No. 5. ORIGINAL. A WEEKLY MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE AND THE FINE ARTS. THE WORD-CATCHER; A TALE OF ANNOYANCE. "Dat inania verba; Dat sine mente sonum." SATURDAY, MARCH 31, 1832. VIRG. AMONG the frivolous and vexatious practices that have obtained modern currency, and that ruffle, without wholesomely exciting it, the surface of social intercourse, there is one to which, I think, no sufficient attention has been called, and against which I, as a recent sufferer, do here insist on raising my pathetic caveat. The social grievance I allude to is that fidgetty, shuffling, cozening, ferreting, itching, worrying impertinence-that worst of all "creeping things," the habit of punning. The toleration that has so long winked at this nuisance, is the cause of its being thrust upon us wholesale at the highest cost to our patience, without any idea of abatement. The London market, generally, is overstocked with it; but in the City, which is the very heart of that market, its amount is more particularly alarming. The tale I have to unfold, however destitute of romance, is entitled to critical indulgence, as a faithful narrative of human suffering. It is no other than the account of a day spent in the excruciating society of a City punster. My friend, (I do not much thank a school acquaintanceship for teaching me that word,")-my friend is a little, wheezing, asthmatic bachelor, with small grey, peering eyes, a mouth alternately chuckling and pursing up, and withal that kind of personal carriage styled by Lord Chesterfield "a whiffling activity of body." His invitation-given after a casual meeting, the first since our boyish communion-was conveyed in a note (sealed with a bi-significant motto), in which he begged me to be his "Knight of the Round Table for a day" besought me to "come early, as he had consulted the Master of the Rolls for my accommodation at breakfast; and promised that, at dinner, the potatoes should be as mealy as they ought to be," &c. Price 3d. Thus solicited, I found my way to Mr. W's house or counting-house in Mincing Lane, having an entrance through a gate, and up several narrow steps; of which simple facts he made the most afterwards, by telling me that "His gate was Mincing, and his steps were small." At breakfast, I had to swallow as many puns as visible mouthfuls; and some of them plaguily indigestible, too While filling up the steaming cups, he failed not to touch on the apparent anomaly, as he termed it, that tea should keep so well, though an article for ever going to pot. He urged me to partake of eggs and ham; yet declared he would not press it petulantly, lest I should consider myself subjected to a cross eggs-ham-ination. He disturbed my deglutition by assuring me that his breakfast-service was really of the earth, earthy, although from Wedge-wood; and it was shamefully evident that he seemed to have provided a towering lump of butter expressly for the miserable purpose of an opportunity to hope that I should feel at liberty to regard myself as in the "land of Grease!" With these and similar vapid equivocations-which positively seemed to enter my stomach in quality of wind, and to threaten dyspepsia-did our first refection begin and end. A morning walk succeeded, in order that we might take steps, as he expressed it, to get an appetite for dinner. We issued forth among the jostling thousands of the great civic hive, and visited the Auction Mart, where we witnessed the disposal of sundry silver tankards and butter-boats, which W called vessels in full sale; the Mansion-house, where he seized occasion to wonder why the Lord Mayor should be content with a Hobler by way of clerk; and various other local resorts, the names and purposes of which were distorted into accordance with the duplicity of his humour. Every attempt I made to gain information was eluded with some verbal jest or other; and all my efforts to excite within him some little touch of sentiment or reflection, by retrospective hints at our school associations, were turned aside by some wretched conceit or vulgar quibble. As we passed through St. Paul's Church-yard, a dog that was squatted beneath a hand-truck made a snap at a vagrant boy. W. stopped to expatiate to me on the mischiefs of "the truck system," and had his hat knocked off by a butcher's tray. He turned, and, screwing up his mouth, told the careless offender that his conduct exhibited a "trait" which could not be called meet for a gentleman to be served with. The butcher made a swelled cheek at him, by means of that internal and lateral protrusion of the tongue familiar to such persons, and walked on. A rose-scented dandy now accosted us, to inquire his way. "I wish," said W, "he would go to the devil, with those that scent (sent) him. Such a thing should not be called a man, but an otto-man." We looked in to see the Papers at John's Coffee-house, where iny persecuting friend failed not to bore me with the emphatic enunciation of some of those oddly-phrased bits of intelligence so frequent in the columns usurped by the market oracles;-such as, that the holders of rums are sadly out of spirits; that ashes are in a disturbed state; that nutmegs are flat; that