DOI issue:
Volume XXVI
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16613#0049
42
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Our Artist (an ardent lover of Yenerie) borrows a “ Bibding-piece of
the Period,” and brings himself down at the first shot.
CLOCKWORK AT THE TOWER OE LONDON.
It is to be hoped that the preparations now in progress
for fixing a clock in the round turret of the White Tower
will be stopped. If there were any great want of clocks
in the neighbourhood, there would be some excuse for dis-
figuring the venerable edifice to accommodate those who
do not carry watches ; but as it is, the addition of a clock
to that monument of antiquity will be as little useful as
ornamental. The White Tower, of itself, is a sufficient
indication of the lapse of Time. The clock with which
it is proposed to dedecorate it, is, we understand, to be
a four-faced one; which makes the matter worse: an old
Iriend with a new face looks odd enough; but a most
unpleasantly queer sort of feeling would result from
beholding an old friend with four new faces.
A Tender from Norway.
Tiie Northern Courts may profess the observance oi
neutrality during our approaching struggle with Russia;
but the subjoined overture, which has appeared under the
form of a newspaper advertisement, is a satisfactory indica-
tion of the side to which their feeling inclines :—
T OBSTERS FROM NORWAY.—A firm in Norway is
-Li desirous of making CONTRACTS with parties in England, for
LOBSTERS during this year’s season.
“ Season ” means campaign, of course. Everybody
knows what Lobsters are intended for. We are very much
obliged to the friendly Norwegian firm; but trust that
we are sufficiently able to fight our own battles with our
own soldiers, and that no auxiliaries will be required by
the British Grenadier.
THE DOMESTIC REFORMER;
OR, HOW MR. PATERFAMILIAS MADE HOME HAPPY.
Scene 5.—Mr. Paterfamilias has gone into the subject of adultera-
tions ; and, as a first step to protecting himself, distrusting the beer
of commerce, determines to breio at home.
Mr. P., Mrs. P., and the family assembled at breakfast. Mr. P. is
reading the “ Lancet.”
Mrs. P. Another cup of tea, my dear ?
Mr. P. (laying down his brochure—to himself). Dreadful!
Mrs. P. The tea, Mr. P. ? Well, it ought to be good. It’s Dakin’s
best Family Mixed at 4s. Qd.
Mr. P. No, Mrs. P; the exclamation was forced from me by these
distressing revelations in this valuable periodical.
Mrs. P. Yes, I wonder how you can take it in, with all those
dreadful accounts of operations and cases. It’s enough to make one
fancy one has all of them, sometimes, oneself.
Mr. P. You mistake, my dear. _ I do not refer to the purely thera-
peutical and surgical part of the journal—interesting as tnis undoubt-
edly is to minds familiar with the mysteries of our physical structure,
but to the series of analytical investigations of the adulterations of
food and drink.
Mrs. P. Oh, iudeed!
Mr. P. (looking at his daughters'). Were chemistry, as it ought to be,
a subject of instruction in our seminaries, the detection of these dele-
terious practices would not be left to the conductors of a scientific
periodical; it would be carried on by our cooks, our wives, and our
daughters—in pur kitchens, Mrs. P., and our store-rooms.
Mrs. P. Well, I’m sure it’s bad enough as it is, with the boys,
and them caustic, and phosphorus, and gunpowder, and things—with-
out the girls blacking their fingers, and burning their eyebrows off and
blowing themselves up.
George, jit was Newton,_ Ma, would make a mine in the front
garden. I told him what a jolly row there’d be, out he would.
Newton. I only wanted to find the point of least resistance. Pa.
Mr. P {fondly). Dear child! (To Mrs. P.) I tremble for that
boy, my dear.
rny dear, constantly—
Mr. P. Lest he should be one of the martyrs of science some day.
Mrs. P. les, I’m always expecting to hear of his getting himself
poisoned or blown up, or going up in a balloon and never coming
down again, or some dreadful end.
Laura. I-wish. Papa, you’d forbid him trying experiments on my
canary oirds. He hung poor Dicky over one of the gaspipes the
other day, and turned on the gas, and if I hadn’t come in just in time,
the poor dear thing would have been poisoned. He’s never piped
since.
Mr. P. My deal’, your brother’s mind is an inductive one; far be it
from me to check it.
Newton. Please, mayn’t I put one of Emily’s dormice into the
receiver of my air-pump, Pa ?
Emily. Oh ! you horrid, cruel little wretch!
