“Charlatan is rising in public favour, and has many backers who book him to win.”—Sporting Intelligence. OF all the signs of the times—considering them literally as signs, and the public literally as “a public”—there are none more remarkable than the Hahnemann’s Head,—the Crown and Compasses, devoted to Gall and Spurzheim’s entire,—and the Cock and Bull, that hangs out at the House of Call for Animal Magnetizers. The last concern, especially—a daring, glaring, flaring, gin-palace-like establishment—is a moral phenomenon. That a tap dispensing a raw, heady, very unrectified article, should obtain any custom whatever, in a reputed genteel and well-lighted neighbourhood, seems quite impossible; yet such is the incomprehensible fact;—respectable parties, scientific men, and even physicians, in good practice in all other respects, have notoriously frequented the bar, from which they have issued again, walking all sorts of ways at once, or more frequently falling asleep on the steps, but still talking such “rambling skimble-skamble stuff” as would naturally be suggested by the incoherent visions of a drunken man. Such exhibitions, however are comparatively rare in London to their occurrence in Paris, which city has always taken the lead of our own capital in matters of novelty. It is asserted by a good authority, that at a French concern, in the same line, no less than seventy-eight “medical men, and sixty-three other very intelligent individuals,” became thoroughly muzzy and mystified, and so completely lost all “clairvoyance” of their own, that they applied to an individual to read a book and a letter to them; to tell them the hour on their own watches; to mention the pips on the cards; and by way of putting the state of their “intuitive foresight” beyond question, they actually appealed to the backsight of a man who was sound asleep! A bout on so large a scale has not been attempted, hitherto, in the English metropolis; but as all fashions transplanted from Paris flourish vigorously in our soil, it is not improbable that we may yet see a Meeting of the College of Physicians rendered very how-come-you-so indeed by an excess of Mesmer’s “particular.” The influence of such an example could not fail to have a powerful influence on all classes; and a pernicious narcotic would come into general use; the notorious effect of which is to undermine the reason of its votaries, and rob them of their common senses. To avert such a national evil, surely demands the timely efforts of our philanthropists; and above all, of those persons who have set their faces against the Old Tom—not of Lincoln, but of London—and in their zeal for the public sobriety, aim at even converting the brewers’ kilderkins into pumpkins.—Seriously, might not the Temperance Societies extend the sphere of their operations by a whole hemisphere, and perhaps with equal advantage to mankind, by attacking mental dram-drinking, as well as the bodily tippling of ardent spirits? The bewildered rollings, reelings, and idiotic effusions of mere animal drunkenness can hardly be more degrading to rational human beings, than the crazy toddlings and twaddlings of a bemused mind, whether only maudlin with infinitesimal doses of quackery, or rampant to mad staggers with the lushious compounds and Devil’s Elixirs of the Mesmerian Distillery. Take the wildest freaks of the most fuddled, muddled, bepuddled soaker,—such as “trying to light his pipe at a pump,”—attempting to wind up a plug with his watch-key,—or requesting, from a damp bed in the gutter, to be tucked in,—and are they a bit, or a whit, or a jot, or a what-not, more absurd, more extravagant, or more indicative of imbecility of reason, than the vagary of a somnambulist, gravely going through the back-gammon of reading Back’s Journal, or a back-number of the Retrospective Review, through the back of his head? “I WAS TOLD I SHOULD FIND HERE SOME TRAP ROCKS!” In case the Great Water Companies alluded to should think proper to adopt the foregoing suggestions, the following genuine letters are placed very much at their service, as materials to be worked up into Tracts:— (COPY.) To Mr. Robert HOLLAND, Linen-Draper, No. 194, Tottenham Court Road, London. DEAR BOB, Hoping you are well, and well-doing, we have heard such wonderful accounts in our parts lately about animal magnetizing, without any clear notion what it is. My own notion is, it must be something new of my Lord Spenser’s—Althorp as was—who was always very curious about his beasts. Others do say the Duke of Bedford, with a fresh cattle show—nobody knows. Now you are just at the fountain-head to learn, and as most of us down here is more or less engaged in breeding stock, it would be a main thing to be put up to the secret at its first start. WRINGING OUT THE OLD YEAR. Also whether it is expensive to buy—and who found it out—and if likely to do away with oilcake and mangel-wurzel, and such like particulars. Praise be blest, we are all stout and hearty, except your poor aunt, who died three year ago. Which is all the news at present from, Dear Bob,
Your loving Uncle,
REUBEN OXENHAM.
