DOI issue:
January to June, 1845
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16521#0027
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
31
LAY OF THE SPORTING LANDLORD.
When T was sent to college,
'Twas in famous Oxfordshire ;
Where I learnt Greek and Latin
For nearly four long year,
Till 1 came to my acres,
The truth you soon shall hear ;
Oh I 'tis all my aim to preserve my game
At all seasons of the year.
As I and my head-keeper
Were going of our rounds,
We pounced upon a countryman,
And lurcher, on my grounds ;
" Hallo," said we, " you vagabond,
What business have you here ?"
Oh ! 'tis all my aim to preserve my game
At ail seasons of the year.
A hare, and brace of pheasants
Upon the rogue we found ;
We had him to the magistrate,
Who fined him twenty pound :
He could not pay the fine, my boys,
For it was so severe ;
Oh ! tis all my aim to preserve my game
At all seasons of the year.
Then he began to ■whimper,
And tell a piteous tale
About his wife and family ;
But we pack'd him oft' to gaol.
We pack'd him off to gaol, my boys,
Of mercy we'd not hear ;
Oh ! 'tis all my aim to preserve my game
At all seasons of the year.
Three months he lay in prison,
And, after that, was tried ;
Then six months of hard labour
He underwent beside :
His wife went to the workhouse,
And all his children dear ;
Oh ! 'tis all my aim to preserve my game
At all seasons of the year.
Now here's unto Ih;? Game Laws ;
Long may they be in force !
And here's to every magistrate
Who gives the Law its course :
A dungeon to each poacher,
That dwells both far and near.
Oh ! 'tis all my aim to preserve my game
At all seasons of the year.
PUNCH IN THE EAST.
FROM OUR FAT CONTRIBUTOR.
On board the P. $ O. Company's Skip,
" Burrumpooter," off Alexandria.
Fat Contributor, indeed! I lay down my pen, and smiling in bitter
scorn as I write the sarcastic title—I remember it was that which I
assumed when my peregrinations began.—It is now an absurd misnomer.
I forget whence I wrote to you last. We were but three weeks from
England, I think—off Cadiz, or Malta, perhaps —I was full of my recol-
lections of Dolores—full in other ways, too. I have travelled in the East
since then. I have seen the gardens of Bujukdere and the kiosks of the
Seraglio : I have seen the sun sinking behind Morea's hills, and rising
over the red waves of the Kile. I have travelled like Benjamin D'Is-
kaelt, Ulysses, Monckton Milnes, and the eminent sages of all times.
I am not the fat being I was, (and proudly styled myself,) when I left
my dear, dear Pall Mall. You recollect my Nugee dress-coat, with
the brass buttons and Canary silk lining, that the Author of the
"Spirit of the Age " used#to envy ? I never confessed it—but I was in
agonies when I wore that coat. I was girthed in (inwardly) so tight, that
I thought every day after the third entree apoplexy would ensue—and had
my name and address written most legibly in the breast flap, so that I
might be carried home in case I was found speechless in the street on my
return from dinner. A smiling face often hides an aching heart ; I promise
you mine did in that coat, and not my heart only, but other regions.
There is a skeleton in every house—and mine—no—I wasn't exactly a
skeleton in that garment, but suffered secret torments in it, to which, as I
take it, those of the Inquisition were trifles.
I put it on t'other day to dine with Bucksheesh Pasha at Grand Cairo
—I could have buttoned the breast over to the two buttons behind. My
dear Sir—I looked like a perfect Guy. I am wasted away—a fading flower
_I don't weigh above sixteen and a half now. Eastern Travel has done
it—and all my fat friends may read this and consider it. It is something
at lea=t to know. Byron (one of us) took vinegar and starved himself to
get down the disagreeable plenitude. Vinegar ?—nonsense !—try Eastern
travel. I am bound to say, however, that it don't answer in all cases.
Waddilove, for instance, with whom I have been making the journey,
has bulged out in the sun like a pumpkin, and at dinner you see his coat
and waistcoat buttons spirt violently off his garments—no longer able to
I bear the confinement there. One of them hit Colonel Sourcillon plump
on the nose, on which the Frenchman * * But to return to my
own case. A man always speaks most naturally and truly of that which
occurs to himself.
I attribute the diminution in my size not to my want of appetite, which
has been uniformly good. Pale ale is to be found universally throughout
Turkey, Syria, Greece, and Egypt, and after a couple of foaming bottles
of Bass, a man could eat a crocodile (we had someat Bucksheesh Pasha's
fattened in the tanks of his country villa of El Muddee, on the Nile, but
; tough—very fishy and tough)—the appetite, I say, I have found to be
generally good in these regions—and attribute the corporeal diminution
Solely to want of sleep.