Mrs. P. No wonder, my dear, when his Papa encourages him in it!
Mr. P. Once for all, Mrs. P., that boy’s scientific bent shallnot be
thwarted by any narrow consideration for his sisters’ childish fancies.
I beg the subject may be dropped. To return to the adulterations.
Mrs. P. (meekly). Yes, my dear, the milk’s shockingly thin.
Mr. P. That is a comparatively favourable case. The Lancet has
not detected, in twenty-four specimens, the presence of any foreign
agent more mischievous than common water.
Mrs. P. That’s just what I’m complaining of.
Mr. P. But what is that to the adulteration of our tea ? Now the
sample in the caddy at this moment—its green colour is derived from
the double cyanide of potassium and iron-^the Prussian bine of
commerce—an active poison.
Mrs. P. Good gracious, Mr. P., you’re enough to frighten one to
death!
Mr. P. The astringent flavour is due to catechu; the granular appear-
ance, so pleasing in your eyes, is the result of kneading with China
clav.
Mrs. P. What they make the tea-cups of. Only think !
Mr. P. And your coffee—largely compounded, in twenty-five out of
twenty-eight samples, with burnt beans, chicory, and coffin-uust.
Mrs. P. Oh, horrid ! I told the groper I was sure it wasn’t right;
but I never thought they put coffins in it!
Mr. P. This black pepper again (taking up the castors) consists, in a
great part, doubtless, of the husks of mustard-seed. This so-called
cayenne pepper is largely impregnated with red-lead.
Mrs. P. (much distressed). Oh! that’s what the children are always
being poisoned with in the Twelfth-cake ornaments, at the coroner’s
inquests, you know.
Mr. P. Precisely ; it furnishes a colouring matter peculiarly attractive
to the young. .
Mrs. P. I declare if you go on, Mr. P., I shan’t dare to eat auytmug
but bread and water. .
Mr. P. (grimly). Of which the former may owe its whiteness to bones,
and its lightness to alum ; while the latter may be rendered poisonous
by retention in a leaden cistern.
Mrs. P. (tearfully). Oh! how can you, Mr. P. P What is one to eat
and drink, then ?
Mr. P. It is difficult to say what article oi loqd or drink to a
scientific apprehension is perfectly innocuous. But, in some respects,
we can protect ourselves.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Our Artist (an ardent lover of Yenerie) borrows a “ Bibding-piece of
the Period,” and brings himself down at the first shot.
CLOCKWORK AT THE TOWER OE LONDON.
It is to be hoped that the preparations now in progress
for fixing a clock in the round turret of the White Tower
will be stopped. If there were any great want of clocks
in the neighbourhood, there would be some excuse for dis-
figuring the venerable edifice to accommodate those who
do not carry watches ; but as it is, the addition of a clock
to that monument of antiquity will be as little useful as
ornamental. The White Tower, of itself, is a sufficient
indication of the lapse of Time. The clock with which
it is proposed to dedecorate it, is, we understand, to be
a four-faced one; which makes the matter worse: an old
Iriend with a new face looks odd enough; but a most
unpleasantly queer sort of feeling would result from
beholding an old friend with four new faces.
A Tender from Norway.
Tiie Northern Courts may profess the observance oi
neutrality during our approaching struggle with Russia;
but the subjoined overture, which has appeared under the
form of a newspaper advertisement, is a satisfactory indica-
tion of the side to which their feeling inclines :—
T OBSTERS FROM NORWAY.—A firm in Norway is
-Li desirous of making CONTRACTS with parties in England, for
LOBSTERS during this year’s season.
“ Season ” means campaign, of course. Everybody
knows what Lobsters are intended for. We are very much
obliged to the friendly Norwegian firm; but trust that
we are sufficiently able to fight our own battles with our
own soldiers, and that no auxiliaries will be required by
the British Grenadier.
THE DOMESTIC REFORMER;
OR, HOW MR. PATERFAMILIAS MADE HOME HAPPY.
Scene 5.—Mr. Paterfamilias has gone into the subject of adultera-
tions ; and, as a first step to protecting himself, distrusting the beer
of commerce, determines to breio at home.
Mr. P., Mrs. P., and the family assembled at breakfast. Mr. P. is
reading the “ Lancet.”
Mrs. P. Another cup of tea, my dear ?
Mr. P. (laying down his brochure—to himself). Dreadful!
Mrs. P. The tea, Mr. P. ? Well, it ought to be good. It’s Dakin’s
best Family Mixed at 4s. Qd.
