January 1875 News – Public Babies, Rat Panic and Half an Egg
Introduction
Following the devastating storms and loss of life experienced the previous month, January 1875 proved to be an extremely “slow news” month with opinion pieces & readers letters offering most interest.
The Courts – January 1875
Drunk and Disorderly – Belfast Morning News 5th January 1875
A wretched-looking hag of the old tippler persuasion, named Mary Donaghy, was brought up in custody of Sub-Constable Owen Madden, who charged her with being drunk and disorderly in East Bridge Street about ten o’clock the previous night.
Belfast Morning News 18th January 1875
Sub-Constable Owen Madden noted that the accused tends to frequent this location when she is out of prison and on this occasion “she was making use of very filthy language”.
In her defence, Mary Donaghy noted that she was just out of jail and the work demanded there had ruined her health. She pleaded “My heart’s broken in jail, and if you give me a chance today I’ll not be long a trouble to you”.
However, when the head-constable advised the court she had been convicted of similar offences 83 times previously, the prisoner was told to “find security-herself in £5 and two sureties in £2 10s each, or to be imprisoned for three months“.
News From London
The Rat Panic in Belgravia – The Londonderry Journal 1st January 1875
Reports of a plague of rats in Belgravia and the ensuing panic among the residents encouraged one London correspondent to note that:
… rats are no respecters of persons, and will eat through the sewers of a royal duke’s house with the same lack of compunction which sends them up into the kitchen of a costermonger (a street seller of fruit and vegetables).
London Correspondent, The Belfast News-Letter, December 1874
It was noted that, on a previous occasion, a rat infestation occurred when Lord Palmerston lived in Cambridge House, Piccadilly.
Lord Palmerston “took such vigorous measures to exterminate the vermin that matters have gone on pretty smoothly in Belgravia ever since”.
Palmerston sent men to open the main sewer and lower large sacks containing a bait of bones or meat. The necks of the sacks were encircled with a noose which could be drawn once sufficient rats were in the sack. It was estimated that each sack retrieved contained around 100 rats – these were promptly slaughtered.
Given the belief of the day that “one pair of rats with their progeny can produce upwards of 600,000 rats in three years“, Lord Palmerston’s efforts were considered an effective way of reducing the numbers of “these dreadful visitors” and met with considerable success.
Belgravia residents are hoping for a similar initiative to tackle the current infestation.
Lies, Damned Lies and Half an Egg – Londonderry Journal 25th January 1875
The Derry Journal carried a report from Pictorial World on the deluge of new year’s statistics analysing “how many pounds of bacon we have eaten in the year, how much tea and how much whiskey and gin we have consumed per head, and, in fact, all other things which a Christian ought to know and believe for the benefit of his conversation at small tea parties”.
This plethora of statistics prompted the paper to recount the tale of an 1872 survey undertaken in France to calculate the number of eggs laid in the country during the previous year.
When the reports had all arrived, and the calculations had all been made, it was found that the total number of eggs was found to be “forty-one thousand and fifty millions two hundred and twenty-two thousand one hundred and three and a half !” (Note: The number here is as reported)
Why this half? The calculations were all gone over again, but this half could not be got rid of. There was great sensation at the Ministry of Commerce. In all the corridors nothing was to seen but secretaries, under-secretaries, clerks, and messengers coming and going, and all busied about this half egg.
At last one of the clerks found a report from a mayor in the Franche-Comte region stating that in his district the number of eggs laid had then seventy-two thousand and a half. A special messenger was at once sent to the mayor to find out what he could possibly mean by this half egg.
Sir,” answered the honest man “I took notice of the fact that one of the hens in my district laid an egg on the boundary of my department. As a law-abiding man, I could not make a return of more than half of this egg. Had my colleague on the other side been as correct as I was, the two halves would have been completed and you would have had your number of eggs entire”.
Pictorial World
Noting that the mayor’s intentions were well-meant, the article concluded with the observation that the pursuit of completely accurate statistics can be carried too far.
Commentary / Opinion
Early Rising Made Easy – 22nd January 1875 Londonderry Journal
One correspondent reports on the ingenious methods employed by his old friend, Rossiter to ensure that he rises from bed at the time required.
The first method involved the installation of a mechanism to drag the bedclothes from the bed at the allotted time, leaving the occupant shivering with no option other than to get up.
