PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Vol. 101.

July 18, 1891.

MR. PUNCH'S JUBILEE NUMBER.

"My Reminiscences!" said Mr. Punch, replying to a question put by his Interviewer, ANNO DOMINI EIGHTEEN-NINETY-ONE; "They are already before the World, in exactly One Hundred Volumes! My first 'Number' bore date 'for the week ending July 17th, 1841. My memory is indeed stored with recollections, pleasant, picturesque, pathetic, of the teeming past, memories of my joyous 'Table,' of my well-beloved 'Young Men,' of Great Names, of Genial Comrades, of Bright Wits, of Warm Hearts, of Famous Artists, of Clever Writers, who—in the words of the greatest of them all—

"How well the words of the wise wit written in 1847 express our thoughts to-day, Mr. ANNO DOMINI:—

It is one of my proudest memories to recollect that THACKERAY's 'Mahogany Tree,' was my Table."

"To have been Amphitryon to such guests must have been the most pleasant privilege of hospitality," said ANNO DOMINI.

"Very true," responded Mr. Punch, "And of all my Deputy-Amphitryons—if I may use the term—who more fully, fitly, justly, and genially filled the post than the earliest of them all, the kindly and judicious MARK LEMON? Had not he and clever HENRY MAYHEW, and Mr. Printer LAST, and EBENEZER LANDELLS, my earliest engraver, foregathered first with me in furtherance of the 'new work of wit and whim,' embellished with cuts and caricatures, to be called:—

"LEMON, and LAST, and MAYHEW, were they here to-day, would probably agree to divide between them the early honours, as they shared the early responsibility. But doubtless MARK LEMON was the literary shaper of the 'Guffawgraph,' as he jocularly called it in his 'Prospectus,' and, from the first, its guiding spirit. Happily so, for his was a spirit fitted to rule, both by power, and tact, and taste. With 'Uncle MARK' in the chair, I knew there would be neither austere autocracy, nor fainéant laxity, neither weakness of stroke nor foulness of blow, neither Rosa-Matilda-ish, mawkishness, nor Rabelaisian coarseness.

"How well I remember my first group of 'Young Men,'" pursued Mr. Punch, musingly. "There was swift and scathing DOUGLAS JERROLD, with his tossed and tangled mane of grey hair. GILBERT ABBOTT À BECKETT, too, the whimsically witty, the drolly satirical, the comically caustic. HENRY MAYHEW, of course, and, a little later, his brother HORACE, the simple, lovable 'PONNY.' HENNING, NEWMAN and BRINE, were my earliest Artists. HENNING drew the first Cartoon, whilst NEWMAN and BRINE, and, later, HINE, between them, were responsible for most of the smaller cuts, head-and-tail-pieces, pictorial puns, and sketchy silhouettes, wherewith Punch's early pages abounded.

"In the fourth Number of Punch, published on August 7th, 1841, first appeared the soon-to-be-famous signature of 'JOHN LEECH.'"

"Ah! JOHN LEECH," cried the attentive ANNO DOMINI. "A name to conjure with! How did that 'Star swim into your ken'?"

"There was a certain clever, scholarly, and genial gentleman," responded Mr. Punch, "who had lately published, under the pseudonym of 'PAUL PRENDERGAST,' an extremely funny Comic Latin Grammar. 'PAUL PRENDERGAST' was, in reality, Mr. PERCIVAL LEIGH, originally a medical gentleman, the well-beloved 'Professor' of later Punch days. The Comic Latin Grammar had been admirably illustrated by a personal friend, and fellow-student, of LEIGH's named LEECH. The services of both of the contributors to the Comic Latin Grammar were soon enlisted in my interests.

"Another of LEECH's medical student friends was ALBERT SMITH, and he before long was penning his 'Physiology of London Evening Parties' (illustrated by PHIZ—HALBOT KNIGHT BROWNE—NEWMAN, and others) for my pages. KENNY MEADOWS, WATTS PHILLIPS, ALFRED 'CROW-QUILL' (FORRESTER), JOHN GILBERT, and others, drew also for the young Journal, the printing of which had been taken over by the Whitefriars firm of BRADBURY AND EVANS, with whom as proprietors and fast friends, Punch has ever since been happily associated.

"As early as my Fourth Volume," pursued Mr. Punch, "it became obvious that, in the person of 'Our Fat Contributor,' a certain 'MICHAEL ANGELO TITMARSH' was writing and drawing for Punch.

(Continued on Page 4.)

FAC-SIMILE OF FIRST PAGE OF "PUNCH."

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

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