quicksilver is steady; that feathers are heavy, hides looking up, and Exchequer Bills feverish. Continuing our (to me) tedious ramble, we met an acquaintance of his, an ill-natured looking vulgarian with a red face, who confessed to having indulged too freely the even"I see, ing before in brandy. "Yes," exclaimed W. by the marks, that it has not failed to brand ye!" The man was vexed, and so was I. - The company of my old friend, newly revived, was grown by this time beartily distasteful to me-to me, whose gravity of character is the talk of my relations, and the cherished quality with myself. But I had come to spend the day, and there were dinner and tea, with all the pertaining and intermediate time, to be gone through-and there were the petty shocks from W- 's pop-gun to be sustained. Confined and shackled by the bonds of civility, I was exposed to the innumerable little arrows of his verbal wit. My position was that of Gulliver among the Lilliputians. " Dinner (which was put down at the hour of four, by that sort of unkempt, unwashed old woman, whom one so often sees in a City menage) was a period of purgatory. I speak not of the repast itself, although it was by some degrees inferior to what is usually understood by "a family dinner,' but of the garniture and accompaniments, which my friend thought fit to draw upon his own brains for. Pointing to the stratum of ox-flesh which filled the first dish," You behold me determined," remarked he, "to have a steak in the country-albeit I am not in the country, but in town, and shall hardly rescue my steak from the jaws of destruction." Pressing me to a second slice, " You cannot think," said he," how much your air would be improved by swallowing a portion of ox again" (oxygen). The old jokes about beer and ale were broached, and passed off with their cus tomary flatness; nor was that ever-to-be-deprecated story of theapsus lingua" forgotten. Bread, he informed me, had lately proved with him the staff of wit; for he had re-christened a certain deleterious baker, whose floury paths he had fled from, by the name of Lord Bread-all-bane. But, alas! as Ovid says, "singula quid referam?" Why should I go into all the sinuosities and perversions by which the misguided small jester commits unconscious annoyance, and scatters his minute powder in the mental eyes of all within his reach. I would not have thus traced again on paper this devious track, but for the sake of example and admonition; purposes which the growing propensities of "little men in narrow ways," like my quillet-driving friend, render it now-a-days highly necessary to address oneself to. Suffice it to record further, that tea, with a running and punning commentary, was laboriously discussed; but that supper, to which I was solicited under what he termed, with more candour than politeness, "the high-pressure system, was resolutely declined. Under the combined influence 'of head-ache and loss of temper, I rose to depart. "Well," said W--,"you have passed one day with me-next time it must be two-for, although a single man, I am full of double meaning. ("What a sequitur!" thought I.) Listlessly, and with a faint smile, I extended my hand. "May our hands be often shaken," quoth he, "but our friendship never!" I feebly echoed the sentiment, for I feared it was only uttered, like so many other of his sayings, for the sake of the words. I reached home, and repaired to bed, where I made many vain efforts to sleep. W- -'s linked jokes, having the continuous explosion of crackers, fizzed, and danced, and fidgetted in my remembrance, till I felt like a man imbedded among nettles-and the discomposure of my nerves had no mitigation until I resorted to the sedative of twenty drops of laudanum, under the effect of which I at length sank into oblivion of my troublesome friend the Word-catcher, and the trivial incidents of a day, which form this "Tale of D. Annoyance." ORIGINAL SONNETS. No. I. I stand where dripping fountains sweetly shed And all around me, damsels, lovely, fair, MY FIRST DAY IN TOWN. How well do I remember-when shall I forget?-my first entry into London! It was on a cold, cheerless, November morning-for I had travelled by the night-coach from RI alighted at the Coffee House (1 shall omit the name, for I hate the servilities of locality) in any thing but an agreeable mood. I had had but little rest during the night, for my companions had been-a fat lady of a certain age, with two children, one a baby in arms, and an ancient, wheezing pug, that was everlastingly getting under my feet, if I ventured to stretch them, and which amused itself for three continuous hours with howling at the coach lamps. I ought to have been thankful at my delivery-but I must needs confess that thankfulness was any thing but my predominant feeling. Were I called upon to describe a spirit, the precise Antipodes of philanthropy, I should fix upon that of the traveller arrived for the first time in the modern Babylon, after leaving far behind him a happy home and all the "old familiar faces" thereunto belonging. At least, such was my spirit. I hated every thing and every being that met my sight, from the lean waiter who brought my breakfast, to the