Exhibition of cartoons—A duel—A monster—Gambling—The “Albert Hat”—Nelson’s statue—Fun thereon—Soldiers’ savings banks—A post boy and Lord Mayor’s show—M. Jullien and his orchestra—Prince Albert as a farmer—George IV.’s Statue—Ojibbeway Indians.

The public exhibition of Cartoons for the frescoes for the new Palace of Westminster, took place in Westminster Hall, on 3 July. There were 140 subjects altogether, varying in size from 15ft. to 10ft. square, none being admitted over, or under those standards. Prizes of £300 each were awarded to Armitage, Watts and Cope; of £200 to Calcott, Bell and Townsend; of £100 to Frost, Harris, Selous, Bridges and Severn; the judges being the Marquis of Lansdowne, Sir R. Peel and Messrs. S. Rogers, Westmacott, Cook and Etty. The Cartoons remained in Westminster Hall for 6 months; and, in Nov. were removed to the Suffolk Street Gallery. They were finally adjudicated upon by the Royal Commission of Fine Arts, on 12 July, 1844, the successful artists chosen to execute frescoes were Cope, Horsley, Dyce, Maclise, Redgrave, and Cave Thomas.

The practice of duelling was fast dying out, and I give the following case as being nearly one of the last, and one in which the seconds and surgeon were tried for being accessory to murder. Two brothers-in-law—Lt.-Col. Fawcett of the 55th Regiment and Lt. Munro of the Royal Horse Guards—quarrelled, and on the morning of the 1st July fought a duel with pistols in a field at the back of the “Brecknock Arms Tavern,” in Camden Road. Lt.-Col. Fawcett fell, mortally wounded, and died on the 3rd July. The Coroner’s jury found Lt. Munro, and the two seconds, guilty of wilful murder, and the surgeon as guilty in the second degree only, as it was believed he was present only as medical attendant. Lieut. Munro and his second got out of the way, but Lt-Col. Fawcett’s second and the surgeon were tried at the Central Criminal Court on 25 Aug. No evidence was tendered against the surgeon, and he was at once discharged, and the jury found the second “Not Guilty.” Lt. Munro’s second surrendered himself, was tried on 14 Feb., 1844, and acquitted. Lieut. Munro was cashiered from the Army for being absent without leave; he afterwards surrendered, and was tried, 18 Aug., 1847, found guilty, and sentenced to death; which sentence was commuted to 12 months’ imprisonment in Newgate.

The Times of 30 June, quoting the Reading Mercury, has the following: “A Monster.—A day or two since, a gentleman travelling along the road near Colnbrook, had his attention attracted to the screams of a child in the care of a tramping woman, who had with her, two other children totally blind. The cries of the child were so distressing, that he insisted on knowing the cause; but; not getting a satisfactory answer, he forcibly removed a bandage from its eyes, when, horrid to relate, he found these encased with two small perforated shells, in which were two live black beetles, for the purpose of destroying the sight. The woman was instantly seized, and given into custody; and, at the magistrate’s meeting, at Eton, on Wednesday last, committed for trial. There is too much reason to fear that the wretch produced the blindness of the other two children, by similar means.” This was rendered into a street ballad.

A correspondent pointed out that it was well known to all who pass through the parish of St. James’s, at night, that the district absolutely swarmed with gaming houses; there was, in fact, no concealment about the matter, as the keepers vied with each other in illuminating their doors and windows to attract the notice of their victims. How was it that this disgrace was permitted to exist from season to season? The police seemed satisfied with the occasional conviction of one or more minor delinquents from the neighbourhood of Leicester Square, but the Leviathans in crime were allowed to continue their nightly course of profligacy and plunder with impunity. The French authorities, by a law which was strictly enforced, entirely swept away this nuisance from their capital, notoriously, for years, the very hotbed of the vice of gaming; but we were lamentably behind our neighbours; for, while we boasted of a Court pure in morals, and strict in the performance of every religious duty, we allowed the Sabbath to be desecrated, and the Palace of the Sovereign to be contaminated by the close vicinage of houses expressly open for the practice of this demoralising habit.—Are we much better now?

At the latter end of October, a new headdress for the infantry was proposed, and Prince Albert was universally credited as being its godfather—but public opinion was so unequivocally expressed against it, that it was never likely to be popular. It was neither soldier-like, nor appropriate, and bore a strong resemblance to the old Hessian cap, which was introduced into the German service. This headgear was covered with black cloth, the crown and brim being of black-varnished leather; the band was of white worsted, as was the tuft, which was placed on a ball of red worsted. Beneath this ball was a royal crown, underneath which was a Maltese cross, in the centre of which was inscribed the number of the regiment.