(COPY.) To Mr. Reuben OXENHAM, Grazier, Grasslands, near Lincolnshire. DEAR UNCLE, I was agreeably surprised by your breaking silence; for I had made up my mind you was a distrest farmer gone off swan hopping (excuse the joke) to Swan River, or to get settled among the Dutch boars and lions at the Cape of Good Hope. Thank heaven such is not the case; though damped with my dear aunt’s going off. I little thought, poor soul! the why and wherefore my goose three Christmases ago was the last! But we must all be cut off some day or other, which is a religious consolation for the remnants that are left behind.
I have examined, as you desired, a sample of animal magnetism; which turns out to be the reverse of every thing you expect. Indeed such might have been anticipated by a little forethought on the subject. There is nothing to describe about animals to such as you, that deal in them of all qualities; but it is quite likely that you have forgot all about magnets, since the days of your youth. But perhaps, when they are named to you, your memory may serve to recollect little bone boxes, at sixpence a piece, with a blackamoor’s head atop, and a little bar of philosopher’s steel inside, that points out the north, and sets a needle dancing like mad. It likewise picks up emery, and sticks fast to the blade of a knife. But that is all its powers are competent to—and of course on too small a scale to have any dancing, or lifting, or sticking effect on objects so big as bullocks, or even a pig, or a sheep. Accordingly, you will not be surprised to hear that animal magnetism has nothing at all to do with beasts or load-stones either, but is all of a piece with juggling, quacksalving, and mountebanking, such as universal physic, spitting Coventry ribbons, tumbling, and posturing, thimble-rig, and the like fabrics. One of the principal tricks is sending people off to sleep against their wills; not so new a trick though, but it has been heard of years and years ago at Bow Street; and easy enough to perform any day, with a pint of porter,—provided one was rogue enough to want to hocus-pocus the money out of other people’s pockets into one’s own. To come to the point, there’s an outlandish Count set up in it at the west end; and no doubt will realise a fortune. He has his carriage-people for customers, as well as Howel and James; indeed, I have heard of the Somebodies as well as Nobodies running after common fortune-tellers’ tales, and not too high to be above going up into their back garrets. Some say he is a Frenchman, others say a German; but the last for choice, for he smokes enough to drive all the rats out of the neighbourhood. Besides, the Germans, I’m told, will believe anything, provided it’s impossible; which is some excuse for their wanting other people to give the same long credits; and besides, Germans as well as French, and indeed all other foreigners, for that matter, though ever such honest people in the main; yet when they do turn rogues at English expense, they invariably go more than the whole hog, namely, boar, sow, sucking pigs and all. So I determined to go wide awake, and to keep my eyes open, too, by not taking bit or sup in the house, if offered ever so politely. It is surely not showing disrespect to hospitality, to object to hocussed victuals and drinks. I might have spared my fears, however; for there was nothing provided but the ledgerdemain, &c., and that was charged a guinea for, which you can repay at convenience. I preferred to see somebody else conjured before me; so another patient was taken first. She was a fine strapping young woman enough, dressed half and half between a fine lady and a servantmaid; but as sly-looking a baggage as you could select from an assortment of gypseys; and unless her face belied her, quite capable of scratching a Cock Lane ghost. Indeed something came across me that I had seen her before; and if memory don’t deceive, it was at some private theatricals contrary to law. For certain she could keep her countenance; for if the outlandish figure of a doctor, with his queer faces, had postured, and pawed, and poked towards me, with his fingers, for all the world like the old game of “My grandmother sends you a staff, and you’re neither to smile nor to laugh,” as he did to her, I should have bursted, to a dead certainty; instead of going off, as she did, into an easy sleep. As soon as she was sound, the Count turned round to me and the company with his broken English—“Ladies and gentlemens,” says he, “look here at dis yoong maidens, Mizz Charlot Ann Elizabet Martin”—for that is his way of talking. “Wid my magnetismuses I tro her into von state of sombamboozleism”—or something to that effect. “Mizz Charlot Ann, dou art a slip.” “As fast as a church, Mister Count,” says she, talking and hearing as easy as broad awake. “Ferry goot,” says he. “Now I take dis boke,—Missis Glasse Cokery,—and I shall make de maidens read som little of him wid her back. Dere he is bytween her sholders. Mizz Charlot Ann, what you see now mit your eyes turned de wrong way for to look?” “Why, then,” says she, “Mr. Count, I see quite plain a T, and an O. Then comes R, and O, and S, and T—and the next word is H, and A, and I, and R.” “Ferry goot,” tries the Count over again. “Dat is to rost de hare. Ladies and gentlemens, you all here? As Gott is my shudge, so is here in de boke. Now den, Mizz Charlot Ann, vons more. Vot you taste in your mouse?” “Why, then, Master,” says Charlotte Ann, “as sure as fate, I taste sweet herbs chopped up small!” “Ferry goot indeed!