Punch (55.1868)

PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHARLVARL

[August

BY 186S.

U

MEN WERE DECEIVERS EVER.”

Swell (at the Civil Service Co-Operative Store). “ Haw ! I want two or thwee
Pounds—Bacon—and—aw—’blige me by doing it up like Box—Gloves or
Flowers, or something o’ that sort ! ! ”

SOUL GEAPES AT THE SEA-SIDE.

(Song of the Ocean Rover.)

Ha, lia, lia, lia !

Jones and liis bride,

Portly Mamma,

By tlie Sea-side.

. Jones on the sand,

_ I on tlie sea;

Here do I stand,

There sitteth lie !

So let it be !

I jm on the wave.

Ho ! 1 am free;

He is a slave,

Family man,

Forced there to stay
By Mary Anne,

What Jones must pay

Hundred to one
Such were my lot;

Her had I won ;

Cflad I did not.

I ’m in my yacht,

She is not mine.

Her Jones lias got:

I mi on the brine.

O’er the wild waters,

Through the white foam,

Wife, sons, and daughters.

Cost me no home.

Ha, ha ! On billow
Sleeping, I ride:

Head let Jones pillow
By the Sea-side!

Sagacity of tlie Serpent.

A Python at the Zoological Gardens once swallowed
his blanket. He was supposed to have mistaken it for a
rabbit. This supposition is probably erroneous. More
likely the Python wanted an anodyne, being troubled with
a pain in his inside, and swallowed the blanket because
he mistook it for a counterpane.

PATTI IN A NEW PLACE.

My dear Mr. Punch,

You will, I am sure, feel a lively interest in the following
information which I extract from some foreign correspondence

“ It is not in some quiet spot in England or Scotland, or at some pretty
Swiss chalet, or other delightful retreat from the bustle of the world, that
Adelina Patti, now the Marchioness of Caux, is passing her honeymoon.
It is in Paris. The young Marchioness was present at the Opera on Monday
evening, in an open box in the dress circle, when the Trouviere and the Giselle
were represented. Notwithstanding the heat of the weather, the house was
crowded, and, as may be supposed, Patti was the observed of all observers.”

This is just the thing that a genuine artiste like the charming Patti,
circumstanced as she was, would do. One can imagine what a luxury
for her there was in going from the back of the house to the front, and
in listening to a performance as exquisite as her own, if there is any.
It was very natural of her, for one pleasure of her honeymoon, to go to
the Opera. But may I be allowed, dare I venture to say, that, grace
and elegance apart, in so doing our sweet Patti reminds me very much
of one Bob, the waiter at a tavern near unto Drury Lane ? Bob, as
perhaps you are aware, when he had got a holiday, was accustomed to
spend it in sitting down to one of the tables at which on other days he
attended, and causing himself to be served by his fellow-waiters. In
suggesting this parallel am I guilty of a base comparison ? Nay, say
not so. “ One touch of Nature makes the whole world kin.” Adorable
Patti has ministered to our enjoyment in a very high degree, but so
likewise has Bob in no small measure. In so saying, my dear Sir,
I think I speak not for myself alone, but for you as well as for

Yours truly,

Memor.

P.S. You have doubtless seen the agreeable announcement that
Patti has not finally retired from the stage. If ever I have the plea-
sure of seeing her as Alice in Roberto it Piavolo, her great scene with
Robert will always make her remind me of Bob.

A JOLLY CHRISTENING.

Session and Season are over, and. Mr. Punch, gladly turning from
what good Queen Bess called the lippe-laboured orations out of the
'angling mouthes of the House of Commons (she struck out “ jangling,”

I

ut we replace it) and all the other rubbish that has prevented his im-
proving his mind, proposes to devote himself to a perusal of the Six
Hundred and Sixty Thousand Volumes which his friend Mr. Winter
Jones has had counted in the British Museum. But before addressing
himself to his studies, he proposes, and moreover resolves, to drink one
large bumper (it may be more, but details are unimportant) to the
health of the youngest Christian of his royal house. A health to the
Princess Victoria Alexandra Olga Mary, fourth child of Marl-
borough House. Perhaps he would not have made public note of this
ceremonial, hut that the christening on the Sixth of August seems to
have been one of good old English jollity. After the ten godmothers
and godfathers had promised and vowed, there was a banquet, with
music from Fra Piavolo, and other merry works, and then the young
parents went to the play, that is, to the Holborn Amphitheatre, to se
the horses and the acrobats. Another bumper to the jovial Prince
and his adored wife. “ England yet ”—yes, and Merry England yet,
my Puritans and Ritualists.

Sporting.

A Correspondent sends us the following heading to an advertise-
ment which caught his eye the other day:—

GET OF FOX HUNTS, BY HERRING. —These four beautiful
0 Coloured Pictures, &c.

A Eox Hunt by Herring must surely be the picture of a Drag.

When is an author most likely to be sick of his own writing ?
When he’s regularly in the swing.