DOI Heft:
July to December, 1851
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16608#0046
3* PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Punch.
How of the dancing ?
Magog.
There was none—so pushing and ill-bred the crowd was.
Punch.
Tell of the strangers who thronged—Representatives there of all nations!
Gog.
All as 1 know is, they kept City people without invitations.
Punch.
Tell me, oh tell, of my friends—the ill-used ones—the ex-Men in Brass, Sir!
Magog.
Bless 'em ! why, they was down stairs, round the table, a-holding the
gas, Sir,
GoG {sulkily).
Don't you ask any more questions—we 're tired, both Magog and
me is.
If you are pleased with the turn things are taking, it's more, Sir, than
we is.
Ain't they a-laying rash hands on our wen'rablest old institutions ?
Lokd Mayors themselves is'nt safe in these days—talk o' red re-
volutions !
Smithfield's to go—so I'm told—with all of its interests wested,
Though in the City we planned, and petitioned, and prayed, and pro-
tested !
Paxton is all werry well, and the Palace of Crystal, and so on—
But me and Magog don't see how things is a-going to go on.
Loyal we has been, and is—and God save the Queen is our motto;
But to bid us to "move on"—I'd just recommend you, Sir, not to.
A
A FRENCHMAN AT THE SCOTTISH FETE.
[Being part of Moksjeur Clairvoyant's feuilleton to " Le Canard de Paris")
have seen with my eyes some
Scotchmen. Not the Scotch-
man of the Opera Comique, who
sings, and makes love, and
fights in the manner the most
approved, after Mons. Scribe
—but the Scotchman, such as
you may see him on the top of
his mountains, hunting the wild
rabbit. Oh! I have felt one
joy shoot through me, when I
did see this fine Boy of the Old
Scotland. He is big—he is
strong—he is gentle. He do
what neither you nor I, nor the
best pupils of Fran coni, could
be able to do. He take in his
hand a tree, and he throw him
over his shoulder as I throw
away un cigar de trots sous, which
I can no smoke; but with more
of ease, with less of indigna-
tion. He live in a world of
trees and rocks—and they are
his playthings. The trees, they
are his walking-sticks — the
rocks, they are his marbles.
He makes them jump in the air,
as we do the sous when we
play at school at the game
which you call heads-and-
pig-tails. He run quicker than
any Bumour on the Bourse,
and ■without any stockings. He spring more high than, any of the waters at Versailles—and without
any pockets. Oh ! he is a study for Pradier to cut him ; for Delaroche to paint him . He lias no
trousers, not no more than my beautiful countrywomen of the fish, at whose legs les jeimes Lords
take much of pleasure to regard all the day at Dieppe and Boulogne, when they can see better legs m
Scotland i I have made one great discovery why the Scotchman is so mean, as the proud Englishman
delights himself in calling him ; it is the reason because he has not any pockets into which he can put
his hand like the Englishman. How is it possible for any man to be charitable without pockets t
Many of us know not the charity, even with them ! . . Q ,, ,
The day was glorious ; that is to say, it did rain at great pours—but, then, it always ram in bcotland
—and I tell you it was a Scottish Fete. I did get myself wet all through, but I make not any regrets ;
for it was a Scottish Fete, and one is always soaked to the skin in Scotland, excepting in Mons. Scribe s
Operas. The music was much different to that in La Dame Blanche, though that is lull ot beautilul
Scotch music, written by Boildieu, one Frenchman, who write better Scotch music than the bcotcli
themselves. Oh! it was too much. It did break open my head, it did split my ears, it did inflict pains
on my stomach with recollections of the cholera. It was the Baggypipe ! Maudit instrument. it must
be the music of the spheres below. It must be the veritable Violon du Diable ■ different to the one
St. Leon plays with Cerito in that charmant ballet. I am told there is not any nightingales in bcotland.
On my faith I understand it well—the baggypipe has killed them all! ,, .
I did not see Monsieur Mackintosh—whose habits the English carry about with them on their
backs everywhere. He is the most famous Scotchman alive, and must be the man the most popular m
England, for every one speak of him as My Mackintosh. , , t
I must tell you, that Mac means "The Son of"—so Mackintosh is tne son of Kintosh— but j
scratch my head with wonder, for all the Scotchmen are Macs. Thus, Scotland must be a nation ot all
sons, with not one single father amongst them! I leave with you the enigma. f . ,
The Scotchmen also play, like children, with wheelbarrows—like our coryphees, with village "ances,
round poles with flowers—like our Prqfesseurs of the Savate, with flinging their feet in the faces ol both,
other; and this they do just all as well as nous Francais, qui out porte ce noble jeu a la_ plus grande
hauteur, and have, with the agUity of our feet, always put the noses of all nations out of its joint. Ihey
likewise play and dance with the sword; but unlike us, ma foi; for whenever a Frenchman take the
sword, e'est pour /aire danser les autres.
