DOI issue:
Volume XXVI
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16613#0014
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI,
7
in the tube, because the pressure would be so great on the surface,
you know-—and if I could graduate it—you know, papa, it would be a
thermometer.
Mr.P. (in ecstacies). Delightful—most interesting; my dear—did
you follow the chain of reasoning ?
Mrs. P. (vaguely). Oh—yes—it was very clever—I’m sure—quite
beautiful. How ever he learns it all!
George. I saw him cribbing it all out of the book.
Newton. I didn’t, then.
Mr. P. (boxing George’s ears). You mean and envious boy,
detracting from your brother’s credit, in this way. Go to bed. Sir,
this instant.
[George retires crest-fallen.—Master Newton triumphs in
another shilling.
Mr. P. (turns to the girls). My dears, if I could only see you em-
ploying your time a little more rationally—more like your youngest
brother.
Miss Laura. Oh, Papa, only think if we were all to go making such
messes about the house as Newty does.
Miss Emily. And look how black all the ends of his fingers are.
Newton (proudly contemplating them). Ah, that was making hyper-
phosphorate of carbon, out of my “ Little Chemist.”
Mrs. P. When you burnt yourself so dreadfully.
Mr. P. Dear boy !
Mrs. P. Yes, my love; but it really is very dangerous. One che-
mist ’s quite enough in the Lundy. If the girls were to take to it, I
really don’t think I could sleep in my bed.
Mr. P. Pshaw! (he turns back to his Blue Books?) Very interesting
report this on the Ventilation and Warming of the House of Commons,
my dear.
Mrs. P. Is it, my love ? (abstractedly?)
Mr. P. Yes. Dr. Heir’s evidence is curious—and Dr. Arnott’s
peculiarly valuable. He shows, to demonstration, that in our houses
the first principles of ventilation are habitually neglected.
Mrs. P. Indeed ! How very interesting.
Mr. P. He proves, clearly, that in respiration, the oxygen which
enters the lungs takes away the carbon from the blood and returns
as carbonic acid gas, which is poison—that, in fact, we are continually
poisoning the air we breathe.
Mrs. P. Gracious goodness, Joseph! Why, you don’t mean to
say—
[The young ladies p/ause in their work, and listen with wide open
eyes and ears.
Mr. P. Simply, my dear, that you, and Laura, and Emily, and
Matilda, there—and indeed I myself—are all at this moment giving
off the most poisonous exhalations ; and that it is a mercy, considering
the wretched principles on which this house is built—and all houses,
for that matter—that we are not found dead in our beds every morning.
Mrs. P. I declare you’re enough to frighten one to death, Joseph !
Chorus of Young Ladies. Oh, Papa !
Mr. P. It’s a melancholy fact, my dear; I’ve had it on my mind some
time, but 1 ’m determined to remedy it.
Mrs. P. (timidly). I hope you’re not going to try any experiments,
my dear, because, you know, they come very expensive.
Mr. P. Experiments, Mrs. Paterfamilias ; how can you call by
the name of experiment a practical recognition of a great principle of
nature ?
Mrs. P. (humbly). Oh, I’m sure I didn’t mean to do that, my dear.
Mr. P. I’m determined to have the house ventilated, Mrs. Pater-
familias, and I’ve been consulting these Blue Books on the subject.
You see I’m suspended between the two principles—of \Mq plenum or
vacuum movements.
Mrs. P. (in the purest innocence). Oh, indeed, my dear.
Mr. P. Yes, Cos, plenum principle, you see, is that which blows pure
j air into the house, so as to force an equal quantity of foul air out; the
vacuum principle, that which extracts the foul air from the house and
so allows the entrance of an equal quantity of pure air.
Mrs. P. Oh! but shan’t we suffer dreadfully from draughts, my
dear ?
Mr. P. We shall get rid of our own poisonous exhalations, Mrs.
Paterfamilias, which, as a father of a family, I consider it my duty
to do at any risk. I shall speak to Mr. Bellows—the great practical
and consulting chemist, you know, my dear—about it to-day. The
w'ork cannot be begun too soon.
Mrs. P. (ivho feels a vague dread of what is hanging over her). Well,
I hope it won’t require much doing to the house, my dear.
Mr. P. That, Mrs. Paterfamilias, is a secondary consideration.
My first duty is to my family ; my second to my species. I shall com-
municate the results of my experience to the Times.
(These results we hope to show our readers in the next number?)
another definition.
