reflecting upon what I have written, I feei that I may in a 
 double sense call myself your father. You are not merely the 
 offspring of my loins ; but I trust, I may say, I have begotten 
 your mind. 
 
 Yes, I have thrice scratched my head, and feel that I have 
 nothing more to say to you. I have now merely to contemplate 
 with that delicious self-complacency which plays the divinest 
 music on a man's heart-strings the beauty and excelling utility 
 of the labour undertaken by my parental love. I have now only 
 to lean back in my easy chair, and twirling my thumbs, see, with 
 dreaming eyes, my beloved child playing a most prosperous part 
 in this eventful world. Let others call it a vale of tears, you, 
 my son, will walk through it with a continual chuckle. Let 
 others groan over the uncertainty of daily bread ; you, my son, 
 will have " your teeth white with milk, and your eyes red with 
 wine." Let others look with longing glance at pauper sixpences, 
 you for you have taken your father's counsel will know where 
 to lay your hand upon ingots. 
 
 Consider, my son, what gratitude you owe to destiny for 
 making you what you are. You are the son of Punch. You 
 might have been the child of a Lord Chancellor. From your 
 cradle you inherited a wisdom denied to millions of others. Had 
 you been born to finest cambric and Brussels lace, you had never 
 been taught the beautiful truths of life, which it has been my 
 paternal care to tattoo in your adolescent mind. The son of 
 Punch ! Consider, my child, the many, many million chances 
 you had against your being this, and be grateful for your 
 exceeding felicity. 
 
 Mr. William Wordsworth says 
 
 " Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting : 
 The soul that rises with us, our life's star 
 Hath had elsewhere its setting, 
 And cometh from afar." 
 
 Now, for a moment adopting this poetical conceit, imagine the 
 millions of souls about to be despatched to this world, as a sort 
 
A FEW LAST WORDS, ETC. 83 
 
 of penal settlement, an uncomfortable half-way house, on the 
 road to immortal fields of asphodel. Have you seen whole 
 clouds of swallows congregating on the sea-shore for their 
 mysterious flight to where, still remains a mystery ? This 
 multitudinous fluttering of wings can give you but the poorest 
 idea of the gathering of human souls, bound to earth, and 
 "trailing clouds of glory" from the home they are about to 
 leave. Your finite apprehension cannot grasp the marvel in its 
 entirety ; yet it may do something. You see the myriads of 
 winged souls you hear their fluttering ; you see that they are 
 like one another, as swallow is like to swallow ; their chirp is in 
 the same key ; no soul asserts a dignity over its fellow-voyager ; 
 each has the same length of wing, the same hue of feather. 
 These are souls not yet provided with lodgings ; they are souls, 
 so to speak, in the abstract. Well, swoop they come down on 
 earth, and like the swallows I have spoken of, take their 
 residence in clay. 
 
 Alas and alas ! poor souls ! Some are doomed to coal-pits, 
 some to arsenic mines, some dig in misery and darkness, some 
 toil and toil, and hunger and hunger ; and every day is but the 
 wretched repetition of the past. And yet with all this certain 
 evil grinding and crushing of thousands, how few among them 
 would consent to draw their lot again, if Destiny were to hold 
 forth her human lucky-bag, to give another chance ! " No, no," 
 says the Hottentot, with a proud downward look at his girdle of 
 sheep's-gut " no, no ; I don't draw again ; for who knows, I 
 might come up a Dutch boor." " No lucky-bag for me," cries 
 the Esquimaux ; " I might lose my delicious whale blubber, and 
 turning up an Englishman, be doomed to beef and porter." 
 " Much obliged to you," says the poor idiot with a goitre at his 
 throat as big as a foot-ball, " I hear there are such folks as 
 Patagoirians ; straight-limbed fellows, seven feet high ; no lucky- 
 bag for me I might be one of them." 
 
 If such, then, be the contentment of the great mass of the 
 suffering world, how prodigious should be your felicity to know 
 that you are the son of Punch ! to feel that you hold a position, 
 the proudest, the noblest, the 
 
 If the reader be a father, surely, surely he will sympathis 
 with my feelings. 
 
 G 2 
 
84 PUNCH'S LETTERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 I had not heard from my son for a long time. I was thinking 
 of him, when I was startled by the knock of the postman. I 
 know not how it was ; but the smitten iron sent a chill through 
 my heart, and the goose-quill fell from my fingers. 
 
 Our landlady we were then in lodgings brought me up a 
 letter. My wife was happily from home ; called to assist at a 
 neighbour's labour. I immediately recognised the handwriting 
 of my son ; and, with trembling fingers, broke the wafer. I give 
 the contents. 
 
 " Condemned Cell, Newgate. 
 "Honoured Parent, I have to the best of my abilities 
 followed the advice sent to me from time to time in your Letters. 
 You will, therefore, as the Ordinary says, not be surprised to 
 find I write from this place. It is a case of mutton, and I am to 
 be hanged on Monday. 
 
 " Your Son, 
 
 "Punch, the Younger. 
 
 " P.S. You will find that, in spite of my misfortunes, I have 
 the credit of my family still at heart. I shall therefore be 
 hanged as John Jones." 
 
 My heroic boy kept his word : and until this very hour, his 
 mother is ignorant of his fate, believing him to be at this 
 moment Ambassador at the Court of 
 
 THE END. 
 
PUNCH'S 
 
 COMPLETE LETTEK WEITER. 
 
PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 education 
 
 TO 
 
 SECRETARY FOR THE HOME DEPARTMENT. 
 
 
 My dear , Having, as I modestly believe, written 
 
 a Complete Letter Writer yes, having penned some fifty 
 models of epistolary correspondence, involving all the affections, 
 interests, rights, wrongs, and courtesies of social life, I am 
 naturally anxious to obtain for the work the protecting counte- 
 nance of a high, appropriate name. Your official privilege makes 
 you, in truth, the very interesting object I have some time looked 
 for with increasing despair. I confess it ; I desponded lest I 
 should fail to obtain a patron whose natural genius and finely 
 educated taste would immediately appreciate in my labour the 
 manifold heart-touches, the subtleties of style, with greater 
 glory than all that practical golden wisdom, without which the 
 very finest writing is little more than the very finest glass- 
 blowing. 
 
 A mere high title at the head of a Dedication is a piece of 
 pompous lumber. In the shallowness of our judgment, we 
 bestow a humiliating pity on the forlorn savage who lays his 
 offering of fruits and flowers before his wooden idol with a 
 formidable name ; an idol certainly with gold rings in its nose 
 and ears, and perhaps an uncut diamond in its forehead ; but 
 nevertheless, an insensible block. The fruits shrivel and rot ; 
 the flowers die a death of profitless sweetness ; for the idol has 
 no gustatory sense no expanding nostril. I say, we pity the 
 poor, darkened fool, who may have risked his limbs for cocoa- 
 nuts, who may have tempted the whole family of mortal snakes, 
 
88 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER "WRITER. 
 
 groping his way through woods, scrambling up ravines to gather 
 flowers, and only to lay the hard winnings of his toil before a 
 stock, a stone, that cannot even so much as wink a thankfulness 
 for such desperate duty done. 
 
 And what shall we say of the author who, choosing a patron 
 merely for his titles for the gold rings in his nose and ears, and 
 certainly ^ not for the diamond in his head lays before him a 
 book for which the poor creature has not the slightest relish ? 
 He is incapable of tasting its deliciousness. Its most sapid 
 morsels lie in his mouth like bran. He chews and chews a 
 prime cut, yea, the very pope's-eye of philosophy, as it were 
 chopped hay. I bestow ink upon no such man. And thou, 
 sagacious and therefore pacific goose, still enjoy thy common 
 right ; still with snaky neck search the short grass ; still, with 
 fixed and meditating look, eye man askance I disturb thee not ; 
 I rifle not thy wing of its gray wealth to nib a pen for such a 
 patron. 
 
 But hither, hither, ye sprites and genii old visitants of 
 dimmest garrets ye who have made the musty air musical 
 with your quivering pinions, and with kindly conjurations given 
 state to stateless kings, who, from their attic thrones, rule the 
 thankless and despising world beneath, hither ye who from the 
 phials of hope have sweetened the bitterness of the present, 
 who first did crown the poet in his solemn solitude, and no 
 illusion but sweetest truth ! made him see in every growing 
 line a grove of budding laurel made him with a shuddering 
 glee hear the far-off praises of the future, even as men hear 
 the distant music of a coming triumph ! Hither, hither, ye 
 Parnassian fays, and bring me ink bright ink odorous ink 
 ink made in the deep recesses of some Indian wood, dark as 
 night, yet fragrant as the morn. 
 
 Well done. It is black and liquid as a black eye smiling 
 sweet mischief on unconscious man. And now, boys, a pen ! 
 Stay, know ye the vicarage of Purple-cloth ? It is a fruitful 
 nook, where there is an hourly struggle between the rector and 
 his geese which shall be the fattest, man or birds. Hie ye there, 
 and straightway choose the primest goose. Kill him, yet kill 
 him quickly, humanely, singing some sacrificial melody the 
 while. He will give up his quills serenely, quietly as a dying 
 laureat. When the goose is dead, take care that the creature be 
 properly buried ; to which end I charge ye give his body to the 
 poor. 
 
 So ! An errand quickly done. Here have we pen and ink. As for 
 paper no matter ; out of the most beautiful, yet costly bravado, 
 I will write my Dedication on the back of a 50 note, which 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 the words enshrined in type be it known, remains the perquisite 
 of the printer. May he make the most he can of it ! And 
 now to begin my Dedication in good earnest. 
 
 My dear , I perceive from the works of those 
 
 daily law-breakers, the reporters of Parliamentary speeches, 
 that you have the right a right solemnised by law to 
 burglariously break and enter into every package, bundle, letter, 
 note, or billet-doux, sent through the Post-office. Yes ; you are 
 permitted this high privilege by the Act of 1 Yictoria (whom 
 God preserve !) 
 
 I protest, , that henceforth I shall never think of 
 
 that crowning pile of St. Martin 's-le-Grand, without in imagina- 
 tion seeing you work away with a crowbar, smashing red and 
 black wax or, by the more subtle agency of steam, softening 
 wafers, that the letter may open its lips, and yield up the 
 contents of its very heart to the Secretary of the Home Depart- 
 ment. 
 
 I am not a squeamish creature, . I have not what 
 
 is called by the world false modesty : a modesty, I presume, to 
 be classed with false ringlets and false teeth, and therefore never 
 used but when the real thing is wholly departed. No ; I have 
 seen too much of the world to care a great deal for its turned-up 
 noses and the ugly mouths it may make at me. Nevertheless, 
 
 , there is a point between philosophy and apathy. 
 
 Yes ; the rhinoceros has his tender part I have mine : so 
 tender, and withal so vital, that I cannot get rid of it. Were 
 I, like Achilles, vulnerable only in one heel, I would instantly 
 cheat Fate of its malice, have my limb amputated, and laugh 
 
 securely at destiny on a wooden leg. This, , I would 
 
 do : but a man cannot take the weak parts of his heart away as 
 dexterously as a careful housewife removes the fly-blow from 
 meat. Hence my complaint. 
 
 My one weakness (for weaknesses, strangely enough, are 
 like wives; no man, whatever the truth may be, thinks it 
 proper to own to more than one at a time,) my one weakness is 
 a disgust, a horror, that any man should dare to profane the 
 sanctity of my letters ! I know not for if a man can save a 
 bit of self-flattery out of his weakness, it is so much virtue got, 
 as one may say, out of the fire I know not if this aversion 
 may not, in some degree, arise from my love of mankind, and 
 consequently my annoyance at seeing it in a paltry, pitiable 
 condition, pushing its brazen nose where only its brass can 
 protect it. Be this as it may ; when I learned this morning 
 that you made yourself a sort of horse or ass-hair sieve, 
 
90 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 through which the correspondence of men was passed, that, if 
 there, the daggers, pikes, and pistols of the writers might be 
 duly deposited in the state vessel appointed to detect them 
 I confess it, I felt in a paroxysm of passion, for the proper 
 expression of which no words have as yet been fashioned. 
 
 And for this just reason. I knew that my name was too much 
 noised in the world to escape even the ears of Cabinet Ministers. 
 Hence, I felt assured that my letters aad the thousands I 
 receive ! had all of them been defiled by the eyes of a spy ; that 
 all my most domestic secrets had been rumpled and touzled, and 
 pinched here and pinched there searched by an English Minister 
 as shuddering modesty is searched at a French custom-house ! 
 My first feeling was intense indignation ; and then I vehemently 
 slapped my breast, and so, giving the virtue a jerk, pity came 
 uppermost. 
 
 Then I thought, how can I and you ever meet again ? 
 "When we met, I was wont to don a crimson waistcoat, worked 
 with all sorts of impossibilities in gold ; to wear a court coat of 
 cut chocolate velvet, and silk stockings shining like glass. 
 Knowing that the vulgar were taken by such things, I always 
 went among Cabinet Ministers, drest to the amazement even of 
 tailors. And now you know my secret, and how in that dress 
 can we meet again 1 Deny it not ; you must know it, for you 
 have read Mr. Nathan's letters long before they came to my 
 unconscious hand, letters demanding of me, I will not take upon 
 myself to say how many times, payment for the hire of that 
 crimson waistcoat and chocolate velvet coat ! This is one case ; 
 I might cite a hundred. 
 
 At length, I took comfort. A true chymist will extract sugar 
 
 even from the cudgel he has been beaten with. has, 
 
 I thought, ill-used me, but nevertheless, from his very shabbiness 
 will I extract the sweets of patronage. I will dedicate to him 
 my " Complete Letter "Writer ; " and for this reason a reason 
 stringent as an iron hoop. 
 
 As has the whole run of the Post-office as 
 
 he has the unquestioned fingering of all the letters of the 
 Queen's subjects he cannot but possess a most refined, most 
 exquisite taste, for the graces of epistolary composition. Yes, he 
 above all men, from his large reading of the subject, will take 
 and hug to his bosom Punch's Complete Letter Writer. 
 He will appreciate its many-coloured style ; he will acknowledge 
 it as a work to supersede all works of the sort hitherto written ; 
 he will perhaps in his place in Parliament, and so save a 
 considerable sum in the way of advertisements declare of the 
 book, that no family should be without it; and that every 
 
DEDICATION. 91 
 
 gentleman's library, having all else, yet wanting it, has 
 
 nothing ! 
 Therefore, , it is with the profoundest opinion of 
 your experienced ability to judge the surpassing merits of the 
 volume a volume for the world that Punch's Complete 
 Letter Writer is dedicated to you, 
 
 By your old acquaintance, 
 
 $&$!$ 
 
92 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 FROM A LADY INQUIRING THE CHARACTER OF A SERVANT. 
 
 Madam, Bridget Duster having applied to me for a place of 
 maid-of-all-work, I beg to learn of you, as her last mistress, her 
 fitness for the serious responsibilities of that situation. Having 
 suffered so much from the impertinence and wickedness of 
 servants (I have often thought they were only sent into this 
 world to torment respectable people), you will, I am sure, 
 forgive me if T appear somewhat particular in my inquiries. 
 Experience, madam, has made me circumspect. There was a 
 time when I thought all the world as good and honest as myself ; 
 but house-keeping wipes the bloom from the human heart, and 
 makes us lock our tea-caddies. 
 
 I have kept house for five-and-twenty years, in which time I 
 have constantly endeavoured to find a servant who should be 
 without a fault ; yet, though I have given eight pounds a year 
 with tea and sugar, would you believe it ? I have never once 
 succeeded. However, I must say it, I like the face of Bridget ; 
 I never saw a deeper small-pox. As for handsome servants, I 
 never have 'em ; they always think more of their faces than their 
 fire-irons, and are puckering up their mouths at the looking-glass 
 when they should be rubbing the door-plate. Curls, too, 1 never 
 suffer to cross my threshold. I know more than one instance in 
 which curls have destroyed the peace of a family. For my 
 money, a servant can't be too plain : in a word, I think ugliness 
 to be a sort of cheap livery intended by Nature for maids-of-all- 
 work it keeps 'em in their proper place, and prevents 'em 
 thinking of foolishness. So far Bridget's looks are most satis- 
 factory. 
 
 And now, ma'am, for the article of dress. Servants have never 
 been servants since linsey-woolsey went out. It makes my very 
 flesh creep to see 'em flaunting about, for all the world as if they 
 were born to silk gowns and open-work in their stockings. I 
 have seen a housemaid go out for the day with a parasol ! I 
 prophesied her end, and poor wretch ! so it came about. 
 What I have suffered, too, from such presumption ! I once had 
 a creature who copied every new cap I had, and so violated my 
 best feelings under my own roof! Bridget looks a humble 
 dresser, fit for a kitchen : I trust she is so. 
 
ON THE CHARACTER OF A SERVANT. 
 
 I hope, however, she. is sober. When servants are very plain, 
 they sometimes, to revenge themselves on nature, fly to drink. 
 This is shocking ; for with such people, with all one's locking 
 and bolting, the brandy is never safe. 
 
 In the next place, does Bridget break ? Not but what I 
 always make my servants pay for all they destroy ; still, they 
 can't pay for one's nerves. Again, there is this danger they 
 may break beyond their wages. 
 
 Is Bridget honest ? Pray, madam, be particular on this point, 
 for I have been much deceived. I once took a servant with the 
 finest character for honesty ; and, only a week afterwards, de- 
 tected her giving three cold potatoes to a little hurdy-gurdy 
 foreigner with white mice. 
 
 Is Bridget civil 1 Will she bear wholesome reproof ? A 
 servant who answers is my abomination. It is clearly flying in 
 the nice of the best interests of society. Surely, people who pay 
 wages have a right to find what fault they please ; it is the 
 natural privilege that marks the mistress from the maid. I 
 would have a severe law to punish a servant who answers even 
 if right. 
 
 Is Bridget an early riser, without any reference to the time 
 she may be allowed to go to bed ? A good maid-of-all-work 
 should, so to speak, be like a needle, and always sleep with one 
 eye open. 
 
 Has Bridget any followers 1 Such creatures I never allow. 
 I conceive that a servant ought to be a sort of nun, and, from the 
 moment she enters your house, should take leave of all the 
 world beside. Has she not her kitchen for willing hands always 
 to do something in 1 And then for company, doesn't she see 
 the butcher, the baker, the dustman to say nothing of the 
 sweeps 1 
 
 Is Bridget industrious is she clean ? I hope, for the poor 
 creature's sake, that you may be able to answer these few 
 questions to my satisfaction, when Bridget may immediately 
 bring her boxes. With me her duties will be few, but they must 
 be punctually performed. Indeed, I require a servant to consider 
 herself a sort of human kitchen clock. She must have no temper, 
 no sulks, no flesh-and-blood feelings, as I've heard impudent 
 hussies call their airs and graces, but must go as regularly 
 through her work as though she was made of steel springs and 
 brass pulleys. For such a person, there is a happy home in the 
 
 * ouse of Your obedient Servant, 
 
 Pamela Squaw. 
 
94 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 FROM A SERVANT, INQUIRING THE CHARACTER OP A MISTRESS. 
 
 Dear Molly Finding that you're in place next door to 
 Mrs. Squaw, and remembering what friends we used to be when 
 both of us lived with the pastry-cook, I have thought fit to write 
 to you to inquire about your neighbour. It's all very fine, Molly, 
 for mistresses to haggle about the characters of their maids, but 
 surely we poor servants have as much right to ask the characters 
 of our mistresses. However, folks who pay wages will always 
 have the upper hand in this world, whatever to our comfort may 
 happen to 'em afterwards. 
 
 I thank my stars I don't judge of people by their looks, other- 
 wise I wouldn't go into Mrs. Squaw's kitchen, if it was made of 
 gold ; she's dreadful ugly, to be sure, but I don't despise her for 
 that, if her temper's sweet. I can't bear a mistress that's always 
 nagging and nagging. A good noise once in a way I don't mind 
 it brisks up one's blood ; but I have known mistresses always 
 pushing their words at you and about you, as if they were sticking 
 pins in a cushion with no flesh and blood. . 
 
 How does she like her maids to dress ? Mind, I don't insist 
 on ringlets in the house, but when I go out, I'm my own 
 mistress. I've given up two places for my bird-of-paradise 
 feather it looks quite alive in my white chip ! and would give 
 up twenty. After slaving among pots and pans for a month, it 
 is so sweet to be sometimes taken for a lady on one's Sunday out. 
 
 And now, dear Molly, tell me truly ; does Mrs. Squaw drink ? 
 I have lived in one family where the mistress kept a bottle in a 
 thing that looked for all the world like the covering of a book. 
 No wages should make me do this again ; and perhaps I am 
 wrong but, looking at Mrs. Squaw, I thought I never saw a 
 redder nose. When a mistress has such a habit, a poor girl's 
 character is never safe. 
 
 I've agreed to pay for all I break, but that I don't mind, as I 
 never break nothing it's always the cat. But then I've known 
 mistresses mean enough to put off a cracked basin on a poor 
 servant. What is Mrs. Squaw's character for crockery 1 
 
 Mrs. Squaw asked me if I had any followers, as she allowed 
 of no such thing. I said and truly, Molly that I had nobody 
 that followed me ; but, Molly, there is a young man that / have 
 followed these two years, and will, so long as I've eyes to stare 
 

 ON THE CHARACTER OF A MISTRESS. 95 
 
 and limbs to move. Such a sweet creature six feet one inch 
 and a half without his boots ! Such a mustachio on his lip 
 such a delicate thing, just the colour of a leech ! He's in the 
 Life Guards, Molly ; quite a building of a man. You can't 
 think how fond he is of me ; for these last two years he's smoked 
 my wages in cigars. I lost one place about him, and gloried in 
 it ! It was one quarter-day, and he came whistling about the 
 area. Mistress saw his red coat, and ringing the bell, asked me 
 what I meant by harbouring a low soldier ! My blood was up 
 like ginger-beer. "It's all very well for you, ma'am," says I, 
 "to say low soldier. But, ma'am," says I, "you don't know 
 what it is to be courted by a Life Guardsman." 
 
 Oh, these mistresses, Molly ! they think poor servants have no 
 more flesh and blood than a porridge-skillet. They can have 
 their comfortable courtings in their parlours and drawing-rooms ; 
 and then, with their very toes at the fire, they can abuse a poor 
 servant for only whispering a bit of love, all among the snow, 
 perhaps, in the area. This is the treatment that often makes 
 poor girls desperate, and drives 'em to marriage long afore their 
 time. 
 
 No followers, indeed ! No : they think that the cat and the 
 kettle, and the kitchen clock, are company enough for a poor 
 servant. They never think of us in the long winter nights, when 
 they are playing at cards, or chatting with folks who've dropped 
 in they never think of us, all alone as we are, without a soul to 
 speak to ! No ; we must have no followers, though, perhaps, the 
 parlour's ringing again with laughter ; and our only chance of 
 opening our lips is the chance of being sent out to get oysters 
 for the company. 
 
 However, dear Molly, write me all you know about the 
 character of Mrs. Squaw : if she's sober, and gives civil words 
 and regular wages to her servants, I don't mind having her for a 
 mistress, until the sweet day arrives when I become a soldier's 
 wedded lady. Till then, 
 
 Believe me, your friend and old fellow-servant, 
 
 Bridget Duster. 
 
96 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 LETTEE III. 
 
 FROM A GENTLEMAN TO A FRIEND, SOLICITING HIS ACCEPTANCE 
 AND BOND. 
 
 My dear Eichards, In this our fleeting life, how few are the 
 opportunities afforded us of really testing the hearts of our 
 friends ! Sorry, indeed, should I be for my own nature, were I 
 of the barren creed of those who, from the depths of their would- 
 be wisdom, smile knowingly at friendship, as though, like the 
 word phoenix, it spoke of something very fine, but very fabulous : 
 a spicy monster, building in the clouds, and never known to 
 descend upon our earth. No : I should be among the most 
 insensible of my kind a very savage of social life did I fail to 
 worship friendship in my innermost heart as a virtue illustrated 
 by one of the noblest of created men. Forgive me if I do not 
 name him ; for true worth, like the rose, will blush at its own 
 sweetness ! 
 
 Truly, it is pleasant to hear men abuse the world, as though, 
 forsooth, they themselves were the only shining exceptions from 
 the general selfishness they condemn. When 1 hear a man cry 
 out, " It is a bad world," I must of course lump him with the 
 aggregate iniquity ; for how can he have the enormous vanity to 
 select himself as the one pure Adam from naughty millions ? 
 No, Eichards ; be it my faith to think the best of the world ; be 
 it my special felicity to know that I hold the heart ay, as 
 though it were in my hand of the truest and the best of friends. 
 But what, indeed, is friendship, if it be not active 1 What but 
 a harp, or the divinest of Cremonas, resting in silence all the 
 melodious, ravishing sounds that waft our spirits to the clouds, 
 sleeping in their strings, a dumb sleep ? So is it with the 
 heart of a true friend until touched by the wants of his 
 companion. 
 
 My dear Eichards, I enclose you a bill for a hundred and 
 fifty pounds. That bill, like the harp or fiddle I have spoken of, 
 is now as a dead thing. But only write across it " Accepted, 
 John Eichards," and it will have a voice of gold yes, it will ring 
 with sovereigns. Oh, friendship ! thou divinest alchemist, that 
 man should ever profane thee ! Send the bill back by post, as I 
 must have the cash to-morrow. 
 
 I have many acquaintance, any of whom would have gone 
 through the little form (for it is only a form) I ask of you. But 
 
REFUSAL OF ACCEPTANCE AND BOND. 97 
 
 no : I should have thought such an act on my part a treason to 
 our friendship. You know, my dear boy, that I am apt to be 
 imaginative ; and thus, it is a sweet and peculiar pleasure to me 
 to fancy both our names linked indissolubly together the union 
 legalised by a five-shilling stamp, each adding value to the 
 other by being paired. Thus, it almost seems to me, that we 
 merge two souls into one that in very truth, by the potent 
 spell of friendship, we are no longer single, but bound together 
 by a bond unknown to those pagans of the ancient time, Orestes 
 and Pylades, Damon and Pythias ! 
 
