DOI Heft:
November 13, 1886
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17656#0234
November 13, 1886.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
229
COURSING.
Slips by D. Crambo, Junior.
Judge, efficiently supported by Carrying Out the Draw
the Stewards,
Running Off a Capital Trial.
m
'AERY AT A SMOKING CONCERT.
Deae Chaelie,
'Ow goes it, old joker ? Tours faithfully takes up 'is pen,
Jest to'tell yer as luek's on the shift, and he's up in the stirrups agen ;
Got a crib down at Peokham, my pippin, and though it ain't much of a sorew,
Ony something like arf wot I'm wuth, I jest manage to make it a do.
'Ard times, dear old pal, and no error! That blessed old juggins, John Bright,
"With his bloomin' Free Trade is to blame. He has bunnioked up England all
right.
We are out of it, Chaelie, slap out of it. _ Fancy sech talent as mine
Being out on the empty three months! Ain't it time as we kicked up a shine ?
'Owsomever, dear boy, this ain't bizness. I'm fair on the job, mate, down 'ere,
Dropped into a reglar new set, and though Peckham ain't 'ardly my speer,
Bein' rayther too cheap and pervincial for one on the up-line like me,
Still I'm bound to admit they 're true bloaters, with no bad idea of a spree.
Jined the " Old Peckham Puffers," my pippin, a singsongy set, dontcher know,
Wot 'ang out at the " Magpie and Stump," where they meets for a " bellows
and How,"
As old president Pollywog patters it, meanin' a song and a smoke.
I wos arsked, by Jack Snap, to drop in, and I went, jest by way of a joke.
Pound fifty or more on 'em seated round tables, with glasses and pipes,
Every spechies of lotion from Brandy and Soda to fourpenny swipes. '
And as for the baccy, 0 blazes ! the smoke 'ung about 'em in clumps,
As thick as a fog in November, a cove might 'ave cut it in lumps. '
Old Pollywog sat at one end, as their Chairman, young Bunker was "Vice "
Each using a hanctioneer's 'ammer or bell, but the 'ammer for chice.
Rap! rap! Tingle-ting !
No ladies are here, so "
ug ! "Gents, pray silence for Mr. Bokanky's new song,
he '11 tip us ' I Musn't Sing Anything Wrong.' "
Larf, Chaelie ? I jolly nigh busted. Bokanky's own version it wos,
But for touch-and-go slyness and winking, he beats Arthur Robeets, that's
poz.
Anyone looking on might have fancied the roomfull of pals was a lot
Of purple-faced 'ogs in convulsions, he was that cerulean and. 'ot!
In course he got hangcored like thunder, and give us " The Baby's First Booze."
Making Short "Work of a A "No Course." Just you fancy a tipsy young toddlekins try in' to button his shoes,
Trimming Hare.__With a pap-bottle marked "Gin Unsweetened," a frilled kiddy's cap on his
head, _
And a nose like a bloomin' tomato. Lor', Chaelie, I nearly went dead!
HEALTH AT HAMMERSMITH.
In a communication to the Times, " H. G. C." has a
pretty story to tell of what he mildly describes as "the
discreditable manner in which parochial duties are carried
on by the Hammersmith Vestry, and how the Committee
of the West London Hospital (now closed on account of
the drains) conduct their affairs at the expense of the
Public." Taking a house belonging to the last-named
institution, on a three years' agreement, with an assurance
that the drainage was in "perfect order," the unfortu-
nate correspondent soon learned, to his cost, that the
drainage, instead of being in perfect order, was very
much the reverse, and, after going through the usual
process of being bandied about backwards and. forwards
between medical officers of health and sanitary inspectors,
the evil all the while being unremedied, he finally lost a
child from diphtheria, with the result of ultimately
getting his agreement cancelled.
It is quite obvious, therefore, that nothing can com-
pensate " H. G. C." for the irreparable loss he has
sustained, though, we fear, it is not clear how he could,
had he the will, bring the Vestry to book. If the Com-
mittee of the West London Hospital, which is evidently
not at this moment a convalescent one, continue to con-
duct their affairs " at the expense of the public " in the
same enterprising fashion in which they have treated
" H. G. C," they will run the risk of remaining, like
their own premises, permanently in bad odour.
" How to find the Golden Nttmbeb."—Go and hear
The Golden Legend. First performance of Sir Aethtje's
latest work, next Monday 15th November, at the Albert
Hall, which is All-but Hall-right for music. Its second
performance will be on the 23rd, at St. James's Hall.
Read up the legend. It has nothing whatever to do with
London, and the soene of the story is not Golden Square,
as erroneously supposed.
" The Happy Mean."—Those who congratulate them-
selves on the use of a bag instead of a plate at a charity
collection, so that they oan put in a halfpenny instead of
half-a-orown.