sleek tom cat curled up in the corner. I had determined upon passing a few days in my present abiding place, until I should have procured decent lodgings; and not knowing a soul in town, I hastily swallowed a London breakfast of saturated sponge, or "ot rolls," as they are called, and took a four-hours' nap. I then arose, and taking up the "Times," had really got through half a paragraph, when I was disturbed by a gentleman in the coffee-room, who was raising heaven and earth about something which he called his "Bolivar." What it was, was a perfect mystery to me; but the self-same word "Bolivar" was dunned into my ears by at least a score of voices. The waiters apologised and protested ignorance-the gentleman stormed" gentlemen's Bolivars were not to be lost in that way, &c." How the matter ended, I know not, for, disgusted by the squabble, I ascertained from a waiter that the word signified a particular species of hat then in vogue—and thereupon strolled out into the street, little knowing or caring whither I went. Chance is a blind guide, and that is her sole excuse for leading me into Fleet Street. "And this is London!" thought I, as I slid along the slimy pathway, and surveyed the thronging forms which jostled me this way and that. " Few things in town catch the notice of country visitants so early as the larger print shops. At one of these I had amused myself for a considerable time, and had fallen into a happy forgetfulness of every thing around me, when I was aroused from my half reverie by the sound of a female voice "more in sorrow than in anger." I turned round, and found it proceeded from a poor beggar woman, who, with an infant at her breast, was remonstrating with an incensed streetkeeper for making her pass on.' The fellow was a shortish man, with an oily, animal face-much like the reverend frontispieces of the "Evangelical Magazine." I thought of Lear's apostrophe to the rascal Bedel," and more out of spite to him than charity to her, I fear, I handed the poor creature some halfpence. Such a profusion of thanks and blessings followed, that I was fain to slide on at the risk of my neck, to escape from her clamorous gratitude. It was getting dusk when I reached the same spot on my return, and one of the charming fogs of the season was fast gathering additional gloom. My fair friend of the morning was still there, but her back was to me, and she was in such earnest conversation with one of her own sex, that my vicinity was unperceived. "Well, Bet," said the stranger, “what have you grabbed this blessed day?" "Only four bob and some browns," was the reply; "that ere cussed Parkins won't let one earn an honest penny, and I shall have half-acrown to pay for this little bundle," pointing to the wretched baby at her bosom; "but," she continued, "he's troubled with the roomattics, this foggy weather, and if so be that's continues, I'll hire twins, and pick up the stuff like a noo un." "And this is London!" again came across me, for I was then ignorant that all things were to be hired, from the infant at the breast, to the monkey on the hand organ. And so I returned to my dinner at the coffee house, vainly endeavouring to interpret minutely the vile slang of the fair conversationists, of which however the purport was evident enough. I had heard much in the country of Kean; and as I had learned from various bills seen in the shop-windows during my ramble, that he was that night to play Othello at Drury Lane, I proceeded thither just in time for "standing room" in the pit. After a squeezing and stifling that mocks description, I found myself stationed on the right side of the house, wedged in between the pit bench and a surly-looking brute about six feet two, with bulk to match. I was soon, however, absorbed too entirely by the genius of the actor, to think of aught beside. Venice, the sea-girt city was before me and I was wrapt, heart and soul, in the unmerited sufferings of her, "the gentle lady married to the Moor," and in the desperate struggles betwixt love and rising jealousy in the mind of the Moor himself. But, alas! short was my enjoyment. The man-mountain behind me, who had repeatedly, during the performance, incommoded me by treading on my heels, had now-emboldened by my endurance, rested the entire mass of his enormous body upon me, by planting his elbows firmly upon my shoulders, and in this posture surveyed the stage with perfect ease to himself. Having borne this as long as nature would endure, I at length mildly begged him to shift his position-his reply was a brutal denial-my blood was up, and a quarrel ensued. As this took place during the most interesting part of the tragedy, our angry tones soon drew down the wrath of the house, and "turn them out" was the unanimous cry. After a short scuffle, in which one of the skirts of my coat was torn completely off, we were handed out, and given in charge to a leash of watchmen, (there were Charlies on the earth in those days) to be consigned to the watch-house. My antagonist was by this time greatly softened, and very anxious to compromise the matter by bribing the Charlies. For me the idea of a watch-house, and the subsequent police-office examination was