 Yes ; with a slight flourish of the pen, we shall feel what I 
 once thought impossible, a greater interest in one another. We 
 shall know that our names, written upon accredited paper, pass 
 in the world as symbols of gold ; you will have turned ink -drops 
 into ready money, and / shall have received it. The roses that 
 wreathe around the stamp are, to my mind's eye, Pdchards, the 
 very types of our kindred minds. Do not, however, fail to post 
 the bill to-night. 
 
 There is I believe he calls it a bond on my account for 
 three or four hundreds to which a troublesome attorney wants 
 your name. Come and breakfast with me on Monday, my dear 
 boy, and it shall be ready for you. Heaven bless you, 
 
 Your friend, to the Place of Tombs, 
 
 Montague St. George. 
 
 P.S. I have a pdt de foie gras, which I don't think you 
 ever tasted, from Paris, for Monday. It's made of geese's liver. 
 They put the live goose before the fire and make it drink and 
 drink. Bather cruel, but there's no mistake in the liver. 
 
 LETTEK IV. 
 
 THE FRIEND'S ANSWER, REFUSING BOTH ACCEPTANCE AND BOND. 
 
 My dear Montague, Your letter has given me great pleasure. 
 You know how highly I have always thought of friendship : it 
 is, as you say, a divine thing. Indeed to my mind so divine, that 
 it should never, no never, be mixed up with money. 
 
 Nevertheless, however we may differ on this little point, it is 
 impossible for me to speak as I feel on your letter. It is 
 charmingly written. There is a beauty, a fervour in your 
 sentiments about friendship that convinces me you have felt its 
 treasures, and are therein, though poor in the world's esteem, 
 
 H 
 
98 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LE1TEK vrftll'Eft. 
 
 rich as an emperor. My dear friend, cultivate this style of 
 writing : I am certain money is to be made by it. 
 
 I agree with you as to your opinion of the world ; it is a 
 glorious world and glorious, indeed, are some of the people in 
 it. The friendship that has so long subsisted between us, must 
 make me acknowledge this. Your simile of a friend and a fiddle 
 is perfect and touching. What, indeed, are they both made for, 
 if not to be played upon 1 
 
 Your picture of the unison of souls, when both the souls' 
 hands are to the same bill, is beautiful, affecting. I have read 
 the passage over twenty times. It has neither one word too 
 many or too few. The picture is perfect : a cabinet gem to be 
 locked up in one's heart. The unison of souls is a charming 
 phrase ; but, unhappily, my friend, it is too fine, of too subtle an 
 essence to be acknowledged .and respected by the coarse men of 
 the world. The sheriff, for instance, cares not for souls, only 
 inasmuch as they are in bodies. Now, unhappily, so far as we 
 know, disembodied souls do not draw or accept ; otherwise, what 
 felicity would it be to me to meet and mingle with your spirit on 
 a five-shilling stamp ! 
 
 I confess, too, that it is tempting to think that, by the alchemy 
 of a few ink-drops, I could put a hundred and fifty gold pieces 
 (bating the discount) in the purse of my friend. Alas ! if the 
 ceremony began and ended with ink, I would spend a Black 
 Sea upon you. You should have my name ten thousand 
 times multiplied, with a good wish in every stroke, hair and 
 thick. 
 
 That you have eschewed so many acquaintances, all happy 
 with clean-nibbed pens to accept for you, and in the fulness of 
 your friendship selected me, is a compliment, nay more, it is an 
 evidence of your affection which I I hope to deserve. 
 
 You know that I, as well as yourself, am apt to be imaginative. 
 Imaginations, however, fly not always together. You say, that 
 by accepting the bill, our souls would be united. My dear friend, 
 for three months, I should feel ourselves growing together, every 
 day strengthening the process. I should feel as if I breathed for 
 two ; nay, I should hardly turn in my bed unincumbered. I 
 should, in my fancy, become a double man with only single 
 strength to bear about my added load. You know the story of 
 Sinbad and the Old Man of the Mountain ? That is a fine 
 allegory, though not understood. The truth is, the Old Man 
 drew a bill, and Sinbad guileless tar ! accepted it. 
 
 You speak of the roses that wreathe about the stamp. They 
 are, indeed, very pretty. But, somehow, my eye fell upon the 
 thistles j which I doubt not, the benevolence of Her Majesty 
 
A YOUNG GENTLEMAN TO A FAVOURITE ACTRESS. 99 
 
 causes to be embossed there : thistles, clearly significant that 
 the man who accepts a bill, save for his own debt, is an ass. 
 I am, on the contrary, 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 John Eichards. 
 
 P.S. I can't come on Monday, and I don't like pate defoiegras. 
 Why, in the name of mercy, should geese be treated as you 
 describe 1 They never accept bills of other geese. 
 
 LETTEE V. 
 
 FROM A VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN TO A FAVOURITE ACTRESS 
 WHOM HE HAS ONLY SEEN IN PUBLIC. 
 
 Dearest Madam, For these past six months I have pulled 
 against my heart I have resisted my transports I have fought 
 with my passion. Yes I determined I will die, and my con- 
 suming secret shall perish with me. Alas ! silence is no longer 
 possible. Your witcheries of to-night have driven me with 
 whirlwind force to pen and ink. Your voice is still in my ears 
 your eyes still upon my cheek I will, I must write ! 
 
 Madam, I have long adored you. Love is my witness, that I 
 never hoped to breathe as much ; but after your devotion of this 
 evening after the heroic sacrifice that you have made for love 
 after the happy willingness you have shown to give up fortune, 
 rank, and friends, and retire with your lover from the world, 
 though that lover was but a woodman, with nothing but his axe 
 to provide for you both, after the development of such a feeling 
 (believe it, adored one, there was not a dry eye in the pit), I 
 should wrong the sweet susceptibility of your nature, I should 
 wrong myself, to keep silence. No ; the way in which you 
 withered the unprincipled nobleman, the tempting seducer in 
 the second act, convinced me with an electric shock that we were 
 made for one another ! I thought ecstatic thought ! that 
 catching your eye from the third row, you read my heart, and 
 while the theatre rang with plaudits, that our souls mingled ! 
 Ah ! was it not so ? 
 
 But why alone speak of your virtues to-night ? Does not every 
 night show you more than something earthly ? In whatever 
 situation of life you are placed, are you not 'in all equally angelic ? 
 Have I not known you accused of theft, nay, of murder and 
 have I not witness it, Heaven ! adored you all the more for 
 
 h2 
 
100 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 the charge ? Has accident or malice thrown a shadow over you, 
 that you have not burst forth all the brighter for the passing 
 gloom ? And in all these sorrows I have been with you ! I, 
 from the third row of the pit, have trembled with you have 
 visited you in prison have attended you to the scaffold's foot, 
 and then, in that delirious moment when the spoons were found, 
 or the child, thought dead, ran on in a white frock, then have 
 I, though still in the third row, caught you innocent to my arms, 
 and wept in ecstacy ! 
 
 As a daughter, have I not seen you all your father could wish ? 
 As a wife, have you not cast a lustre upon all your wedding 
 rings as a young and tender mother pardon me, sweet one, 
 have you not been more devoted than the pelican, gentler than 
 the dove ? 
 
 How was it possible, then, for six months to behold you, 
 moving in and adorning every sphere now to see you the 
 polished countess, now the simple country maid now smiling 
 at want, and now giving away an unconsidered number of bank- 
 notes, how, in the name of Cupid, I ask it, was it possible even 
 from the third row of the pit to behold all this, and not as I have 
 done to worship you 1 
 
 Shall I, ought I, to attempt to describe to you my feelings for 
 one night ? Will my love bear with me while I write ? Why 
 do I ask ? Can I doubt it ? 
 
 Exactly at half-past six my heart, my best watch I take the 
 third seat of the pit. Often, for many minutes, I am there alone. 
 I like it I enjoy the solitude. I have often wished that not 
 another soul would enter the theatre, that I might, a mental 
 epicure, have all the feast to myself. I seem to grudge every 
 man his seat, as slowly one by one drops in. I unwillingly 
 suffer anybody to participate in your smiles and honied words. 
 No : I would have you act all to myself. Even applause some- 
 times throws me into a dangerous paroxysm : I feel it as an 
 intrusion on my privilege that any one should dare to applaud 
 but me ; my blood boils to my fingers' ends ; but I suppress my 
 feelings, and have as yet, though sorely tempted, knocked no 
 man from his seat. 
 
 I have breathed the secret of my love to nobody ; and yet my 
 eyes must have betrayed me. Forgive me ; I could not control 
 my eyes. Methinks you ask me, who has discovered my love ? 
 Smile not, I will tell you ; the fruit-women Good creatures ! 
 there is not one who does not hurry to me with a play-bill, 
 folded down at the glorious letters that compose your name, her 
 finger as though by accident pointed at the soul-delighting 
 word. I will not tell you how I treasure those bills ; no, you 
 
A YOUNG GENTLEMAN TO 'A 'FAVOURITE ACTRESS. 101 
 
 shall never know that every such play-bill is folded beneath my 
 pillow at night, and is resigned to a morocco portfolio in the 
 morning ; my sensations at the theatre first briefly marked in 
 the margin. This you shall never know. 
 
 Let me, however, return to my third seat. The curtain is 
 down the orchestra yet empty. That curtain seems to shut me 
 from Paradise, for I know you are behind it. The musicians 
 come in, and my heart begins to throb at the overture. The play 
 begins : perhaps you are discovered in Scene I., in the depths o 
 misery how deliciously my brain beats to know it ! You speak ; 
 and all my veins are throbbing like the tongue of a Jew's-harp. 
 Perhaps you sing ; and then I feel a kind of sweet swooning 
 sickness a sort of death made easy that I can't describe. At 
 times you dance ; and then do I seem lifted by some invisible 
 power, and made to float about you. Then you leave the stage, 
 and all who come after are no more to me than jointed dolls 
 with moving eyes. How I loathe the miserable buffoon the 
 comedy-man, as he is called who, while I am languishing for 
 your next appearance, makes the empty audience laugh about 
 me : such mirth seems an insult to my feelings a desecration of 
 my love. No ! you from the stage, plot and players are lost to 
 me ; I sit, only thinking of your return sometimes abstracted 
 from the scene, mechanically counting the scattered hairs in the 
 head of the first fiddle. 
 
 And thus, until the curtain is about to drop, and then my 
 heart with it I throw a bouquet, that has nestled all the night 
 in my button-hole, at your fairy feet. Then do I rush from the 
 pit to the stage-door ; and there the more delighted if it rains 
 there do I stand, until sweetly cloaked and shawled, I watch 
 you see your Adelaide boots emerge into the street, and with a 
 thought, vanish into cab or coach. Ha ! the door is closed 
 with a slam that seems to snap my heart-strings. The horse- 
 shoes sound in the distance I am alone. I wander to my 
 lodgings, sometimes in despair, and sometimes in delirious spirits, 
 feeling that I have your arm warm and pressing under mine, 
 and still seeing your eyes look at me, as I thought they looked at 
 the third row of the pit. 
 
 I arrive at my cold lodging. Yet, ere I sleep, I look at your 
 dozen faces for I have at least a dozen plain and coloured, 
 hung about my walls. Yes, my beloved one ! there you are, and 
 though only published from half-a-crown to five shillings, worlds 
 should not buy you of me ! 
 
 If you have played a new part, I touch no breakfast until I 
 read the papers. How my heart goes down upon its knees to 
 the sensible critic who tries although vainly to sing your full 
 
102 PUKCfl ; S' C'OMTLETE L'ETTER WRITER. 
 
 deserts ; whilst for the wretch who finds fault, or but enough 
 on this disgusting theme. They are monsters in the human 
 form who write so-called criticisms for newspapers. 
 
 And now, my dearest love, in the same spirit of frankness 
 with that boundless gush of affection which you have so 
 wonderfully developed to-night with that fervour and truth 
 which prove to me that we were born for one another, and that 
 I have too rightly read your heart to believe that my want of 
 fortune will be any defect in your eyes rather, indeed, I should 
 say, from what I have seen to-night, a recommendation 
 I remain, 
 
 Your devoted Lover, 
 
 Charles Spoonbill. 
 
 P.S. Please, dearest, leave an answer at the stage-door. And, 
 dearest, pray let me catch your eye in the third row to-morrow. 
 
 LETTEE VI. 
 
 ANSWER FROM THE ACTRESS'S FATHER TO THE VERT YOUNG 
 GENTLEMAN. 
 
 Sir, You are either a madman or a fool. I have to inform you 
 that I usually carry a stout stick. Any more letters to my 
 daughter, and you may become acquainted with it. Should you, 
 however, be beyond my power of chastisement, there is a certain 
 gentleman, to whom, on the advice of my daughter, I have only 
 to show your letter, and he will commission his footman to 
 thrash you as your impertinence deserves. 
 
 Your obedient Servant, 
 
 Thespis Burntcork. 
 
 P.S. In future I shall keep my eye upon the third row of 
 the pit. 
 
TO A FRIEND, ON BEING CALLED TO THE BAR. 103 
 
 LETTEE VII. 
 
 FROM A GENTLEMAN TO HIS FRIEND, ON BEING CALLED TO 
 THE BAR. 
 
 My dear Tom, I hope I am the first to congratulate you. 
 What a career is open to you ! There is such loftiness of 
 purpose such true nobility of aim in the profession to which 
 with a lover's fondness you have bound yourself that in a 
 measure I feel myself glorified by the advancement of my 
 friend ! 
 
 You are now called to the bar ! Yes, you are of the happy 
 few chosen by the solemn election of the law as the privileged 
 champions of humanity. To you the widow and the orphan may 
 prefer their prayers ; in you they are taught to look for an 
 adviser and a benefactor. Injured lowliness may claim the 
 bounty of your counsel, and innocence betrayed demand the 
 lightning of your words. 
 
 With these thoughts, what strengthening comfort must 
 support you through the paths of study still to be adventured ! 
 Feeling the dignity of your mission, your mind will instinctively 
 reject whatever is mean and mercenary will assimilate to itself 
 all that is beautiful, and pure, and good. In your hours of study 
 you will feel that you are arming yourself for the overthrow of 
 craft, oppression, and all the numerous brood of ignorance and 
 ill : you will be sustained by the thought, that you are dedicating 
 the powers you have received from Heaven to the noblest 
 vindication of its grandest truth, justice to all men. With this 
 belief, you will labour rejoicingly : you will dedicate your night 
 to study, and the early lark will greet you at your book. 
 
 It is, I know, averred that the study of law is dry and harsh 
 a barren, thankless thetne ; that " the Books " have that 
 within them to weary the most patient spirit. And so, indeed, 
 it may be to those who as mere word-catchers would study them ; 
 who, incapable of considering them in a philosophic light as 
 operative on the social mass, would seek their pages as Indians 
 seek poison berries, only for better means to slay their game 
 with. But you, my dear friend, have nobler aspirations ; you 
 contemplate law as the discreet and virtuous daughter of Justice, 
 and not as her Abigail. 
 
 When you look around and consider the various occupations 
 
104 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER 
 
 of men, how sweet must be your self-complacency ! You cannot 
 but observe how thousands are doomed to a plodding obscurity ; 
 how thousands pass from birth to death with no one action of 
 their lives to signalise themselves among their fellows : how, 
 like corn, they grow, ripen, and are cut down, leaving behind 
 them no mark of their past existence. Again, how many pass 
 their days in acts of violence, making life one scene of wrong and 
 tumult ; whilst others creep and wind through the world 
 timorous and cunning, with little of the majesty of man to 
 glorify them. Forgetful of the greatness of their mission as 
 human creatures, they dwell within the small circle of their 
 selfishness, all things beyond mere things of fable. 
 
 How different is your lot ! You are " called to the bar :" you 
 are chosen to play a part before the eyes of the whole world. 
 You are to uplift your voice in defence of all that dignifies our 
 nature : you are to work the daily champion of the weak and 
 the distressed. Is it possible that man can have a more glorious 
 vocation ? Is it within the ambition of a truly virtuous mind to 
 achieve greater triumphs ? 
 
 Again, how beautiful will be the study of human nature laid 
 before you ! Every day you will be called to read that 
 wondrous volume, the human heart, in all its strange yet 
 fascinating contradictions.' And when, in the fulness of fame, 
 distinguished by every attribute of moral goodness, you are 
 summoned to the bench, you will display to the world one of 
 its noblest spectacles, a great and good man honoured for his 
 worth. Your elevation, whilst it rewards the labours of your 
 own clear spirit, will, star-like, shine upon the hopes of others, 
 inciting them to act your worthiness again and again. Thus 
 will your excellence be multiplied, and example beget example. 
 Believe me, my dear Tom, 
 
 Your sincere friend, 
 
 Justus Hartley. 
 
 LETTEE VIII. 
 
 REPLY OF THE GENTLEMAN CALLED TO THE BAR TO HIS FRIEND. 
 
 My dear Hartley, You are, I find, the same enthusiastic, 
 unsophisticated creature that I left at Cambridge. May you 
 never meet with aught to change the noble simplicity of your 
 nature ! 
 
 True it is, I am " called j" and most true I may, if I would 
 
REPLY OF THE GENTLEMAN CALLED TO THE BAR. 105 
 
 wish to starve, dub myself knight of all distressed matrons, 
 virgins, and orphans. Unfortunately, however, for your rhapsody, 
 it will always lie in the breast of the mother of accidents, 
 whether I champion the wronged or the wronger : whether I am 
 to pour oil and honey into wounds, or to be the humble instru- 
 ment that adds another bruise : whether, indeed, I fight on the 
 side of Virtue, or lustily take arms against her. This, however, 
 is the accident of my fate ; and so that good retainers come in, 
 I am content to bow to it. In your noble philanthropy, Justus, 
 please to consider the condition of the world, if only what 
 seemed virtuous and innocent were defended if all who, by the 
 force of circumstance, appeared knaves were left to scramble for 
 themselves. Look at the wrong committed under this ignorant 
 devotion to abstract right. "Virtue making victims by her very 
 bigotry ! 
 
 As for the hours of study, they certainly bring their sweets ; 
 but verily not after the fashion you, in your blithe ignorance, 
 imagine. Law, my dear fellow, is not a region of fairy to be 
 searched for golden fruits and amaranthine flowers ; no, it is a 
 deep, gloomy mine, to be dug and dug, with the safety lamp of 
 patience lighting us, through many a winding passage a lamp 
 which, do what we will, so frequently goes out, leaving us in 
 darkness. 
 
 I grant you many of the high, ennobling privileges of the 
 profession that your eloquence has dwelt upon ; but there are 
 others which, if you know not, permit me in the freedom of 
 friendship to say, you know nothing of the pleasures of the bar. 
 Consider, what invulnerable armour is a wig a gown ! When 
 they are once donned, you are permitted, by the very defence 
 you wear, to play with the characters and feelings of men even 
 as little girls play with dolls ; ripping their seams, blackening 
 their faces, making sport with them in any way for the prosperity 
 of your cause, and the benefit of your client. By virtue of your 
 profession you are emphatically a gentleman ; and the very 
 mode in which you are permitted to exercise your calling proves 
 you to be a slanderer for so much money. You are protected by 
 the Court, and, taking full advantage of your position, you may 
 say in the face of Justice that which a regard for your anatomy 
 would not permit you to utter even in a tavern. You are 
 protected, and may to your heart's full wish enjoy your abuse. 
 You are pistol-proof, and may therefore throw what mud and 
 call what names you please. You have the privilege of the bar, 
 which in this case means the privilege of cowardice ; and to 
 the last letter you avail yourself of its immunity. 
 
 You have likewise forgotten another privilege, that of cross- 
 
106 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 examination. Ha ! my friend, you know my love of a joke, and 
 truly I anticipate much enjoyment from the freedom of tongue 
 allowed me when I shall have a witness to practise upon. How 
 I will "torture him with my wit " how turn him inside out for 
 the benefit of my client ! Indeed, the true heroism of the 
 advocate is only shown by his contempt of all things in honour 
 of his fee. Hence, if retained by homicide to wash white and, 
 if possible, to sweeten the blood-dyed ruffian for the world, 
 I shall not hesitate (though assured of my client's guilt) to 
 blacken all the witnesses against him. In pursuit of this high 
 duty, I shall think it onerous upon me to impugn even the 
 chastity of female virtue, so that by casting shame upon inno- 
 cence, I may open the prison door to murder. 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 Thomas Brassbt. 
 
 P.S. Congratulate me. I have just received my maiden 
 brief; a case against a sempstress, for illegally pawning a 
 shirt. 
 
 LETTEE IX. 
 
 PROM AN ELECTOR TO A MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT, SOLICITING 
 HIS INTEREST FOR A PLACE. 
 
 Honoured Sir, According to my promise, when I last had 
 the pleasure of shaking your worthy and high-minded hand, I 
 take up my pen to let you know how matters go on in our 
 borough of Pottlepot. Oh, sir ! the Blues are done for ever ! 
 They ought, if they had any sense of their littleness, to crawl 
 upon all fours the rest of their natural lives : it's downright 
 impudence of 'em to think of walking upright on two legs, like 
 incorruptible, independent voters. But, sir, they are done for 
 ever ! As I said at the club on Saturday, where we always drink 
 your honoured health standing with nine times nine, as I said, 
 after we had toasted your patriotism and all your public and 
 private virtues, Sir Curtius Turnstile, says I, sits for Pottlepot 
 for life ; it's as good as his own freehold. And so it is, sir. Be 
 sure of it, there isn't a Yellow that wouldn't die for you, with 
 all their wives and families included. You have touched their 
 hearts, Sir Curtius, in the proper way, and there isn't a man that 
 wouldn't bleed for you in return. And then for the women ; 
 why, I'm a sinner, if last Sunday there weren't six babies 
 
TO A MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT. 107 
 
 every one of 'em christened Curtius. There they were, sir 
 bless the little cherubs ! with yellow ribands in their caps, and 
 ribands hung all over them, and their mothers and fathers 
 smiling on the colours with all a parent's fondness. Ha, sir! 
 it would have done your noble heart good to hear how the same 
 night we drank the healths of the young Curtiuses the baby 
 Yellows the future free and independent voters of Pottlepot. 
 
 But how, sir, should it be otherwise 1 Who can forget your 
 kindness when you came among us to canvass 1 What con- 
 descension what liberality ! There's poor Mrs. Spriggs, the 
 good soul who sells cakes ; she never speaks of you without 
 tears in her eyes ; and as for her husband a rascally Blue ! 
 whom the kind creature made so drunk, and then shut the 
 shutters on the day of poll, that when he woke he thought it 
 was still night, and so went to sleep again, dear Mrs. Spriggs 
 says she can't enough bless yon. Though you bought her jack- 
 daw for ten pounds, she's got another ; and for all her husband 
 like a brutal Blue as he is ! beats her once a week for't, the, 
 public spirited, patriotic soul, will teach the bird to cry out 
 " Turnstile for ever ! Down with the Blues ! " 
 
 You'll be glad to hear, Sir Curtius, that little Bobby Windfall, 
 the bellows-mender's child, has got over the small-pox, and 
 won't be very much maiked. I'm sure you'll be glad of this, 
 from the kind manner with which I saw you kiss the suffering 
 babe when it was so very bad indeed. 
 
 The organ that you sent down to the chapel plays very beau- 
 tifully very. It quite melts the heart of every true Yellow to 
 listen to it. But I am sorry to say I blush for my species 
 while I write it that several stiff-necked Blues stay away from 
 chapel because of that organ : whilst one of 'em, with a sneer 
 that meant I know not what, said, " The organ was a most 
 appropriate gift from you, as no sinner could listen to it without 
 thinking of corruption." What he meant by this 'twould puzzle 
 me to discover. 
 
 Your kind hospitality in inviting all of us to your mansion in 
 town whenever we should come to London, will in a few days be 
 rewarded. Chops the pork-butcher, with Brads the blacksmith, 
 and Strong-i'-th'-arm the farrier, will be with you they desire 
 me to say next week. But pray, Sir Curtius, don't give Chops 
 too much champagne, as he is apt to be very unruly. And 
 Mrs. Brads hopes you'll not let Brads stir in London without 
 you're by his side ; she says she depends upon you. As for the 
 farrier's wife, she says you're welcome to keep her husband for 
 a month ; only when he comes back, she says she shall expect to 
 see what sort of caps they wear in London. 
 
108 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 We are all on the look-out for your first speech, as you pro- 
 mised us on ths hustings that it should be a teazer. 
 I am, Sir Curtius, 
 
 Your obedient Servant, 
 
 And very humble Voter, 
 
 Hampden Brick. 
 
 P.S. I had almost forgotten to say, that my son Brutus the 
 youth to whom you jokingly gave a five-pound note to light a 
 cigar with is now anxious to enter upon the world. Forgive 
 the feelings of a father ; but please to write by return of post 
 whether his place will be in the Excise, the Customs, or the 
 Treasury. I suppose we mustn't expect more than two hundred 
 a year to begin 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 ANSWER OF SIR CURTIUS TURNSTILE, M.P., TO HIS CONSTITUENT, 
 HAMPDEN BRICK. 
 
 My dear Sir, It gives me the deepest pleasure to learn the 
 happiness and tranquillity of the favoured borough of Pottlepot. 
 Bound up as my future public life is with the sympathies of the 
 noble-minded and incorruptible men by whose votes I hold my 
 present exalted situation my present enviable prominence in 
 the eye of the world it must be to me a vital delight to know 
 of their felicity. As for the Blues that desperate faction that 
 band of little Neros preying on the vitals of their mother-country 
 
 but I dismiss them from my thoughts. Contempt relieves 
 
 me from the excess of indignation. 
 
 It is to me a deep happiness to find that I am remembered at 
 your hebdomadal meetings at the Angel. Believe me that every 
 Saturday night I shall spiritually return thanks for the honour 
 that you do me. 
 