Well, they wosn't all Comics, of course not. A chap with a neck like a bull,
And a bottom-note right down a coal-mine, sang " Give me the Flaaon
that's full."
With a " Gug-guggle, gug-guggle " chorus, and didn't we jest give it tongue,
With a toe-and-heel-table-thump shindy, till everythink rattled and rung!
By this time I was fair on the chirp, and you know I've a fine tenner vice,
So I offered to pipe 'em a stave, and they didn't want offering twice.
I fetched 'em with " Halice, where Hart Thou?" You see portymento's my
mark, . .
And I treacled it hout in such style that I put arf their stars m the dark.
They now call me the local Sims Reeves, mate, and "Ave you 'eard 'Aeey's
topC?"
Is a question the Puffers all put to new-comers, m course meaning me.
I'm a P. P. myself, and I tell you these " Smokers " are not arf bad fun,
And I'm sure I don't wonder a mite that they 'ave sech a general run.
This combining of larks and of lotion with 'Armony seems a good egg.
There's no bloomin' restraint, dontcher see, and the Music's a sort of a peg
To 'ang pipes and companionship on. There ain t nothink a chap can enjy
If he has to set two 'ours or more on his manners, and pipeless, and dry.'
Monday Pops, Ballad Concerts, and that like are rare tommy-rot to a man
Who cannot be 'appy ten minutes away from his pipe and his can,
And we 're most of us built that way, Chaelie. Lor' bless yer, I wouldn't much
mind . , . ,
Even Church-going, onee m a way, it yer needn t leave baccy behind.
And then there's the freedom, the spice—no Lord Chamberling there dontcher
And the fine Tory tone—ain't hus Puffers jest down upon W. G. ? —
And if any juggins objecks to the shindy, the volumes of smoke,
And the warm little bits in the songs, I should say, " 0, go 'ome and eat coke I"
Yus, Chaelie, I've dropped among dittos at Peckham. I don't like the place,
For it isn't quite up to my form; there are too many Bads in the race.
But hus Puffers are reglar Randolphians, Ah! you should jest 'ear young
Baeey,
Sing " William the Wicked Old Woodman ! " It's nuts to yours scrumptiously,
__ 'Abet.
Theateical Note.—Mr. Charles Wyndhah, having sown his Wild Oats as
Hover the strolling actor, will on Saturday evening next, "attempt the touch
of the Criterion Theatre as Garrick Actor and Manager.
voi. xai.
229
COURSING.
Slips by D. Crambo, Junior.
Judge, efficiently supported by Carrying Out the Draw
the Stewards,
Running Off a Capital Trial.
m
'AERY AT A SMOKING CONCERT.
Deae Chaelie,
'Ow goes it, old joker ? Tours faithfully takes up 'is pen,
Jest to'tell yer as luek's on the shift, and he's up in the stirrups agen ;
Got a crib down at Peokham, my pippin, and though it ain't much of a sorew,
Ony something like arf wot I'm wuth, I jest manage to make it a do.
'Ard times, dear old pal, and no error! That blessed old juggins, John Bright,
"With his bloomin' Free Trade is to blame. He has bunnioked up England all
right.
We are out of it, Chaelie, slap out of it. _ Fancy sech talent as mine
Being out on the empty three months! Ain't it time as we kicked up a shine ?
'Owsomever, dear boy, this ain't bizness. I'm fair on the job, mate, down 'ere,
Dropped into a reglar new set, and though Peckham ain't 'ardly my speer,
Bein' rayther too cheap and pervincial for one on the up-line like me,
Still I'm bound to admit they 're true bloaters, with no bad idea of a spree.
Jined the " Old Peckham Puffers," my pippin, a singsongy set, dontcher know,
Wot 'ang out at the " Magpie and Stump," where they meets for a " bellows
and How,"
As old president Pollywog patters it, meanin' a song and a smoke.
I wos arsked, by Jack Snap, to drop in, and I went, jest by way of a joke.
Pound fifty or more on 'em seated round tables, with glasses and pipes,
Every spechies of lotion from Brandy and Soda to fourpenny swipes. '
And as for the baccy, 0 blazes ! the smoke 'ung about 'em in clumps,
As thick as a fog in November, a cove might 'ave cut it in lumps. '
Old Pollywog sat at one end, as their Chairman, young Bunker was "Vice "
Each using a hanctioneer's 'ammer or bell, but the 'ammer for chice.
Rap! rap! Tingle-ting !
No ladies are here, so "
ug ! "Gents, pray silence for Mr. Bokanky's new song,
he '11 tip us ' I Musn't Sing Anything Wrong.' "
Larf, Chaelie ? I jolly nigh busted. Bokanky's own version it wos,
But for touch-and-go slyness and winking, he beats Arthur Robeets, that's
poz.
