DOI issue:
July to December, 1851
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16608#0116
104 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
FANNING A FLAME!
IRISH ALCHEMY.
Doctor Cullen makes the first bid
for episcopal martyrdom: in the face
of eventual penalties, he has signed
himself " Lord Archbishop of Armagh,
and Primate of all Ireland." But
what of that? His Grace shall be
held harmless. Lord John may cast
a wistful eye at the defiant church-
man; but — says Mr. Reynolds—
hands off—
" If pence were subscribed here to pay the
fine of a bishop, he [Mr. Reynolds] believed
the money would be applied to other and more
unpleasant purposes."
What sinss Mat-o-the-Mint in " The
Beggar's Opera ? "
" Seethe ball I hold!
Let the chemists toil like asses ;
Our fire their fire surpasses;
And turns all our lead to gold."
Reynolds-of-the - Dublin- Mint
sings another version. His Irish al-
chemy is not to turn lead into gold,
but coppers into bullets.
The Moors.
Our Cockney correspondent says
that the birds are very wild, and that
the heath being extremely slippery,
the attempt to run after them is apt
to be attended with numerous falls,
especially in patent-leather boots. He
says the exercise is fatiguing in the
extreme, and complains that there are
no cabs to be had on the hills, though
there are plenty of flies.
THE SONG OF THE NORTH KENT RAILWAY.
The Station Master sings.
Come issue the tickets, and open the wickets ;
To see the folks crowding is funny—quite funny;
By pushing and shoving just keep the mass moving,
.For all that we want is their money—their money.
The Railway Policeman sings.
Now don't be perverse, Sir; though dropp'd is your purse, Sir
We've something to do but to mind it—to mind it;
To-morrow from Town, Sir, you'd better come down, Sir,
To see if we've happened to find it—to find it.
The Railway Money-Taker sings.
It's useless, Sir, talking; you'd better be walking ;
Your change I put down, and it lay there—it lay there ;
If somebody snatch'd it, you ought to have watch'd it,—
Move on, for you really can't stay there—can't stay there.
The Railway Door-Keeper sings.
Keep back, and no pushing; now, where are you rushing?
Your ticket, it's very well, showing, sir, showing ;
By the train that's departing, you can't think of starting ;
In an hour another is going, is going.
The Railway Constable sings.
Come, none of your airs now, you've paid all your fares now;
Though waiting may be a vexation, vexation,
You must stay where you are there, squeezed up by that bar there,
Or else be walked off to the station, the station.
The Railway Porter sings.
Your trunk I can't find it, and how's one to mind it ?
You ought to know better than bring it, than bring it;
1 just saw another, I thought was your brother,
To a man with moustachios, Sir, fling it, Sir, fling it.
The Railway Guard sings.
Now, anywhere jump in—that carriage go plump in.
Sit down on the lap of that gent, mum; that gent, mum—
Sit down by the dustman ; I tell you, you must man :
You're wondrously hard to content, mum—content, mum.
Lady Passenger sings.
There's somebody smoking; it's very provoking;
My purse from my pocket is going, is going ;
But how, mid so many, to fix upon any,
In the dark, too, of course, there's no knowing, no knowing
The Railway Ticket-Collector sings.
Why, what a collection! it baffles inspection;
I wonder they managed to ride'em, to ride'em;
The different classes are jumbled in masses,
And so I shan't try to divide 'em, divide 'em.
The Railway Passenger sings.
Well, really, I never—did any one ever
See aught that can equal their capers, their capers ?
Instead of remaining for useless complaining,
I '11 go home and write to the papers, the papers.
ANOTHER PERFORMER OF " LA EIGLIA."
Our fashionable and Protectionist contemporary, The Herald, had the
other day the following funny passage in the notice of one of those
deeply interesting events, a " Marriage in High Life." It ran thus,
" We also noticed Me. B. Holmes, the father of the Irish bar, and grandfather of the
bride."
Why, this beats the old story of the " father of modern chemistry,
and brother of the Earl op Cork." The young lady, who has just
become a bride, must, according to our contemporary, be La Figlia—
not of a regiment—but of the whole Irish Bar. Of course, the relation-
ship, if it exists, can only be by adoption, though we never yet heard of
the lawyers in a body adopting a young lady, unless she happens to be
a ward in Chancery—which we trust is not the case with the bride of
the paragraph. An opera called the Daughter of thie Bar might make
a pendant to the Daughter of the Regiment—though the interest of the
former would be serious in the extreme. A Rataplan, with the usual
Chancery refrain of "Tin, tin," would be highly effective; and as to
accompaniments, the dominant instrument would be the Gross case, of
which the Court has always an abundant supply.
A Query.—Can anybody tell us whether Cleopatra's was the
needle that took the stitch in time that saved nine ?
