DOI Heft:
July to December, 1851
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16608#0085
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 73
" And what is the reason of all this set-out ?"—
" Oh ! the Crystal Zibition; that's what it's about;
Return eatin'-matches, 'tis what you may call—
To come off agin them as was play'd at Guildhall."
"For eatin' and drinkin' I never would roam,
And I think a Lord Mayor med as well bide at home."—
" Yes, I see, they 're to feed off a Paris quiazeen ;
That's fricasseed frogs, mun ; we knows what they mean."
" I'd touch none of their messes."—" No more wouldn't I."—
"For a rump-steak and inions, is what I would cry."—
" But 1 wish you med get it."—" And then, only think
Of the varjuicy wine that they '11 give 'em to drink."
" Bat I don't bepity 'em one mossel nor mite ;
They'd no business to go there; it sarves 'em quite right."—
"Ah, they'll find their mistake out!—they'd better stopt here,
instead of gallivantin' where they won't get no beer."
" But when they returns, mun, what figgers they '11 be ! "—
" Such scarecrows, depend on't, as never you see."—
" Just fancy a mayor in a beard and a blooze ! "—
" Ees, and then they will learn 'em to wear wooden shoes."
"This Crystal Zibition, 1 always had fears,
Would lead to our mixin' with French foreigneers."—
"That's true, but then quiet and pace it per-motes,
Which is better than cuttin' of each other's throats."
" There is rason in that: I hates bloodshed and scars ;
But just think what wheat was a load in the wars."—
" Well, and that's true agen ; but then what did we get ?
Why, the answer to that is the National Debt."
" Zo, though hopin' we never shall learn foreign ways,
Peace and comfort's my maxim."—" And that's what I says.
Come, let's have t'other bottle; a tooast I '11 gee,
' The Member for Lincoln !' "—" Ah, long life to he ! "
the rural mind on the return fetes AN EXCLUSIONIST JOKE.
at paris. -<x A,, \ \ rat T \\aot ofHa that we, h^ve
V/ xy"p|i|\ \\ \ [P ' anything of an exclusive
Says old Squire Clod unto young Squire Pole, ^V*} ^-^JMKs ^ Mi IJ sPirit about our j°kes> except
"Here's the rummest news I've heard of since I was a foal; -I^\fJ^— \V W l\\ \ tiie Pecullar brilliance which
The Lord Mayor of London, and a lot more beside, JjH^ ^l^[f|l''fa V?, € makes them exclusively our
Be gone over to Paris, nigh a week for to bide." , I'll 111 m,W ^ S^CP, li^'Mr^M^M Pwn ? but we cannot for-
' ,\ „ „ I IffL^ * MM if Si III bear from the following, even
Says young Squire Pole unto old Squire Clod, 1 | "\ <^SM9ffiR\Ay'*7,Ul!:!-fi-l 'i'*i<^KnbUy^W though it savours a leetle oi
" This here information is curious and odd ; ij ''0Sm\^^C( ^§KWw^wt^k what might be termed illibe-
But what be'em gone for ?—I pray you explain."— ')J^''^^^^S^y^^^^^^^Sr^^ rality.
"Oh, to feast wi' a chap called Ver-fect of the Seine. W// I * 1 Looking at the num-
"Thereisgoin'tobeaterreableto-do; / /, \\yfW// \ IM/Ml °f ^ h?fc!
I read it in the paper, which always speaks true : *7 i\ A W f \ mgf Jff been made m vam by he
Balls, concerts, sham-fighting, and fountains at play, / /§ \ '< /W , Wm\\ ITJ^°L\?™'a£$±*
And singin' at the Uproar, where they turns night to day." / <#Jjfcj j |f j j ^ \f ffl f jj^jjy ^ ^ d£ZZ
Commons in a flame—a Jew
THE INDEPENDENCE OF THE CAB-STAND.