Anyone looking on might have fancied the roomfull of pals was a lot
Of purple-faced 'ogs in convulsions, he was that cerulean and. 'ot!
In course he got hangcored like thunder, and give us " The Baby's First Booze."
Making Short "Work of a A "No Course." Just you fancy a tipsy young toddlekins try in' to button his shoes,
Trimming Hare.__With a pap-bottle marked "Gin Unsweetened," a frilled kiddy's cap on his
head, _
And a nose like a bloomin' tomato. Lor', Chaelie, I nearly went dead!
HEALTH AT HAMMERSMITH.
In a communication to the Times, " H. G. C." has a
pretty story to tell of what he mildly describes as "the
discreditable manner in which parochial duties are carried
on by the Hammersmith Vestry, and how the Committee
of the West London Hospital (now closed on account of
the drains) conduct their affairs at the expense of the
Public." Taking a house belonging to the last-named
institution, on a three years' agreement, with an assurance
that the drainage was in "perfect order," the unfortu-
nate correspondent soon learned, to his cost, that the
drainage, instead of being in perfect order, was very
much the reverse, and, after going through the usual
process of being bandied about backwards and. forwards
between medical officers of health and sanitary inspectors,
the evil all the while being unremedied, he finally lost a
child from diphtheria, with the result of ultimately
getting his agreement cancelled.
It is quite obvious, therefore, that nothing can com-
pensate " H. G. C." for the irreparable loss he has
sustained, though, we fear, it is not clear how he could,
had he the will, bring the Vestry to book. If the Com-
mittee of the West London Hospital, which is evidently
not at this moment a convalescent one, continue to con-
duct their affairs " at the expense of the public " in the
same enterprising fashion in which they have treated
" H. G. C," they will run the risk of remaining, like
their own premises, permanently in bad odour.
" How to find the Golden Nttmbeb."—Go and hear
The Golden Legend. First performance of Sir Aethtje's
latest work, next Monday 15th November, at the Albert
Hall, which is All-but Hall-right for music. Its second
performance will be on the 23rd, at St. James's Hall.
Read up the legend. It has nothing whatever to do with
London, and the soene of the story is not Golden Square,
as erroneously supposed.
" The Happy Mean."—Those who congratulate them-
selves on the use of a bag instead of a plate at a charity
collection, so that they oan put in a halfpenny instead of
half-a-orown.
Well, they wosn't all Comics, of course not. A chap with a neck like a bull,
And a bottom-note right down a coal-mine, sang " Give me the Flaaon
that's full."
With a " Gug-guggle, gug-guggle " chorus, and didn't we jest give it tongue,
With a toe-and-heel-table-thump shindy, till everythink rattled and rung!
By this time I was fair on the chirp, and you know I've a fine tenner vice,
So I offered to pipe 'em a stave, and they didn't want offering twice.
I fetched 'em with " Halice, where Hart Thou?" You see portymento's my
mark, . .
And I treacled it hout in such style that I put arf their stars m the dark.
They now call me the local Sims Reeves, mate, and "Ave you 'eard 'Aeey's
topC?"
Is a question the Puffers all put to new-comers, m course meaning me.
I'm a P. P. myself, and I tell you these " Smokers " are not arf bad fun,
And I'm sure I don't wonder a mite that they 'ave sech a general run.
This combining of larks and of lotion with 'Armony seems a good egg.
There's no bloomin' restraint, dontcher see, and the Music's a sort of a peg
To 'ang pipes and companionship on. There ain t nothink a chap can enjy
If he has to set two 'ours or more on his manners, and pipeless, and dry.'
Monday Pops, Ballad Concerts, and that like are rare tommy-rot to a man
Who cannot be 'appy ten minutes away from his pipe and his can,
And we 're most of us built that way, Chaelie. Lor' bless yer, I wouldn't much
mind . , . ,
Even Church-going, onee m a way, it yer needn t leave baccy behind.
And then there's the freedom, the spice—no Lord Chamberling there dontcher
And the fine Tory tone—ain't hus Puffers jest down upon W. G. ? —
And if any juggins objecks to the shindy, the volumes of smoke,
And the warm little bits in the songs, I should say, " 0, go 'ome and eat coke I"
Yus, Chaelie, I've dropped among dittos at Peckham. I don't like the place,
For it isn't quite up to my form; there are too many Bads in the race.
But hus Puffers are reglar Randolphians, Ah! you should jest 'ear young
Baeey,
Sing " William the Wicked Old Woodman ! " It's nuts to yours scrumptiously,
__ 'Abet.
Theateical Note.—Mr. Charles Wyndhah, having sown his Wild Oats as
Hover the strolling actor, will on Saturday evening next, "attempt the touch
of the Criterion Theatre as Garrick Actor and Manager.
voi. xai.