 The thought that I have awakened a feeling of respect in the 
 bosoms of my fair well-wishers and active supporters of Pottlepot, 
 awards to me the proudest moment of my life. That, with a 
 delicacy which peculiarly distinguishes the disinterested excel- 
 lence of their sex from the too frequent selfishness of ours, they 
 should give my name to the pledges of their hallowed love, pro- 
 duces feelings in my breast much more easily conceived than 
 described. Tell them from me, good Mr. Brick, that whilst 
 
ANSWER OF SIR CURTIUS TURNSTILE, M.P. 109 
 
 they have complimented me, they have imposed a task upon 
 me yes, sir, a task ; for, henceforth, it must be the peculiar 
 study of my life to do nothing that shall be in the least un- 
 worthy of my interesting namesakes. It would, I assure you, 
 have given me great pleasure to be their godfather, but 
 another time. 
 
 I am delighted to learn that the excellent Mrs. Spriggs is in 
 good health. Though decidedly not a woman of high education, 
 she has that instinctive patriotism which made the glory of the 
 ancient matron. She might, without a blush, call the mother of 
 the Gracchi sister. I am more than amused to hear of her 
 jackdaw : and, for her sake, hope for better things from her 
 husband. 
 
 Believe me, you only do justice to my feelings when you say 
 that I shall be happy to hear of the recovery of Master Robert 
 Windfall. Though asleep, and in a sad condition when I saw 
 him, I do think I never looked upon a more intelligent child. I 
 trust he will become a blessing to his parents, and an honour to 
 the ancient mystery of bellows-mending. 
 
 What you tell me respecting the organ, shocks me. That the 
 spirit of party can, in such a subject, find matter for its bitterness, 
 makes one almost despair of human nature. Alas ! alas ! that 
 even the humble present of a church organ cannot escape the 
 ribaldry of party malice. But nothing, sacred or profane, does 
 escape it ! 
 
 You speak of a projected visit to town by Chops, Brads, and 
 Strong-i'-th'-arm, my worthy and indefatigable constituents. 
 There are no men for whose honesty whose singleness of 
 purpose whose primitive simplicity of character I have a 
 higher admiration ; but was there ever anything so unfortunate 1 
 At present my mansion is undergoing a thorough repair ; filled 
 with carpenters, bricklayers, plasterers in fact, turned inside 
 out. Hence, to my inexpressible annoyance, I shall not have the 
 pleasure of seeing them under my own roof ; and what is worse, 
 I fear I say, I fear that unavoidable business will, for a week 
 at least, take me from London. However, pray let me know 
 what day they intend to set out. I depend upon you not to fail 
 in this. I have not yet spoken in the House. It is my policy 
 never to throw away powder. But when I do make myself 
 heard, depend upon it that Pottlepot will hear the report. 
 Believe me, my dear Sir, 
 
 Yours faithfully ever, 
 
 Curtius Turnstile. 
 
 P.S. As for your son, I think it would be a pity that he should 
 
110 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 bury his precocious talents for I never saw so young a boy 
 smoke with so much maturity in either the Excise, the Customs, 
 or the Treasury. Take a friend's advice, and bring him up to 
 the bar. 
 
 LETTEE XI. 
 
 FROM A TAILOR FOR HIS BILL. 
 
 Sir, When you reflect upon the time that has passed, since 
 you did me the honour to enter my books, you will, I am sure, 
 acquit me of any desire to appear pressing. Five years, sir, make 
 a long time in the life of a tradesman ; the more especially, with 
 business as it has been. Houses thought good, tumbling down 
 like houses of cards ; men, considered men of rock, turning out 
 men of straw ; bills sent back, and a thousand other bits of bad 
 luck, enough to break the heart of any tradesman. It is now, 
 sir, two-and-thirty years since I entered business ; and, in all 
 my life, I never knew so bad a season : bad enough they have 
 been, to be sure, but nothing like the present. There was a 
 time when a tradesman might now and then think of a little 
 profit ; but profits in these days ! they don't pay for taking 
 down the shutters. 
 
 Therefore, sir, you will, I am sure, pardon me if I solicit you 
 to think of your account. It has been the golden rule of my life 
 never to press a gentleman ; but, sir, I am like a peaceable man 
 in a crowd ; if I am pushed, I must, whether I will or no, push 
 other people. What has come upon the times I know not ; men 
 now ar'n't the men they used to be. I recollect the day when, if 
 a man failed to honour his bill, he was never known to look up 
 again. Now, I'm blessed if he doesn't look all the bolder for 
 it. People have entirely lost the shame they had when I was 
 young in business ; and, now-a-days, go into the Gazette as 
 they go to Margate, just to freshen themselves up, and feel 
 all the stronger for it. The truth is or I should never think 
 of pressing you, sir there seems to be a want of morality 
 throughout all society. One person puts the evil down to one 
 thing, another to another. A neighbour of mine a shrewd 
 shoemaker of the old school swears it's all owing to the 
 Adelaide boots. 
 
 For which reason, sir, I hope you will not think me urgent if 
 I call your thoughts to my bill. There was a time, sir, when I 
 never believed I could do such a thing ; but, as I've said, I fear 
 
FROM A TAILOR FOR HIS BILL. Ill 
 
 there's no morality left. And how, indeed, should there be ? 
 Gentlemen are no longer gentlemen. I have my grandfather's 
 pattern-books by me, sir. He rest his soul made for the West 
 End eighty years ago, and, when he died, was buried in superfine 
 black, with twenty coaches to follow. Now, die when I will, I 
 much doubt if but I have no right to trouble you with my 
 griefs and so, sir, I will stick to business. In grandfather's 
 time gentlemen were known to be gentlemen by their coats. 
 They walked about clothed and marked as superior people ; 
 there was no mistake in them, and the lower orders knew their 
 betters by their satins, their velvets, and their gold lace. Now, 
 sir, how are we to know a gentleman 1 There is no mark, no 
 difference in him : we can only come at his gentility by his 
 manners ; a very roundabout way, sir ; and one that has led to 
 a great many mistakes. According to the good old plan, you 
 might stand at your shop-door, and count the real gentlemen as 
 they passed ; they wore if I may say as much their proper 
 uniform, and the common people paid them proper respect for it. 
 And now, if the grandfathers' ghosts of the gentlemen of our 
 day were to meet their grandsons in Piccadilly or Bond Street, 
 they'd take half of 'em for a set of carters, or drovers, or some 
 such low animals ; they wear nothing but sacks or smock-frocks 
 with cotton buttons to 'em. Every day of his life, a Duke 
 passes my door to Parliament in a pepper-and-salt linsey- 
 woolsey, duffel, flannel sort of thing, that his tailor, try as hard 
 as he may, can't charge him more than two pounds for. And in 
 this condition his Grace goes to make laws in Parliament. After 
 this, I should like to know how it's to be hoped that common 
 folks are to respect the House of Lords 1 It's flying in the face 
 of nature to expect it. 
 
 No, sir, this is the evil ; this the abuse that has, as I've often 
 said, sapped the morals of the world, by hustling all folks 
 together in the same cloth and the same cut. It was never 
 intended that the lines of society should be so finely drawn by 
 the tailor, that you could not see theru ; yet, because it is so, you 
 now have all sorts of discontent, no stability in trade, and no 
 real morals in gentlemen. If the upper classes would only 
 show their true dignity, and return to cut velvet and gold lace, 
 there might even now be some hopes of the country ; but while 
 noblemen and gentlemen dress in thirty-shilling coats, there is 
 an end to England. Her real glory set with gold lace. If men 
 never felt the National Debt, it was because they wore em- 
 broidered pocket-holes. 
 
 tf ou will forgive me troubling you with all this, but I cculd 
 not think of putting your account into my lawyer's hands without 
 
112 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 showing to you the troubles that a tradesman has in these days 
 to fight with. 
 
 Hoping you will therefore not take the writ amiss, 
 I remain your obedient Servant, 
 
 Samuel Stitchington. 
 
 LETTEE XII. 
 
 THE GENTLEMAN'S ANSWER TO THE TAILOR. 
 
 Mr. Stitchington, Is it indeed five years that I have graced 
 your books ? How fleet is life it scarcely appeared to me as 
 many months. Although I have never given you a bill for the 
 amount, how have the years passed by ! You will guess my 
 meaning when I assure you it is a theory of mine, that the wings 
 of Time are no other than two large bill-stamps, duly drawn, 
 and accepted. "With these he brings his three, six, or nine 
 months into as many weeks. He is continually wasting the 
 sand from his glass, drying the wet ink of promissory notes. 
 But let me not moralise. 
 
 You want money, Mr. Stitchington ? As I am exactly in the 
 like predicament, you are in a capital condition to sympathise 
 with me. You say you never recollect so bad a season as the 
 present. Of course not ; no tradesman ever did : the present 
 season is always the worst of the lot, however bad the others 
 may have been. It says much for the moral and physical 
 strength of such shopkeepers to see them still flourishing from 
 worse to worse : they really seem, like churchyard grass, to grow 
 fat and rank upon decay. You touchingly observe that present 
 profits do not pay for taking down the shutters. My good sir, 
 then why proceed in a ruinous expense ? In the name of 
 prudence, why not keep them continually up 1 
 
 You say you never press a gentleman. Why, in familiar 
 phrase, we never press a lemon ; but then we squeeze it most 
 inexorably. That men should go into bankruptcy, yet live and 
 laugh afterwards, is a great proof of the advancing philosophy of 
 our times. A Roman tailor, incapable of meeting his bill, would, 
 heathen-like, have fallen upon his own needle, or hung himself 
 in a bottom of whitey-brown. Now the English tradesman 
 suffers Christian hope to play about his goose, and, fresh from 
 Basinghall Street, dreams of golden eggs. 
 
 Whether your neighbour is right in attributing our present 
 
ON DESIRING TO ENTER THE ARMY. 113 
 
 social laxity to the Adelaide boot, is a matter I have no time to 
 consider. The speculation is curious ; nevertheless, rigidly to 
 follow up the subject would take us even beyond metaphysics. 
 
 You are quite right, Mr. Stitchington, as to the revolutionary 
 effects of the disuse of velvet and gold lace. It is not, I assure 
 you, my fault that they are not again the vogue. If permitted 
 I should be happy to have a dozen suits of you. Fine clothes 
 were a sort of gentleman-made-easy : as you profoundly observe, 
 they at once declared the man. Now, one has to work out the 
 gentleman by one's mode and manners at times, I assure you, 
 a very difficult labour. 
 
 I entirely agree with you as to the cause that has lowered 
 the consequence of Parliament the vile, plebeian outside ot 
 England's senators. I hold it almost impossible that a nobleman 
 can vote with a proper respect for his order unless in full court- 
 suit. There is a dangerous sympathy between common garments 
 and the common people. The Reform Bill had never been 
 carried if Lord Brougham had not worn tweed trousers. 
 Universal Suffrage will be carried if ever carried by Peers in 
 check shirts, and, as you pathetically remark, thirty-shilling 
 coats. I remain your obedient Servant, 
 
 Walter Le Doo. 
 
 PS. My humanity suggests this advice to you. Don't go to 
 any law expenses ; as your letter found me making up my 
 schedule. An odd coincidence ; I had just popped down your 
 name as the postman knocked. 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 FROM A YOUNG GENTLEMAN, DESIROUS OF ENTERING THE 
 ARMY, TO HIS GUARDIAN. 
 
 My dear Sir, In our last conversation, you more than hinted 
 at the necessity of my making choice of a profession. I have 
 again and again considered the important subject, and am at 
 length resolved. Yes ; I have made my election I will become 
 a soldier. I have looked about me, I trust dispassionately ; I 
 have weighed and counterweighed all other things with the 
 sword, and found them as nothing to the glorifying steel. Do 
 not believe, sir, that I am biassed in my judgment by the out- 
 ward show and ceremonious parade of military life ; no, sir, 
 
 I 
 
114 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 although I can well believe that they have a false influence on 
 the youthful mind, I nevertheless trust that I have too well 
 benefited by your philosophy to confound the noble profession of 
 arms with its holiday blazonry its review-day splendour. The 
 mere human clod may turn from the plough, beckoned by the 
 fluttering ribands of the recruiting-serjeant the clown's heart 
 may, to his astonishment, beat to the beating sheepskin, and so 
 beguile him into the ranks but, sir, I trust that education has 
 taught me a truer valuation of things, enabling me to consider 
 the profession of a soldier in its abstract glory, in its naked 
 loveliness. I look only at the wreath of Caesar, and care not for 
 the outward splendour of his legions. 
 
 Oh, sir, when I read the career of conquerors, I have a strange 
 belief that I was born to be a soldier ! I feel such a sympathising 
 throb of heart at the achievements of an Alexander, that all 
 other pursuits, save that of arms, seem to me poor, frivolous, 
 and unworthy of the highest dignity of human nature. To me, 
 soldiers appear the true lords of the earth ; and other men, how- 
 ever rich, but as mere greasy serfs creatures with their souls 
 dwelling darkly in money-bags. The game of war is a pastime 
 for gods, and man is sublimated by its exercise. And then death 
 death in the bed of glory with a whole country weeping over 
 our ashes ! Is not that a prospect, sir, to quicken the blood of 
 youth, and intoxicate the brain with the sweetest, the noblest 
 draughts of ambition 1 And then, sir, the laurel, flourishing in 
 everlasting green, and circling our memory for ever ! 
 
 Nevertheless, should you wish me to delay the purchase of a 
 commission for a few months, I trust you will permit me to visit 
 Germany this autumn to witness the reviews. It is said that 
 the troops expected to assemble will be the flower of the world. 
 I know not, too, how many thousands. What a sublime spectacle ! 
 In their different uniforms with their banners, their artillery, 
 and their leaders m,any of them with the history of the last 
 wars cut in. scars upon their bodies ! I do not think the world 
 can show a nobler sight. So superhuman in its power so awful 
 in its beauty ! 
 
 And now, sir, having freely communicated to you my desire to 
 enter the army, permit me to assure you that I shall devote my 
 entire soul to the study of my duties as a soldier. They have, I 
 know, their severity : but have they not also their rewarding 
 sweetness ? Yes, sir, for how delicious must it be the heat and 
 fury of the battle over to solace the wounded, to protect the 
 helpless ! In those moments the noblest emotions of our common 
 nature must be awakened ; they must repay the warrior for 
 toil, privation, suffering unutterable. Yes, sir to know that in 
 
ANSWER OF THE GUARDIAN. 115 
 
 such an hour we are lessening the anguish of a fellow-creature, 
 must for a time elevate us beyond the common impulses of poor 
 humanity. 
 
 Anxiously awaiting your reply and with it, as T fondly 
 believe, your consent 
 
 I remain, your affectionate ward, 
 
 Arthur Baytwig. 
 
 P.S. Do not think, my dear sir, that the opinions of a certain 
 young lady, who has always declared she would marry no one 
 but a soldier, have had the least influence upon my determination. 
 No, sir ; not the least, I assure you. 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 ANSWER OF THE GUARDIAN TO THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN. 
 
 My dear Arthur, I thought more highly of your discrimi- 
 nation. I believed that you knew me better than to make so 
 foolish a proposition. My opinions on war and its instruments 
 are, I know, not the opinions of the world ; it would save the 
 world I am vain enough to think much guilt, much misery, it* 
 they were so. 
 
 You, doubtless, believe your letter the result of an honest 
 enthusiasm ; and yet, to my fancy, it is nothing more than the 
 folly of a boy, who, unconscious of his prompter, writes with a 
 fiend dictating at his elbow. Yes, my boy, a fiend ; he is too 
 often busy among us one of the vilest and most mischievous 
 demons of all the brood of wickedness. To be sure, he visits 
 men not in his own name oh no ! he comes to them in the 
 finest clothes and under the prettiest alias. He is clothed in 
 gay colours has yards of gold trimming about him a fine 
 feather in his cap silken flags fluttering over him music at his 
 heels and his lying, swindling name is Glory. Strip the 
 thing so called, and how often will you find the abhorred naked- 
 ness of a demon 1 Be assured of it, fife and drum make the 
 devil's choicest music. He blows and beats for, being a devil, 
 he can do this at the same time and makes the destructive 
 passions of men twist and wriggle in the hearts of even peaceful 
 folk, and with the magic of his tattoo drives them on to mischief. 
 You know, people say I have strange, violent thoughts. Well I 
 
 I 2 
 
116 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 I think every sheep whose skin is turned into drum-parchment, 
 has been sacrificed not to the gods but devils. 
 
 You tell me that you are smitten with glory in the abstract 
 with its naked honour. Pooh ! like a poor-souled footman, you 
 are content to take the blows for the fineness of the livery. 
 
 You say, that when you read the history of conquerors, you 
 yearn to become a soldier. Well, I dispute it not ; there have 
 been men made soldiers by tyranny and wrong, whose memories 
 may, like the eternal stars, shine down upon us ; these men may 
 be envied. But I, too, have read the lives of conquerors ; and, 
 as I live, they no more tempted me to emulate them, than the 
 reading of the Newgate Calendar would make me yearn to turn 
 footpad or housebreaker. 
 
 At best, soldiers are the evils of the earth. The children of 
 human wrong, and human weakness. Understand me, I would 
 not have men ground arms, and, with quaker-like submission, 
 cry " friend " to the invader. Nevertheless, do not let us prank 
 up a dire necessity with all sorts of false ornament, and glorify 
 wholesale homicide. You say war is the pastime of gods. 
 Homer tells us as much. And pretty gods they were who 
 played at the sport ! In my time, I have known many men 
 who, for very humbly imitating them in some of their amuse- 
 ments, have died on the gallows or withered on board the hulks. 
 I trust the time will come when it will bring as great shame to 
 men to mimic Mars, as it now deals upon the other sex to imitate 
 Venus. 
 
 You talk glibly enough of the bed of glory. What is it ? A 
 battle-field, with thousands blaspheming in agony about you ! 
 Your last moments sweetened, it may be, with the thought that 
 somewhere on the field lies a bleeding piece of your handiwork a 
 poor wretch in the death-grasp of torture ! Truly, that is a bed 
 of greater glory which is surrounded by loving hearts by hands 
 uplifted in deep, yet cheerful prayer. There are thoughts too 
 it is my belief better, sweeter far than thoughts of recent 
 slaying, to help the struggling soul from out its tenement. 
 
 You talk, too, of the nation's tears ! In what museum does 
 the nation keep her pocket-handkerchiefs 1 Depend upon it, 
 nations that love to fight, are not the nations that love to weep. 
 I grant it ; many a fine, simple fellow, has died in the belief of 
 being wept over by his country, who has nevertheless been 
 shamefully defrauded of his dues. My dear boy, .never sell your 
 life for imaginary drops of water. And then you rave about 
 laurel an accursed plant of fire and blood. Count up all the 
 crowns of Csesar, and for the honest, healthful service of man, 
 are they worth one summer cabbage ? 
 
ON THE IMPRUDENCE OF MARRIAGE. 117 
 
 You would wish to see the German review you think it so 
 noble a sight ? Be assured, if you can teach your eyes to look 
 through the spectacles of truth, there cannot be a sadder, a more 
 rueful exhibition one reflecting more upon the true dignity of 
 human nature one more accusatory of the wisdom and goodness 
 of man than thousands of men dressed and harnessed, and 
 nicely schooled for the destruction of their fellow creatures. All 
 their finery, all their trappings, are to me but the gim-crackery 
 of the father of wickedness. In my time, I have seen thousands 
 of soldiers drawn up, with a bright sky shining above them ; and 
 I have thought them a foul mass a blot a shame upon the 
 beautiful earth an affront to the beneficence of Heaven ! But 
 then, I have odd thoughts strange opinions. 
 
 You say it will be sweet, the battle over, to solace the wounded. 
 My dear boy, it will be sweeter far not to begin the battle at all. 
 It may be very humane to apply the salve after you have dealt 
 the gash, but surely it would be better wisdom, truer humanity, 
 to inflict no hurt. And, in time, men will learn this truth ; they 
 are learning it ; and as I would not see you in a profession which 
 I trust is speedily becoming bankrupt, you will never, with my 
 consent, purchase into the army. 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 Benjamin Allpeace. 
 
 LETTEE XV. 
 
 FROM A MAIDEN AUNT TO A NIECE ON THE IMPRUDENCE OF 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 My dear Claribel, I should ill acquit myself of the duties 
 of an aunt should show myself wickedly ungrateful for the 
 goodness that has hitherto preserved me from the cares and 
 frivolities of the marriage-state were I to see you, my sister's 
 child, ready to throw yourself into a bottomless pit, and never so 
 much as scream to save you. It was only yesterday that Doctor 
 Prunes acquainted me with your headstrong passion for an 
 unworthy creature of a man. Although I had grouse for dinner 
 and you know how I love it ! I never ate so little ; and, in 
 the evening, revoked twice in only three rubbers. What with 
 the news of Doctor Prunes and the tooth-ache, I have scarcely 
 slept all night, and at breakfast, instead of buttered toast, 
 absolutely gave chicken to the parrot. May you, even at the 
 twelfth hour, prove worthy of all I suffer for you. 
 
118 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 You are only three-and-twenty, and yet, with a forwardness 
 that makes me blush for the true dignity of womanhood, you 
 already think of marriage ! I had hoped that my lessons of 
 morality would have taught you better things. I had nattered 
 myself that, strengthened by my principles, you would have risen 
 above the too common weakness that unites a woman to a 
 creature in every way inferior to herself, whatever the said 
 creatures, in the fulness of their impudence, may trumpet to the 
 contrary. I do not dispute that men may be necessary in the 
 world ; but, at the best, they are only necessary evils. It is thus 
 that every really sensible woman should consider them. In the 
 vulgar attribute of brutes mere muscular strength they are 
 certainly our superiors ; but how immeasurably beneath us are 
 they in all that constitutes true greatness in delicacy, liberality, 
 tenderness, friendship, fortitude, and taciturnity ! And, in their 
 hypocrisy, they confess as much ; for they call us angels 
 (though I am proud to say, no man ever so insulted my under- 
 standing) yes, angels, that they may make us slaves. How any 
 woman can read the marriage ceremony without having her eyes 
 opened to the real intentions of the creatures, is to me most 
 wonderful. Love, honour, and obey ! My blood burns to think 
 of it ! To the ears of a sensible woman every syllable rattles 
 like a dog-chain. 
 
 I did think that my own Claribel taught by my precept and 
 example would as soon have put her finger into a rat-trap as a 
 wedding-ring. I did believe that you would consider all the fine 
 things that men utter as nothing more than the false notes of a 
 bird-catcher ; mere sounds to bring our free minds " from the 
 heaven of high thoughts," as some poet says, and shut 'em up 
 in cages. How women can listen to a jargon of loves and doves, 
 is melancholy to think of. A woman of really strong mind 
 hates Cupids as she hates cockroaches. 
 
 Nevertheless, my dear, I can sympathise with human infirmity. 
 Everybody is not born to keep a heart of virgin ice that, pressed 
 as it may be, no pressing can melt. Still, there is nothing like a 
 diversion of thought to cure a hurt. It is wonderful how a 
 wound heals, if we never think of it. Therefore, return his 
 letters to the man who would ensnare you ; and, forgetful of the 
 cares and littlenesses of marriage, give up all your thoughts to 
 astronomy. It is a charming study, and presents a more en- 
 nobling field for the human mind than the small limits of wedlock. 
 How insignificant seems the wife, studious of the goings-out and 
 comings-in of a mere husband, compared to the nobler woman 
 who knows all about the Great and Little Bear ! How petty 
 the noblest house in the noblest square to the House of Jupiter 
 
THE NIECE'S ANSWER. 119 
 
 or Mars how perplexing the cares of children, to the lofty con- 
 templation of the Via Lactea (known, as Doctor Prunes says, to 
 the lower orders as the Milky Way) ; how insulting to the true 
 greatness of the female mind the smallness of the wedding-ring, 
 when the ring of Saturn may be all her own, with no incum- 
 brance of Saturn himself ! 
 
 Or if, Claribel, you want enthusiasm for the stars, why, is there 
 not geology 1 Properly considered, can there be a more delightful 
 employment for the female mind than to settle the ages of things 
 that vulgar souls care nothing about 1 Who would not turn 
 from the cries of a nursery to the elevating sounds of felspar and 
 quartz 1 What really great woman would study the mere heart 
 of a mere man, when she might discover fossil shrimps and 
 caterpillars in marble ? No. Woman will never assert her true 
 dignity till she can wisely choose between the two. 
 
 Then, after some ten or fifteen years for it is a study too 
 rashly submitted to the young botany may disclose its lovely 
 mysteries. How delightful, what true freedom for the human 
 soul, to be exempt from cares of husband and family, and to 
 know everything about the operations of pollen ! But I am 
 incautiously anticipating a subject reserved for your maturer 
 years. 
 
 Break, then, the chains with which mere tyrant man would 
 bind you, and defying the slavery of conjugal life live like 
 Diana, And your still affectionate Aunt, 
 
 LUCRETIA DrAGONMOUTH. 
 
 P.S. Is it true that the wife of Doctor Beetlebrow is really 
 dead ? I wouldn't utter a word against the departed ; I should 
 hope not, but is she really dead ? 
 
 LETTEB XVI. 
 
 THE NIECE S ANSWER. 
 
 My dear Aunt, How can I ever express my gratitude to 
 you, how repay the care with which you seek to gather me to 
 that sisterhood of which Lucretia Dragonmouth is the crowning 
 rose 1 Alas, madam ! I feel my unworthiness ! I should but 
 bring a scandal on the community by the frivolity of my words 
 and the earthliness of my desires. I have the greatest respect 
 for Diana, but feel it impossible to become lady's-maid to her. 
 
120 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WETTER. 
 
 Therefore, dear Aunt, you must even leave me to my headlong 
 fate ; and unbroken rest, heartier meals, and successful rubbers, 
 be your continual reward. 
 
 It would ill become my inexperience to dispute the sentence 
 you pass upon the other sex. Men are, doubtless, all you say 
 of them : therefore, forewarned by your opinion, I shall endea- 
 vour to support the necessary evil that may fall to my lot with 
 all the fortitude I may. As for the marriage ceremony, I have 
 read it again and again, and such is the hopeless perversity 01 
 my taste think it the loveliest composition ! To my ears, it 
 murmurs the very music of Paradise. 
 