Independence has reached those who—to use a vulgar expression-
are literally "carriage folks;" for the true men of substance, of the
present day, are the cab-drivers. The test of respectability used to be
the keeping of a gig; but, in these days, the keeping of a cab—especially
a Hansom—begins to be a test of affluence. Our men of rank—that is
to say, of cab-rank—are really our men of capital. So vast are their
earnings in the day-time, that, in the night, there is scarcely a cab to be
had either for love—if it is not an absurdity to talk of love towards a
cab-driver—or for money. No sooner have the toils of the day gone
by, when all a cabman's best feelings begin to possess him; he casts
his "rank " aside, and mixes with his fellow-men, giving up to mankind
what was meant for parties—inasmuch as at part es the guests have
to walk home, for want of a cab to carry them. We are always ready
to'rejoice in the prosperity of a class, but we really wish the cab-drivers
who have made their fortunes would retire totallv, instead of partially,
and leave the stands to those who would find it" worth their while to
supply the demand of the public in the evening as well as in the
day-'ime.
Legacy Duty Unpaid.
Nelson left his daughter as a legacy to the Nation. The legacy
tias been left now for several years; but we have never yet heard of
the Legacy having been taken up, or even the Duty attended to ; and
tinsiin, mind you, spite of Nelson's well-known injunction that "Ens-
land expects every man will do his duty."
being the object—we have
been unable to resist the
temptation of repeating to
ourselves, that probably le jew ne vaut pas la chunclelle.
a young lady's opinion as to what should
be done with the crystal palace.
"Oh ! my dear Punch,—I am a young lady—which I should have
felt great diffidence in telling you—only you know everything—and
besides, I go to all the Fetes—and so, where would have been the good
of hiding the truth from you ? I must tell you, then, that my pocket-
money is exceedingly small: papa says he can't afford to give me any
more ; and, though dear mamma is as kind as she can be, still she is as
fond of going to the Fetes as I am ; and you don't know what a deal of
money that costs. I can't sleep sometimes when I think about it. I
should be so happy, and would go everywhere, if I had plenty of money.
As it is, I am freqiiently obliged to stop at home—and I don't like it.
" It isn't so much the money we spend in tickets that we care for, as
the expensive dresses we are obliged to wear. I don't half like talking
to you about such things. 1 'm afraid you 're laughing at me; but still
I don't mind, and wall go on to say that the dresses are wearing our
hearts out; and I don't know what I,shall do for a new bonnet (not
" an ugly,"—I hate them) to go to the sea-side with. I have had so
many new dresses, that I shall have no money left to read a single novel
this year on the sands. It's all the fault ot our climate—and why we
have such a climate I cannot tell. It's always raining at the very time
you don't want it to rain—just as if it did it purposely to spite you.
" It rained the first»Horticultural Fete—and my dress was spoiled.
" It rained the second Horticultural Fete, and a beautiful new bonnet
—quite a duck, with the exception that it wouldn't take the water—
was completely sacrificed.
" And the third Fete, you know how it rained ! There wasn't a bit
of room in any one of the tents ; and the consequence wras, that every-
thing I had on was ruined—so much so that I could have cried, if 1
wasn't afraid some one would have seen me.
"And we fared very little better at the Botanical Fetes. I am not
clever at counting. I can only tell you that each time the rain came
down (and didn't it come down just last Wednesday ?) I had to pay for
it most dearly, in the most provoking sense of the word. A lady cannot
wear a waterproof bonnet, or a Mackintosh pelerine, as you gentlemen
do. One drop of water, and, like a bright stove (pray excuse me), our
lustre is gone!
" You must confess, my dear Punch, that the loss of so many dresses
in one season must be very heart-breaking to a poor girl, whose pocket-
money is as low as my spirits at the present moment. I couldn't help
thinking how nice it would have been if the Botanical Fele, last
Wednesday, had only been held in the Crystal Pa'ace! I shouldn't
have cared for the rain then. I shouldn't have got wet feet. My
parasol wouldn't have had all the colour (it was a light cerise) com-
pletely washed out, and we could have walked in comfort, and have
enjoyed the society ever so long—till tea-time.
" I am told that the Crystal Palace is to be pulled down. Dear
Punch, if you allow if, I will never forgive you. It is the only place in
London where we ladies can walk about in, without fear of getting wet.
It is a large glass Parasol, under which we can laugh at the rain that is
pattering over our heads, and snap our fingers at our wretched English
climate. Pray let it remain up, and then—who knows—the Horticultural
Fetes may be held inside it next, year, and we shall no longer have to
go all the way to Chiswick to be caught in a shower of rain, and we
shan't have to buy so many dresses, which is not pleasant, in the course
of the season. Do this, and you will confer, like a good fellow, as I am
sure you are, a great favour on « 0ne whq Loves yqu DeaRLY »
Vol. 21.