FANNING A FLAME!
IRISH ALCHEMY.
Doctor Cullen makes the first bid
for episcopal martyrdom: in the face
of eventual penalties, he has signed
himself " Lord Archbishop of Armagh,
and Primate of all Ireland." But
what of that? His Grace shall be
held harmless. Lord John may cast
a wistful eye at the defiant church-
man; but — says Mr. Reynolds—
hands off—
" If pence were subscribed here to pay the
fine of a bishop, he [Mr. Reynolds] believed
the money would be applied to other and more
unpleasant purposes."
What sinss Mat-o-the-Mint in " The
Beggar's Opera ? "
" Seethe ball I hold!
Let the chemists toil like asses ;
Our fire their fire surpasses;
And turns all our lead to gold."
Reynolds-of-the - Dublin- Mint
sings another version. His Irish al-
chemy is not to turn lead into gold,
but coppers into bullets.
The Moors.
Our Cockney correspondent says
that the birds are very wild, and that
the heath being extremely slippery,
the attempt to run after them is apt
to be attended with numerous falls,
especially in patent-leather boots. He
says the exercise is fatiguing in the
extreme, and complains that there are
no cabs to be had on the hills, though
there are plenty of flies.
THE SONG OF THE NORTH KENT RAILWAY.
The Station Master sings.
Come issue the tickets, and open the wickets ;
To see the folks crowding is funny—quite funny;
By pushing and shoving just keep the mass moving,
.For all that we want is their money—their money.
The Railway Policeman sings.
Now don't be perverse, Sir; though dropp'd is your purse, Sir
We've something to do but to mind it—to mind it;
To-morrow from Town, Sir, you'd better come down, Sir,
To see if we've happened to find it—to find it.
The Railway Money-Taker sings.
It's useless, Sir, talking; you'd better be walking ;
Your change I put down, and it lay there—it lay there ;
If somebody snatch'd it, you ought to have watch'd it,—
Move on, for you really can't stay there—can't stay there.
The Railway Door-Keeper sings.
Keep back, and no pushing; now, where are you rushing?
Your ticket, it's very well, showing, sir, showing ;
By the train that's departing, you can't think of starting ;
In an hour another is going, is going.
The Railway Constable sings.
Come, none of your airs now, you've paid all your fares now;
Though waiting may be a vexation, vexation,
You must stay where you are there, squeezed up by that bar there,
Or else be walked off to the station, the station.
The Railway Porter sings.
Your trunk I can't find it, and how's one to mind it ?
You ought to know better than bring it, than bring it;
1 just saw another, I thought was your brother,
To a man with moustachios, Sir, fling it, Sir, fling it.
The Railway Guard sings.
Now, anywhere jump in—that carriage go plump in.
Sit down on the lap of that gent, mum; that gent, mum—
Sit down by the dustman ; I tell you, you must man :
You're wondrously hard to content, mum—content, mum.
Lady Passenger sings.
There's somebody smoking; it's very provoking;
My purse from my pocket is going, is going ;
But how, mid so many, to fix upon any,
In the dark, too, of course, there's no knowing, no knowing
The Railway Ticket-Collector sings.
Why, what a collection! it baffles inspection;
I wonder they managed to ride'em, to ride'em;
The different classes are jumbled in masses,
And so I shan't try to divide 'em, divide 'em.
The Railway Passenger sings.
Well, really, I never—did any one ever
See aught that can equal their capers, their capers ?
Instead of remaining for useless complaining,
I '11 go home and write to the papers, the papers.
ANOTHER PERFORMER OF " LA EIGLIA."
Our fashionable and Protectionist contemporary, The Herald, had the
other day the following funny passage in the notice of one of those
deeply interesting events, a " Marriage in High Life." It ran thus,
" We also noticed Me. B. Holmes, the father of the Irish bar, and grandfather of the
bride."
Why, this beats the old story of the " father of modern chemistry,
and brother of the Earl op Cork." The young lady, who has just
become a bride, must, according to our contemporary, be La Figlia—
not of a regiment—but of the whole Irish Bar. Of course, the relation-
ship, if it exists, can only be by adoption, though we never yet heard of
the lawyers in a body adopting a young lady, unless she happens to be
a ward in Chancery—which we trust is not the case with the bride of
the paragraph. An opera called the Daughter of thie Bar might make
a pendant to the Daughter of the Regiment—though the interest of the
former would be serious in the extreme. A Rataplan, with the usual
Chancery refrain of "Tin, tin," would be highly effective; and as to
accompaniments, the dominant instrument would be the Gross case, of
which the Court has always an abundant supply.
A Query.—Can anybody tell us whether Cleopatra's was the
needle that took the stitch in time that saved nine ?