Punch: Punch (54.1868)

April 25, 1868.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI 183

PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF WALES IN DUBLIN.

f By Our Sprriu! Irish CorrespOfdent.)


God. of Love, to dip it in the blackest ink—absit omen,

as we used to say at ould Trinity—in order to give you a correct,
luminous, and mighty particular account of the present visit of their
Royal Highnesses to the Emerald Isle. On Thursday night, Sir, or as
some of the very early Christians call it Wednesday morning, at five
o'clock (five o’clock ! divil a less, if ye ’ll excuse the observation),
when my vally de sham rushed into the chamber where your own
Special lays his weary caput, and says he, in a sort of ecstasy, and
waving a shaving towel like a maniac, says he—

“ Och, glory be ! ” says he. “ ’Tis the flate intirely all stayming,
like hot praties, in Doblin Bay.”

“ Git out wid ye, Cornelius,” says I, addressing him in his own
vernacular, not having forgotten my native tongue during my pro-
tracted residence at Boulogne-sur-Mer, but speaking it with the
least taste in life of a foreign accentuation. “ Git out wid ye, Cor-
nelius then,” says I, “ and don’t distorb yer masther in his first
beauty slape,” wherewith I rolled myself round, with my face to the
wall, as the most delicate hint to the menial to retire, and be blessed
| to him.

“ Sure,” continues the baste, yelling with excitement. “ What are
yez sent here for, at all at all ? An’t it to chronicckle the ivints of the
Ryle Arist to Doblin, and is it meself that’s to do the wurk for yer
kind implyer, Misther Ponch, and you a snorting in the shates and
blank its there ? ”

“ Cornelius,” said I, sitting up majestically in bed, “You leave me
this day month : I warn you.”

Maybe, thin, ye ’ll settle that thrifle o’ wages-”

The conversation at this point will scarcely interest the generality of
your readers. The upshot was that I came to an arrangement with
my faithful vally de sham which will be highly satisfactory to you,
inasmuch as you will obtain all the information you require on the
subject, and more than it would be in my power to furnish you with.
All you will have to do is to settle with me.

{From the Observations of Cornelius Delany.)

5 o’clock, a m. The Charnel EJate staymed in. Thar wor the Mine-
Otter, the War-ere, the O’Killes, and the Biffense. An’ if they hadn’t
bin jist nine liars in crassin the charn’l they’d ha’ bin here belur this.

[By a skilful manoeuvre I managed to get Cornelius engaged as a
waiter in one place at the Royal repasts, and as an attendant he was
admitted when a man with your own Special’s reputation would have
been feared, and the doors closed against him. Being myself busy
upon this visit a3 part of my future History of Great Britain, I have

left the present account in his hands. He will send you his account
himself by the first post.]

The Kyle skooner staymed into the arbour, and all the ships at say
run up flags, and foired sloots. The Ryle party, including some of the
quarries in waitin’, didn’t same mighty well aftherthe say parsage; bot
His Ryle Hoighniss the Prince and Har Ryle Hoighniss Princess
Arlegsonderer wor as chauful and brimmiu wid good spirts as a keg
o’ Keenan’s best. Bedad. Sorr. it made yer hart hop on to all our tongs,
it did, to say the pair of Ryle Hoighnisses, so swate and sorreptishious
an’ smoilin’ this way an’ that as the Lord Liftin’t with the Mashy-
niss of Have-a-Corn (in such toight boots that it’s meself that don’t
wander at the toitle), wid, as somebody said, “his Staff;” but I sor
nothin’ of the sart—not avin a walkin-stick in the Liftn’t’s hand, nor
a bomboo cane. Thin there was the Lord Challenger, a purty
soight intirely, in his robes and wigs, an’ the Granddear Gyards wid
fixed bagnets, to resave the Ryle Copple on the landin’.

“ Long life to yer ! ” sez I, chairing wid my caubeen this away.

“ Be aisy now7,” sez the Mashiniss Have-a-corn, pushing me back
contimptuus. Bot Her Ryle Hoighniss had cot me oi.

“ The heavens be your bed, Arlegsonderer!” sez I. “’Tis yer-
self that’s the Rose o’ Denmuk!” With that Her Ryle Hoighniss
nodged the Prince, an sez she blushing, in a whispur, “ Sure Berty
dear, ’tis Misther Cornelius De Lany, him as oi’ve minshuuned to
yez so arfen.”

Wid that the Good Grayshus Prince rases meself from the ground
where I was ginnyfiicting on wun knay, and sez he, “ Misther De
Lany,’’ sez he, “ ’tis meself that’s de-loighted to wilcomeyez to these
parts.”

With that I pulled out o’ my pocket the pome I’d composed, whin
the Lord Liftn’t steps forwurd with an ard-driss.

“ Markkis,” sez the Prince, “ Forst come forst sarved.”

“ ’Tis manuers,” sez I, backin op me fushur Sorvrin.

“ Misther De Lany will oblige,” sez Arlegsonderer, with swate
kumplasence

“Ail” sez I, boshfully, “’tis a thrifle, bot if Misther Dan’l
Gudfree, the Lader of the Granddear Archest.rar, likewise the foifes
and droms, if he’d jist play the ac-compniment, it moight be som-thin’
grotifyin’ to a thriflm’ potion of your Ryle Hoighniss’s sobjicks.”

With that l song my Ode, which the Prince went homming all the
day out, so plased was he with me purr-formance Afther this, which
left me exharsted on the sile, the Prince and Princess of Wales
partook of lonch, an’ were driven through the Phaynix Parruk, accom-
panied by the Lord Liftn’t on the Saxe-horn.

I heard that “ The ships on the river were decked with coloured
lights.” Decked, Sorr! bedad, it must have been pleasant walking
intirely.

There was great chairing and cries of daylight as we passed through
the strates, meself disgeyuised as a liveryman, up behoind the car, and
clearly among all the chairs of the poplace I heard with proide, “More
power to your elbow, Corny Delany. Shure ’tis himself’s the boy
to wroite for Misther PonchP

1 bloshed, Sorr, but recovered, and bowed with the utmost poloite-
ness. More in nextht.

The races wor at Ponchestown in honour of your own Special.

SINGULAR INCIDENT.

We really didn’t mean it, and if we ever begged pardon we’d do it
now, hut a lloysterer (who subsequently and at our expense showed
himself an Oyst.erer) rushed in and defied us to give him a Shaksperian
quotation applicable to Sir Brook Bridges having been made Lord
Fitzwater. How could we help saying with Bon Pedro:—

“ What need the bridge much broader than the flood ? ”

But, the Roysterer, who is noisy but not clever, did not see it.

“ Why,” says we, in a rage at his stupidity and his voraciousness
with the bivalves, “ if the bridge is the right size it fits the water,
don’t it, hass ? ” He swallowed eleven oysters before he could speak
again.

“An Excellent Piece of Principality.”

Ireland, whose sons are born poets, prettily presented the Princess
OF Wales with an Irish Dove. Wales, not to be behind-hand, had
prepared as a gift, a Welsh Rabbit, but it was clandestinely devoured
by one of the “ Bards,” who was unfortunately born too late to come
under the police arrangement of Edward the First.

One Letter Different.

A new word might be introduced to express the whole art and
mystery of Croquet—Croquetry. The objection, perhaps, to this neo-
logism is. that people might confound it with Coquetry, with which
reprehensible diversion the game can, of course, have no possible
connection.