3—2
" And what is the reason of all this set-out ?"—
" Oh ! the Crystal Zibition; that's what it's about;
Return eatin'-matches, 'tis what you may call—
To come off agin them as was play'd at Guildhall."
"For eatin' and drinkin' I never would roam,
And I think a Lord Mayor med as well bide at home."—
" Yes, I see, they 're to feed off a Paris quiazeen ;
That's fricasseed frogs, mun ; we knows what they mean."
" I'd touch none of their messes."—" No more wouldn't I."—
"For a rump-steak and inions, is what I would cry."—
" But 1 wish you med get it."—" And then, only think
Of the varjuicy wine that they '11 give 'em to drink."
" Bat I don't bepity 'em one mossel nor mite ;
They'd no business to go there; it sarves 'em quite right."—
"Ah, they'll find their mistake out!—they'd better stopt here,
instead of gallivantin' where they won't get no beer."
" But when they returns, mun, what figgers they '11 be ! "—
" Such scarecrows, depend on't, as never you see."—
" Just fancy a mayor in a beard and a blooze ! "—
" Ees, and then they will learn 'em to wear wooden shoes."
"This Crystal Zibition, 1 always had fears,
Would lead to our mixin' with French foreigneers."—
"That's true, but then quiet and pace it per-motes,
Which is better than cuttin' of each other's throats."
" There is rason in that: I hates bloodshed and scars ;
But just think what wheat was a load in the wars."—
" Well, and that's true agen ; but then what did we get ?
Why, the answer to that is the National Debt."
" Zo, though hopin' we never shall learn foreign ways,
Peace and comfort's my maxim."—" And that's what I says.
Come, let's have t'other bottle; a tooast I '11 gee,
' The Member for Lincoln !' "—" Ah, long life to he ! "
the rural mind on the return fetes AN EXCLUSIONIST JOKE.
at paris. -<x A,, \ \ rat T \\aot ofHa that we, h^ve
V/ xy"p|i|\ \\ \ [P ' anything of an exclusive
Says old Squire Clod unto young Squire Pole, ^V*} ^-^JMKs ^ Mi IJ sPirit about our j°kes> except
"Here's the rummest news I've heard of since I was a foal; -I^\fJ^— \V W l\\ \ tiie Pecullar brilliance which
The Lord Mayor of London, and a lot more beside, JjH^ ^l^[f|l''fa V?, € makes them exclusively our
Be gone over to Paris, nigh a week for to bide." , I'll 111 m,W ^ S^CP, li^'Mr^M^M Pwn ? but we cannot for-
' ,\ „ „ I IffL^ * MM if Si III bear from the following, even
Says young Squire Pole unto old Squire Clod, 1 | "\ <^SM9ffiR\Ay'*7,Ul!:!-fi-l 'i'*i<^KnbUy^W though it savours a leetle oi
" This here information is curious and odd ; ij ''0Sm\^^C( ^§KWw^wt^k what might be termed illibe-
But what be'em gone for ?—I pray you explain."— ')J^''^^^^S^y^^^^^^^Sr^^ rality.
"Oh, to feast wi' a chap called Ver-fect of the Seine. W// I * 1 Looking at the num-
"Thereisgoin'tobeaterreableto-do; / /, \\yfW// \ IM/Ml °f ^ h?fc!
I read it in the paper, which always speaks true : *7 i\ A W f \ mgf Jff been made m vam by he
Balls, concerts, sham-fighting, and fountains at play, / /§ \ '< /W , Wm\\ ITJ^°L\?™'a£$±*
And singin' at the Uproar, where they turns night to day." / <#Jjfcj j |f j j ^ \f ffl f jj^jjy ^ ^ d£ZZ
Commons in a flame—a Jew
THE INDEPENDENCE OF THE CAB-STAND.
Independence has reached those who—to use a vulgar expression-
are literally "carriage folks;" for the true men of substance, of the
present day, are the cab-drivers. The test of respectability used to be
the keeping of a gig; but, in these days, the keeping of a cab—especially
a Hansom—begins to be a test of affluence. Our men of rank—that is
to say, of cab-rank—are really our men of capital. So vast are their
earnings in the day-time, that, in the night, there is scarcely a cab to be
had either for love—if it is not an absurdity to talk of love towards a
cab-driver—or for money. No sooner have the toils of the day gone
by, when all a cabman's best feelings begin to possess him; he casts
his "rank " aside, and mixes with his fellow-men, giving up to mankind
what was meant for parties—inasmuch as at part es the guests have
to walk home, for want of a cab to carry them. We are always ready
to'rejoice in the prosperity of a class, but we really wish the cab-drivers
who have made their fortunes would retire totallv, instead of partially,
and leave the stands to those who would find it" worth their while to
supply the demand of the public in the evening as well as in the
day-'ime.
