"Mr. Punch,—As there is some stir just now about the price of victuals and conveyance, I hope you will say a word for us. I don't eat no turtle, nor hares, nor grouse, nor partridges, nor pheasants, nor pigeon pies, nor venison, nor prawns, nor grilled turkey, nor apricot tarts, nor anything of that sort, which it quite makes one's mouth water to read of in the Times—nor I don't drink no foreign wines, though I once tasted some which was pretty much like ink and water. No, Sir, I likes my good old English beef, or bread and cheese, and my pot of beer along with it, and I think they taste the sweeter when they are not 'leavened with a sense of injustice,' as the late Sir Robert used to say. But, to come to the point. I work hard all the week—'from morn to noon, from noon to jewy eve,' as they say at the Institution; so me and my old woman and kids like a little turn round on Sunday. Well, Sir, last Sunday was a week I went from my place in Shoreditch to London Bridge, and then on by the penny steamer to Chelsea, and it cost no ends of money. Before starting on the boat I met Bill Smith, and the following was the little bill we run up:—
Chelsea. Sept. 1853.
| s. d. | |
| 2 Pots Ale | 1 4 |
| ½ Pint Gin | 1 0 |
| 10 Pickwicks | 0 10 |
| 9 Bottles of Pop for Kids | 0 9 |
| Biscuits for ditto | 0 3 |
| ------ | |
| 4 2 |
"I had nearly forgotten to mention that one Sunday afternoon I paid 6d. for a 'bus to Regent's Park Zoological, and 6d. to come back again without having seen anything. Professor Jelly, of the Institution, says the Vivarium is very interesting; but I find that it is only the aristocracy who are admitted on Sunday, the working-classes it seems would do an injury to their soles by looking at the fish on that day. Bill Smith says he thinks if he might go to the Crystal Palace, British Museum, &c., on the only day he can go, he shouldn't care how much extortion was practised at the public-houses, for he wouldn't use them.
"I am, Mr. Punch, yours, &c.,
"Paper-cap."
A Music-Seller's Opinion of France.
"I can generally tell, Sir, the state of public opinion by the songs I sell. In 1830 I sold thousands of Parisennes, I don't sell one now; and I don't think we've been asked for a single Marseillaise for these last three years. It is the same with Mourir pour la Patrie—no one cares for that now; and as for Vive Henri Quatre, not one copy has left my shop, I should say, since the day when the Duchesse de Berri was caught in a cupboard. The only song that is asked for at present is Partant pour la Syrie, and we don't sell many of those. Ah! Sir, it is a bad sign when the people don't sing! Many a revolution in France has been caused by a song, and more than one throne has been upset from the want of one!"