worse than death itself and as our conductors would hear of nothing less than a sovereign a-piece to each Dogberry, and my adversary had but just one sovereign about him, I was fain to adjust the business by paving the remaining two myself. "And this is London," sighed I again, as with half-skirted coat I skirted the pavement in weary mood towards the coffee house. I must here mention-though not strictly included in "my first day in town"-that about a week after, I read the following paragraph in the "Herald," under the head of "Novel mode of raising the wind:" 'Barney Mc Guffen, a man of Herculean dimensions, from the Sister Isle,' was charged before Sir Richard Birnie with the following ingenious system of fraud. It appeared that for some time this bold dragoon' had been in the habit of picking a quarrel with some frequenter of the pit at Drury Lane, and thus creating a disturbance in the house. The consequence was always the delivery of both parties into the hands of the guardians of the night,' between whom and Mc Guffen a perfect acquaintance subsisted. The result of all this was a bribe, which was divided among the confederates, &c." S. S. ON SEEING TWO PADDINGTON COACHMEN QUARRELLING ABOUT A PASSENGER. Why rage thus these "ungentle men?" THE DESTRUCTION OF CALLAO. [In the year 1747, Callao was destroyed in an extraordinary manner. The sea suddenly receded, and immediately rushing back, past its usual bounds, buried the whole town in its bosom. One man alone escaped, who, at the time of the occurrence, was about to strike the flag of the fort.] The western sun's last lingering ray A flag hung o'er the sultry seas, But not a breath its folds to swell; Sudden an awful rush was heard!- The gun dropp'd from his nerveless hand- Fix'd his bewilder'd gaze! Back borne the furious waters were Back from the shore with deafening hiss! (Three furlongs full the depths lay bare)— Then stay'd their course a moment there, Cresting the dark abyss! But, oh! short pause, and dread delay!— Yes! onward, furious, swept they down! Judge ye the gazer's agony, When, than the loud sea louder grown, The "Miserere" cry! 'Tis past-they sleep beneath the wave! But he the witness? Bounteous Heaven THE SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD. THE CARNIVAL AT ROME. (From the German of Goethe.) (Concluded from page 54.) 19. PREPARATIONS for the HORSE-RACE. The moment for the horse-racing now approaches, and upon this most exciting moment is the interest of thousands occupied. The lenders of seats, the proprietors of the platforms, redouble their cries, "Luoghi avanti! Luoghi! Nobili! Luoghi! Padroni." In the meantime the space in front of the Obelisk has been cleared of the people and affords one of the most beautiful sights ever seen. The three tapestried façades of the stands before described en close the spot. Thousands of heads are seen ranged one above another, as it were in an ancient amphitheatre or circus. Above the centre stands the Obelisk, and raises its whole length into the air, for the stands only cover the pedestal, and we now notice for the first time its immense height, when it is the measure of so large a body of people. 20. THE RUNNING. The horses, in the order which has been decided by lot, are now led into the stalls behind the ropes by gaily. dressed grooms. They were without trappings or even horse-cloths! Here are fastened on them balls with sharp prickles; but, until the moment of starting, the parts which these balls touch are covered with leather, with tinsel pasted over it. They are generally restive and impatient when brought to the stalls, and employ all the strength and skill of their riders to restrain them. Their anxiety to begin the race makes them ungovernable; the presence of the crowd makes them shy. They frequently kick over the ropes on the next stall, and this disorder and confusion increases the interest. The grooms are in the highest degree watchful and attentive to gain the advantage of the starts. At last the rope falls, and the race begins. In the open place it is that they make their play to get the lead,—for in the narrow space between the two rows of carriages-it is of little use contending for it. A pair generally overrun the rest, and strain every nerve against each other. Notwithstanding the Pozzolani strewn over it-the pavement flashes fire, the manes are dishevelled, the tinsel nestles, and we no sooner see them, than they are past. All this time the rest of the horses are crowding and hindering one another: but, at length they all vanish from those who are looking after them, and the people crowd together and fill up the course. In the meantime the horses are caught and secured by other grooms at the Venetian Palace, and the prize is awarded to the vicor. Thus ends this fete with a forcible, lightning-quick, instantaneous impression, for which so many thousands have long watched, while few can give an account wherefore they watched the moment, and wherefore they were delighted with it. 21 AN END TO ORDER. The horses generally start at the approach of night, and as soon as they arrive at the Venetian Palace, small mor tars are discharged; this signal is repeated about the centre of the course, and for the last time close to the Obelisk In an instant the guards leave their post, the order of the carriages is no longer preserved; and certainly this is for the spectator who stands quietly at his window, an anxious and tiresome moment. At the moment the signal is given, some of the carriages turn about, and throw into confusion the pedestrian : and because one wishes in this narrow space to go one way, and another another, carriages are frequently unable to leave the place, and prevent those that are in a line with them from doing so likewise. And if, as it sometimes happens at this moment, a run. away horse rushes into such a mob, the danger, risk, and vexation are increased on all sides. 