Et Vhospitality Ecossatse ?—I hear
you ask me. Ah! It was nobly sup-
ported. I was one of the invited to
Holland House—the Palace of Lord
Holland, one of the most great Lords
of Scotland. Oh! I feast, and drink
in the conservatory, which was stream-
ing with light, all the night, and did
porter beaucoup de toasts to the health
of Scotland, and of everybody. Oh!
it was Tine Nuit de Songe d'Ete, as
Shakspeare says—but what did p'ease
me more than all the rest, I did dance
one Ruile with her Lady of Holland,
and the celebrated Bust of our grand
Empereur by Can ova did smile on your
humble feuilletoniste for so doing. But
what did make my blood mount to the
face, was that one blacquiard wanted
to persuade me it was not her Lady 1
dance with, but her Lady's Maid.
Why am I a republican, if 1 no know
the Noblesse when I meet him ? Infame
defamer, I did send him quickly to the
place where they do the Baggypipe.
All in all, I enjoy myself to a wonder
at the Scottish Fete, but it is a
thousand pities one must be wet
through before one can enjoy him.
The Crystal Palace Doomed.
No hope for the _ Crystal Palace.
That brilliant bubble is blown out by
the breath of wisdom—that fairy fabric
is "put down" by the strong arm of
an Alderman. In solemn vestry of
Marylebone, Sir Peter Laurie has
declared against a winter-garden.
Fragrant trees, and aromatic flowers
in Hyde Park in November, would
cause trade to stagnate in Begent
Street. How can palms and bananas
and Swan and Edgar nourish to-
gether ?
The world looked to Sir Peter
Laukie for some such demonstration.
For Sir Peter Laurie is one of
those men who seem made only to
perform the office of mile-stones; for
no other purpose than to mark the
distance that the world goes beyond
them.
not strong enough for the place.
Vizir, the Prime Minister of Persia,
means literally Porter, from the nume-
rous burdens a Prime Minister is sup-
posed to carry. This, however, will
never apply to Lord John Bussell;
for, considering the number of mea-
sures that have been defeated this
Session, the Prime Minister of England
does not seem able to carry the smalles4
thing!
««
Punch.
How of the dancing ?
Magog.
There was none—so pushing and ill-bred the crowd was.
Punch.
Tell of the strangers who thronged—Representatives there of all nations!
Gog.
All as 1 know is, they kept City people without invitations.
Punch.
Tell me, oh tell, of my friends—the ill-used ones—the ex-Men in Brass, Sir!
Magog.
Bless 'em ! why, they was down stairs, round the table, a-holding the
gas, Sir,
GoG {sulkily).
Don't you ask any more questions—we 're tired, both Magog and
me is.
If you are pleased with the turn things are taking, it's more, Sir, than
we is.
Ain't they a-laying rash hands on our wen'rablest old institutions ?
Lokd Mayors themselves is'nt safe in these days—talk o' red re-
volutions !
Smithfield's to go—so I'm told—with all of its interests wested,
Though in the City we planned, and petitioned, and prayed, and pro-
tested !
Paxton is all werry well, and the Palace of Crystal, and so on—
But me and Magog don't see how things is a-going to go on.
Loyal we has been, and is—and God save the Queen is our motto;
But to bid us to "move on"—I'd just recommend you, Sir, not to.
A
A FRENCHMAN AT THE SCOTTISH FETE.
[Being part of Moksjeur Clairvoyant's feuilleton to " Le Canard de Paris")
have seen with my eyes some
Scotchmen. Not the Scotch-
man of the Opera Comique, who
sings, and makes love, and
fights in the manner the most
approved, after Mons. Scribe
—but the Scotchman, such as
you may see him on the top of
his mountains, hunting the wild
rabbit. Oh! I have felt one
joy shoot through me, when I
did see this fine Boy of the Old
Scotland. He is big—he is
strong—he is gentle. He do
what neither you nor I, nor the
best pupils of Fran coni, could
be able to do. He take in his
hand a tree, and he throw him
over his shoulder as I throw
away un cigar de trots sous, which
I can no smoke; but with more
of ease, with less of indigna-
tion. He live in a world of
trees and rocks—and they are
his playthings. The trees, they
are his walking-sticks — the
rocks, they are his marbles.