Punch was especially severe upon the Albert hat—and with the pictorial satire of “Prince Albert’s Studio” (by the way the hat is in no ways exaggerated), is the following: “Ever since the accession of Prince Albert to the Royal Husband-ship of these realms, he has devoted the energies of his mind, and the ingenuity of his hands to the manufacture of Infantry caps, Cavalry trousers, and Regulation sabretaches. One of his first measures was to transmogrify the pantaloons of the Eleventh Hussars; and, as the regiment alluded to is “Prince Albert’s Own,” His Royal Highness may do as he likes with his own, and no one can complain of his bedizening the legs of the unfortunate Eleventh, with scarlet cloth and gold door leather. When, however, the Prince, throwing the whole of his energies into a hat, proposed to encase the heads of the British soldiery in a machine which seemed a decided cross between a muff, a coal scuttle and a slop pail, then Punch was compelled to interfere, for the honour of the British Army. The result has been that the headgear has been summarily withdrawn, by an order from the War Office, and the manufacture of more of the Albert hat has been absolutely prohibited.

Prince Albert’s Studio. Punch, vol. V., p. 179

“Greatness of mind is shown in various ways by different individuals. Hannibal was a great cutter out, for he cut a passage through the Alps; but Prince Albert cuts out Hannibal, inasmuch as His Royal Highness devotes his talent to the cutting out of coats, and ‘things inexpressible.’ The Prince’s studio could not fail to be an object of interest to the readers of Punch. We have, therefore, at an enormous sacrifice of time and specie, obtained a view of it.”

Nelson’s Statue

On the morning of Nov. 3, at 4 a.m., the raising of a portion of the colossal statue of Nelson, on the pillar in Trafalgar Square, commenced. This figure is 17 feet high from its base to the top of the hat, and is made of stone from the Granton quarry, belonging to the Duke of Buccleugh. It weighs nearly 18 tons, and, needless to say, is made in segments. These were put together before it was raised, to show the public—and during the two days it was on view, it was visited by 100,000 persons.

The building this column had seemed slow, but that was nothing compared to its completion; the bas reliefs were long in being placed, and it was not till 31 Jan., 1867, that Landseer’s four couchant lions were exposed to public gaze. Of the progress of its building, Punch (25 Nov., 1843) has some very fine fooling.

“THE NELSON COLUMN DRAMA.

The earliest announcement of the late Covent Garden management, was a piece entitled ‘Trafalgar Square, or the Nelson Monument.’ We have obtained the following slight information respecting it. The drama is described as ‘a grand architectural and historical burletta,’ in two acts; and the prologue was to have been spoken by Mr. Widdicomb, as Time. The two acts comprise the commencement and completion, and a lapse of twenty years is supposed to take place between them, in which time ‘the boy,’ who is the principal character, becomes a middle-aged man. The following speech is very fine. The boy enquires of the mason when the column will be finished, who replies, in an interval of the steak banquet, which they are enjoying together:

Mason.—I’ve asked that fearful question of the stars,
Who wink responding—of the Board of Works,
Whose works have bored us—of the misty moon,
Towards whose lodgings, after years of toil,
We rise no nearer. All were still, but now,
Whilst gazing on that steak of beef,
Sent up to form our capital repast,
And cheer us in our lonely solitude,
I hope the best—the best can hope no more.
’Twill rise, like College honours, by degrees,
And to our limbs a pillar be, of ease:
Our hearts are warm—although upon the frieze.

The following duet is also introduced by the man and the boy in the second act:

Boy.

I remember, I remember,
When I was a little boy,
On the column, in November,
I was given some employ.

I helped the man to build it,
And we labour’d hard and long,
But the granite came up slowly,
For we were not very strong.

I remember, I remember,
How we raised its form on high,
With one block in December,
And another in July.

Both.

We remember, we remember,
When St. Martin’s bells were rung,
In the laying of the first stone, for
We both were very young.

But weary years have past, now,
Since we our work begun;
We fear we shall not last now,
To see our labour done.

We remember, we remember,
But we heard it on the sly,
’Twon’t be finished next November,
Nor the subsequent July.”

Very early in November, a War Office circular (dated 31 Oct.) was issued, to regulate and establish regimental savings banks, which have done so much to encourage thrift among our soldiers. The maximum of each soldier’s deposit was limited to £30 in any one year, and to £200 in the whole. The rate of interest on deposits was fixed at £3 15 s. per cent per annum, but no interest was to be allowed upon less than 6s. 8d. and 13s. 4d., nor upon any sums that had not remained on deposit for at least one month, to be reckoned from the last monthly muster day.