I give you my word of honour as a gentleman, Uial for seven weeks I
have never slept a single wink. It is my belief that nobody does in the
East. -You get to do without it perfectly. It may be said of these coun-
tries, they are so hospitable, you are never alone. You have always
friends to come and pass the night with you, and keep you alive with
their cheerful innocent gambols. At Constantinople, at Athens, Malta,
Cairo, Gibraltar, it is all the same. Your watchful friends persist in
paying you attention. The frisky and agile flea, the slow but steady-pur-
posed bug—the fairy musquito, with his mellow-sounding horn, rush to
welcome the stranger to their shores—and never leave him during his
stay. At first, and before you are used to the manners of the country,
the attention is rather annoying. Here, for instance, is my miniature.—
F.C. ON GOING TO BED F.C. ON GETTING UP
AT GIBRALTAR. THE NEXT MORNING.
You will see that one of my eyes was shut up temporarily, and I drew the
picture by the sole light of the other,
j Man is a creature of habit. I did not at first like giving up my sleep.
I I had been used to it in England. I occasionally repined as my friends
j persisted in calling my attention to them, grew sulky and peevish, wished
myself in bed in London—nay, in the worst bed in the most frequented
old, mouldy, musty, wooden-galleried coach inn in Aldgate or Holborn.
I recollect a night at the Bull, in poor dear old Mrs. Nelson's time—well,
well, it is nothing to the East. What a country would this be for Tiffin,
and what a noble field for his labours !
Though I am used to it now, I can't say but it is probable that when I
get back to England I shall return to my old habits. Here, on board the
Peninsular and Oriental Company's magnificent steam-ship, Burrumpooter,
I thought of trying whether I could sleep any more. I had got the
sweetest little cabin in the world ; the berths rather small and tight for a
man of still considerable proportions—but everything as neat, sweet,
fresh and elegant as the most fastidious amateur of the night-cap might
desire. I hugged the idea of having the little palace all to myself. I
placed a neat white night-gown and my favourite pink silk cap, on the top
berth ready. The sea was as clear as glass—the breeze came cool and
refreshing through the port-hole—the towers of Alexandria faded away
as our ship sailed westward. My Egyptian friends were left behind. It
would soon be sunset. I longed for that calm hour, and meanwhile we:it
to enjoy myself at dinner with a hundred and forty passengers from Suez,
31
LAY OF THE SPORTING LANDLORD.
When T was sent to college,
'Twas in famous Oxfordshire ;
Where I learnt Greek and Latin
For nearly four long year,
Till 1 came to my acres,
The truth you soon shall hear ;
Oh I 'tis all my aim to preserve my game
At all seasons of the year.
As I and my head-keeper
Were going of our rounds,
We pounced upon a countryman,
And lurcher, on my grounds ;
" Hallo," said we, " you vagabond,
What business have you here ?"
Oh ! 'tis all my aim to preserve my game
At ail seasons of the year.
A hare, and brace of pheasants
Upon the rogue we found ;
We had him to the magistrate,
Who fined him twenty pound :
He could not pay the fine, my boys,
For it was so severe ;
Oh ! tis all my aim to preserve my game
At all seasons of the year.
Then he began to ■whimper,
And tell a piteous tale
About his wife and family ;
But we pack'd him oft' to gaol.
We pack'd him off to gaol, my boys,
Of mercy we'd not hear ;
Oh ! 'tis all my aim to preserve my game
At all seasons of the year.
Three months he lay in prison,
And, after that, was tried ;
Then six months of hard labour
He underwent beside :
His wife went to the workhouse,
And all his children dear ;
Oh ! 'tis all my aim to preserve my game
At all seasons of the year.
Now here's unto Ih;? Game Laws ;
Long may they be in force !
And here's to every magistrate
Who gives the Law its course :
A dungeon to each poacher,
That dwells both far and near.
Oh ! 'tis all my aim to preserve my game
At all seasons of the year.
PUNCH IN THE EAST.
FROM OUR FAT CONTRIBUTOR.
On board the P. $ O. Company's Skip,
" Burrumpooter," off Alexandria.
Fat Contributor, indeed! I lay down my pen, and smiling in bitter
scorn as I write the sarcastic title—I remember it was that which I
assumed when my peregrinations began.—It is now an absurd misnomer.
I forget whence I wrote to you last. We were but three weeks from
England, I think—off Cadiz, or Malta, perhaps —I was full of my recol-
lections of Dolores—full in other ways, too. I have travelled in the East
since then. I have seen the gardens of Bujukdere and the kiosks of the
Seraglio : I have seen the sun sinking behind Morea's hills, and rising
over the red waves of the Kile. I have travelled like Benjamin D'Is-
kaelt, Ulysses, Monckton Milnes, and the eminent sages of all times.