—bot what mor by sides de sweet herrubs?” “Why,” says she, “it’s a relish of salt, and pepper, and mace,—and, let me see—there’s a flavour of currant jelly.” “Besser and besser!” cries the Count. “Ladies and gentlemens, are not dese voonderfools? You shall see every wart of it in de print. Mizz Charlot Ann, vot you feel now?” “Lawk a mercy, Mister Count,” says she, “there’s a sort of stuffy feel, so there is, in my inside!” “Yaw! like van fool belly! Ferry goot! Now you feel vot?” “Feel! Mister Count?” says she—“why I don’t feel nothing at all—the stuffiness is gone clean away!” “Yaw, my shild!” says he. “Dat is by cause I take avay de cokery boke from your two sholders. Ladies and gentlemens, dese is grand powers of magnetismus! Ach himmel! As Hamlet say, dere is more in our philosofies dan dere is in de heaven or de earth! Our mutter Nature is so fond to hide her face! Bot von adept, so as me, can lift up a whale!” To shorten a long story, the sombamboosleism lasted for two hours; while Miss Charlot Ann told fortunes in her sleep, and named people’s inward complaints, and prescribed for them with her eyes shut. Mine was dropsy; and I was to take antimonious wine three times a-day, to throw the water off my stomach. So, if you like to ask your apothecary, or the parish doctor, they will be able to tell you whether it looks like proper practice or the reverse. For my own part, I mean to suspend myself till I feel more symptoms; and in the meantime I have experimented on myself so far as to try behind my back with the Ready Reckoner. But I could not even see the book, much less make out a figure. To be sure I was broad awake, but it stands to reason that the circumstance only gave the better chance in its favour—at least it has always been reckoned so with a book held the proper natural way. I was the more particular with the book-work, because it looked like the master-key to let you into the whole house:—for no doubt, if you can do that trick, you can do all the rest, and have a hare dressed between your shoulders as easily as a blister. But to my mind it is all sham Abraham; or the little boys that go every day with whole satchels full of books at their backs would know rather more about them than they do generally at leaving off school. And now, Uncle, I have explained to you all about Animal Magnetism; and, says you, there are many things that come by names they have no right to, without going to Scotland, where you know they call a pitcher a pig. So it is very lucky on the whole, that you wrote to me, instead of posting up to London on a fool’s errand,—as did a respectable Lancashire grazing gentleman, the other day, in the newspapers, who was hoaxed all the way up to town, by a false notion that Animal Magnifying, as he called it, was some new, cheap, and quick way of fatting cattle. It will maybe turn out quite as deceitful an article as to its other qualities; and in that case, if I had the luck to be a magistrate, I would cold pig the sleeping partners with Cold Bath Fields and send off the active ones, to take a walk at a cart’s tail, with something they could feel, if they could not read it, on their backs and shoulders. That’s how I would measure out the law, if I was Lord Chief Justice. In which sentiments I conclude, with love to yourself, and all my cousins, if I have any living—with my best condolences for my poor late Aunt. As to business, I have only broken twice as yet; which is doing pretty well, considering the hard times and the state of trade. Wishing you the like prosperity, with health, and every other blessing, I remain, dear Uncle, Your affectionate nephew,
ROBERT HOLLAND. P.S. Since the foregoing, I have discussed the subject with a neighbour, a Veterany Surgeon; and he says it is all very well for the old men and women Physicians, but won’t go down with the Horse Doctors. “However,” says he, “if you are bent on trying it, I will give you a receipt. Take a two-year old full blood colt, half broke, or not broke at all—if vicious, so much the better. Shoe him behind with a couple of stout horse-shoe loadstones, and then stand convenient, and take a tug or two at his tail, till you feel him begin to operate. That’s Animal Magnetism, and will do you quite as much good or harm as the other new kick, and save you all the fees besides.” |
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