In the Times of 10 Nov. is the following: “A rather amusing scene took place in Cheapside, yesterday, shortly before the Lord Mayor’s procession to Westminster. Whilst the streets were blocked up against the passage of vehicles and horses, one of those sharp little urchins, known by the generic title of the ‘twopenny cavalry,’ who rattle through the streets with Her Majesty’s suburban mails, was stopped, opposite Bow Church, by a party of police, who told him they acted under the orders of the Lord Mayor. The post-boy, with all the dignity of Her Majesty’s representative, assuming an air of great condescension, assured the police that he had the highest possible respect for the Lord Mayor, but, being express upon Her Majesty’s business, he was determined to proceed. The police persisted in stopping him, a crowd collected, and it was clear their sympathies sided with the post-boy, who carried himself, throughout the controversy, with great courage, calmness, and self-possession. The police had, by this time, seized the bridle, whilst the boy endeavoured to force his way forward, backed by the strenuous exertions of his steed, who also appeared as if inspired by the authority of a Royal Commission. The post-boy, finding physical force insufficient, tried what authority would do, and threatened them with the vengeance of the Home Secretary, for attempting to stop Her Majesty’s mails. This had the desired effect of bringing the police to a parley; and, as the post-boy was backed by popular applause, he gained momentarily in the discussion, but did not complete his advantage until he took out a memorandum book, and began, coolly, to note down the numbers of the constables. This stroke was decisive; they, at once, capitulated, merely stipulating that they should have his address in return. To this, he readily assented, and searched diligently for his cardcase, but that mark of gentility was not at hand. He, however, made a page from his memorandum book serve his purpose, and took his leave amid the loud congratulations of the applauding crowd, with the following pithy address to the constables: ‘I can’t well see what use you are. A hundred years ago there were no police, and Lord Mayor’s shows went off better than they do now. For my part, I can’t see what you do here at all, for you know’—he added with a significant grin—‘you know you don’t look so very well in a procession.’ Shouts of laughter followed the post-boy’s brief speech, as he rode on triumphantly.”

It was about this time that M. Louis Antoine Jullien, to whom we owe so much for the popularisation of good music, and for the improvement of our orchestras, came into notoriety as a caterer for the public’s amusement, and for his promenade concerts. These had been popular in the open air at Vauxhall, Ranelagh, Marylebone, and other public gardens; but the first, under cover, was given in 1838 at the Lyceum Theatre, or, as it was then called, The English Opera House, when the pit was boarded over, and an orchestra erected on the stage exactly as we are now so familiar with. Jullien, in 1838, had been unlucky in Paris, was bankrupt, and came to London, where, in 1840, he was assistant to Eliason, the violinist and conductor of an orchestra of 100 performers, and a small chorus. Next year Jullien was the conductor; and, in 1842, on 2 Dec., he started for himself, at the English Opera House, the series of promenade concerts with which his name will always be associated.

He always would have the very best musicians that he could find for his orchestra, and in this year (1843) among them were Barrett, Baumann, Harper, Koenig, Richardson, Hill, Lazarus, Patey, Howell and Jarrett, and in after years he had such, soloists as Ernst, Sivori, Bottesini Wieniawski and Sainton. In 1857 he came, financially, to grief; he then went to Paris, was imprisoned for debt in Clichy, in 1859, and died in a lunatic asylum on 14 March, 1860.

M. Jullien. Ill. Lon. News, 25 Nov. 1843, p. 348

In his later years he became much stouter than he is here represented, and, as a conductor, posed a great deal too much. Those of my readers who recollect him will acknowledge the truth of the following description of him, when conducting his British Army Quadrilles, taken from his biography in Grove’s History of Music and Musicians: “With coat thrown widely open, white waistcoat, elaborately embroidered shirt front, wristbands of extravagant length, turned back over his cuffs, a wealth of black hair, and a black moustache—itself a striking novelty—he wielded his baton, encouraged his forces, repressed the turbulence of his audience with indescribable gravity and magnificence, went through all the pantomime of the British Army or Navy Quadrilles, seized a violin or a piccolo at the moment of climax, and, at last, sunk exhausted into his gorgeous velvet chair. All pieces of Beethoven’s were conducted with a jewelled baton, and in a pair of clean kid gloves, handed him, at the moment, on a silver salver.”

Prince Albert, the British Farmer

Prince Albert took a great interest in Agriculture, and his Flemish Farm at Windsor was a model; but it was hard to make the average Englishman believe that a foreigner could ever do any good as a Farmer, and John Leech drew a fancy portrait of the prince in Punch, 25 Nov., where it illustrates a portion of a speech of Sir Robert Peel at Tamworth: “Prince Albert has turned his attention to the promotion of agriculture; and, if you have seen, as most probably you have, an account of the sale of Prince Albert’s stock, and the price they fetched, I have not the slightest doubt you will give one cheer more to Prince Albert, as a British Farmer.”

In the beginning of December the bronze equestrian statue of George IV. was set up on a pedestal at the north-east corner of Trafalgar Square. It is the work of Chantrey, and was intended to be mounted on the Marble Arch, which was, originally, the gateway to Buckingham Palace, until its removal to Cumberland Gate, Hyde Park, in 1851.

In the very early part of December, some of Her Majesty’s subjects, Canadian Indians, from the north-eastern shores of Lake Huron, came to visit England. They were of the Ojibbeway tribe, and were nine in number, two old chiefs, four warriors, two women, and a little girl, 10 years old. On the 20 Dec. they were presented to the Queen at Windsor, and received from Her Majesty a cheque for £20, and a quantity of gorgeous plaid, with which to astonish the other natives, on their return. They afterwards exhibited themselves, danced war dances, etc., at the Egyptian Hall, at an admission fee of half-a-crown.