Bonnet. An article of dress which no lady of fashion, nowadays,
ever thinks of putting on.
VOICES OF BOXING NIGHT.
1 long as we live we
shall remember the
“Voices of the Night ”
of the 26th of Decem-
ber, 1853, as they played
on the drum of our
affrighted ear at Drury
Lane Theatre. But amid
all the cries of various
descriptions that burst
forth from the noisy
multitude, there was
one which excelled all
the rest, and reminded
us of the cry of Ex-
celsior, so powerfully
described by Longfel-
low. The reminiscence
has thrown us into a
poetical fit, of which
the following convul-
sive effort is the im-
mediate consequence.
The Pantomime commenced at last:
The Clown across the stage had passed;
A youth, with frantic energy.
Commenced the wild eccentric cry,
“ Hot Codlins ! ”
His throat was hoarse, he paused beneath
The pressure of exhausted breath.
But straightway through the audience rung
The shout—the whoop from tongue to tongue—
“Hot Codlins!”
The youth, with superhuman might,
Haising his voice beycnd its height.
Cracked it, and with a spectral tone
He ’twixt his lips went on to groan—-
“ Hot Codlins ! ”
“ Don’t try it on,” the poor Clown said;
“ I’ve not a note in all my head—
I cannot sing.” But far and wide
The audience with one voice replied—-
“ Hot Codlins! ”
“ O stay ! ” the manager expressed ;
“ The weary clown requires rest.”
A voice responded, “ All my eye ! ”
And then again arose the cry,
“ Hot Codlins! ”
“ Think of the work he has to do,
Tumbling about the whole night through.
This was the argument polite. _
A voice replied from gallery’s height
“ Hot Codlins ! ”
In the last scene, where 1 vs combine
Hound Harlequin and Columbine,
To bless the fond and grinning pair,
A voice cried through the startled air
“ Hot Codlins ! ”
A little boy upon the ground
Under the gallery-seat was found.
Still in a shrill abortive squeak—
Trying the olt-beard words to speak—
“ Hot Codlius ! ”
When the poor Clown had gone away,
And on his scissors-bedstead lay,
In lodging very near the sky.
Up to the attic came the cry—
“Hot Codlins! ”
Good News for Honest Men.—Railway directors are beginning i
to fall out among themselves. \
7
in the tube, because the pressure would be so great on the surface,
you know-—and if I could graduate it—you know, papa, it would be a
thermometer.
Mr.P. (in ecstacies). Delightful—most interesting; my dear—did
you follow the chain of reasoning ?
Mrs. P. (vaguely). Oh—yes—it was very clever—I’m sure—quite
beautiful. How ever he learns it all!
George. I saw him cribbing it all out of the book.
Newton. I didn’t, then.
Mr. P. (boxing George’s ears). You mean and envious boy,
detracting from your brother’s credit, in this way. Go to bed. Sir,
this instant.
[George retires crest-fallen.—Master Newton triumphs in
another shilling.
Mr. P. (turns to the girls). My dears, if I could only see you em-
ploying your time a little more rationally—more like your youngest
brother.
Miss Laura. Oh, Papa, only think if we were all to go making such
messes about the house as Newty does.
Miss Emily. And look how black all the ends of his fingers are.
Newton (proudly contemplating them). Ah, that was making hyper-
phosphorate of carbon, out of my “ Little Chemist.”
Mrs. P. When you burnt yourself so dreadfully.
Mr. P. Dear boy !
Mrs. P. Yes, my love; but it really is very dangerous. One che-
mist ’s quite enough in the Lundy. If the girls were to take to it, I
really don’t think I could sleep in my bed.
Mr. P. Pshaw! (he turns back to his Blue Books?) Very interesting
report this on the Ventilation and Warming of the House of Commons,
my dear.
Mrs. P. Is it, my love ? (abstractedly?)
Mr. P. Yes. Dr. Heir’s evidence is curious—and Dr. Arnott’s
peculiarly valuable. He shows, to demonstration, that in our houses
the first principles of ventilation are habitually neglected.
Mrs. P. Indeed ! How very interesting.
Mr. P. He proves, clearly, that in respiration, the oxygen which
enters the lungs takes away the carbon from the blood and returns
as carbonic acid gas, which is poison—that, in fact, we are continually
poisoning the air we breathe.
Mrs. P. Gracious goodness, Joseph! Why, you don’t mean to
say—
[The young ladies p/ause in their work, and listen with wide open
eyes and ears.
