Punch, Or The London 
Charivari, Vol. 1, July 17, 1841 
 
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July 17, 1841, by Various This eBook is for the use of anyone 
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Title: Punch, Or The London Charivari, Vol. 1, July 17, 1841 
Author: Various 
Release Date: October 5, 2004 [EBook #13639] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 
VOL. 1. 
 
FOR THE WEEK ENDING JULY 17, 1841.
* * * * * 
THE MORAL OF PUNCH. 
As we hope, gentle public, to pass many happy hours in your society, 
we think it right that you should know something of our character and 
intentions. Our title, at a first glance, may have misled you into a belief 
that we have no other intention than the amusement of a thoughtless 
crowd, and the collection of pence. We have a higher object. Few of the 
admirers of our prototype, merry Master PUNCH, have looked upon 
his vagaries but as the practical outpourings of a rude and boisterous 
mirth. We have considered him as a teacher of no mean pretensions, 
and have, therefore, adopted him as the sponsor for our weekly sheet of 
pleasant instruction. When we have seen him parading in the glories of 
his motley, flourishing his baton (like our friend Jullien at Drury-lane) 
in time with his own unrivalled discord, by which he seeks to win the 
attention and admiration of the crowd, what visions of graver puppetry 
have passed before our eyes! Golden circlets, with their adornments of 
coloured and lustrous gems, have bound the brow of infamy as well as 
that of honour--a mockery to both; as though virtue required a reward 
beyond the fulfilment of its own high purposes, or that infamy could be 
cheated into the forgetfulness of its vileness by the weight around its 
temples! Gilded coaches have glided before us, in which sat men who 
thought the buzz and shouts of crowds a guerdon for the toils, the 
anxieties, and, too often, the peculations of a life. Our ears have rung 
with the noisy frothiness of those who have bought their fellow-men as 
beasts in the market-place, and found their reward in the sycophancy of 
a degraded constituency, or the patronage of a venal ministry--no 
matter of what creed, for party must destroy patriotism. 
The noble in his robes and coronet--the beadle in his gaudy livery of 
scarlet, and purple, and gold--the dignitary in the fulness of his 
pomp--the demagogue in the triumph of his hollowness--these and 
other visual and oral cheats by which mankind are cajoled, have passed 
in review before us, conjured up by the magic wand of PUNCH. 
How we envy his philosophy, when SHALLA-BA-LA, that demon 
with the bell, besets him at every turn, almost teasing the sap out of him! 
The moment that his tormentor quits the scene, PUNCH seems to 
forget the existence of his annoyance, and, carolling the mellifluous 
numbers of _Jim Crow_, or some other strain of equal beauty, makes
the most of the present, regardless of the past or future; and when 
SHALLA-BA-LA renews his persecutions, PUNCH boldly faces his 
enemy, and ultimately becomes the victor. All have a 
SHALLA-BA-LA in some shape or other; but few, how few, the 
philosophy of PUNCH! 
We are afraid our prototype is no favourite with the ladies. PUNCH is 
(and we reluctantly admit the fact) a Malthusian in principle, and 
somewhat of a domestic tyrant; for his conduct is at times harsh and 
ungentlemanly to Mrs. P. 
"Eve of a land that still is Paradise, Italian beauty!" 
But as we never look for perfection in human nature, it is too much to 
expect it in wood. We wish it to be understood that we repudiate such 
principles and conduct. We have a Judy of our own, and a little 
Punchininny that commits innumerable improprieties; but we fearlessly 
aver that we never threw him out of window, nor belaboured the lady 
with a stick--even of the size allowed by law. 
There is one portion of the drama we wish was omitted, for it always 
saddens us--we allude to the prison scene. PUNCH, it is true, sings in 
durance, but we hear the ring of the bars mingling with the song. We 
are advocates for the correction of offenders; but how many generous 
and kindly beings are there pining within the walls of a prison, whose 
only crimes are poverty and misfortune!    
    
		
	
	
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