 I feel the full force of what you say about astronomy. No 
 doubt, its study might relieve a wounded heart, but then as I 
 feel no wound that is not most delicious, why should I go to the 
 stars to get rid of it ? Yes, madam, I can forgive your talking 
 about the stars. You have never seen my Alfred's eyes ! No 
 doubt the Great and Little Bear have their attractions ; but you 
 never saw my Alfred's moustache ! 
 
 Geology, too, may be fascinating. It may be musical to talk 
 of felspar and quartz ; to seek for fossil bees that made honey 
 for the pre- Adamites ; but you never heard my Alfred sing Love 
 in thine eyes you never felt the pressure of his throbbing 
 hand ! 
 
 As for botany, I really feel its influence in a manner I never 
 felt before ; for I am just now called to choose my bridal wreath 
 of orange flowers, and must therefore abruptly conclude 
 
 Your affectionate Niece, 
 
 Claribel Matdew. 
 
 P.S. It is not true that Mrs. Beetlebrow is dead ; though 
 once she was given over by her physicians. Ah, my dear Aunt ! 
 how foolish it was of you thirty years ago to quarrel with the 
 dear doctor, and only as I've heard for trea ling on the toes 
 of a nasty little pug ! 
 
ON RENOUNCING THE BOTTLE. 121 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 
 FROM A GENTLEMAN TO HIS FRIEND, ENTREATING HIM TO 
 RENOUNCE THE BOTTLE. 
 
 My dear Peter, May I, by a friendship of thirty years' 
 growth, be permitted to address you on your faults, or, rather, 
 your fault 1 for it is so capacious that it swallows every other 
 error ; in the same way that boa constrictors gulp toads and 
 other unsightly creatures of smaller dimensions. May I venture 
 to remonstrate with you on well, it must be said your habitual 
 drunkenness 1 Alas ! my friend, to what a condition has this 
 folly, this wickedness reduced you ! This morning only, I saw 
 a full-grown cucumber in a bottle : there is nothing in the 
 object ; it is a common-place, to be seen in the windows of every 
 pickle-merchant : and yet did that imprisoned cucumber touch 
 my heart, and bring pathetic moisture into my eyes ; for by the 
 tyranny of association, it made me think of my forlorn friend. 
 Yes ; looking at that cucumber, trained to grow in its glass 
 prison, did I behold in it the hopeless condition of Peter Ruby- 
 gill ! There he is thought I there is Peter, and who shall 
 deliver him 1 And how, alas ! does that plethoric gourd fully 
 declare the story of my friend ! How, like him, was it insi- 
 nuated in its green youth a very sucker into the bottle's 
 throat ; and how, when there, was it made to grow and swell, 
 until far too large to be withdrawn, it possessed the whole of the 
 bottle, and was then cut off for ever from the vine that had 
 cherished it ! And is it not thus, Peter, with a doomed drunkard 1 
 Does he not- enter the bottle in the greenness of his days, and 
 though he may again and again escape from the thing that 
 threatens to inclose him, at length is it not impossible for him to 
 get away 1 Habit makes him swell, and there is no hope for 
 him ; cut off from the genial world, he has no other dwelling- 
 place than a bottle. Verily, Peter Rubygill, Bacchus like a- 
 pickle-merchant has his bottled cucumbers, and you are of 
 them ! 
 
 And yet, Peter, I would fain hope for you. In the name of 
 all that is great and beautiful in the world, why seal your eyes 
 to its grandeur and loveliness, why walk with your drowsy 
 brain in a fog, when, touched by the light of beauty, it might 
 answer the touch with most delicious music ? What, in truth, 
 
122 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 can you know of the bounty and magnificence showered about 
 you 1 No more than a silly fly, that, finding itself in the palace 
 of a king, sips and sips, and tumbles headlong into the first 
 syrup it may light upon. Have I not seen you leaden-eyed 
 clay-pated almost dumb with pain hammering at your temples 
 degraded by nausea tugging at your stomach your hand 
 shaking like a leaf your mouth like the mouth of an oven and 
 your tongue, I am sure of it, like burnt shoe-leather 1 And for 
 what, Peter Eubygill 1 For some six hours' madness the night 
 before 1 
 
 You were left a comfortable competence. Where is it now ? 
 Gone. The bottle is the devil's crucible, and melts all ! 
 
 You were tolerably good-looking. And now is your counte- 
 nance but as a tavern sign ; where numberless little imps 
 liberated by drawn corks continue to give a daily touch and 
 touch of red, proud of their work, as portrait-painters to the 
 devil himself. 
 
 There was a time when your word was true as gold. And 
 now, upon whom can you pass it ? From the mouth of a 
 drunkard, the most solemn promise is no better than the best- 
 made bad money : it may pass for a time, but is certain to be 
 nailed to the world's counter at last. 
 
 You had friends. But there is a mortal fever in the reputa- 
 tion of a drunkard, and sober men wisely avoid it. 
 
 You have a wife. Has she a husband 1 No. She vowed to 
 love a man, and you are a liquor-cask. Can you expect her 
 affection? You might as reasonably expect her wedding-ring 
 to hoop a wine-barrel. 
 
 You have children. Poor things ! They see a satyr sprawl 
 and reel before them ; and, in their innocence, blush not as yet 
 to call the creature father ! 
 
 But, my dear Peter, there is yet hope. Learn to love home. 
 Avoid the tavern. It is in the tavern-cellar that the devil draws 
 up his army array against the brains and good resolves of men 
 It is there that he reviews his legions of bottles, and prepares 
 them for the attack upon weak humanity. But, arm yourself, 
 Peter ; meet the assailants with cold water ; and, in the fight, 
 you shall have the earnest prayers of your old friend, 
 
 CORTDON ElVERS. 
 
THE ANSWER. 123 
 
 LETTEE XVIII. 
 
 THE ANSWER. 
 
 My dear Corydon, You talk of the beauty of the earth 
 you talk of the magnificence of the world ! Why, then, let 
 moles sing psalms to the moon, and that hermit in feathers, the 
 screech-owl, tune a ditty to the noonday sun. The bottle is the 
 true philosopher's microscope, and shows him worlds within 
 worlds that such as you, poor naked-eyed wretches, never had 
 the heart to dream of. 
 
 You say that you have seen me with my brain in a fog. Poor 
 ignorance ! After a night's say three nights' continual happi- 
 ness, you little know the bliss I walk in. You little think of 
 the genius within me, that turns your scoundrel streets of 
 London into the abodes of the blessed. "What see I there but 
 love and truest brotherhood? The very knockers wink and 
 laugh at me ; and roses and honeysuckles grow about every 
 lamp-post. There are, I know, weak, puling creatures, who talk 
 of headaches ; but these are milksop neophytes, not yet of the 
 true priesthood of our order. What if now and then I have a 
 twinge 1 Think you I accuse the bottle 1 I should be a villain 
 to do so. No : it's the d d east wind. 
 
 As for the fortune that was left me, it is true I have invested 
 it in the bottle ; and, oh ! what compound interest have I had 
 for my money ! Whilst you would count every rascal guinea, 
 and, after you had counted all, would break into a cold sweat to 
 think there was no more, /seated on my tavern-throne have 
 had wealth that would confound all arithmetic. All about 
 me has been glorious riches ! I have drunk out of hollowed 
 diamonds, and spat in gold-dust. 
 
 It is my darling faith that every bottle contains in it a pair of 
 beautiful wings, to lift poor man above the gutter-mud which 
 this sober world is made of. A pair of wings ! And I, like 
 Mercury, can't do without three pair. 
 
 I have somewhere read it at school ha ! Eivers, some- 
 times at the heel of the night I see you again in your green 
 jacket, and I sit and enjoy myself, and let the sweetest of tears 
 run down my nose well, never mind that I read it at old 
 Canetwig's that Jupiter fastened the earth to heaven with a 
 gold chain. All a flam, my dear boy ! It was no chain, but a 
 
12<i PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 splendid, a most magnificent line of linked bottles. The higher 
 you climb, the further you are from this vagabond world. 
 Pity, my dear fellow pity it is, that the road is so devilish 
 slippery ! 
 
 You say I had friends. Had ! I have millions. Ha ! my 
 good creature for you are good, I believe, sober and stupid as 
 you are, you don't know the philanthropy that a corkscrew lets 
 out upon me. I may have been ruffled ; may I be pardoned for 
 it, I may now and then have thought harshly of my poor erring 
 fellow creatures, when pop ! out comes the cork, and the 
 wine, as it bubbles forth, speaks pacifyingly, soothingly. Again 
 again ! The bottle cooes like any dove ; and I have not 
 listened to it above two or three hours, when I feel myself turned 
 into one large lump of human honey ! And then these two 
 hands of mine are multiplied ten million times, and I shake 
 hands with every man, woman, and child upon this beautiful 
 earth, my creditors included. 
 
 But all this, though much, is nothing to the wisdom the 
 knowledge that drink so subtly lets in upon poor, darkened 
 man. What is it ? You have studied these things ; but then 
 you have studied them with a dry, dusty throat ; and so, can 
 know no more of the true operations of the intellect glorious 
 intellect of majestic man, than a monkey knows of a steam- 
 engine. Well, what is it % I say, what is it ? Ha ! my dear 
 soul, if you had only two bottles of the stuff that is now shining 
 before me shining like a lion's eye you'd know all about it. 
 Then you'd know metaphysics that is, metaphysics assisted by 
 glorious wine here's a bumper to you, old cock ! God bless 
 your little green jacket ! metaphysics is this, as you'd know. 
 Every man has an angel within him. Lord love us ! and yet, 
 sometimes, we use one another as though we lodged nothing but 
 devils. Well, as I said, every man has an angel within him ; 
 and this angel poor thing ! you dull, sober, miserly fellows, 
 board in the most rascally way ; giving him nothing generous to 
 drink, or just wetting his lips, and there an end. And what's 
 the consequence 1 Why, he tells you nothing worth knowing 
 just casts up your accounts for you gives you a nudge when 
 stocks are going, or some small chandler matter of the kind ; 
 but, with a noble resentment of your shabbiness, he does nothing 
 more. What does he to me, who know how to treat him 1 I give 
 him bumper after bumper, and my brain feels him expanding 
 his wings (you, poor wretch ! don't know that he has wings) 
 yes, bumper after bumper, until, at last, my angel takes up his 
 golden fiddle, and plays me such a tune (I can feel him rosining 
 his bow at this minute,) such a tune, that as it sounds I catch 
 
FROM A COUNTRY ACTOR TO A LONDON MANAGER. 125 
 
 all sorts of wisdom ; thoughts like diamonds, bright and ever- 
 lasting ! 
 
 Ha ! ha ! he's playing now, and I drop the pen to listen, and 
 
 feel myself an emperor. 
 
 ***** 
 
 . My dear Cortdon, Don't mind the stuff I've 
 
 scrawled above for I've been mad this month past. I am just 
 arrested. You'll find me at , Chancery-lane. Come, come 
 for God's sake, bring fifty pounds, and you will everlastingly 
 oblige 
 
 Your wretched friend, 
 
 Peter Kubtgill. 
 
 LETTEE XIX. 
 
 
 FROM A COUNTRY ACTOR TO A LONDON MANAGER, FOR AN 
 ENGAGEMENT. 
 
 Dear Sir, It may probably have escaped your recollection, 
 
 that in the year , you did me the high honour to pay me a 
 
 very flattering compliment on my acting imperfect as it was 
 of Catesby. You then said, sir, and I have treasured the words 
 that should it be ever your destiny to manage a London 
 Theatre, you would be only too happy to make me one of your 
 little set. Yes, sir, little set were the words ! I am, indeed, sir, 
 most happy to find by the newspapers that that time has arrived. 
 It is a great day for the profession. Such an event has long 
 been wanted ; and at length Shakespear that really great 
 creature ! .-will have fair play done him. How happy, indeed, 
 shall I be, if permitted in the smallest degree to assist in that 
 national triumph ! 
 
 To return, sir, to the compliment you so kindly paid to my 
 Catesby. That, sir, was ten years ago, and but " on their own 
 merits- modest men are dumb" I flatter myself that an 
 unceasing attention to my profession, and more especially to the 
 advice you were pleased to give me, has made me not less worthy 
 of applause. You may forget that advice I never shall. The 
 Horatio had been arrested coming to the theatre, and I studied 
 the part from scene to scene. It was where Hamlet discovers 
 Ophelia's death, and falls upon Horatio's neck ! Pardon me ! but 
 can I ever forget the point the telling point you made there 1 
 Never ! It was then you said to me, " My good sir, I have been 
 
126 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 much pleased with your attention very much pleased you are 
 in the rough, very much in the rough at present ; in fact you 
 know nothing : but keep your eye on me do as I do exactly 
 as I do, and you can't be wrong." From that moment, sir, I 
 set you up as my model, and but friends are partial I have 
 been told that the resemblance between our styles of acting is 
 extraordinary. 
 
 You may possibly have forgotten me, and therefore will 
 excuse it, if I remind you that my figure is good, indeed much 
 improved since we met. My voice is powerful ; its intonation 
 I have been told like Kean's (of course I mean Edmund), 
 my face expressive, and capable of any sort of making up 
 and for my study, I can swallow anything. With all this, sir, 
 I shall be very happy to come in as one of the team. Yes, sir, 
 all I want is opportunity ; the chance of playing before a 
 London audience, quite convinced that the rest is in myself, and 
 must come out. 
 
 On the other side I forward a list of parts. I have gained 
 I may say it great reputation in the provinces in all of them. 
 The Stranger is a favourite bespeak part of mine and my 
 Claude Melnotte a great hit with all the boarding-schools. Some 
 critics have given the palm to my Macbeth, and some to my 
 Jonathan Bradford. If I may be allowed to have any opinion, I 
 think them both equally good in their way, though I need not 
 say to you, requiring different touches from the artist. Still, he 
 must be something of a painter who can use the delicate camel- 
 hair of that great creature Shakespear, and the four-pound 
 brush of the melodramatist. My sailors, too, have been accounted 
 remarkably good ; especially at the seaports. I have played 
 William in the Surrey trash of Black- Eyed Susan, in a way to 
 make T. P. Cooke shake in his shoe-buckles. I could say more, 
 but it is painful to speak of one's-self. I therefore take the 
 liberty of forwarding with this, a small book in which you will 
 find a great number of criticisms carefully pasted, from the first 
 provincial papers of the day. They have been preserved by my 
 wife ; for though not insensible of the power of the press, I 
 myself make it a point never to look into a newspaper. 
 
 Speaking of my wife, can you find a corner for her ? A clever 
 little chambermaid sings well and all that and a faultless 
 breeches figure. It is often difficult for a husband to speak of a 
 wife's merits, but sometimes it must be done. The acting of 
 Mrs. Wilkins is wonderfully natural. She has it born in her 
 what other actresses have too often to labour for. She has such 
 impulse ! The French actors have a better word for it 
 abandon yes, abandon is the word. Well, sir, other actresses 
 
THE MANAGER'S ANSWER. 127 
 
 may obtain this from art ; now Mrs. Wilkins is abandoned by 
 nature. 
 
 I have not spoken of salary, nor will I. On that point, sure 
 am I, we shall be unanimous. All I want is London gaslight, 
 for, indeed, I am tired of acting as I have too long acted, under a 
 bushel. In a word, sir, "I am a poor man who'd fain grow 
 richer," and hoping to be in your old and long-prized words 
 " one of your little set," I remain, yours truly, 
 
 BULCAZEM WTLKINS. 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 
 THE MANAGER'S ANSWER. 
 
 Sir, It has been my misfortune to play with so many 
 provincial Catesbys a part, by the way, singularly neglected in 
 all country theatres that, at the date you name, it is almost 
 impossible for me to have any recollection of your merits. I think, 
 however, you were then the sucking actor who entirely marred 
 my fifth act. I think Wilkins was the name. If you are, I am 
 glad to hear that you are improved ; though I would rather have 
 that fact certified by any other authority. If, however, you are 
 the Wilkins I mean, you have at least this consolation worse 
 you cannot be. It is quite true that I have entered on the 
 arduous task of management, and I cannot consent to make that 
 task more irksome by adding to my difficulties, on the strength 
 of a promise made I know not when where or to whom. I 
 am afraid that frequent acts of civility when playing in the 
 provinces have been sadly misinterpreted ; for you are at least 
 the twentieth applicant that has applied to me upon the 
 encouragement of some vague compliment meant for nothing 
 nothing, I assure you. 
 
 And now, sir, I will give you a small piece of valuable 
 counsel. You are an actor (at least you say so) ; well, never 
 promise what you will do when you become a manager. You 
 praise an author's piece, and regret that you have no power 
 to bring it out (if you had, ah ! how happy you should be !) 
 well, sir, you praise it and think you have done with it. It may 
 be, in ten or fifteen years' you become a manager, and back 
 comes the piece to you with your own commendatory letter, and 
 the pest of an author claiming the fulfilment of your implied 
 service. It might be difficult, but were my time to come over 
 again, I should in these matters endeavour to speak the truth. 
 
128 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 Never say what you'll do when you become a manager. It is 
 just like a Prince of Wales promising what he'll do when he 
 becomes Xing : flummery, sir polite flummery. 
 
 With your great natural qualifications of figure, face, and 
 voice, it would only distress me to see such fine advantages 
 thrown away upon mere utility, could I even offer you that and 
 anything beyond is entirely impossible. You are not a man for 
 the team ; no, but a racer that should start upon his own account. 
 There is, no doubt, a plate for you somewhere, though not at my 
 theatre. 
 
 Your list of parts is certainly very long. You seem to have 
 played in everything except one piece The Bashful Man. 
 
 I have not read the criticisms you sent, but I at once detected 
 the source of their eulogy tobacco and gin-and-water. Such 
 criticisms must be valuable, for they have every appearance of 
 having cost you a great deal. 
 
 Your praise of Mrs. Wilkins does honour to your feelings as a 
 man and a husband ; but the chambermaids are filled. 
 
 Your obedient servant, 
 
 Magnus Puff. 
 
 LETTEE XXI. 
 
 FROM A POOR RELATION. 
 
 My dear Cousin. Although so many years have passed since 
 we last met nay, since we last corresponded I feel that I 
 should do much wrong to the goodness of your heart, to the 
 truth and dignity of our early friendship, did I fail to write to 
 you in my present strait. Did I listen to the sarcasms of the 
 worldly and ungenerous, I should suffer in silence but my soul 
 revolts from their harsh, cold creed, that confounds prosperity 
 with selfishness, and makes a golden barrier between kin and 
 kin. I fear it may be too true that a profitable commerce with 
 the world is apt to change some men but there are others 
 whose lustre of soul nothing can dim. Let them possess the 
 diamonds of Golconda, and their minds would remain to them 
 priceless and unchangeable. 
 
 Though there has been silence between us, it has often 
 delighted me to learn in this obscure nook that you were still 
 increasing in worldly goods and in the respect of all men. I 
 have sent you no line, yet have I spiritually again and again 
 congratulated you on the happiness that a wise enjoyment of 
 
FROM A POOR RELATION. 129 
 
 wealth bestows on the enviable power of doing good to all 
 around you. For I remembered the candour and generosity of 
 your soul, and knew that riches would be only acceptable to you 
 as bestowing a power to assist your fellow-creatures ; that you 
 would consider gold, not as the familiar of avarice, but as the 
 beneficent charm of a fairy, by which you might profit and 
 delight your species. 
 
 There are foolish gossiping folks, whose pleasure it seems 
 to be to set friends against friends : people, whose happiness 
 (at least it would almost appear so) is to find or make a 
 flaw in the best of hearts. Had I listened to them, I should 
 have believed that you were desirous of forgetting all your 
 poorer kindred ; that you looked upon your good fortune as 
 giving you the best right to deny your own blood ; that, in 
 a word, being rich, you were no longer of the family that 
 you had, in fact,, been altogether new made by Plutus and 
 had no relationship whatever with the Eobinses. But how base, 
 how wicked would it have been in me, to believe in such a 
 scandal ! 
 
 " He has never written to any of you," these people would 
 say " depend upon it, he looks upon you all as a disgrace as 
 blots upon his finer fortune." But I knew too well that every 
 moment of your time was occupied that you had so many 
 demands upon your hours that folks living in the quiet of the 
 country have no thought of. " Again," I 've said, " if cousin 
 doesn't write to us, you must remember we never write to him." 
 To this they 've answered, " that was a different matter ; for as 
 you were the rich party, you ought to write first." A sort of 
 argument, I must say, I never could see the reason of; for 
 suppose you a thousand times richer than you are, what 
 difference should that make % Lord bless us ! as if your poor 
 father and my dear mother fond brother and sister as they 
 were would ever have thought about their children standing 
 on any ceremony with one another ! 
 
 You will, I know, be sorry to hear that I have had a great 
 loss for me, a very great one. The house of Flimsy and Straw 
 stopped payment last week, and the consequence is, that I am 
 at the present moment without a penny. Nevertheless, it isn't 
 so bad as it seems ; for they do say that the estate will pay some 
 day ten shillings and odd in the pound. But the worst of it is, 
 I am not able from this accident to meet two or three matters 
 which are fast pressing upon me ; and therefore in my difficulty 
 must beg your assistance. I would not do so, were I not certain 
 that it would even annoy you if I were to apply to anybody else. 
 I know your heart so well that you would never forgive me for 
 
130 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 hesitating. It would I am sure you would feel it so be an 
 affront to you as a friend and a kinsman. 
 
 How delightful then is it, on a stroke of ill-fortune like the 
 present, to know that we have a relative a flourishing, cordial 
 soul who looks upon himself as the steward of Providence ; 
 who is too happy to show his gratitude for prosperity, by shaking 
 some few crumbs from his sumptuous, loaded board to his poor 
 relations : who acknowledges the solemn claims of blood, not 
 alone with lip-acknowledgment, but with a sympathy that 
 elevates " him that gives and him that takes." 
 
 I will by the next post send you all particulars. 
 
 Your affectionate Cousin, 
 
 Edward Eobins. 
 
 ,ETTER XXII. 
 
 THE ANSWER. 
 
 Dear Cousin, You are quite right. Although so many 
 years have gone by since you have written, you, nevertheless, 
 only pay me my due, when you believe that I am by no means 
 forgetful of my father's relations. As for the sarcasms and ill- 
 words of people, I have too much faith in my own motives to 
 attend to them. You will always find idle too often, disre- 
 putable persons who make the high and the wealthy their 
 licensed game. It is enough to be rich, to be abused by them. 
 Philosophy, however, and my bank-book, have taught me to 
 despise them. Not that I am a jot altered from the time when 
 we were intimate ; certainly not nevertheless, the prejudices of 
 the world require a certain dignity of appearance that the vulgar 
 mistake for pride and ostentation. 
 
 I am pleased to find that, though we have not corresponded, 
 you have, nevertheless, not forgotten me. I assure you, many a 
 time, worried and oppressed by the toil of a commercial life, 
 I have, in thought, visited your beautiful little house (ha ! my 
 dear friend, if we only knew it, in such humility is true 
 happiness !) and have wished that I could change all the glitter 
 and ceremony of life for the simple, yet substantial happiness of 
 that homestead. You are quite right in believing that I consider 
 wealth as only an agent for the ease and felicity of those about 
 me that is, if I really had the wealth which the world, out of 
 its ignorance or waywardness, is pleased to credit me. 
 
 Forget my poorer kindred ? Impossible ! No man, who, by 
 
THE ANSWER. 131 
 
 the superiority of his talents and the energy of his character 
 made an advance in the world, was ever yet permitted to forget 
 them. They take too good care of that. It is true, my dear friend, 
 that you and I have not corresponded ; but you little know, how 
 frequently, and how very peculiarly, I have been made to 
 remember the existence of the Robinses. As for being new-made 
 by Plutus, I am sure they have believed in such a re-creation, for 
 they have again and again addressed me as one lump of gold 
 again and again would have been happy to change me among 
 them. 
 
 They who have maligned me by urging that I considered the 
 poverty of my relations as a disgrace, know little of my true 
 judgment. I have, it is true, been compelled to look upon it as 
 a great misfortune, inasmuch as I have too frequently felt its 
 influence. Your allusion to my father and your mother touches 
 me takes me back again to the days of my youth when I 
 thought the world was all that we read of in fairy books. Ha ! 
 my dear cousin, that was, indeed, a time ! Pity is it that so 
 sweet a dream should give way to so hard and cold a reality. 
 
 Your news about Flimsy and Straw affects me deeply. I 
 would have wished to keep the ill-tidings from you, but the 
 truth is, I fear that I shall be seriously compromised by their 
 failure. Very seriously, indeed. I have been engaged in a 
 mining speculation, in which but I will not distress you with 
 what I fear may be the result. Not that I have to dread any- 
 thing fatal certainly not ; nevertheless, I fear indeed, I am 
 sure, that I shall be so driven into a corner that my heart will 
 not be allowed to act as it could wish ; and therefore but you 
 must take courage, my dear friend, and not suffer yourself to be 
 dismayed by what may end in, comparatively, a trifle. 
 
 I know you think me rich very rich. Well, I am not 
 ungrateful. Notwithstanding, a man may be Croesus himself, 
 yet not have a shilling in his pocket. This may appear strange 
 to you ; but nevertheless, men with large floating capital but 
 you must understand I hav'n't at this present moment a shilling 
 that I can fairly lay my hands upon. 
 
 Otherwise, as a friend, as a relative, it would have given 
 me the greatest pleasure to see you through this little difficulty. 
 I am not insensible of family ties I should hope not : but 
 what are family ties with money at its present price in the 
 market 1 Nevertheless, let your motto be, Nil desperandtim, 
 and believe me, 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 Joseph Goodenough. 
 
132 PUNCH'S COMPLETE BETTER WRITER. 
 
 LETTER XXIII. 
 
 FROM A WIDOWER TO A WIDOW, WITH AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE. 
 