Mr. P. Simply, my dear, that you, and Laura, and Emily, and
Matilda, there—and indeed I myself—are all at this moment giving
off the most poisonous exhalations ; and that it is a mercy, considering
the wretched principles on which this house is built—and all houses,
for that matter—that we are not found dead in our beds every morning.
Mrs. P. I declare you’re enough to frighten one to death, Joseph !
Chorus of Young Ladies. Oh, Papa !
Mr. P. It’s a melancholy fact, my dear; I’ve had it on my mind some
time, but 1 ’m determined to remedy it.
Mrs. P. (timidly). I hope you’re not going to try any experiments,
my dear, because, you know, they come very expensive.
Mr. P. Experiments, Mrs. Paterfamilias ; how can you call by
the name of experiment a practical recognition of a great principle of
nature ?
Mrs. P. (humbly). Oh, I’m sure I didn’t mean to do that, my dear.
Mr. P. I’m determined to have the house ventilated, Mrs. Pater-
familias, and I’ve been consulting these Blue Books on the subject.
You see I’m suspended between the two principles—of \Mq plenum or
vacuum movements.
Mrs. P. (in the purest innocence). Oh, indeed, my dear.
Mr. P. Yes, Cos, plenum principle, you see, is that which blows pure
j air into the house, so as to force an equal quantity of foul air out; the
vacuum principle, that which extracts the foul air from the house and
so allows the entrance of an equal quantity of pure air.
Mrs. P. Oh! but shan’t we suffer dreadfully from draughts, my
dear ?
Mr. P. We shall get rid of our own poisonous exhalations, Mrs.
Paterfamilias, which, as a father of a family, I consider it my duty
to do at any risk. I shall speak to Mr. Bellows—the great practical
and consulting chemist, you know, my dear—about it to-day. The
w'ork cannot be begun too soon.
Mrs. P. (ivho feels a vague dread of what is hanging over her). Well,
I hope it won’t require much doing to the house, my dear.
Mr. P. That, Mrs. Paterfamilias, is a secondary consideration.
My first duty is to my family ; my second to my species. I shall com-
municate the results of my experience to the Times.
(These results we hope to show our readers in the next number?)
another definition.
Bonnet. An article of dress which no lady of fashion, nowadays,
ever thinks of putting on.
VOICES OF BOXING NIGHT.
1 long as we live we
shall remember the
“Voices of the Night ”
of the 26th of Decem-
ber, 1853, as they played
on the drum of our
affrighted ear at Drury
Lane Theatre. But amid
all the cries of various
descriptions that burst
forth from the noisy
multitude, there was
one which excelled all
the rest, and reminded
us of the cry of Ex-
celsior, so powerfully
described by Longfel-
low. The reminiscence
has thrown us into a
poetical fit, of which
the following convul-
sive effort is the im-
mediate consequence.
The Pantomime commenced at last:
The Clown across the stage had passed;
A youth, with frantic energy.
Commenced the wild eccentric cry,
“ Hot Codlins ! ”
His throat was hoarse, he paused beneath
The pressure of exhausted breath.
But straightway through the audience rung
The shout—the whoop from tongue to tongue—
“Hot Codlins!”
The youth, with superhuman might,
Haising his voice beycnd its height.
Cracked it, and with a spectral tone
He ’twixt his lips went on to groan—-
“ Hot Codlins ! ”
“ Don’t try it on,” the poor Clown said;
“ I’ve not a note in all my head—
I cannot sing.” But far and wide
The audience with one voice replied—-
“ Hot Codlins! ”
“ O stay ! ” the manager expressed ;
“ The weary clown requires rest.”
A voice responded, “ All my eye ! ”
And then again arose the cry,
“ Hot Codlins! ”
“ Think of the work he has to do,
Tumbling about the whole night through.
This was the argument polite. _
A voice replied from gallery’s height
“ Hot Codlins ! ”
In the last scene, where 1 vs combine
Hound Harlequin and Columbine,
To bless the fond and grinning pair,
A voice cried through the startled air
“ Hot Codlins ! ”
A little boy upon the ground
Under the gallery-seat was found.
Still in a shrill abortive squeak—
Trying the olt-beard words to speak—
“ Hot Codlius ! ”
When the poor Clown had gone away,
And on his scissors-bedstead lay,
In lodging very near the sky.
Up to the attic came the cry—
“Hot Codlins! ”
Good News for Honest Men.—Railway directors are beginning i
to fall out among themselves. \