22. NIGHT. And yet this confnsion ends, certainly at a later period but for the most part pleasantly. The night advances, and every one rejoices at the prospect of repose. 23. THE THEATRE. All faces are unmasked in an instant, and a great part of the public hasten to the theatre. It is only by chance in the boxes that any Tabarri, or ladies masked are to be seen; the whole pit appear in their ordinary costume. The passion of the Romans for the theatre is very great, and formerly was much more violent at Carnival time, as it was then only that they had the opportunity of indulging it. In summer and autumn there is now at least one playhouse open, and the public may therefore indulge themselves in in this way nearly throughout the whole year. the company in them being frequently shewn by small chrystal chandeliers suspended from the roof; while in other carriages the ladies, with variegated tapers in their hands, appear as it were to invite an examination of their beauty. The servants cover the edge of the coach-roofs with little tapers; open carriages with variegated paper lanterns make their appearance; among the pedestrians are many with tall pyramids of lights upon their heads; others have their hair stuck upon a bundle of reeds, and frequently reach with a wand of this sort up to the first or second story. It is now the custom for every one to carry in his hand a lighted taper, and "sia ammazzato," the favorite imprecation of the Romans, is now repeated in every corner of the street. "Sia ammazzato chi non porta moccolo"-Death to him who does not carry a little light-exclaims every one to his neighbour, trying, at the same time to extinguish his light. The blowing, lighting, and shouting "Sia ammazato," soon gives life and movement, aud a varying interest to the enormous multitude. Without any regard to being known or unknown to them, all are seeking to blow out their neighbours' lights, or to rekicdle their own, and to avail themselves of this opportunity of extinguishing the lighters.' And the louder the shout of "Sia ammazato" becomes, the more do the words lose their terrific meaning, the more do we forget that we are in Rome, where this imprecation, for a trifle, might shortly be fulfille on one or the other. The meaning of the expression is soon entirely lost sight of. And, as in other languages, we often hear curses and indecent words used to express amazement and delight, so is "sia ammazzato !" this evening, the watchword, the cry of joy, the chorus of all mirth, raillery, and compliment. Thus hear we jokingly, "sia ammazato il Signor Abbate che fa l'amore," or some passing friend greeting another with "Sia ammazato il Signor Filippo !" or sometimes we hear, mixed up with flattery and compliment, "Sia ammaz zata la bella Principessa! Sia ammazzata la Signora Angelica, la prima pittrice del Secolo." All these phrases are uttered violently and shrilly, with a long marked tone upon the penultimate or antepenultimate syllables. And, in the midst of this incessant cry, the blowing and lighting of tapers is continually going on. All ranks and ages contend against one another; the lights on the steps of the carriages, the chandeliers and paper lanterns, are scarcely secure; the child blows out his father's light, exclaiming "Sia ammazza to il Signor Padre." If the old man reproves this indecorum, the boy avails himself of the freedom of the night, and repeats his imprecation the more violently. No one moves from the place where he stands or sits; the warmth from so many people, so many lights, the smoke from so many extinguished torches, the cry of so many men, who roar more loudly in proportion as they can the less a limb, at last make the strongest headgiddy; it appears that move hardly possible that serious accidents should not occur, the carriage ho ses should not run wild, and many be bruised, crushed, or injured. And yet, because at last every one longs to get away, and turns into any avenue as soon as he approaches it, or steps out into the first open spot for air and respiration, this body eventually separates, dissolves from the ends to the centre, and this feast of universal freedom and licentiousness, this modern Saturnalia, at length concludes with a general deafening. The people now hasten to regale themselves till midnight at a well-prepared banquet, with the soon-to-be-forbidden meat; the higher ranks resort to the play-houses, in order to take a farewell of their greatly shortened theatrical pieces, |