I am not the fat being I was, (and proudly styled myself,) when I left
my dear, dear Pall Mall. You recollect my Nugee dress-coat, with
the brass buttons and Canary silk lining, that the Author of the
"Spirit of the Age " used#to envy ? I never confessed it—but I was in
agonies when I wore that coat. I was girthed in (inwardly) so tight, that
I thought every day after the third entree apoplexy would ensue—and had
my name and address written most legibly in the breast flap, so that I
might be carried home in case I was found speechless in the street on my
return from dinner. A smiling face often hides an aching heart ; I promise
you mine did in that coat, and not my heart only, but other regions.
There is a skeleton in every house—and mine—no—I wasn't exactly a
skeleton in that garment, but suffered secret torments in it, to which, as I
take it, those of the Inquisition were trifles.
I put it on t'other day to dine with Bucksheesh Pasha at Grand Cairo
—I could have buttoned the breast over to the two buttons behind. My
dear Sir—I looked like a perfect Guy. I am wasted away—a fading flower
_I don't weigh above sixteen and a half now. Eastern Travel has done
it—and all my fat friends may read this and consider it. It is something
at lea=t to know. Byron (one of us) took vinegar and starved himself to
get down the disagreeable plenitude. Vinegar ?—nonsense !—try Eastern
travel. I am bound to say, however, that it don't answer in all cases.
Waddilove, for instance, with whom I have been making the journey,
has bulged out in the sun like a pumpkin, and at dinner you see his coat
and waistcoat buttons spirt violently off his garments—no longer able to
I bear the confinement there. One of them hit Colonel Sourcillon plump
on the nose, on which the Frenchman * * But to return to my
own case. A man always speaks most naturally and truly of that which
occurs to himself.
I attribute the diminution in my size not to my want of appetite, which
has been uniformly good. Pale ale is to be found universally throughout
Turkey, Syria, Greece, and Egypt, and after a couple of foaming bottles
of Bass, a man could eat a crocodile (we had someat Bucksheesh Pasha's
fattened in the tanks of his country villa of El Muddee, on the Nile, but
; tough—very fishy and tough)—the appetite, I say, I have found to be
generally good in these regions—and attribute the corporeal diminution
Solely to want of sleep.
I give you my word of honour as a gentleman, Uial for seven weeks I
have never slept a single wink. It is my belief that nobody does in the
East. -You get to do without it perfectly. It may be said of these coun-
tries, they are so hospitable, you are never alone. You have always
friends to come and pass the night with you, and keep you alive with
their cheerful innocent gambols. At Constantinople, at Athens, Malta,
Cairo, Gibraltar, it is all the same. Your watchful friends persist in
paying you attention. The frisky and agile flea, the slow but steady-pur-
posed bug—the fairy musquito, with his mellow-sounding horn, rush to
welcome the stranger to their shores—and never leave him during his
stay. At first, and before you are used to the manners of the country,
the attention is rather annoying. Here, for instance, is my miniature.—
F.C. ON GOING TO BED F.C. ON GETTING UP
AT GIBRALTAR. THE NEXT MORNING.
You will see that one of my eyes was shut up temporarily, and I drew the
picture by the sole light of the other,
j Man is a creature of habit. I did not at first like giving up my sleep.
I I had been used to it in England. I occasionally repined as my friends
j persisted in calling my attention to them, grew sulky and peevish, wished
myself in bed in London—nay, in the worst bed in the most frequented
old, mouldy, musty, wooden-galleried coach inn in Aldgate or Holborn.
I recollect a night at the Bull, in poor dear old Mrs. Nelson's time—well,
well, it is nothing to the East. What a country would this be for Tiffin,
and what a noble field for his labours !
Though I am used to it now, I can't say but it is probable that when I
get back to England I shall return to my old habits. Here, on board the
Peninsular and Oriental Company's magnificent steam-ship, Burrumpooter,
I thought of trying whether I could sleep any more. I had got the
sweetest little cabin in the world ; the berths rather small and tight for a
man of still considerable proportions—but everything as neat, sweet,
fresh and elegant as the most fastidious amateur of the night-cap might
desire. I hugged the idea of having the little palace all to myself. I
placed a neat white night-gown and my favourite pink silk cap, on the top
berth ready. The sea was as clear as glass—the breeze came cool and
refreshing through the port-hole—the towers of Alexandria faded away
as our ship sailed westward. My Egyptian friends were left behind. It
would soon be sunset. I longed for that calm hour, and meanwhile we:it
to enjoy myself at dinner with a hundred and forty passengers from Suez,