The ever inventive Rossiter then “found another contrivance, which worked better“. In this case the alarm mechanism was designed to strike a match, lighting a lamp which boils the water for Rossiter’s morning shave. To ensure that Rossiter does not dally in bed, a basin is placed on the ground to catch any water spilled when boiling. Among other items, the basin contains his razor, a clean shirt, the prayer-book his mother gave him, Coleridge’s autograph and his open pocket-book. As a result, Rossiter rose promptly each morning.
Not to be outdone, the correspondent revealed his own proposal for a fool-proof alarm, noting that he had the drawings and specifications for a potential patent based on his idea. This ‘alarm’ involves the installation of a set of cams and wheelwork under the bedstead which will lift the pillow end of the bed six feet vertically and deliver the sleeper on his feet on the now horizontal foot-board. “He is not apt to sleep long after that” the author notes.
Varieties – Londonderry Journal 4th January 1875
We were, once again, treated to the ‘wit and wisdom’ of ‘Varieties‘
A veil is the lady’s protection from the too earnest gaze of the sun of heaven and the sons of man.
An establishment for mending socks has been opened in New York. This is comfort for bachelors.
An Irishman returned from his travels gallantly compared his landlady to Vesuvius, because “she was a fine old crater.”
Somebody advertises a preparation for keeping a lady’s hands free from chaps. A report that she has no money would do the same thing.
The spectators at a wedding the other day must have been surprised to see “the bride walk on the arm of her father” – a feat which is duly recorded in a local paper.
The ‘Public Baby’ – Londonderry Journal 20th January 1875
One irate contributor to the Derry Journal tackled the issue of the ‘public baby’ with particular venom.
The ‘Public Baby‘ is on every railway car, every steamboat, every omnibus. Change if you will to be released from the public baby, and you find its duplicate in the next vehicle on land or water. Release yourself at the journey’s end from the infliction – get a room at an hotel, the public baby will occupy the next apartment. Go at night to the theatre, the public baby is in the next seat. The mission of the public baby on coming into the world is to howl, to whine, to cry, to make miserable, to create irritation and annoyance.
This baby, it seems, is taken to the theatre “to tear into the finest orchestral strains, to insert a screech on the culmination of pathos in the dying scene”.
The fault lies, we are informed, with the parents of the the baby who “deem all this howling an harmonious concord of sound. They would not have a single note wasted“.
The parents of the child are described scathingly:
The father of the public baby wears a black coat, creased by long folding in the trunk, a paper collar several days old, a green necktie, a gaudy figured vest and pantaloons of the same colour, in striking contrast to the rest of his garments. In respect to colour, he is dressed in compartments, smokes a short pipe (his tobacco is an abomination to the olfactories) and he puts his ticket in the least known and explored recesses of his garments, so as to involve a long search for it every time the guard comes round.
The mother is characterised in similar terms:
The mother of the public baby wears a black bonnet more or less faded. It has long been hung up where a good deal of smoke and dust were in active circulation. Her hair is slung round in reckless coils. There is a wash-day air about it. Her hoops are too large. She has a second-hand look, and bears many traces of amalgamation with the public baby. She married principally because she had an opportunity; because the man came along; because it is a part of life to marry. The union has resulted in one, perhaps several, public babies… She would regard without alarm the possibility of producing hundreds of public babies.
The baby itself does not escape lightly.
In disposition the public baby is uglier than a convention of rattle-snakes; more venomous than a caucus of cobras; more malignant than a select circle of scorpions. It does not wish to be soothed or pacified. It is more enraged than ever on waking up to find that it has been soothed and trotted into a brief slumber, It feels that it has been wronged, deceived, cheated, and has lost time. It is soon revenged on its fellow-passengers, who in time commence thinking that Herod may have had provocation for his slaughter of the Innocents.
One particular journey is highlighted
I studied the public baby the other day on the Scotch Express. On the first starting I felt a sense of something missing. The cause was soon explained. At the first stoppage the public baby came in the next compartment, I had forgotten that this fiend never missed a trip or paid a farthing.
At first the public baby cried and howled on general principles. It had not as yet discovered any special cause of grievance… It wanted to go to its father. It went. It cried then to go back to its mother. It went. Then it howled to go back to its father. The mother held the public baby aloft. It cried. She held it low down. It cried. She held it then in an inverted position. It cried a trifle less. The rush of blood to the head diminished its capacity for sound. (Fearing for possibility of injury) the mother took the alarm. She restored the Public Baby to an upright posture and it was saved – saved to howl for years.
‘Fun’
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