He makes them jump in the air,
as we do the sous when we
play at school at the game
which you call heads-and-
pig-tails. He run quicker than
any Bumour on the Bourse,
and ■without any stockings. He spring more high than, any of the waters at Versailles—and without
any pockets. Oh ! he is a study for Pradier to cut him ; for Delaroche to paint him . He lias no
trousers, not no more than my beautiful countrywomen of the fish, at whose legs les jeimes Lords
take much of pleasure to regard all the day at Dieppe and Boulogne, when they can see better legs m
Scotland i I have made one great discovery why the Scotchman is so mean, as the proud Englishman
delights himself in calling him ; it is the reason because he has not any pockets into which he can put
his hand like the Englishman. How is it possible for any man to be charitable without pockets t
Many of us know not the charity, even with them ! . . Q ,, ,
The day was glorious ; that is to say, it did rain at great pours—but, then, it always ram in bcotland
—and I tell you it was a Scottish Fete. I did get myself wet all through, but I make not any regrets ;
for it was a Scottish Fete, and one is always soaked to the skin in Scotland, excepting in Mons. Scribe s
Operas. The music was much different to that in La Dame Blanche, though that is lull ot beautilul
Scotch music, written by Boildieu, one Frenchman, who write better Scotch music than the bcotcli
themselves. Oh! it was too much. It did break open my head, it did split my ears, it did inflict pains
on my stomach with recollections of the cholera. It was the Baggypipe ! Maudit instrument. it must
be the music of the spheres below. It must be the veritable Violon du Diable ■ different to the one
St. Leon plays with Cerito in that charmant ballet. I am told there is not any nightingales in bcotland.
On my faith I understand it well—the baggypipe has killed them all! ,, .
I did not see Monsieur Mackintosh—whose habits the English carry about with them on their
backs everywhere. He is the most famous Scotchman alive, and must be the man the most popular m
England, for every one speak of him as My Mackintosh. , , t
I must tell you, that Mac means "The Son of"—so Mackintosh is tne son of Kintosh— but j
scratch my head with wonder, for all the Scotchmen are Macs. Thus, Scotland must be a nation ot all
sons, with not one single father amongst them! I leave with you the enigma. f . ,
The Scotchmen also play, like children, with wheelbarrows—like our coryphees, with village "ances,
round poles with flowers—like our Prqfesseurs of the Savate, with flinging their feet in the faces ol both,
other; and this they do just all as well as nous Francais, qui out porte ce noble jeu a la_ plus grande
hauteur, and have, with the agUity of our feet, always put the noses of all nations out of its joint. Ihey
likewise play and dance with the sword; but unlike us, ma foi; for whenever a Frenchman take the
sword, e'est pour /aire danser les autres.
Et Vhospitality Ecossatse ?—I hear
you ask me. Ah! It was nobly sup-
ported. I was one of the invited to
Holland House—the Palace of Lord
Holland, one of the most great Lords
of Scotland. Oh! I feast, and drink
in the conservatory, which was stream-
ing with light, all the night, and did
porter beaucoup de toasts to the health
of Scotland, and of everybody. Oh!
it was Tine Nuit de Songe d'Ete, as
Shakspeare says—but what did p'ease
me more than all the rest, I did dance
one Ruile with her Lady of Holland,
and the celebrated Bust of our grand
Empereur by Can ova did smile on your
humble feuilletoniste for so doing. But
what did make my blood mount to the
face, was that one blacquiard wanted
to persuade me it was not her Lady 1
dance with, but her Lady's Maid.
Why am I a republican, if 1 no know
the Noblesse when I meet him ? Infame
defamer, I did send him quickly to the
place where they do the Baggypipe.
All in all, I enjoy myself to a wonder
at the Scottish Fete, but it is a
thousand pities one must be wet
through before one can enjoy him.
The Crystal Palace Doomed.
No hope for the _ Crystal Palace.
That brilliant bubble is blown out by
the breath of wisdom—that fairy fabric
is "put down" by the strong arm of
an Alderman. In solemn vestry of
Marylebone, Sir Peter Laurie has
declared against a winter-garden.
Fragrant trees, and aromatic flowers
in Hyde Park in November, would
cause trade to stagnate in Begent
Street. How can palms and bananas
and Swan and Edgar nourish to-
gether ?
The world looked to Sir Peter
Laukie for some such demonstration.
For Sir Peter Laurie is one of
those men who seem made only to
perform the office of mile-stones; for
no other purpose than to mark the
distance that the world goes beyond
them.
not strong enough for the place.
Vizir, the Prime Minister of Persia,
means literally Porter, from the nume-
rous burdens a Prime Minister is sup-
posed to carry. This, however, will
never apply to Lord John Bussell;
for, considering the number of mea-
sures that have been defeated this
Session, the Prime Minister of England
does not seem able to carry the smalles4
thing!
««