Legacy Duty Unpaid.
Nelson left his daughter as a legacy to the Nation. The legacy
tias been left now for several years; but we have never yet heard of
the Legacy having been taken up, or even the Duty attended to ; and
tinsiin, mind you, spite of Nelson's well-known injunction that "Ens-
land expects every man will do his duty."
being the object—we have
been unable to resist the
temptation of repeating to
ourselves, that probably le jew ne vaut pas la chunclelle.
a young lady's opinion as to what should
be done with the crystal palace.
"Oh ! my dear Punch,—I am a young lady—which I should have
felt great diffidence in telling you—only you know everything—and
besides, I go to all the Fetes—and so, where would have been the good
of hiding the truth from you ? I must tell you, then, that my pocket-
money is exceedingly small: papa says he can't afford to give me any
more ; and, though dear mamma is as kind as she can be, still she is as
fond of going to the Fetes as I am ; and you don't know what a deal of
money that costs. I can't sleep sometimes when I think about it. I
should be so happy, and would go everywhere, if I had plenty of money.
As it is, I am freqiiently obliged to stop at home—and I don't like it.
" It isn't so much the money we spend in tickets that we care for, as
the expensive dresses we are obliged to wear. I don't half like talking
to you about such things. 1 'm afraid you 're laughing at me; but still
I don't mind, and wall go on to say that the dresses are wearing our
hearts out; and I don't know what I,shall do for a new bonnet (not
" an ugly,"—I hate them) to go to the sea-side with. I have had so
many new dresses, that I shall have no money left to read a single novel
this year on the sands. It's all the fault ot our climate—and why we
have such a climate I cannot tell. It's always raining at the very time
you don't want it to rain—just as if it did it purposely to spite you.
" It rained the first»Horticultural Fete—and my dress was spoiled.
" It rained the second Horticultural Fete, and a beautiful new bonnet
—quite a duck, with the exception that it wouldn't take the water—
was completely sacrificed.
" And the third Fete, you know how it rained ! There wasn't a bit
of room in any one of the tents ; and the consequence wras, that every-
thing I had on was ruined—so much so that I could have cried, if 1
wasn't afraid some one would have seen me.
"And we fared very little better at the Botanical Fetes. I am not
clever at counting. I can only tell you that each time the rain came
down (and didn't it come down just last Wednesday ?) I had to pay for
it most dearly, in the most provoking sense of the word. A lady cannot
wear a waterproof bonnet, or a Mackintosh pelerine, as you gentlemen
do. One drop of water, and, like a bright stove (pray excuse me), our
lustre is gone!
" You must confess, my dear Punch, that the loss of so many dresses
in one season must be very heart-breaking to a poor girl, whose pocket-
money is as low as my spirits at the present moment. I couldn't help
thinking how nice it would have been if the Botanical Fele, last
Wednesday, had only been held in the Crystal Pa'ace! I shouldn't
have cared for the rain then. I shouldn't have got wet feet. My
parasol wouldn't have had all the colour (it was a light cerise) com-
pletely washed out, and we could have walked in comfort, and have
enjoyed the society ever so long—till tea-time.
" I am told that the Crystal Palace is to be pulled down. Dear
Punch, if you allow if, I will never forgive you. It is the only place in
London where we ladies can walk about in, without fear of getting wet.
It is a large glass Parasol, under which we can laugh at the rain that is
pattering over our heads, and snap our fingers at our wretched English
climate. Pray let it remain up, and then—who knows—the Horticultural
Fetes may be held inside it next, year, and we shall no longer have to
go all the way to Chiswick to be caught in a shower of rain, and we
shan't have to buy so many dresses, which is not pleasant, in the course
of the season. Do this, and you will confer, like a good fellow, as I am
sure you are, a great favour on « 0ne whq Loves yqu DeaRLY »
Vol. 21.
3—2