 My dear Madam, Your kind looks and cordial words have 
 accompanied me all the way home, and the truth is, I write 
 this before going to bed ; I shall sleep the more soundly for 
 having the matter off my mind. It is true, we have met but 
 once ; but we are both of us at that rational point of life, when 
 people know the most value of time ; and as all ceremony is but 
 an idle waste of existence, I beg herewith to offer you my hand, 
 and, with it, though I have been married before, an entire heart. 
 There are hearts, madam, allow me to say, all the better for 
 keeping ; they become mellower, and more worth a woman's 
 acceptance than the crude, unripe things, too frequently gathered 
 as children gather green fruit to the discomfort of those who 
 obtain them. I have been married to one wife, and know 
 enough of the happiness of wedlock to wish it to be continued in 
 another. The best compliment I can pay to the dear creature 
 now in heaven, is to seek another dear creature here on earth. 
 She was a woman of admirable judgment : and her portrait 
 it hangs over my chimney-piece smiles down upon me as I 
 write. She seems to know my thoughts, and to approve of 
 them. I said, madam, she was a woman of excellent judgment. 
 
 My means are tolerably good ; more than sufficient for my 
 widowed state. Of the truth of this, your solicitor shall have 
 the most satisfactory proof. I have also heard casually heard 
 that fortune has not, my dear madam, been blind to your 
 deserts, and has awarded you more than enough to keep the 
 wolf from the door. I rejoice at this ; for whatever might be my 
 disappointment, I would not entail upon you the inconvenience 
 of marriage unaccompanied by an agreeable competence. What 
 is enough for one it has been said is enough for two. But this 
 is the ignorance of Cupid, who never could learn figures. Now 
 Hymen as you must know, dear madam is a better arithme- 
 tician ; taught as he is by butcher and baker. Love in a cottage 
 is pretty enough for girls and boys ; but men and women like a 
 larger mansion, with coach-house and stabling. 
 
 You may urge against me, that I have incumbrances. By no 
 means. My daughter having married a beggar, has ceased to 
 have any natural claim upon me. If I am civil to her, it is solely 
 from a certain weakness of heart that I cannot wholly conquer ; 
 
A WIDOWER TO A WIDOW, OFFERING MARRIAGE. 133 
 
 and something too, moreover, to keep up appearances with a 
 meddling world. I have told her that she is never to expect a 
 farthing from me, and I should despise myself not to be a man of 
 my word. 
 
 I have, too, a son ; but when I tell you that I have once paid 
 his debts, incurred in his wild minority, you will allow that, 
 except my blessing, and, at times, my paternal advice, he can 
 expect nothing more. I know the duties of a father, and will 
 never satisfy the cravings of a profligate. Nevertheless, he is my 
 own son ; and whatever may be his need, my blessing and my 
 counsel he shall never want. 
 
 My health, madam, has ever been excellent. I have worn like 
 rock. I have heard of such things as nerves, but believe it my 
 fate to have been born without any such weaknesses. I speak 
 thus plainly of essentials, as you and I, madam, are now too wise 
 to think consumption pretty to tie ourselves to ill-health, 
 believing it vastly interesting. I can ride forty miles a day, and 
 take a hedge with any fellow of five-and-twenty. I say, I speak 
 of these things, that you may know me as I am. Moreover, I 
 assure you I eat with my own teeth, and grow my own hair. 
 Besides this, I am only two-and-fifty. 
 
 What do you say, madam 1 As for vices, as I am an honest 
 man, I do not think I can lay any to my charge. I may have 
 my human weaknesses such, indeed, as I have touched upon 
 above ; but, madam, it has ever been my study through life to 
 be respectable. I have the handsomest pew in the church, and 
 don't owe any man a shilling. 
 
 Well, my dear madam, it is getting late, and I must conclude. 
 I hate to be out of bed after eleven it is now past twelve. 
 Hence, you must perceive how very much I am interested in 
 this business. In another ten minutes I shall be asleep, and 
 dreaming of you. May I wake to find my dream for I know 
 what it will be a reality ! 
 
 If our solicitors are mutually satisfied, will you name the day t 
 I am superstitious about days say, then, say Thursday week, 
 and believe me your devoted lover, till death, 
 
 Nicholas Blackthorn. 
 
 P.S. May I see you to-morrow ] 
 
134 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 LETTER XXIY. 
 
 THE WIDOW S ANSWER. 
 
 Sir, Your favour of last night has, I own, surprised me. 
 What ! after one meeting, and that at a card-party, to make 
 such an offer ! Well to be sure, you men are strange creatures ! 
 What, indeed, could you have seen in my conduct to think I 
 could look over such boldness 1 
 
 As for the rational point of life you speak of, I must confess I 
 know not when that exactly occurs ; do you think it at least 
 with women at two-and-thirty ; or if not, may I beg to know 
 what age you consider me 1 Perhaps, though, my early and 
 irreparable loss may have brought a look of premature age upon 
 me. It is very possible for what a man he was ! 
 
 As for what you say about hearts, sir, I know but little ; I 
 only know the one I have lost. If I did pluck it green, like 
 the winter apples in my store-room, it grew riper and riper in 
 my care. 
 
 You say your wife's portrait smiled while you wrote. His 
 dear miniature is now before me. I think I see the tears 
 starting through the ivory as I look upon the precious features. 
 If he ever could have frowned, surely he would frown now to 
 think but I will not pursue the theme. 
 
 As to your means, sir, I am happy to hear they are sufficient. 
 Although I can by no possibility have an interest in them, never- 
 theless I myself too well know the blessings of competence not 
 to congratulate you. True it is I know but little of the ways of 
 money ; but am blessed in my solicitors, Messrs. Grip and Nip, 
 No. , Furnival's-inn. 
 
 You speak of your incumbrances ; my husband dying, left me 
 without a single one. That your daughter should have forgotten 
 her duty, is an affliction. I am glad, however, to find that you 
 know the true source of consolation, and refuse to lend yourself 
 to her improvidence. Truly, indeed, do you say it is a meddling 
 world. 1 have found it so ; as some of my lamented husband's 
 poor relations will answer for me. However, as I could not 
 endure the sight of anything that reminded me of my dear lost 
 treasure, I have left them for ever in Cornwall. It is now some 
 months since they have ceased to distress me. 
 
 Your son may mend. If you will allow me as a stranger to 
 
THE WIDOW'S ANSWER. 135 
 
 speak, I think you should still act with tenderness towards him. 
 How very little would pay his passage to Australia ! 
 
 Health is, indeed, a treasure. I know it. Had I not had the 
 robustness pardon the word ! of a mountain nymph, I had 
 never survived the dreadful shock that cruel death has inflicted 
 on me. As it was, it struck me down. But, as the poet says, 
 " the bulrush rises when the oak goes crash." 
 
 You are partial to hunting? It is a noble recreation. My 
 departed lamb followed the hounds, and, as sportsmen say, would 
 ride at anything. He once broke his collar-bone ; but, with good 
 nursing, we put him in the saddle again in a month. Ha ! you 
 should have seen him in his scarlet coat ! 
 
 In this fleeting life, how small and vain are personal gifts 
 compared to the treasures of the mind ! Still, if there is any- 
 thing I admire, it is fine teeth. A wig, at least in a man, is 
 detestable. 
 
 You say you are two-and-fifty. Well, I must say, you don't 
 look that age. 
 
 You speak plainly of vices and say you have none. It would 
 be ill manners in me, on so short I may say, so very trivial 
 an acquaintance, to doubt you. Besides, it has been my faith 
 and what I have lost by it, I hav'n't time to tell to think well 
 of everybody. Weaknesses we all have. One of mine is, a love 
 of a pew. We think but very little of religion, when we forget 
 proper hassocks. 
 
 I have, however, delayed you too long ; and indeed, except for 
 politeness' sake, know not why I should have written at all. 
 
 I therefore remain, 
 
 Your obedient Servant, 
 
 BlTTH DOUBLEKNOT. 
 
 P.S. I shall be out all day to-morrow. At present I say at 
 present I know of no engagement for the next day ; no, not 
 next day the day after ; for / hate a Thursday. 
 
 
136 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 LETTEB XXV. 
 
 FROM A CLERGYMAN TO A CHURCHWARDEN, ECCENTRIC IN 
 HIS ACCOUNTS. 
 
 Dear Sir, It is now two years since the horrors of fiscal 
 war broke out in our once peaceful parish of Wholehog-cum- 
 Applesauce. For two years, sir, have the affrighted parishioners 
 had their souls and pockets torn by thoughts of mammon for 
 two years have they nightly fallen to sleep to groan and writhe 
 beneath a nightmare sitting on their breasts in the horrid shape 
 of a Churchwarden, grinning and hugging in his arms an iron- 
 clasped account-book ! Neither sex nor age have escaped the 
 evil influence of the time : old women wax older when they talk 
 of Churchwarden Gripps ; and the faces of little children be- 
 come sharp and thin as sixpences when they stammer out his 
 name. True it is, the parishioners have put you in the cage of 
 Chancery ; nevertheless, with a magnanimous philosophy, you do 
 nothing but make mouths at them through the bars ! 
 
 Dear sir, pause consider. Have you not done enough for 
 history ? Is it possible, think you, that the fame such as it is 
 of Churchwarden Gripps can die whilst the parish of Whole- 
 hog-cum-Applesauce shall endure 1 Will not its annals preserve 
 until the latest day a thousand memoranda of the peculiar 
 reputation of Gripps ? Whilst arithmetic shall remain to man, 
 can they ever be forgotten 1 Why, then, be thus gluttonous of 
 glory ? Why crave for more renown, when some folks vow it is 
 impossible for you to stand upright with the load already on 
 your shoulders ? 
 
 Dear Churchwarden, consider the danger of your present 
 condition. For years and years have you borne the bag of 
 Wholehog- cum- Applesauce. You have been the depository of 
 the hopes of the parish ; and if as with a golden tongue you 
 have declared it the people owe you moneys, blush not, but take 
 the balance. Let your mystic books be opened ; call in Pundits 
 for the work, and let the Cabala of Wholehog-cum- Applesauce 
 be revealed to the vulgar. Then, how joyfully will your debtors 
 pay their dues to the Churchwarden ; while, on the other hand, 
 if you should have slumbered in error for even Churchwardens 
 are men with what serene delight will you pen a cheque upon 
 the fortunate banker who holds in trust the hoard of Gripps ! 
 
 Dear sir, you have been abused sorely abused. You say it 
 
A CLERGYMAN TO A CHURCHWARDEN. 137 
 
 all the world know it. Unhappily, it is the infirmity of men to 
 throw anything but crowns of flowers upon him they deem then- 
 debtor ; and true it is, you do not walk in the odour of roses. 
 It was one of the thousand fallacies by which the Eomans 
 hectored it over the world, that " money has no smell." Never 
 believe it, dear Gripps. There is some money that will turn the 
 sweetest Christian into a human pole-cat. 
 
 Consider what a plight are we all brought into by these 
 pestilent accounts. Enter the Church of Wholehog-cum- Apple- 
 sauce survey its wants take some leisure solemn half-hour, 
 and pace up and down its aisles ! Tears will trickle down your 
 nose, and your noble heart will lie melting in your breast like 
 green fat in the platter of an alderman. You will weep, sir 
 I am sure of it you will weep, and your trembling and repentant 
 hand will, with awakened instinct, unbutton for once your 
 breeches' pocket. 
 
 Give ear to the sorrows of the people of the church. Myself, 
 sir, its unworthy minister, would be very happy to hand you a 
 receipt for arrears of salary. You are my debtor ; but I pass 
 my own claim, and implore for others. 
 
 Our organist, sir our tuneful musician lacks payment of 
 some five quarters. Every touch of his subtle fingers has been 
 for fifteen months a touch upon credit. Can you think of this, 
 sir, and surrender up your Sabbath heart to the solemnity of 
 pealing fugues 1 Alas, sir ! with these teasing accounts upon 
 your mind, does not some evil genius strike all religious harmony 
 from out the music does it not to your ear profanely change 
 the hundredth psalm into the worldly discord of The Miser thus 
 a Shilling sees ? And then our church bells that should call 
 like comforting angels to your Sabbath soul alas, sir, and alas ! 
 what do you hear in them ? Nothing, but three horrid, 
 clanging notes s. d., s. d., s. d. ? 
 
 Our sexton, sir poor, patient creature ! for a year and a half 
 he has not known the sweets of income. Consider it, dear sir, 
 consider it ; a day must come, when you will need his service. 
 Therefore, that you may meet that day with Christian peace, 
 ponder on the troubles of Wholehog-cum- Applesauce allay the 
 tumults pay arrears cure all heart-burnings make straight 
 your accounts, and believe me, 
 
 Your earnest well-wisher, 
 
 Gilead Balm. 
 
J 38 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 LETTER XXVI. 
 
 THE CHURCHWARDEN'S ANSWER. 
 
 Sir, As I consider your letter a very great impertinence, you 
 will take any answer to it as, upon my part, a remarkable 
 condescension. I had made up my mind to go out of the world 
 without ever deigning to write or speak again of the accounts o! 
 Wholehog-cum -Applesauce. I feel that they ought to be beneath 
 my notice : but so it is throughout the whole of this fiscal war, 
 as you are pleased to call the present atheistic revolution of the 
 parish I have been overflowing with a courtesy, a gentleness, 
 that has only increased the audacity of my slanderers. I have 
 been meek and unresisting, and so T have been trampled upon. 
 But, sir, a worm will turn, and, by consequence, so will the 
 Churchwarden of Wholehog-cum- Applesauce ! 
 
 The parishioners have certainly put me into Chancery. What 
 of it 1 The people at the Zoological Gardens have put a brown 
 bear into a pit ; and the fine fellow still climbs to the top of his 
 pole, and squatting there, looks with surly contempt upon the 
 poor creatures who, whatever they may say of him, dare not 
 come to close quarters. Take your answer out of that, sir. 
 
 I have law upon my side law, sir, which I should hope is 
 stronger than an} 7- arithmetic you may please to talk of. I am 
 Churchwarden of Wholehog-cum- Applesauce for life : for there 
 is a divine right of churchwardens as well as of kings. As 
 a scholar and a man of some sense, you ought to know that I 
 was born for the office. At all events, come what may, I intend 
 to die in it. 
 
 You ask me to throw open my books to the vulgar eyes of the 
 whole world ! What next ! No, sir, it is enough for me to 
 know that the parish is in my debt ; and if I do not arrest every 
 man, woman, and child in it for the arrears, I only show a 
 considerateness and a humanity for which myself to myself has 
 always been distinguished. 
 
 I know nothing about the Romans, and want to know nothing. 
 They were, I believe, a set of heathens, who never knew the 
 blessings of a Churchwarden. I believe, however, with you, that 
 money has a smell, and a sweet smell too, or how, as a man of 
 wealth, should I still be hugged and caressed by so many friends 
 in the City 1 
 
 You invite me to take a turn in your church. No, sir ; until 
 
FROM A LADY IN WANT OF A GOVERNESS. 139 
 
 the brawls which now disturb it shall have ceased, I will never 
 enter it. I shall perform my devotions in a place where parish- 
 ioners are obedient, and churchwardens are respected. 
 
 As for your claim, sir, I wonder at the hardihood with which 
 you make it, when you consider the heavy balance there is 
 between the parish and myself. Decency should have taught 
 you better. 
 
 As for the organist, I very much doubt whether a parish that 
 is in debt should encourage such a luxury. I know that / should 
 never think of spending my money on music whilst I owed money 
 to a living soul. 
 
 Your sexton, too, has claims for wages. Poor man ! I am 
 sorry very sorry for him ; but as I have made up my mind to 
 have a public funeral in either Westminster Abbey or Saint 
 Paul's, I shall of course be under no obligations to the sexton of 
 Wholehog-cum- Applesauce. 
 
 And now, sir, to conclude : You have, among you, placed me 
 in Chancery. There I shall remain, and take the cast of the dice. 
 What ! do you think I would call in accountants and so end the 
 matter 1 I should think not. You know not how sweet to me 
 is the hubbub I have made. When folks can't afford real turtle, 
 they make themselves as comfortable as possible with mock : for 
 callipee and callipash they content themselves with plain calf 's- 
 head. In like way with other men, if they are not able to make a 
 high reputation, they will at least, by hook or by crook, lay hold of 
 notoriety. Now, reputation to notoriety is what real turtle is to 
 mock. If I am contented with the humbler dish with the 
 mere calf s-head I best show my humility, and at the same time 
 remain, Your obedient humble servant, 
 
 Ebenezer Gripps. 
 
 LETTER XXVII. 
 
 FROM A LADY IN WANT OF A GOVERNESS, TO AN ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 Dear Madam, We are again in tribulation ; for Miss Sinclair, 
 the young person whose harp-playing you were pleased to 
 admire, has left us left us, too, in the most shameful and 
 ungrateful manner, before we could provide another teacher for 
 the dear children. Oh, these governesses ! I am told there is 
 some clever gentleman who has invented an arithmetical machine 
 that will calculate any sum to a fraction. What a blessing 
 would that man bestow upon really good society who should 
 
140 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 invent an instrument for teaching ! I am sure, in these days, 
 the thing might be done, and would pay admirably ; for how 
 much annoyance would be spared us how much impertinence 
 that we are daily exposed to from a class of individuals who can 
 have no standing in society, and are nevertheless continually at 
 one's elbow ! The cook, the housemaid, the lady's-maid, all 
 know their place, and behave themselves accordingly : but there 
 is no teaching a governess that she is nothing more than a 
 servant ; a person hired for wages to polish the minds of your 
 children, just in the same manner as Molly polishes your 
 rosewood and mahogany and to be as careful of their morals as 
 if, like the housekeeper, she was entrusted with so much precious 
 china. Your maid dresses your hair with due humility, and 
 takes your little bits of ill-temper with proper resignation ; she 
 knows these things are considered in her wages, and thus she 
 may be an ornament to the sphere to which it has pleased 
 Heaven to call her. But governesses ! they are continually 
 flying in the face of Providence. There is, too, an impertinence 
 in their very meekness ; at times, an insult in their silence. 
 They move about you with the air of injured beings an air 
 that says to your very face " "We, too, are ladies, though you 
 can't believe it." Ladies ! as if the person who takes a salary 
 is not, to all intents and purposes, a servant at best, a better 
 sort of menial servant. 
 
 To return to that person Sinclair. I never liked her from the 
 first ; but as I heard that she had an old father to provide for 
 the man was, I believe, in gaol at the time I suffered my charity 
 to cover a multitude of her faults, and received her, as she was 
 afterwards pleased to call it, into my family, into one of my 
 back bed-rooms would have been a more respectful phrase. 
 Well, she would always be reading, when she ought to have 
 talked to and amused the dear children. It was only yesterday 
 that she repeated the fault. She had been out three or four 
 hours walking, and I found her again reading a book, whilst the 
 dear things were moped to death for something to enliven them. 
 My indignation was roused, and I asked her if she thought she 
 was acting honestly by her employer 1 She looked up at me 
 her face turned blood-red her lips quivered with some imperti- 
 nent reply, I am certain, by their motion and then dropping 
 the book, she burst into tears. Governesses, my dear Madam, 
 always can. But I have not told you all. What book, think 
 you, was it 1 A Christmas Carol. I have never read the thing ; 
 but knowing it to be aimed at the best interests of good society, 
 all the feelings of a mother rushed upon me, and I believe I did 
 read her a pretty lesson. You hav'n't heard all. Whilst I was 
 
FROM A LADY IN WANT OF A GOVERNESS. 141 
 
 reproaching her for her ingratitude, her baseness in bringing 
 such books into my family, and saying something, I forget 
 exactly what, about a viper I had warmed she sprang from the 
 chair like a play-house queen, and in a voice as searching as an 
 east wind told me that she would leave my house that instant ! 
 Her impudence for I knew she must go to starvation fairly 
 took away my breath. Well, it isn't all told. She multi- 
 plied her insults, for with her wet, streaming face, she caught 
 little Emmeline about the neck, and kissing her violently, cried 
 ft God bless the children ! " I trust I am not unforgiving ; no : 
 but there was an emphasis upon " the children " that nothing 
 would ever make me pardon. It was a refinement of abuse that 
 made me quiver again. However, I had my satisfaction of my 
 lady ; for I would not suffer a servant to stir no, I made her 
 call a hackney-coach herself to take her boxes ; though after 
 the sort of book I caught her with, I certainly ought to have 
 well rummaged them before they left the house. 
 
 Can you recommend me another governess for although I 
 have been but a day unprovided, I feel worn to death by the 
 children 1 What's worse but then she's only a child Emme- 
 line has been crying all day about the creature, and moreover 
 says she loves her. The principles she might have instilled into 
 the dear babe's mind, I shudder to think of ! However, we are 
 happily rid of her. If you can recommend me a really useful, 
 well-behaved person you know the kind of individual I want 
 you will confer a favour on 
 
 Your's obliged, 
 
 Honoria Asphalt. 
 
 P. S. I hav'n't told you all my troubles. We are about to 
 lose our treasure of a cook. Sir John and he have had some 
 words about the soup the man feels his reputation wounded, 
 and has resigned. I have myself tried to pacify him, but as yet 
 without success. I have scolded Sir John well for his indis- 
 cretion towards so valuable a chef. I am, however, going out, 
 and shall see if a nice diamond ring will restore peace ; if so, 
 fifty or seventy pounds will be well bestowed. 
 
142 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 LETTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE ANSWER. 
 
 Dear Madam, Whilst I sympathise with you, I must also 
 use the privilege of a friend, and admonish. The truth is and, 
 though truth, like medicine, is generally unpleasant, it must 
 nevertheless, like medicine, be sometimes administered the 
 truth is, you spoil all your governesses. You do, indeed. 
 I, who have had a large experience of that sort of people, know 
 it. Only a week ago, I saw Sinclair in the Park, talking with 
 another governess. As your friend, I took the liberty of asking 
 her who she was ? She replied I thought very boldly an old 
 schoolfellow. Upon which I told her you would be very angry 
 if you knew of the indiscretion. That, as a governess, she had 
 no longer anything to do with schoolfellows, and should speak to 
 nobody but to the young ladies. That it was her duty, as a 
 young woman of principle and I dwelt, as you know I can 
 dwell, upon the word upon principle, to cut herself off from the 
 rest of the world, and study nobody but you and the dear 
 children. My idea of a good governess, I observed, is, that she 
 should be a sort of nun engaged upon wages ; a person vowed to 
 humility, gentleness, and resignation, for so much salary. That 
 she should mix in the world as though she were no part of it 
 self-removed from its pleasures and its sympathies ; in fact, as a 
 sort of machine ordained by Providence to await the behests of 
 those ordained above her. Upon this, she dropt her eyelids, 
 I thought, very insolently, and, with a smile not to be mistaken, 
 turned away. Never, my dear madam, let your governess talk 
 with another governess. Depend upon it, their conversation is 
 always about their employers ; and such is the ungrateful spirit 
 of the people, I fear me always to their detriment. Besides, 
 I have known the scarlet fever brought into a house by such a 
 practice. 
 
 You will also pardon me, when I tell you that you are not 
 sufficiently discreet as to the age of your governesses. Morris, I 
 remember, who preceded Sinclair, must at least have been 
 seven-and-thirty ; whilst Sinclair cannot have been more than 
 one-and-twenty. Now, a governess should never be chosen 
 younger than five-and-twenty, or older than five-and-thirty. The 
 intermediate time may be called the prime of governess-life. 
 If you get them younger, their heads are full of most 
 
THE ANSWER. 143 
 
 preposterous notions about affections, and sympathies, and what 
 they call yearnings for home. Like unweaned lambs, they are 
 always bleating and unsatisfied. At five-and-twenty, the 
 governess-mind knows better what is due to itself and employer, 
 and with a strong hand plucks up such weaknesses as unprofit- 
 able weeds ; at least," if it doesn't, it ought. After five-and- 
 thirty, the governess gets slow and prosy, and her heaviness 
 may dangerously infect the light-heartedness of the dear 
 children therefore, she is not to be thought of an hour longer. 
 Immediately supply her place with a junior teacher, as you value 
 the morals and accomplishments of your beloved family. 
 
 If, in the course of ten years, with a salary of, let us say, 
 twenty pounds a-year, out of which she has only to buy clothes 
 fit to keep company with the children, the governess has not. 
 saved a sufficiency for her declining age it is but too painful to 
 know that she must have been a very profuse, improvident 
 person. And yet, I fear me, there are lamentable instances of 
 such indiscretion. I myself, at this moment, know a spendthrift 
 creature who, as I have heard, in her prime that is, for the 
 ten years lived in one family. Two of her pupils are now 
 countesses. Well, she had saved next to nothing, and when 
 discharged, she sank lower and lower as a daily governess, and 
 at length absolutely taught French, Italian, and the harp, to the 
 daughters of small tradesmen, at eighteen-pence a lesson. In 
 time, she of course got too old for this. She now lives somewhere 
 at Camberwell, and, though sand-blind, keeps a sixpenny school 
 for little boys and girls of the lower orders. With this, and the 
 profits on her cakes, she contrives to eke out a miserable 
 existence a sad example, if they would only be warned, to 
 improvident governesses. 
 
 I am now called away, and am therefore unable to answer 
 your letter to the full. However, you shall have another epistle 
 on the subject to-morrow. 
 
 Your's always, 
 
 Dorothea Flint. 
 
 
144 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 LETTEE XXIX. 
 
 FROM THE HON. MRS. FLINT TO LADY HONORIA ASPHALT, 
 ON THE CHOICE OF A GOVERNESS. 
 
 Dear Madam, I resume my pen to finish my subject ; and 
 as I have had considerably more experience than yourself in the 
 article of governesses, I will briefly tell you how /have always 
 dealt with these people. You will then be able to contrast my 
 practice with your own. Like myself when a very young 
 mother, you have been too considerate too yielding. Firmness, 
 dear madam, firmness is the first essential young governesses 
 are as difficult to break as young horses ; but it is to be done. 
 