Mr. P. No, Mrs. P; the exclamation was forced from me by these
distressing revelations in this valuable periodical.
Mrs. P. Yes, I wonder how you can take it in, with all those
dreadful accounts of operations and cases. It’s enough to make one
fancy one has all of them, sometimes, oneself.
Mr. P. You mistake, my dear. _ I do not refer to the purely thera-
peutical and surgical part of the journal—interesting as tnis undoubt-
edly is to minds familiar with the mysteries of our physical structure,
but to the series of analytical investigations of the adulterations of
food and drink.
Mrs. P. Oh, iudeed!
Mr. P. (looking at his daughters'). Were chemistry, as it ought to be,
a subject of instruction in our seminaries, the detection of these dele-
terious practices would not be left to the conductors of a scientific
periodical; it would be carried on by our cooks, our wives, and our
daughters—in pur kitchens, Mrs. P., and our store-rooms.
Mrs. P. Well, I’m sure it’s bad enough as it is, with the boys,
and them caustic, and phosphorus, and gunpowder, and things—with-
out the girls blacking their fingers, and burning their eyebrows off and
blowing themselves up.
George, jit was Newton,_ Ma, would make a mine in the front
garden. I told him what a jolly row there’d be, out he would.
Newton. I only wanted to find the point of least resistance. Pa.
Mr. P {fondly). Dear child! (To Mrs. P.) I tremble for that
boy, my dear.
rny dear, constantly—
Mr. P. Lest he should be one of the martyrs of science some day.
Mrs. P. les, I’m always expecting to hear of his getting himself
poisoned or blown up, or going up in a balloon and never coming
down again, or some dreadful end.
Laura. I-wish. Papa, you’d forbid him trying experiments on my
canary oirds. He hung poor Dicky over one of the gaspipes the
other day, and turned on the gas, and if I hadn’t come in just in time,
the poor dear thing would have been poisoned. He’s never piped
since.
Mr. P. My deal’, your brother’s mind is an inductive one; far be it
from me to check it.
Newton. Please, mayn’t I put one of Emily’s dormice into the
receiver of my air-pump, Pa ?
Emily. Oh ! you horrid, cruel little wretch!
Mrs. P. No wonder, my dear, when his Papa encourages him in it!
Mr. P. Once for all, Mrs. P., that boy’s scientific bent shallnot be
thwarted by any narrow consideration for his sisters’ childish fancies.
I beg the subject may be dropped. To return to the adulterations.
Mrs. P. (meekly). Yes, my dear, the milk’s shockingly thin.
Mr. P. That is a comparatively favourable case. The Lancet has
not detected, in twenty-four specimens, the presence of any foreign
agent more mischievous than common water.
Mrs. P. That’s just what I’m complaining of.
Mr. P. But what is that to the adulteration of our tea ? Now the
sample in the caddy at this moment—its green colour is derived from
the double cyanide of potassium and iron-^the Prussian bine of
commerce—an active poison.
Mrs. P. Good gracious, Mr. P., you’re enough to frighten one to
death!
Mr. P. The astringent flavour is due to catechu; the granular appear-
ance, so pleasing in your eyes, is the result of kneading with China
clav.
Mrs. P. What they make the tea-cups of. Only think !
Mr. P. And your coffee—largely compounded, in twenty-five out of
twenty-eight samples, with burnt beans, chicory, and coffin-uust.
Mrs. P. Oh, horrid ! I told the groper I was sure it wasn’t right;
but I never thought they put coffins in it!
Mr. P. This black pepper again (taking up the castors) consists, in a
great part, doubtless, of the husks of mustard-seed. This so-called
cayenne pepper is largely impregnated with red-lead.
Mrs. P. (much distressed). Oh! that’s what the children are always
being poisoned with in the Twelfth-cake ornaments, at the coroner’s
inquests, you know.
Mr. P. Precisely ; it furnishes a colouring matter peculiarly attractive
to the young. .
Mrs. P. I declare if you go on, Mr. P., I shan’t dare to eat auytmug
but bread and water. .
Mr. P. (grimly). Of which the former may owe its whiteness to bones,
and its lightness to alum ; while the latter may be rendered poisonous
by retention in a leaden cistern.
Mrs. P. (tearfully). Oh! how can you, Mr. P. P What is one to eat
and drink, then ?
Mr. P. It is difficult to say what article oi loqd or drink to a
scientific apprehension is perfectly innocuous. But, in some respects,
we can protect ourselves.