 I told you that I always had my suspicions of Sinclair's 
 German I am sure it was not the true Saxon. Now I have 
 never engaged a governess unless she had acquired French, 
 German, and Italian, in their separate countries. Nothing like 
 studying a language on its proper soil, otherwise the accent of 
 the children becomes irretrievably ruined. It was only last 
 week that my dear friend, Lady Dinah Grosbeak, called me in 
 to examine a candidate for the place of daily governess. The 
 creature had certainly learned French in Paris, but she knew no 
 more of Florence or Dresden than the city giants. She played 
 the piano remarkably well, and brought excellent testimonials to 
 her knowledge of thorough-bass. She sang, too, very nicely 
 and if the water-colour paintings she produced were really her 
 own they were for I always like to do justice to everybody 
 very pretty. However, with all her accomplishments, humility 
 was not among them, for what do you think she asked of Lady 
 Dinah to attend only her three children as daily governess ? 
 Positively, thirty pounds a year, and by way of climax her 
 dinner ! 
 
 However, to proceed with my own experience. Knowing the 
 artifice of governesses feeling assured that it is necessary to be 
 quite alive to their whims and caprices, I always made it a 
 principle to deduct their salary for any week or even day of 
 illness. Bless you, madam, without this precaution, there is no 
 knowing what one might lose in sham fevers and surreptitious 
 headaches. Let your governess be aware of your inflexibility on 
 this point, and be assured she is never ill ; or if she is, it is all 
 the same, you never hear of it. Again : I never allowed a bell 
 in the bed-room of a governess otherwise, the poor servants 
 
ON THE CHOICE OF A GOVERNESS. 146 
 
 would, I knew, be continually rung up and down. No ; if the 
 governess wanted anything, she could certainly somehow get it, 
 without raising the house for it. On one occasion, too, when we 
 left town leaving some of the children at home I gave to the 
 governess a proper dietary ; a certain seal (^ of food which it was 
 - my order was not to be departed from. A% 1 had to pay for the 
 meat, bread, butter, milk, &c, to be consumed, I was of course 
 the only fitting judge of the quantity that is, for a governess. 
 
 There are, however, occasions when appearances may justify 
 a little extra outlay on a governess. For instance, when my 
 dear father died ah, madam ! if ever there was a true Chris- 
 tian, he was one I made my person a present of a dress and 
 bonnet. In fact, I had three dresses, for my maid, the nurse, and 
 governess, all alike. A little liberality of this sort towards our 
 fellow-creatures is, after all, not lost in this world, and can do us 
 no harm in the next. 
 
 Whenever it was necessary that my governess should join any 
 of my little social parties, I, of course, never introduced her. 
 No it was perfectly well understood who she was, and she was 
 never drawn out of her place never for a moment confounded 
 with any of the ladies present. It is convenient, too, now and 
 then, to have these persons with you : they relieve a dull moment 
 or so in an evening, when desired to take the stool and play. And 
 even here, one must be very guarded, less the governess forgets 
 herself. I remember, on one occasion, a governess I had a 
 pale, puling thing, with large blue eyes and flaxen hair, and, by 
 the way, a cough that entirely made her singing a bad bargain 
 I remember that, whilst she played, she once suffered my nephew 
 Adolphus to turn the music ! But when we retired, didn't I 
 school her ! She had red eyes for a fortnight. 
 
 I had written thus far, when I received a letter that accom- 
 panies this. It is from a young woman who has never yet been 
 from home. She has been splendidly brought up, but her 
 father would speculate in hops or some such things, and they are 
 all beggars. Having a sort of feeling for the family, and hearing 
 that the girl must go into the world, I wrote to her with a 
 view to your service asking her notions of the duties and 
 responsibilities of a governess the treatment she expected, &c. &c. 
 You will read her reply. It is exquisite. Quite a leaf from an 
 old French romance. Poor thing ! with such ideas, what will 
 become of her 1 I will, however, look somewhere else for you ; 
 in the mean time, Believe me, yours always, 
 
 Dorothea Flint. 
 
146 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 LETTEE XXX. 
 
 FROM A YOUNG LADY DESIROUS OF AN ENGAGEMENT AS 
 FAMILY GOVERNESS. 
 
 Madam, It is, indeed, true that the sudden and total wreck 
 of my father's fortune renders it necessary for me to earn my 
 own bread ; and, unhappily, not mine alone. Your letter, kind 
 madam, came like a sunbeam upon our darkened dwelling. 
 Now, indeed, do I feel grateful past expression for the few 
 attainments I possess, for they will enable me to bear with 
 cheerfulness the change prepared for me. They will raise me 
 above the indifference and contempt of the world ; and whilst 
 they supply me with the means of honourable existence and 
 what, indeed, so honourable, so truly lofty, as a life dedicated to 
 the mind of childhood 1 they may haply not be deemed wholly 
 useless to others. I am now tranquil decided. When the 
 truth first came upon me that I must henceforth exist by my 
 own exertions, I own it, old vanities the follies born of fortune 
 clung for a moment closer to me. But I have laid apart false 
 pride like a masque-night garment. I am instantly prepared to 
 begin my working life. 
 
 You ask my notion of the duties, the cares, the responsibilities 
 of a governess. Alas, madam ! it is a contemplation of their 
 seriousness, nay, of their solemnity, that makes me pause 
 falter, in my hopes. I cannot but fear my own unworthiness for 
 the task it is so vital. For is not the mind of childhood the 
 tenderest, holiest thing, this side heaven ! Is it not to be 
 approached with gentleness, with love, yes, with a heart-worship 
 of the great God from whom, in almost angel-innocence, it has 
 proceeded 1 A creature undefiled by the taint of the world 
 un vexed by its injustice unwearied by its hollow pleasures ? 
 A being fresh from the source of light, with something of its 
 innocent lustre in it ? If childhood be this how holy the 
 duty to see that, in its onward growth, it shall be no other ! 
 To stand, as a watcher at the temple, lest any unclean thing 
 shall enter it. This, surely, is one of the loftiest duties that can 
 elevate infirm humanity ; and this duty is especially required of 
 him or her who tends upon the growing mind of youth : it is a 
 task that, however misunderstood by the many, ennobles the 
 doer. I know that all the world thinks not thus. I know, alas ! 
 that there are mothers who place their mere jewellery under 
 
ON TAKING HOLY ORDERS. 147 
 
 bankers' locks, who, nevertheless, trust the jewelled minds of 
 their children to the keeping of a stranger, with scarcely a 
 thought of the fidelity of the keeper. 
 
 You have, now, madam, my idea of the duties of a governess 
 of her hard, her earnest, yet rewardful labours. As to her 
 treatment, she is if conscientious in her vocation a gentle- 
 woman. She has within her trust the greatest treasures that 
 human life with all its pride can know : the hearts, and, 
 indeed, the future souls of children. As her mission is a noble 
 one, respect and courtesy are hers by right. To look upon her 
 as a better-dressed drudge is, in very truth, not poorest insolence 
 alone, but darkest error. Her patient, quiet labours, are to 
 insure the best triumphs of life ; for they make, or should make, 
 good daughters, good wives, good mothers. In these the truth- 
 fulness and happiness of the world have, surely, some stake, and 
 are, indeed, her lasting debtors. 
 
 I have heard many stories of the contumely, the hard-dealing 
 of the world towards the governess. It was not so in my home 
 and, if only for the sake of woman, I must hope such tales are 
 over-charged. For if, indeed, the poor governess be this frequent 
 sufferer, to whom does she owe the misery, but to sister- woman % 
 Of whom has she to complain of coldness of looks, harshness of 
 words, of all the petty, reckless injuries that sting her daily 
 life, of all the scorn of pride, and arrogance of apathetic 
 wealth ? Why, to woman ; to her richer sister ; to one of her 
 own sex made hard, exacting, by undeserved good fortune. 
 This is a scandal, madam, that women should rise against and 
 defy ; or if not, they must, in truth, remain unconscionable 
 debtors to the poets. 
 
 With many thanks, madam, for the interest you have taken 
 in our broken fortunes, I remain, yours gratefully, 
 
 Mary Wilton. 
 
 LETTER XXXI. 
 
 FROM A BISHOP TO A YOUNG FRIEND ABOUT TO TAKE ORDERS. 
 
 Dear Basil, I have learned, with exceeding gladness, of 
 your excellent father, that it is your determination to enter the 
 Church. From what I know of your nature, I feel assured that 
 this resolve is not the impulse of a vagrant, unthinking dis- 
 position, but the goodly fruit of a mind disciplined, and 
 
 L 2 
 
148 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 chastened of those vanities which, at your age, too commonly 
 beset mankind. Believing that your election is that of an ardent 
 and purified spirit, I hail it rejoicingly. 
 
 My dear young friend, be grateful yea, in your inmost soul, 
 be grateful that you have been directed to a choice which, 
 whilst it will abound with life-long satisfaction to yourself, will 
 make you a daily providential comfort to your fellow-creatures. 
 There is a happiness in this belief, too deep, too awful for any 
 words of mine a happiness only to be felt in the heart it 
 consecrates. 
 
 From the moment of your ordination, you are set apart from 
 the gross, vain, foolish desires of men ; you are made a teacher 
 and a watcher of your kind the counsel, the reproof of the 
 pastor, directed and softened by the love and sympathy of a 
 brother. There is no despair so wild that the music of your 
 comforting may not tame to gentleness and hope ; there is no 
 heart so stony that, smitten by your word, may not be made 
 to gush with a living stream. High privilege glorious 
 prerogative, that makes man the mediator with Heaven that 
 gives him strength to raise from the dust the faint, crushed, 
 guilt-defiled heart, assuring it a home and resting-place among 
 the stars ! 
 
 From how many blighting evils, cancerous cares, will your 
 high office preserve you ! You will see men pursuing vain 
 wealth and vainer honours, even as little boys hunt butterflies : 
 with frantic glee they seize the thing pursued, and it is worthless 
 in their grasp. Whilst you, rich in the spirit that is within you, 
 upraised by the dignity of the awful future, will smile, though 
 not in pride, but with abounding pity, with compassionating 
 love. To you poverty itself will be a robe of highest state : and 
 though most frugal be your board, yet, as with the patriarch, 
 angels may feast with you, though men know them not. 
 
 In every stage of mortal life, you are the elected comforter, 
 adviser of mankind. Your glorious and beautiful mission begins 
 with the babe that shrinks and wails beneath the baptismal 
 water, nor ends but with the blessing prayer that leaves the 
 image of man to become again dust. From the font to the 
 grave how many the calls how many the necessities of your 
 infirm and erring brother for that hope, that consolation, of 
 which you are the chosen phial ! How beautiful your daily 
 intercourse with those who feed and thrive upon your sayings ! 
 How sweet that gentle familiarity that mixes itself in the 
 working-day life of the poor; that with soft greetings and 
 kindly smiles claims kindred with the meanest of the earth as 
 fellow-sojourners in future heaven ! And now, hark ! it is 
 
ON TAKING HOLY ORDERS 149 
 
 black midnight, and the tempest howls and claws like a famished 
 wolf at your door. The thunder rolls, crashing above your 
 roof ! The lightning opens up the sky in one wide vault of fire 
 and now it is dark, and the wind moans like a despairing 
 soul. There is a loud and urgent knocking at your door 
 again again ! Alas, dear sir, there is a poor creature, a cotter, 
 one of your flock, in his last agony. His soul must from his 
 flesh this awful night, and he begs your comforting, your 
 benediction on its solemn journey. 
 
 You spring from your bed. Your cloak is old thin almost 
 as a web ; nathless, you hug it closely around you, and with 
 stout heart and composed soul follow your guide through path 
 and no path bog and mire. The thunder splits above you the 
 lightning chases your steps : but like a good spirit sent on 
 God's own errand, you pass scathless on. You enter the hut of 
 the dying ; you comfort and strengthen the quivering soul. It 
 departs to the Great Source it came from. And then in peace and 
 prayer you retrace your steps, and sleep the sleep of the good. 
 
 But your own heart, my dear young friend, will best find out 
 your duties. You will feel that every moment of your life must 
 be a living example to all men. You must feel that your daily 
 actions are as a mirror by which your flock are to dress their 
 souls : that your every gesture should be gentle your every 
 word soft and sweet even as a note of well-touched music. Your 
 life must be the active comment on the text you are sworn to, or 
 your life is naught. 
 
 What ! is there a man vowed to that text, who, worse than a 
 hireling player, acts his part yet never feels it ? Does he dress 
 himself for some brief hour or so, to ape a mission ? Is his daily 
 life coarse chaffering 1 Is he a swiller at taverns ? Does he, 
 with embossed face, tell Cyprian tales, laughing the loudest at 
 his noisome jest 1 Can there be such a man, and can he on the 
 seventh day, with unabashed forehead, tempt God's thunder? 
 No it is impossible. He who says there is, gently rebuke. 
 Say, " some enemy hath done this." 
 
 My dear Basil, I have endeavoured to place before you your 
 duties as the parish pastor of a flock. Providence may, however, 
 raise you to the bench. Yes, Basil ; you may become a bishop. 
 Nevertheless, seek not the dignity ; nay, pray that it may never 
 fall upon you. In your mid-day walks in your closet in your 
 bed, let your constant ejaculation be Nolo episcopari. Sweet, 
 most sweet, is the humblest curacy dangerous and difficult the 
 richest see. How far happier how more truly primitive the 
 pastor of a Welsh mountain, than the bishop of even golden 
 Durham ! And the bishop be assured of it thinks so. 
 
160 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 Nevertheless, I will suppose it your hard destiny to become a 
 bishop. Power and wealth are poured upon you. Gold trickles 
 in upon your treasury from a hundred curious crevices from 
 chinks, that in sooth might sometimes astonish the fathers. You 
 cannot bless even so much churchyard clay, but that the clay, 
 like a Potosi mine, shall render you so much gold. You would 
 be bewildered by your wealth you would weep in anguish or 
 spirit at your riches, but that you always have with you the 
 ignorant to teach the poor to succour. Hence, you may with 
 sweetest conscience clutch all the money you can ; for why ? As 
 a bishop, are you not the almoner of Providence ? Do not the 
 hungry cluster at your gate ? Send you not away the naked 
 clothed and rejoicing ? Oh what a weight a weight dragging the 
 soul to earth would this mammon be, but that it stays not in the 
 bishop's purse but that, as the soft-hearted housewife feeds the 
 winter birds, he scatters abroad his substance to the wretched 
 and the suiFering. Hence, being bishop, you may take all you 
 can. Of course, you hold it but in trust. Every quarter your 
 conscience audits the accounts with Heaven, and you are 
 serene, are happy in the humble sense of your own righteousness. 
 
 Being bishop, you are also law-maker. Beautiful, soul- 
 exalting mission ! You sit in the House of Lords as a Superior 
 Intelligence ; superior by the charity for all men that resides 
 within you ! Hence, you defile not yourself with politics. The 
 lawn of the bishop is never, like the coat of Joseph, parti- 
 coloured. The bishop knows no one side of the human heart. 
 No ; he is for humanity in all its breadth, and in all its depth. 
 Hence, when lords talk of war, and tiger-looks steal into the 
 eyes of men, the awful bishop rises from his seat, and with a 
 voice of thunder denounces the abomination. And then with 
 tearful eyes, and with a voice broken with the heart's spasms, he 
 shows the blasphemy of murderous war paints in their own 
 diabolic hues thousands and thousands of drilled and hireling 
 Cains butchering their brothers ! And thus the bishop some- 
 times only sometimes melts the House of Lords ! 
 
 And now, my dear young friend, I have though most 
 imperfectly laid before you the many blessings which await 
 you in the Church, which, rightly ministered, is the vestibule to 
 an immortal life. That you may serve in it with glory to 
 yourself, and with profit to all men, is the prayer of 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 Samuel of . 
 
THE ANSWER. 151 
 
 LETTER XXXII. 
 
 THE ANSWER. 
 
 My dear Sir, It is impossible that I can sufficiently thank 
 you for your letter. I have been all along in a sad mistake. 
 My family having, by marriage, a snug thing or two in the 
 Church, I thought it a good investment of the little talent I 
 may possess. I don't boast of much but at a fox-hunt I was 
 never yet out at the death, and at a steeple-chase never craned 
 at anything. I therefore thought I might manage to rub on 
 very well in canonicals ; but, really, you have thrown so many 
 difficulties in my way, that I certainly must give the clergy the 
 go-by. 
 
 With thanks, however, for your very long letter, 
 
 I remain, yours truly, 
 
 Basil Jolly. 
 
 P. S. They tell me I've the gift of the gab I think I shall go 
 to the bar. 
 
 LETTER XXXIII. 
 
 FROM a young man entering business to a retired tradesman. 
 
 Respected Sir, When we last met, you were kind enough to 
 say that the benefit of your long experience in business should 
 be always at my service ; and that as the friend of my poor late 
 father, it would always be a pleasure to you to advise his son. 
 At the same time you desired me to give you my notions of the 
 duties of a tradesman to the world and to himself, that you 
 might at the onset correct my errors, and strengthen my judg- 
 ment. I therefore hasten to comply with your request. 
 
 Of course, sir, I consider the old schoolboy copy that 
 " Honesty is the best policy " to be the golden rule of life, and 
 that the shortest way from one point to another is always in 
 a straight line. Hence, it will ever be my pride to let my 
 practice illustrate this beautiful sentiment. I do not see why a 
 shop may not be made a temple of truth and cannot under- 
 stand why a falsehood " in the way of business " is not, after all, 
 
152 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 a falsehood in all its bearings. Lies are lies, and no outside, 
 skin-deep gilding will give to the base metal the value of the 
 precious ore. I have, I am sorry to say, known tradesmen with 
 great wrathfulness nail a proffered pocket-piece to their counter, 
 and still from their own mouths continue to issue counterfeit 
 truths in fact, do nothing but speak pocket-pieces. Yes, sir ; 
 I have known them to do this, and never blush or stammer 
 when their eye has fallen on the copper countenance of the false 
 half-crown, gleaming reproachfully upon them. But then, to 
 pass bad money is a statuteable offence whilst to pass lies for 
 truths, if adroitly uttered from behind the counter, is nothing 
 more than to do a clever stroke of business. The one practice 
 has led men to the gallows the other has taken them to the 
 Bank of England. 
 
 " All in the way of trade " is, I know, a phrase that covers 
 great hypocrisy, great practical deceit, great injustice between 
 man and man. It is a convenient phrase, that from long custom 
 has become an allowed apology for the trickeries of dealers. 
 But a highwayman, who takes a purse, might as well believe 
 that the black crape which hides his face from the knowledge of 
 the despoiled, does also hide from his own soul a knowledge 
 of his iniquity. How often is the " way of trade " no other 
 than so much black crape worn behind the counter ! A man 
 may be as completely robbed by means of a false protestation, as 
 though the lie were a loaded pistol. 
 
 There is, I know, a tenderness in the law towards the 
 trippings of trade, that seems to show a positive sympathy 
 between law and roguery. Men, it would almost seem, by 
 general understanding, allow the necessity of wrong as a proper 
 alloy to keep society together. Pure unmixed gold is too good 
 for coin that is to suffer the wear and tear of passing from hand 
 to hand ; and so, that it may endure the longer, it is mingled 
 with a little wholesome copper. In the like way, law seems to 
 think pure honesty as altogether too refined for the hard 
 working-day purposes of trade, and therefore looks indulgently 
 upon its little shifts its winning "ways." Let me further 
 explain myself. 
 
 My opposite neighbour is a chandler and green-grocer: he 
 makes his gains out of the veriest poor. Rags and keenest 
 hunger are his miserable customers. You would think, sir, that 
 when a tradesman held the scales for such buyers, justice would 
 be to him a high religion. Well, sir, it was only yesterday that 
 this very man was found to use false weights. It was his third 
 offence ; and he was fined by the compassionating law ten 
 pounds ! 
 
THE ANSWER. 153 
 
 This same man has at the present moment a boy in gaol, 
 doomed for six months, for stealing from his shop, when very 
 hungry, one red herring. Thus, the tradesman may rob by 
 means of scales and measures, merely paying for a sort of license 
 to cheat, when detected : the very gains of his iniquity, too, go to 
 lessen the fine : he can, in fact, with tolerable luck, afford to 
 rob. Now, does not law that makes such robbery only fineable, 
 look most tenderly upon the evil-doing ? Does it not give a 
 marked preference to the thief behind the counter above the 
 picker and stealer before it ? Hence use light weights, and 
 pay money for the theft ; fildh with your five fingers, and do 
 hard-labour in gaol. Besides, the tradesman is sweetened 
 purified by the fine ; the stain upon his reputation is blotted up 
 by bank-paper : now the vulgar thief always bears about him the 
 foul odour of a prison. The keen nostrils of the police continually 
 smell in him his first iniquity. 
 
 Now, sir, it will be my endeavour, as a tradesman, to 
 acknowledge no " ways of trade " to consider truth as truth in 
 the smallest as in the greatest affairs of life. "With this belief, I 
 shall take rny daily stand behind the counter, and cheerfully 
 leave to Providence the rest. Tell me, dear sir, if I am not 
 right* And believe me, yours sincerely, 
 
 John Balance. 
 
 LETTER XXXIV. 
 
 ANSWER TO THE ABOVE. 
 
 
 Ma. John Balance, I have known you from a boy yes, 
 from a very babe and I did not think you capable of insulting 
 the friend of your excellent father. Worthy soul ! it is a good 
 thing that he is out of the world : he is, it is my belief, saved 
 that worst of all sorrows a headlong, disobedient child. Your 
 letter is enough to make him shiver in his coffin. 
 
 I can well understand your insinuation about the false weights. 
 It is base and cruel. To me, with honourable grey hairs upon 
 my head ! To me, almost old enough to be your grandfather ! 
 It is true, that, in my time, I was fined, I think three times ; 
 but then, I always proved that the false weights had been 
 substituted by a malicious servant. The fines were certainly 
 never returned to me ; but there was not one well-disposed 
 person of the Sunday congregation and twice a-day, Mr. John 
 
154 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 Balance, did I appear in my pew, reserving my evening of rest 
 to look over my books not one of them who did not believe in 
 my innocence. But then, I always studied respectability. 
 
 Your notions of business are the notions of a noodle. Truth 
 is very beautiful no doubt, but if stark-naked truth was 
 always to stand behind a counter, I should like to know who'd 
 go into the shop. I know the value of truth as well as any 
 man. And throughout my long and useful life I always used it 
 as the dear late partner of my joys used her silver teapot upon 
 holiday occasions. I had too much respect for the real value of 
 truth to be always bringing it out upon working-days. 
 
 You have no knowledge of the real talent required by a 
 tradesman, and therefore I should advise you to go to sea, or 
 list for a soldier. There is nothing so worthy of the attention 
 of man of his immortal spirit, as the Eeverend Mr. Poublechin 
 used to call it as business, It employs all the strength of the 
 soul for the end and aim of all business is for man to look upon 
 the rest of the world as only so many people to make so much 
 money of. He is to consider them that is, in a business way 
 as made especially for his own profit as a tradesman. And so, 
 if he has only common sense, he is to use it as he best can for 
 his own advantage. As for what you stupidly call lies, I always 
 looked upon them as necessary tools for business things without 
 which it would be impossible to keep open shop. Lies are a 
 sort of wooden pegs that keep the world together as if it was 
 a box ; nice little things, so let into the work as never to be 
 seen. Take out the pegs, and how would the box tumble to 
 pieces ! 
 
 When you are really come to years of discretion, you will 
 know that the private man and the tradesman are not at all 
 one. Certainly not. I, Isaac Smirk, behind the counter, was not 
 the Isaac Smirk dressed for church on Sundays. How could I 
 be ? How was I to bring up a large family as yet you don't 
 know the expense of clothing and schooling six children in 
 respectability, if I'd played the antics you talk of ? No ; trade 
 is one thing, and what we call morals are another. Six days for 
 business, and the seventh for religious duties. That, Mr. John 
 Balance, has always been my motto ; and following it, I never 
 yet had a bill protested, but became in time what I now am a 
 respectable, happy man, who can lay his hand upon his heart 
 and say he has thirty thousand pounds : a man who has married 
 his daughters to fortunes, and, moreover, subscribes to it isn't 
 for me to say how many charities. 
 
 Looking at your letter as the madness of a green boy, I have 
 condescended to answer it at this length. I trust that years and 
 
ON THE TREATMENT OF A HUSBAND. 155 
 
 experience may make you see the error of your ways. That 
 
 ler, 
 
 Isaac Smirk. 
 
 they may do so, is the hope of 
 
 Your still well-wisher, 
 
 LETTER XXXV. 
 
 FROM A MATRON TO A NEWLY-MARRIED YOUNG LADY ON THE 
 TREATMENT OF A HUSBAND. 
 
 My dear Claribel, Your honeymoon being over, I feel it 
 my duty as, indeed, it will he my pleasure to instruct you in 
 the serious purposes of marriage. I have had my trials, my 
 dear, in what is called the blessed state, and could if I chose 
 write this letter in the tears of widowhood. Three times have I 
 been bereft of the tenderest of husbands for every one of the 
 dear men was really so and now am I left like the lonely dove 
 to murmur alone. I have, however, this satisfaction, to know 
 that I managed them all to my heart's content, whilst they 
 dear, simple lambs ! believed they managed me. 
 
 Men in their extreme ignorance call us the weaker sex. The 
 weaker sex ! When and they know it we can pull and play 
 with their hearts'-strings as little children play with toy har- 
 lequins. However, never disabuse them of the fond conceit. 
 Our weakness, as they are pleased to call it, is our best strength. 
 Continue to make your husband think you the most delicate 
 of creatures, and he will treasure you accordingly. We all of 
 us seem pretty well to know and follow out this truth in days 
 of courtship, but forget it almost as soon as the clerk has said 
 Amen. This, my dear girl, is the great error of our sex : it is 
 this that makes wife the slave and husband the master. Now it 
 has ever been my plan to perpetuate the privilege that courtship 
 gives us, throughout every day of wedlock. And very properly. 
 What ! is your lap-dog that obediently fetches and carries is 
 he suddenly to refuse to obey you, and only because you have 
 put a collar round his neck, and hold him by the ring of a chain 
 at your third finger ? Therefore, my dear, let your nerves be 
 always delicate : hence, your husband will treasure you like a 
 precious piece of china. Be foolish enough to appear robust, 
 and, on the contrary, you will have no more care bestowed upon 
 you than a red clay pipkin. 
 
 There are, I know, brutes in the human form, not to be 
 deceived ; but your husband is, I trust, not of them. As a 
 
156 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 girl, I remember a monster of the sort. My own dear mother 
 from whom, let me confess it, I learned many precious lessons 
 she made as much as any woman of her nerves. Well, one day, 
 my father poking the fire, down came as you know, some- 
 times, they will come, with such a clatter the shovel and tongs. 
 My mother screamed, declared my father wanted to get rid ol 
 her, and immediately retired to her chamber. Though a party 
 was to dine with us, my mother true to her principles 
 resolutely went to bed. My father was all self-reproach and 
 sorrow. He related the unfortunate event to the monster I 
 speak of, saying something about "the wear and tear of the 
 female constitution." Whereupon, I shall never forget it, the 
 wretch replied " Pooh pooh ! Female constitution ! It never 
 wears, it never tears : at the worst it only stretches." And 
 this their conduct proves it is the brutal faith of thousands. 
 My dear father, however, was of the contrary belief ; so well too 
 did my dear mother manage, that after this fall of the shovel 
 and tongs, he never after poked the fire as if the poker was 
 really his own. And this is as it should be. 
 
 Hence, my dear girl, cultivate your nerves : you can't pet 'em 
 too much. Something will always be happening in the house, 
 and unless your husband be worse than a stone, every new 
 fright will be as good as a new gown or a new trinket to you. 
 There are some domestic wounds only to be healed by the jeweller. 
 I don't advise you not to love your husband, very much but 
 never show the abundance of it. How men impose upon what I 
 call a superfluity of affection, it is dreadful to think of S No ; 
 there is a decent sort of tenderness a sort of tepid love that is 
 the safest. It never permits a wife to commit herself ; it never 
 shows to the man that he is supreme in her affections, and so 
 enables him to sport with them. However, do not let him 
 think himself indifferent to you : certainly not ; at least, let the 
 poor man have the benefit of the doubt. 
 
 In the slightest case of sisterly frailty, be all indignation. It 
 is the very easiest and cheapest way of airing your own excessive 
 goodness. Now and then, too, you can with great pain to 
 yourself, of course hazard suspicions of some of your ac- 
 quaintance. Suspicion, skilfully used, is an excellent thing. 
 Like a little dust of rouge, if very tenderly laid on, it throws 
 out in fine relief the natural beauty of the wearer. Eouge is a 
 darling little fib, that lies, as somebody says, like truth and so, 
 too, I take it, if properly applied, is a slight suspicion. They 
 may both colour false modesty. 
 
 There is, too, a sort of side-wind way that will enable you at 
 once to please and tease your husband. Jealousy that is, a 
 
ON THE TREATMENT OF A HUSBAND. 157 
 
 happy affectation of the passion is a wonderful weapon in a 
 skilful hand. Therefore, when walking with the poor man 
 declare that he looks at every woman he meets, and sulk 
 accordingly. Sometimes, however, vary the accusation, and 
 declare that every woman he meets looks at him, From this 
 assumed fact, you can make any deductions, and endeavour in a 
 torrent of words to declare how very, very miserable you ought 
 to be. The man, of course, must think himself dear to you, or 
 wherefore such fantastic jealousy 1 He must feel, though with a 
 feeling of wretchedness, that you love him ; or wherefore show 
 the love with so much misery to him 1 Does not puss love the 
 live yet wounded mouse she bites and scratches. 
 
 Again, as to temper, never let it be certain. Husbands I 
 know them presume upon evenness of temper. No, let your 
 husband feel that he is never safe. He will accordingly be 
 gentle, watchful, in his manner. Hence, be at times in the most 
 exuberant spirits ; and then, with a thought at some uncon- 
 scious look of your husband, some playful word have a mute 
 tongue, and brows of threatening thunder. In your very gayest 
 moments, let your helpmate feel as if he is called upon to 
 admire some curious gun very beautiful, but to be most 
 carefully handled, lest it go off, and destroy him. 
 
 If your husband wishes for music, declare you have a sudden 
 headache, and add this, he ought to have seen as much, and not 
 have asked you. If, on the contrary, he has a book, or would 
 doze by the fire, immediately play the " Battle of Prague,''' with 
 all the cannon accompaniments. 
 
 If he wish you to go out with him, say he always asks you 
 when he knows you can't go ; and then, on the contrary, desire 
 that he shall take you to the opera or play, when you are well 
 aware that he has some previous engagement. 
 
 On this point, too, be particularly obdurate. When your 
 husband goes out with a likelihood of returning home late, insist 
 upon sitting up for him. He may urge, that he can take the 
 key ; that, in fact, it will annoy him to keep anybody from their 
 bed. Meet all this with a cold, decisive assurance, that you will 
 sit up for him. If he come home late, what a delicious triumph 
 for you ! There you are, my love / always was in your 
 nightcap and wrapped in three shawls, making up yourself for 
 the picture of a very much wronged woman. The culprit at 
 length returns ; you catch his eye, and lead it to dwell upon the 
 reproachful candle guttering in the socket that candle, which 
 in very weariness of heart and for nothing else, you have every 
 five minutes mangled with the snuffers, as though unconsciously 
 to make the case all the stronger against your offending mate. 
 
158 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 Sometimes, on such occasions, say nothing, but cold as a statue 
 walk up-stairs. Sometimes, too, it will add considerably to the 
 pain of the criminal, if you carefully draw a sigh, and " wish 
 you were in your grave." 
 
 As for your husband's friends, give them always a chilling 
 welcome. If now and then they insist upon staying, as you 
 think, late, declare that they have had wine enough, and they 
 ought to know it. 
 
 My dear mother had an admirable way. Two or three times 
 for my father never tempted her oftener she sat up guarding 
 the fire-place. No coal did she suffer to approach it. The fire 
 went out ; it was piercing winter ; and then in a triumph only 
 known to such a wife, did she retire to her room, comforting 
 herself that " They'd soon be starved out, and must go." 
 
 I have herein, my love, thrown down only a few hints ; but I 
 can add a great many more to them, if I find you worthy of my 
 teaching. 
 
 In the mean time, I remain your affectionate friend, 
 
 Tabitha Talons. 
 
 LETTEE XXXVI. 
 
 THE YOUNG LADY'S ANSWER. 
 
 Madam, At present, I have no wish that my husband should 
 leave me ; when I have, I shall lose no time in availing myself 
 of your instructions, feeling quite convinced that they could not 
 but very soon lead to such a conclusion. 
 
 I remain, yours, &c, 
 
 Claribel Smith. 
 
 LETTEE XXXVII. 
 
 FROM A YOUNG GENTLEMAN, SOLICITING HIS FATHER TO 
 PAY HIS DEBTS. 
 
 My dear Father, How often have you told me that I should 
 see my folly ! Indeed, sir, you are a true prophet. I never 
 thought it possible that I could look upon the world as now, 
 in very truth, I find it a deceitful, hollow, seductive place, in 
 which there is nothing worthy of the mind of man, save those 
 inestimable comforts which, had I but followed your wise and 
 
A SON TO A FATHER ON PAYMENT OF DEBTS. 159 
 
 excellent counsel, I should by this time have been in the 
 enjoyment of. Ah, sir ! there are many young men who, in 
 their worst misfortunes and can there be worse than debt ? 
 are nevertheless spared the remorse which at this moment preys 
 upon your wretched son. They poor fellows ! may have been 
 launched upon the sea of life as you have often pertinently 
 called this vale of tears without rudder or compass ; with 
 nothing, sir, to direct or counsel them. It is no wonder when 
 such men suffer shipwreck, or are stripped by pirates. But, sir, 
 I vainly seek a single comforting excuse. 1 have had the best of 
 men and kindest of fathers, who has bestowed upon me advice 
 of greater value than pearls more precious than gold. And yet 
 how headstrong, wild, and vicious yes, sir, I blush to write it 
 vicious I have been, reckless of those inestimable precepts which 
 of themselves ought to have enriched me with a treasure more 
 lasting than wealth. But, sir, at length I am convinced. Yes, 
 sir, my eyes are opened, and I now behold the precipice on which 
 I stand. Another step or two and I had been lost for ever. 
 But there is yet time to draw back yes, sir, aided by your 
 parental hand there is, I fondly hope, yet time for me to regain 
 all that 1 have lost : except, indeed, the precious hours that, as 
 you once beautifully expressed it, I have cast away like water in 
 the sea. 
 
 I write, sir, as you will perceive, from a prison. Ha ! my 
 honoured father, it is I humbly believe impossible even for 
 you to imagine the change that prison walls have worked in me. 
 They have softened my heart they have made me take an inside 
 look into myself they have shown me, written with a terrible 
 hand, the long, long list of all my vices, all my follies : they have 
 but I cannot pursue the theme. The very recollection of the 
 pain I have caused you almost makes me drop the pen abashed ; 
 nevertheless, I will struggle with my feelings, and, if only for 
 penance, try to proceed. 
 
 With all my sufferings, I nevertheless try to feel grateful to 
 my creditors who have placed me here. There are, I am sorry 
 to write it, young men in this prison upon whom the moral of 
 the place (as I call it) seems entirely lost. They give themselves 
 up to the most reckless enjoyments ; they drink for, somehow, 
 drink is smuggled they game, they play at racket ; in fact, 
 they sink from bad. to worse, and when they return to the world, 
 they will, I fear, visit it more like pests, than as reformed, rational 
 creatures. Again and again have I been tempted by some of 
 these brawlers to join in what they madly call their pleasures. 
 But no, sir ; I trust I am not wholly lost. Hitherto, I have 
 lived as much as possible apart from all I have read, sir, read 
 
160 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 the one Book, which it was your best advice to me always to 
 read. There are lost young men in this place who say a father 
 "governor" is their slang expression is a person made by 
 Providence only to pay his son's bills : I hope, sir, thtt I have a 
 truer, a nobler notion of the uses of a parent. I fervently trust 
 that in entreating of you for this, the third and last time, to pay 
 my debts, you will believe me when I assure you that I do this 
 with the greatest reverence for your parental character with 
 (whether you grant or refuse my prayer) abounding gratitude 
 for all that you have accomplished for a hitherto unworthy son. 
 
 I assure you, dear sir, this time my penitence is profound. 
 From my present feelings, I know I can withstand all future 
 temptations. " Ha, ha ! " cried one of the spendthrifts here, 
 " you'll soon get tired of this moping, miserable life ; you'll soon 
 be a jolly, roaring, drinking dog like one of us." But no, sir ! 
 although this prison should be my grave, it shall at least be the 
 tomb of a penitent. 
 
 With many burning blushes I enclose you a list of all my 
 debts really all ; pay them, my dearest father, and be assured 
 of the gratitude and obedience of 
 
 Your erring, but affectionate son, 
 
 Charles Butter. 
 
 P.S. I have been urged to liberate myself as a bankrupt ; but 
 I trust, sir, I can still feel like your son can still respect the 
 honour of the family. I'll die first. 
 
 LETTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THE FATHER'S ANSWER. 
 
 Sir, You have seen your folly so often that, it is evident, by 
 this time you are quite accustomed to it. All your long letter 
 may be boiled down like spinach, into three words, " Pay my 
 debts." All the rest is mere flourish mere palaver. No, sir ; 
 you may break my heart, but you shall not break my fortune. 
 I'll not pay a single sixpence. 
 
 I am, your affectionate Father, 
 
 John Butter. 
 
 P.S. You may become a bankrupt as soon as you please. Thank 
 heaven ! the honour of the family is too secure to be injured by 
 such an unprincipled spendthrift. Not a sixpence, sir not a 
 single sixpence. 
 
SOLICITING SERVICES IN A DUEL. 161 
 
 LETTEE XXXIX. 
 
 FROM THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN'S MOTHER. 
 
 My beloved Boy, I hav'n't slept a wink since you've been in 
 that horrid place. I hadn't yet dared to speak to your father, 
 but I saved your letter, which, in a dreadful rage, he threw upon 
 the fire. Ha ! ray dear boy, that letter made me almost happy. 
 With the abilities you have to write such a letter, what might 
 you not do in this world ! If you would only be your own friend, 
 what could stand in your way 1 
 
 But I please myself in the belief that your repentance is 
 sincere. I am heartily glad that you have nothing to do with 
 the riotous and sinful set about you : most glad to find that you 
 neither drink, nor game, nor do anything but read that one 
 Book. Continue to do so, my dear boy, and depend upon it 
 your father sha'n't have a minute's rest in his own house until 
 you are again among us. God bless you ! 
 
 Your affectionate Mother, 
 
 Martha Butter. 
 
 P.S. I send you \0l. I hope this time that your list of debts 
 is quite correct : that you have put all down : for you know how 
 you deceived your poor father twice before. 
 
 LETTER XL. 
 
 FROM A GENTLEMAN TO HIS FRIEND, SOLICITING HIS SERVICES 
 IN A DUEL. 
 
 My dear Brown, Let me see you immediately. A matter 
 upon which depends the good name, the honour, the all that 
 makes this world tolerable, requires that I should instantly 
 consult you. I will, however, in as few words as possible, inform 
 you of my present position. When you know it, I feel assured 
 that I shall have your immediate sympathy your promptest 
 assistance. 
 
 This evening, taking a quiet stroll by the Serpentine, accom- 
 panied by faithful Ponto, the dog suddenly jumped into the 
 stream, and swimming into the middle, remained there, swimming 
 
 M 
 
162 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 round and round you know what a water-dog he is barking 
 and snapping at the gnats that danced about him. The 
 superb fellow attracted much attention ; some ladies among 
 them two very lovely girls stopped in a carriage to watch and 
 admire Ponto. They called him all kinds of pretty names, and 
 one of the girls, I was inclined to think, looked as though she 
 wished some of the praises to be shared by Ponto's master. I 
 am not a vain man, Brown I should despise myself if I were ; 
 but I nevertheless felt a very pleasurable emotion as the girl, 
 with her large black eyes, lighted up at the doings of Ponto, did 
 now and then glance approvingly at me. All this continued for 
 some minutes, and very pleasant it was. At length a gentleman 
 I suppose I must call him so came up to the carriage, and 
 knowing the ladies, entered into -conversation with them. The 
 girl with the black eyes begged him to look at Ponto, who was 
 still chasing the gnats ; the gentleman, however, scarcely deigned 
 to bestow a glance on the magnificent fellow, and what is more 
 leaning his arms upon tb.e phaeton door he absolutely, and 
 in a most marked way, turned his back upon the dog, as I am 
 now convinced, to pass a slight upon his master. You know I 
 am not a passionate man, Brown ; certainly not ; nevertheless, I 
 felt I had attained what you are continually preaching to me 
 some conquest over myself when I suffered this incivility of a 
 stranger to pass unrebuked, unnoticed. However, this was bad 
 enough but matters were not to end here. 
 
 At length, Ponto came ashore, landing where the gentleman 
 stood with his back to the water. On coming to land, Ponto 
 with the natural movement of a dog gave himself a vigorous 
 shake, and the water flew from him as from a well-twirled 
 mop. Of course, much of it went upon the gentleman, the 
 ladies laughing at the dilemma. My gentleman, however, in a 
 burst of passion, flung out his foot at Ponto, and wholly forgetful 
 of the ladies' presence, cried, " D n the dog !" 
 
 Now, Brown, you know I am not a hasty man no, I think 
 not ; nevertheless, I can suffer no man, under any circumstances 
 whatever, to damn my dog. Besides, in addition to the offensive 
 word, there was a violence attempted upon the person of the 
 animal. It is but little satisfaction to me that Ponto, by his 
 never-failing agility, avoided the kick intended for him, the 
 gentleman, by the ill-directed violence of the action, being almost 
 flung over, that has nothing to do with it ; I feel that I I 
 Hector Montgomery, was attempted to be kicked through Ponto ; 
 and that when the man damned the dog, he most certainly meant 
 the damn to reach the master. 
 
 Under these circumstances, my dear Brown, nothing remains 
 
THE ANSWER. 163 
 
 for me but to call out the offender. The laws of honour demand 
 it : my position in society requires it for how, how, I ask, 
 could I ever again appear in the world unless this stain was 
 wiped out with blood 1 
 
 I enclose you the party's card : but come, come, instantly, that 
 no time may be lost. My honour festers with delay. 
 Yours, my dear Brown, ever truly, 
 
 Hector Montgomery. 
 
 LETTEE XLI. 
 
 ANSWER TO THE ABOVE. 
 
 My dear Montgomery, I have waited on Mr. Green, and 
 have, I think, arranged all matters according to the very nicest 
 sense of honour. Mr. Green would not allow himself to be in 
 fault, inasmuch as Ponto was the first offender. Hereupon 
 animated by your spirit I urged that, whatever might have 
 been the indiscretion of Ponto, nothing could have justified a 
 damn and a kick. Such words and acts were tabooed from good 
 society ; and therefore I begged to be favoured with the name 
 of his friend, that we might settle the matter immediately. 
 Mr. Green instantly complied with my desire ; and, in a word, 
 the meeting is to take place in Copenhagen-fields to-morrow 
 morning. 
 
 We have arranged the matter after this fashion. Mr. Green 
 has in his possession a remarkably fine bull-dog, by name Fury. 
 Now, as Ponto was really the offending party, and I could in no 
 way bring Mr. Green himself to meet the dog, it is decided that 
 he shall appear in the person of Fury to fight his antagonist. 
 True it is that Fury is in weight, breed, and bone so superior to 
 Ponto, that I fear he will hardly escape with his life. These 
 odds are, however, inevitable in the duello. For instance, 
 Mr. Green never drew a trigger in all his days : now you can 
 hit the stone out of a cherry at twenty yards. He has heard of 
 this prowess, and therefore is content to be represented by 
 his dog. 
 
 The meeting is to come off at five to-morrow morning, in 
 Copenhagen-fields. Mr. Green's friend and myself have agreed, 
 that whichever dog shall be worsted, its owner shall be declared 
 in the wrong ; whereupon if life be spared we have no doubt 
 that a reconciliation of the animals may be effected, at a very 
 small expense, at the first cook-shop. 
 
 m2 
 
164 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 I trust, my dear friend, that you will acknowledge the wisdom 
 of this arrangement ; and, moreover, as you are a leading man in 
 the higher walk of the world, that you will exert yourself to 
 the utmost to make the practice general. If fighting be really 
 necessary, why not fight vicariously 1 ? I should like to know 
 how many duels have taken place in which the honour, the 
 dignity of human nature, would not have been equally 
 well vindicated if the antagonists had been even terriers and 
 turnspits. 
 
 As for washing out stains with blood, I for one know no 
 process of moral chemistry that can effect it. There never was 
 so miserable a mountebank as what is called Worldly Honour ! 
 It is this quacksalver that talks of washing wrongs out with 
 blood, in the same way that a jackpudding at a fair vends powder 
 of post to take out every household blot and stain. Both these 
 creatures are imposters with this difference, that one is a zany 
 with a death's-head. 
 
 If men must fight, let them fight by deputy. Let us leave 
 what is called "gentlemanly satisfaction" to be worked out 
 for us by the lower animals. Your very high folks might 
 settle their disputes with a couple of lions ; whilst the vulgar 
 might have their quarrels satisfactorily worked out by cocks and 
 terriers. 
 
 Indeed, how many a feud, that was tragically ended with a 
 bullet, might not have been settled by a maggot-race ! 
 
 Yours truly, 
 
 James Brown. 
 
 P.S. I shall send to-morrow morning, at half-past four, for 
 Ponto. Let him be well washed and combed for the field, in 
 case of the worst. 
 
 LETTEE XLII. 
 
 PROM A SCHOOLMASTER IN WANT OF AN USHER, TO A FRIEND. 
 
 Dear Wilkins, I am getting on pretty well boys are drop- 
 ping in but I am terribly in want of an usher. The fellow I 
 have just got rid of spoke disrespectfully of our suet-dumplings, 
 and so set a fatal example of insubordination to the pupils. 
 Moreover, when the boys played at trap-ball and cricket, he had, 
 I discovered, a knack of lying down upon the grass, and doing 
 
 

 FROM A SCHOOLMASTER IN WANT OF AN USHER. 165 
 
 nothing but stare at the sky as if he had any business with that. 
 So he's gone, and a capital riddance. 
 
 I never can thank you enough, my good friend, for your advice 
 to go into the academy business, I had no notion that the trade 
 was so easy. "When I failed in my own line and from no defect 
 of mine, Wilkins, for there wasn't a bootmaker that I'd turn my 
 back upon I thought I was ruined outright. Little did I then 
 dream that the trade of schoolmaster seemed made by Providence 
 for unfortunate tradesmen who had failed in everything else. 
 Little did I think that so many nice academies I could name 
 with their Venetian blinds and bright brass knockers, and hearth- 
 stoned steps, and all so nice as if learning was the neatest and 
 cleanest employment in the world, little, I say, did I think that 
 these places were little more than very handsome almshouses, 
 supported by good-natured parents, for the unfortunate and 
 helpless. But it is wonderful to see the confidence of fathers 
 and mothers ! When I was a bootmaker, the trouble I used to 
 have with my customers ! now, all goes as smooth with 'em as 
 neat's-foot oil. 
 
 I'm certain of it, Wilkins ; yes, it does seem to me in human 
 nature, that folks think more of their own corns, than of the 
 children of their flesh. When I was in business, the fuss and 
 fuming I used to have if a boot pinched a little ! How my 
 customer would storm and bluster ! What anxiety, too, would 
 he show when being measured ; how many questions would he 
 put to me, as though to come at my abilities for a good fit. I've 
 known, too, some bold-faced people ask for references. Ha ! 
 those were days of worry and weariness ; nothing of the sort 
 now. No, no ; fathers and mothers bring their little boys, and 
 take it as a matter of course, that they'll have all manner of 
 Greek, and Latin, and mathematics, and geography crammed 
 into them. The parents have made up their minds to pay for 
 the articles, and with a trustingness, which in this mean world 
 is quite delightful, they believe the things will be delivered. It 
 is quite enough for them, that the schoolmaster offers the goods 
 they never stop to inquire if the commodities are of the right 
 sort. Folks don't buy even cabbages after this fashion ; but 
 then, children are not cabbages. 
 
 You will see, dear Wilkins, that I am in the best spirits with 
 my new business ; and I never can forget what I owe to you as 
 an old academy master a venerable birch, as I have heard you 
 called with the deepest respect. Learning is, indeed, a delightful 
 refuge against the disappointments and vexations of the world. 
 How little did I think, when I paid sixpence in the pound, of the 
 future cosiness in store for me in Crichton House ! How little 
 
166 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 did I dream that, having been tossed upon the deceitful waves 
 of trade, I should here sit in a nice library (according to youi 
 directions, I make it a sort of show-room for my boys' parents : 
 when they see so many books on my shelves, they of course 
 think I've a good many of them in my head) a library smelling 
 so of russia-leather, that it's difficult not to think one's-self a 
 scholar. And all this, my excellent friend, I owe to you. 
 
 Pray add to the kindness, and find me out an usher. You 
 know exactly the sort of animal that is required in so handsome 
 an establishment as mine . Hoping that you will soon pick him 
 up for me, I remain, your obliged friend, 
 
 Jacob Awl. 
 
 LETTEE XLIII. 
 
 ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING. 
 
 Dear Jacob, I am by no means surprised to hear that your 
 usher is gone. I never liked the fellow : there was a great deal 
 too much conceit in him. I once heard him talk very high about 
 gentlemanly feelings ; and so prepared myself to be startled at 
 nothing. However, there is plenty of such cattle as you want in 
 the market, and depend upon it, you'll soon be suited. 
 
 I am glad to find that you like your new business; but ha ! 
 Jacob good as it is for folks in your strait, boarding-school 
 work isn't half so good as it was. I remember when I was 
 flourishing forty years ago : those were the times ! Then there 
 was no talk of march of intellect no slang, vulgar nonsense 
 about a schoolmaster being abroad ; as if, indeed, he has any 
 business to be abroad ! no impudent interlopers setting up 
 proprietary schools to the injury of the regular master. No: 
 in those days the people who had been sent to school were at 
 once acknowledged to be people of the better sort people of 
 education. There was no disputing about the matter. And 
 then for the Universities, why then they were places for gentle- 
 men. It was enough to say " an Oxford man," " a Cambridge 
 man ; " and folks at once allowed him to be a superior, a very 
 extraordinary person. But now, what a revolutionary change ! 
 A man now, whether from Oxford or Cambridge, can't pass for a 
 conjuror, unless he shows his tricks. People in these uncivil 
 times have a vulgar habit of asking. " What has he done 1 " 
 It was not so in my day. 
 
ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING. 167 
 
 However, bad as things are in the scholastic profession 
 lowered as they are let us thank our stars, they are better here 
 than in that wretched, frog-eating, wooden-shod country, France. 
 There, indeed, and I believe in other parts of the tyrannical 
 Continent, there is no liberty for learning : none at all. For 
 instance, Jacob you, at Crichton House, profess to teach all 
 dead and living languages, mathematics, geometry, and all that. 
 Well, and parents are contented to take your word upon the matter; 
 with a straightforward John Bullism they don't put any imperti- 
 nent questions. Now, how would it be with you in France, 
 Jacob ? Why, you'd have been had up to a board, a committee, 
 or something of the sort ; and there you'd have been examined 
 and searched, and your brains turned inside out, to see if there 
 was that in 'em that you set up to teach. If there wasn't, why 
 you'd been fined and clapt in gaol for trying to deal in learning 
 without a licence. And therefore, Jacob, after all, let us be 
 thankful that we live in a free country ; in a happy land where 
 the government however sharp it may look after adulterated 
 tobacco and illicit gin does not interfere with the liberty of the 
 subject ; but permits him to trump himself off as knowing all 
 sorts of things, leaving it to the rest of the world to find him out 
 if they can. Yes, Jacob ; night and morning return thanks that 
 you are a free-born Briton. Had you been a bankrupt French- 
 man, you must have sunk to the lowliness of a cobbler ; you 
 would have been mending the shoe-leather of your species in 
 some hut or cellar, and not living in lamb's- wool, doing nothing 
 in Crichton House. And for this comfort, Jacob, never forget 
 that you are indebted to a bountiful government. 
 
 As for the usher, it has just come into my mind that I know a 
 young man who will suit you. He is meek, civil, and a very 
 small eater. I will immediately write to him, and you shall 
 have his answer. Your sincere old friend, 
 
 Matthew Wilkins. 
 
 P.S. I shall venture to offer the young man 201. a year. 
 
168 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 LETTER XLIV. 
 
 TO AN USHER FOR A BOARDING SCHOOL. 
 
 Sir, I feel glad with myself to believe that I am enabled to 
 place you in a comfortable home. My friend, Mr. Jacob Awl, of 
 Crichton House, has at this moment a vacancy for an usher. I 
 have taken it upon myself and I trust that this confidence on 
 my part will not be abused by any bad conduct on yours to 
 recommend you. Mr. Awl, like myself, has a great respect for 
 learning ; and as I have assured him of your proficiency in 
 Greek and mathematics he has come to the determination of 
 offering you twenty pounds a-year, without your washing. There 
 are altogether about three months' holidays in the twelvemonth, 
 which time, let it be understood, you are expected to board and 
 lodge yourself. As however, non semper tendit arcum Apollo 
 (you remember the adage, Mr. Maple), you will be enabled in 
 the summer vacation to relax those energies which, as an honest 
 man, you will be called upon to string to the utmost at Crichton 
 House. There is Brighton, or Worthing, or Eamsgate, open to 
 you. So much for pleasure. 
 
 As to business ; you will remember twenty pounds per annum 
 is the sum a remarkable handsome stipend for any young man, 
 who, having decorated his mind, is consequently careless of the 
 finery of dress. Nothing so befits the true scholar, as a well- 
 worn coat : it is to my mind the only proper badge of the man 
 of real learning. Hence, you will be expected to dress cleanly, 
 decently ; but with not the least approach to foppery. My friend 
 Mr. Awl is very particular on this point. He parted with one 
 usher, only because he would insist upon wearing straps to his 
 trousers. 
 
 Mr. Awl has upwards of seventy boys, and he will place 
 sufficient confidence in you that is, upon my recommendation 
 to hand them over to your keeping. Hence, you will be 
 expected to see them all safe in bed ; to have an eye upon them 
 whilst dressing and washing ; to take your meals with them ; 
 to never leave the school-room ; and, above all, when the young 
 gentlemen recreate themselves in the play-ground, or take a walk, 
 or go to church, you are to accompany them, giving your most 
 vigilant attention, your every thought to their doings, and indeed 
 at all times and in every respect studying the interest of your 
 employer as if t'were doubly your own. For you will remember 
 
THE ANSWER. 169 
 
 that the salary is twenty pounds per annum ! There are positively 
 many footmen who do not get so much. 
 
 But the money, to a man of enlarged and truly scholastic mind, 
 is as nothing. It is, if you rightly consider it, the dignity of the 
 calling that makes it really valuable. You are to remember 
 that you are, in fact, making future citizens ; that you are, if I 
 may so express myself, creating a part of the future mind of the 
 country, and ought therefore to look upon salary as the mere 
 inevitable dross the something that the dealings of the world 
 make necessary but as altogether dust in comparison with the 
 golden satisfaction that, whatever in old age may be your fate, 
 you may probably have taught the youthful mind those noble 
 lessons which have obtained for it station, wealth, and honours. 
 
 It is a great satisfaction to me that I am able to place you so 
 happily as at Crichton House. I have every belief that you will 
 not disgrace my recommendation, and am 
 
 Your well-wisher, 
 
 Matthew Wilkins. 
 
 P.S. Whatever they may be, let me advise you not to depre- 
 ciate the suet-dumplings. 
 
 LETTEE XLV. 
 
 THE ANSWER. 
 
 Sir, Thank you for your kind intentions. Happily, I am other- 
 wise provided for. Having served five years as usher, I am fully 
 able to appreciate the blissful liberty I now enjoy. Sir, I remember 
 where I have been, and so remembering, think myself at this 
 present thne in Paradise. 
 
 It may be true enough that a threadbare coat is the proper 
 livery of the scholastic drudge of a school ; but alas ! sir, I had 
 not sufficient philosophy to bear rags and darnings with com- 
 placency ; and moreover to endure the wit of the young gentle- 
 men levelled as it often was at the poverty of their teacher. 
 For five miserable winters, trying to look very genteel for the 
 respectability of your establishment, did I shiver in one thin coat. 
 A comforter there was a mockery, I always thought, in the 
 word about my neck, vainly essayed the service of a surtout. 
 And now, sir, I am warmly, cosily clothed, and can put on a bluff 
 countenance at the elements. 
 
170 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 Judge you, sir, of the happiness of my present state. It is true, 
 I am sometimes up early and late ; but then, sir, I am abroad in 
 the world. I am looking upon life in its every aspect. I am not 
 nailed to a desk eight hours a day, with little dunderhead boys 
 droning their lessons in my ears till they sing again. I may now 
 and then have my little disputes with folks ; but I am not 
 doomed to the practical tricks of a set of young rascals, who 
 think it a prime piece of mischief to quiz a " beggarly usher." I 
 may have to send certain folks home to their beds, but I have 
 not to rouse them up in the morning, and be answerable for 
 their washed faces and combed hair at breakfast. 
 
 Beneath your roof, I had I remember one hour a day yes, one 
 whole hour, as you would say, to myself : the hour before bed- 
 time : now, sir, I have hour upon hour in which I can reflect 
 upon life and death ; in which I can again and again call to my 
 memory the glory of the poets, which glory I make a sort of 
 armour to my soul, that with invincible serenity it may bear the 
 buffets of the world about me. I am now in the country ; and at 
 solitary midnight, I can conjure up old Homer, and iEschylus, 
 and Sophocles, and Thucydides, and so make them walk and talk 
 with me, and thus enjoy immortal company. Now and then, it is 
 true, some squalid thing some harsh noise will for a time scare 
 them away ; but, with little effort, I can manage to bring them 
 back again, and make them familiar to me as before. 
 
 Happy liberty ! Above all things, I am not expected to look 
 after half a hundred boys while they play. I am not account- 
 able for every rent in their nether corduroys for every button 
 violated from their jackets for the black eye that Jones gave to 
 Eobinson, returned with a sanguinary nasus by Brown. True it 
 is, that I am still a sort of overlooker of juveniles but let them 
 quiz me if they dare. 
 
 No, sir, it is in vain that you seek to tempt me back to 
 Academic groves. I am too much enchanted with my present 
 liberty to but, sir, when you know what I am, you will at once 
 acknowledge the superiority, the abounding comforts of my place, 
 compared to that of usher at a boarding-school. 
 
 Know, then, sir, that for the last three months, I have enjoyed 
 the appointment of full private in the New Police. Have I not 
 said enough 1 Could you, would you, after this, have the heart 
 to lure me to Crichton House and questionable suet-dumplings ? 
 
 Yours, with thanks, 
 
 Martin Maple. 
 
FOR AN ALLOTMENT OF LAND. 171 
 
 LETTER XLVI. 
 
 FROM A PEASANT, FOR AN ALLOTMENT OF LAND, TO A 
 LANDOWNER. 
 
 Honoured Sir, Hoping that you will be pleased to pardon 
 the boldness of a poor man who wants to keep his wife and 
 children, I take up my pen to write. And, honoured sir, I hope 
 you will forgive me, if I say that I feel a little happy that I am 
 able to put a few words to paper, it being a sort of comfort to a 
 man, howsoever poor he may be. 
 
 My boldness, honoured sir, is this. It is, under your favour 
 and consideration, to ask of your kindness, to let me have an 
 acre of land : or if I am too bold in asking a whole acre, half or 
 a quarter of the same. I know that it may be thought a little 
 high and daring in me to ask for such a favour, seeing that your 
 estates are let out in large farms. It is, perhaps, a presumption, 
 and as I've been told a sort of flying in the face of property, 
 for a man who isn't rich enough to farm a thousand acres who 
 hasn't money for cattle and bone-dust, and all that to think of 
 having a little slice of land, just to grow a few things on for 
 himself and children ; land only being for them who can have a 
 lot of it, or none. Nevertheless, sir, I hope for your kindness. 
 I've been all along used to go to church, though I hope I may be 
 forgiven for it, I haven't been these two months, seeing that my 
 clothes are all in such rags, that, as one of the churchwardens 
 told me, they were quite a disgrace to a respectable congregation. 
 Well, sir, I say I used to go to church, but I never heard there 
 whether the Garden of Eden was twenty thousand acres or not 
 perhaps the gentlemen who set their faces against small allot- 
 ments know it to have been a very large farm indeed, and so 
 think they have religion upon their side, when they refuse a 
 poor man a little patch for his own spade. I know that it was 
 made a part of the punishment of sin a part of the curse of 
 heaven that man should eat his bread in the sweat of his face. 
 That, however wicked he may have been, he should not on his 
 own account be suffered to eat his bread at all, does seem to me 
 and my heart is so full, I can't help saying it, very like a 
 curse coming from the other place. I suppose, too, they who eat 
 their bread from the sweat of other people, have never sinned at 
 all. I hope, honoured sir, you will forgive these words ; but my 
 pen runs away with me like. 
 
172 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 When I ask, honoured sir, for this bit of land, I mean, of 
 course, to pay the very highest price you can get for it. I know 
 that land let out in little bits is always made to fetch more than 
 when let by the lump. This, of course, the poor must expect. 
 It is so in all things. My wife gives more for her bit of soap 
 and candle (when she can buy it), more for my bit of 'bacco, 
 than if we could buy such things by the pound, like respectable 
 people. And it isn't, then, to be expected that a great landlord, 
 even though he may be a Duke to boot, will do otherwise than 
 the keeper of a chandler's-shop. No, sir, though my neighbours 
 say I'm a bold fellow, and have strange nonsense running in my 
 head, I don't expect that. 
 
 If people weren't so foolish as to think otherwise, there would 
 never have been such a noise about a gentleman who said, " If 
 he let a lug of land for fivepence when he could get eightpence 
 for it, he should be giving away threepence to the tenant." The 
 gentleman only said what nearly all the world do with one 
 another every day of their lives. I was reading in a London 
 newspaper that was lent me a day or two ago, where all sorts of 
 things were advertised to be sold one under the other ; coats, 
 and waistcoats, and trousers for almost no money at all. Well, 
 the people who buy 'em say it's no business of theirs how the 
 things are made ; that's not their concern, all they want, as a 
 duty to themselves and families, is to get a cheap penn'orth ; as 
 it were to wrap themselves comfortably up in a bargain, and then 
 go with their prayer-books to church to show it. If we could ever 
 think that the time would come when folks wouldn't bargain with 
 folks, as though because they'd money to buy, they'd eat their 
 fellow-creatures up if it isn't, indeed, bold in me to say fellow- 
 creatures if we could ever hope for such a time, why, sir, then 
 this world would be indeed much nearer heaven than, perhaps, 
 poor men have any right to expect. And yet, sir, church has 
 puzzled me now and then. When the parson has told us that 
 we are all made of earth, I have, I own it, now and then looked 
 into a fine pew or two, and if it's a sin, I hope I may be pardoned 
 for it and I have sometimes doubted it. To be sure, soil is so 
 different ; the better sort of folks may be the rich and loamy ; 
 and the poor, the cold stiff clay, only fit for draining. 
 
 Still, sir, folks say that things are brightening up for the poor. 
 There are a good many signs of it. Only last autumn, I'm told, 
 three real lords played at cricket somewhere with some shop- 
 keepers. A man in our village who's reckoned to know some- 
 thing has said it isn't unlikely that in less than twenty years a 
 squire may now and then join in quoits or foot-ball with day- 
 labourers. If ever this should come to pass, it must lead to 
 
FOR AN ALLOTMENT OF LAND. 173 
 
 good things. For of course the matter -won't stop there. The 
 squire, after making so familiar, will look in at the men's houses ; 
 will talk with their wives and little ones about their food, and 
 their clothes, and such like giving them a kind word and a 
 helping hand when they want it. This, of course, will come of 
 the matter ; otherwise, for my part, I can't see such very great 
 good in it. Politeness is a nice thing, and sometimes warms a 
 poor man's heart more than he can tell it : but politeness itself 
 won't put a 'tato on the plate when there isn't one. Folks can't 
 eat quoits and foot-balls. 
 
 And now, sir, I hope you will be so good as to let me have 
 this bit of land 1 It will, I feel, make quite a man of me. Yes, 
 sir, I mean that work and no other. As it is, sir I don't know 
 how it can be but somehow at times I don't feel a man at all. 
 I seem at if I'd no business in the world ; as if I was a sort of 
 toad or slug upon the soil ; an interloper on the land, having no 
 right even to make a footmark in it. The sun doesn't seem to 
 shine for me nor the wheat to shoot nor the hedge-flowers to 
 blow. I feel sometimes as if poverty in this world was made the 
 mark of Cain, and was upon me ; with this hard difference, too, 
 that any man might smite me for it. 
 
 And then, sir, the temptations that fly and run about one ! I 
 mean the game, sir. Many a time, when I've heard the pheasant 
 crow, it has somehow sounded though not a bit like it like 
 one of my children crying for food, and then for a minute my 
 brain hau been in a blaze, and I'd have done anything. When 
 things are at the worst, and starvation is for days in my cup- 
 board, the devil or something like him has sent the hares 
 running about me, as though on purpose to be knocked down 
 with a stick. It's a hard matter, sir, to keep one's hands off a 
 dinner running at one's feet a dinner that it's hard to think 
 belongs to anybody in particular. 
 
 And therefore, honoured sir, I do hope for a bit of land. If 
 it's no bigger, one may say, than a lark's turf, like the lark I 
 know I can whistle upon it and be happy. And so, honoured 
 sir, asking your pardon for my boldness, as a poor man, in 
 thinking of such a thing, 
 
 I remain, 
 
 Yours humbly to command, 
 
 Abel Weed. 
 
174 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 LETTEE XLVII. 
 
 THE LANDLORD'S ANSWER. 
 
 Abel Weed, Had you known anything of the true principles 
 of political economy, you would never have written such a letter 
 to me, a landowner. Know, that it is much better for you that 
 you should not have even a quarter of an acre that it is for the 
 social good of all that you should remain as you are. 
 
 Theophilus Canaan, Bart. 
 
 LETTER XLVIII. 
 
 FROM A BACHELOR TO A HUSBAND ON THE ACCOMPLISHMENTS 
 OF HIS WIFE. 
 
 My dear Simpson, As an old, old friend, I feel no hesitation 
 in addressing you upon a subject, which the weakness of most 
 people makes a very nice and delicate one. Married men are, I 
 know, ridiculously sensitive to opinions passed by their friends 
 upon their wives. You, my dear fellow, are not of these. No : 
 you remain unchanged by matrimony ; you are the same 
 transcendent philosopher you ever were. Hence, I feel that I 
 can talk to you about your wife as upon any other subject that 
 tests a man's better taste. I can criticise your helpmate with 
 the same free judgment that I would pass upon your horses or 
 your wines. Feeling this, I the more readily respond to your 
 request, and tell you at once freely and frankly "what I think " 
 of the lady whom the complaisance of the world denominates 
 your better half. 
 
 I had prepared myself, from what you had said, to see a full- 
 blown, radiant beauty. Now, my dear boy, your wife is not 
 brilliantly handsome ; certainly not. She has, however, a very 
 pleasing face very nice expressive eyes ; very nice. And when 
 she has seen a little more of the world when, too, she can have 
 benefited more by your counsel so that she may achieve a little 
 more self-control, she will, I have no doubt, be a. very charming, 
 comfortable sort of little body. At present now what I say, 
 Simpson, accept as the surest proof of my friendship for you at 
 present, there is now and then an air of constraint ; and then, 
 
ON THE ACCOMPLISHMENTS OF A WIFE, 175 
 
 again, an air of forced vivacity about her, that is hardly natural 
 to good society. This little defect, however, time and your good 
 judgment will remedy. 
 
 Her conversation is sprightly ; certainly sprightly. I did not 
 however and I assure you I watched most vigilantly I did not 
 detect in it those flashes of wit, that radiant fancy, of which, ere 
 you made the lady your wife, you wrote to me so much. Matri- 
 mony, however, may be fatal to these good gifts ; wit and fancy 
 may not submit to the small circle of a wedding-ring. For 
 myself, there is nothing 1 admire so much in a woman as a 
 discreet silence ; nothing that so much annoys me as her vain 
 attempts to shine. If anything can take the beauty from 
 beautiful lips, it is when they evidently try to drop pearls and 
 diamonds, and let fall nothing worth the picking up. I will not 
 say that Mrs. Simpson does this ; certainly not ; nevertheless, my 
 dear friend, you may teach her with great advantage that now 
 and then the best adornment of a wife is taciturnity. 
 
 You were wont to praise your wife's temper. I have so much 
 respect for your judgment, that I am sure no artifices of court- 
 ship could blind you to a defect. And yet, my dear fellow, the 
 whole education of woman from the cradle to the altar is one 
 long course of no, hang it ! I will not say deceit. Bachelor as 
 I am, and intend for ever to be, I will not put down that ugly 
 word. Nevertheless, it is extraordinary how women can hide 
 their real temper until the parson, as they think, gives them a 
 legal right to show it. It is really wonderful to know how very 
 long talons may sleep in the velvet paw of courtship before the 
 " amen " of the clerk calls them out. I cannot think it is thus 
 with Mrs. Simpson : oh, no. Still I watched her and my heart 
 had a slight misgiving when I saw her frown at your ventured 
 opinion, that the sweet-sauce was a little burnt. However, 
 perhaps it may have been only her peculiar mode of look, and 
 not a frown. You, my dear boy, know best ; for who, indeed, 
 ought to judge between man and wife ? 
 
 Touching your wife's music, I do not think her ear very good, 
 but it may be improved. Her voice to be sure it may have 
 altered since you wrote so much about it is thin as wire : and 
 by the way, not silver wire. Her execution is a little too hurried ; 
 as though she would hide defects under an assumed brilliancy of 
 fingering. All this, however, time and practice may remedy. 
 Apropos, who taught her Italian ? Her pronunciation in a 
 word, my dear fellow, your wife's Italian Lancashire witch as 
 she is is Lancashire Italian. 
 
 However, who in a wife as wives are made by present 
 education is to expect perfection 1 You, my dear friend, were 
 
1 76 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 ever too philosophic, too wise, to look for excellence, and there- 
 fore will, I have no doubt, be very comfortable with your present 
 little helpmate. Doubtless, you might have done better but 
 then, again, you might have done worse, and so, all things 
 considered, it is as well as it is. 
 
 You asked me, "what I thought of your wife candidly?" 
 I have endeavoured to illustrate my old friendship for you by 
 giving you an honest, ingenuous answer. All husbands are, I 
 know, not to be so openly dealt with. But the experience of 
 twenty years tells me that you are a friend and a philosopher. 
 Ever, my dear Simpson, yours truly, 
 
 Frank Davis. 
 
 P.S. Eemember : we dine at the Club on Thursday. 
 
 LETTER XLIX. 
 
 THE HUSBAND'S ANSWER. 
 
 Dear Davis, Your frankness is charming delightful ! How 
 few friends would have had the fine moral courage to write such 
 a letter ! How well, too, have you judged my philosophy ! I 
 assure you, I have laughed laughed heartily at your epistle : it 
 has amused me mightily. 
 
 As for Mrs. Simpson's beauty, why in a wife, I take it, that is 
 a commodity which has peculiar reference to her husband. To 
 be sure, beauty may exist, and some eyes never see it. I wonder 
 now, what the mole or the owl really and truly thinks of the 
 sun ? But doubtless, you can tell. 
 
 It is quite true, that Mrs. Simpson has some feminine diffidence. 
 She was not, unfortunately you may think, brought up in a 
 garrison ; and has never yet headed the conversation in a mess- 
 room. I believe the age of silver preceded the age of brass. 
 
 As for her wit and fancy, you know, my dear sir, how difficult 
 it is to define those qualities : how much more difficult with some 
 people to appreciate them. How very much they are wasted 
 upon them. I know, in some countries, it is the fashion to hang 
 the heads of mules with melodious, semi-toned bells.; but who- 
 ever could hope that the brutes should understand their beautiful 
 modulation ? 
 
 The temper of Mrs. Simpson is but it is not for a husband to 
 expatiate on the household excellences of his wife. No ; they 
 
FROM A PUBLISHER TO AN AUTHOR. 177 
 
 are too sacred in their nature to be defiled by ink : they are to 
 be respected, worshipped, in the innermost core of the conjugal 
 heart. I may merely observe this Mrs. Simpson never frowns. 
 My wine is, I know, potent, and dear sir you were evidently 
 very thirsty. Hence, you may not be accountable for the then 
 haziness of your vision. 
 
 Your exceeding thirst, too seeing how industriously you tried 
 to sate it may have rendered you a little unfit to criticise music. 
 We all know what Midas thought of Apollo. 
 
 With respect to my appointment to dine at the Club, I have 
 this morning at the request of Mrs. Simpson withdrawn my 
 name as a member. Hence, I cannot have the pleasure of 
 meeting you. Nevertheless, I am, Yours obliged, 
 
 John Simpson. 
 
 LETTEB L. 
 
 FROM A PUBLISHER TO AN AUTHOR. 
 
 Dear Sir, Upon my word, this is too bad ! We have been 
 standing for eopy for two days. Really too bad. I would not 
 wish to write anything that might be thought severe ; no, I trust 
 I have a greater respect for letters. Nevertheless, it does appear 
 to me very strange that gentlemen authors are the only sort of 
 people with whom there is nothing like regularity. It is never 
 so with other tradesmen. If I want a coat, or a pair of boots, by 
 a stated day the tailor, the bootmaker, never disappoints me. 
 And yet men who write will take such liberties ! as if pen and 
 ink gave 'em a sort of license to do what no respectable trades- 
 man ever thinks of doing. Business is business all the world 
 over ; and there should be the same punctuality in making poems 
 as in making pantaloons. When writers can't be punctual they 
 ought to give up the trade, and take to other employment. 
 
 I do not deny that your head may have been a little bit out of 
 order that your spirits may have been low or shattered that 
 all this beautiful world, as you once very finely said to me, may 
 have seemed to you as if it was made of wet brown paper. I 
 don't deny this ; but then what have I said to you, again and 
 again ? Ought not men who are liable to such ridiculous 
 crotchets, to work double-tides when they are quite well, so that 
 they may always have copy in advance of the blue devils 1 I, sir 
 who do not pretend to what some folks call the dignity of an 
 
 N 
 
178 PUNCH'S COMPLETE LETTER WRITER. 
 
 author /have always been in advance of the world; / have 
 always caught time by the forelock in all things. 
 
 Permit me to say, there is a good deal of nonsense talked by 
 you gentlemen authors to the great inconvenience of the unfor- 
 tunate tradesmen who deal with you about waiting for inspira- 
 tion. Pooh ! It's very like waiting for a policeman when you 
 want him you may wait all day, and never light upon him. 
 Inspiration, sir, if you only persevere, comes with pen-and-ink : 
 in the same way that a pump that seems dry gives water with 
 pumping. 
 
 Again, some of you gentry affect to be affected by the weather, 
 as if you wrote in quicksilver and not in ink. Doctor Johnson, 
 sir, contained in himself as many people now called authors, as 
 there are sticks in a faggot. And what says Doctor Johnson 
 about the effect of season and weather 1 "Why he growls a laugh 
 at it. Yes, sir, that great man would have written Paradise Lost 
 quite as well in a coal-mine as in Arcadia, if there is such a 
 place. Besides, when a man has served his time to writing, it's 
 after all I'm sure of it nothing more than a knack. Just as a 
 woman knits garters and gossips at the same time, he can go on 
 writing his book and think nothing at all about it. This is done 
 every day by some people : I could only wish, sir, that, with all 
 your talent for you have a sort of talent, I don't deny it you 
 could do the same thing. It would be money in your pocket' 
 and to me a very great convenience. 
 
 It is true you have written much ; nevertheless, as I say, there 
 is a good deal of meat upon you yet a good deal of meat. Some 
 people may think this a coarse phrase of mine I don't. On the 
 contrary, I think it significant and original. I look upon authors 
 simply as a butcher looks upon Southdown-mutton; with merely 
 an eye to the number of pounds to be got out of 'em. You 
 know that my character is frankness. I have lost a great deal 
 by it but I can't help that. 
 
 And now, by ten to-morrow I must have the remainder of this 
 book. Work work : you know you can take to your bed, if 
 necessary, when you have done it. At all events, do the book. 
 And after all, as somebody says, what is a book but words and 
 words but breath 1 Eeally you must not be after ten to-morrow ; 
 if so, there are now, thank heaven, twelve posts a day, and I 
 have directed Biggs to write to you every hour. 
 
 Yours faithfully, 
 
 John Cdrll. 
 
THE AUTHOR'S ANSWER. 179 
 
 LETTEE LI. (and Last.) 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S ANSWER. 
 
 Dear Sir, With this, you have the last of the copy. Thank 
 heaven ! 
 
 It is very true, that I have not the punctuality of either your 
 boot-maker or your tailor: but then I am punished for my 
 iniquity, for neither have I anything like their banker's account. 
 It is also the misfortune of my craft to admit not of the services 
 of either journeymen or 'prentices ; otherwise, I too might be 
 very punctual by the hands of other people. 
 
 It is very true that, for the past fortnight, I have had a certain 
 sickness of the brain, from, I believe, over-work. It is, perhaps, 
 possible, that even one of your horses, if made to carry double, 
 might, for a time, require the repose of the stable. Not that I 
 would think of comparing my brain to the horse-flesh that calls 
 you master. Indeed, an author may be rather likened to an 
 elephant, seeing he frequently has to carry a house upon his 
 back filled with a numerous family. 
 
 You are pleased to say I have a great deal of meat upon me. 
 I can only say in answer, that it shall be my especial care that, 
 for the future, none of the said meat shall be transformed into 
 your mutton-chops. 
 
 With this determination, Sir, 
 I remain, 
 
 Your obedient Servant, 
 
 BRADBURY AND JTV.ANS. PRINTERS, -WIHTEFRIARS. 
 
Rl 
 T 
 
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