Punch: Punch (33.1857)

July 25, 1857.] ■

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

33

the Peemieb declared in answer to so-^e alarmists, that this country I A certain view of Fairy-Land may at the present moment be seen

was perfectly protected against any enemy that could assail her. I his
is doubtless true, but everything ought not to be thrown on Mr. Punch
—ships, forts, batteries, and so forth, ought really to be looked alter.
Suppose he chose to travel—to take command of the Great Eastern, or
anything of that sort, where is the National Defence then?

FAIRY-LAND.

Glimpse of Fairy-Land is
always to be had about
summer time. Sometimes
you catch it at Rosherville,
or else it breaks out with
" ten thousand additional
lamps" at Vauxhall. The
latter view, however, is very
much in the nature of a
railway break, for it very
quickly comes to a stop.
However, Fairy-Land does
shift about terribly. We
have known it at North
Woolwich—we have wit-
nessed bright visions of it
at Shoreham — we have
heard gaudy accounts of its
dazzling wonders that have
illumined, for "positively
the last season," the seedy
vistas of Tivoli. The two
principal characteristics of
Fairy-Land that have always
been associated in our mind
are ham sandwiches and
fireworks. We have visions
of fairies, too, dancing be-
fore our eyes. They are all dressed in white—for that seems to be
the Fairies' favourite colour—and are flinging their arms and legs
about in the maddest fashion. What strikes us particularly _ is the
extreme shortness of their garments, for we never saw a Fairy yet
but she had extremely short petticoats. The Fairies generally dance
on the borders of a lake—and so, for what we know, the shortness of
their muslin garments may be a matter of prudence to prevent the
water taking the starch too much out of their _ Crinoline. Their
hours for dancing are mostly a little before midnight. A round
silvery moon takes a delight in following their steps. It will fix its
brilliant light full upon a particular Fairy, who is reclining at full
length on a cowslip bank, and all of a sudden she will start out of
her sleep, and begin dancing playfully, backwards and forwards,
round, and round, and round again, with her shadow. What a bright
burnished silver her whole figure is! She looks as though she had
been electrotyped, and had come spinning spick-span-new out of
Elkington's shop.

The whole body of them dearly love dancing. Their entire life seems
one bounding entrechat steeped in moonbeams. They dance so much,
that they have no time apparently for anything else. You seldom hear
them talk. They are all women—and yet, strange to say, it is rare
indeed that you hear them say a word. This preference on the part of
Fairies for the female sex is most unanimous. Who ever heard of a
Male Fairy ? If such a monstrosity ever intruded into their happy
circle, we believe he would be pinched to death in less than five
minutes. The Fairies are generally under the command of a Queen.
You know her at once by her dancing so much better than the other
Fairies. The affection her subjects show her is 'very pretty. They
weave triumphal arches with their arms for her to pass under. They
cluster round her affectionately, and form picturesque groups, of which
she is always the bright centre; and when she is about to perform a
grand pas seul, they fall into a semicircle, and look on in the most
smiling, complacent, manner. It is their nature to smile, and they will
smile uninterruptedly throughout an entire evening, without appearing
ni the least tired. These aerial creatures float to the sound of music.
They are never without a provoking tune that sends them flying in all
directions, as though they had been bitten by so many Tarantulas.
They nearly dance their legs off, for when they have finished, they are
obliged to lean for support against a tree, or a pillar, or the door
of a house, or whatever the side-wing may be, and you see them
heaving and panting in a manner that makes you pity them. Your
pity, however, is not much needed, for after arranging the fall of
their mushn skirts, and giving themselves a shake or two, they are
ready to begin again the next minute. They debght in scarfs, and gar-
i-i °l roses' anc* sometimes they carry about baskets of flowers,
which they scatter recklessly, pelting any beloved object that comes in
then: way.

Vol. 33.

in Walworth, in some Gardens that are called Stjbbey. The scenery
is certainly most beautiful. It is so beautiful, you could almost swear
it was painted by Danson. You see large round, velvety mountains,
swelling away into the distance, until they almost overtop the red
chimney pots of the houses at the back. There are coral caves, and
Turneresque bays, and rainbow recesses, with mossy arches, in which
the Fairies love to disport themselves. The water, too, is real, but
the Fairies are heavy, flat, and move too slowly, as though they were
worked by machinery. They look like painted Fairies, and not like
Fairies of real flesh and blood, such as we have so often admired at
the Princess's Theatre, and other notable places of resort for the Fairy
Kingdom. It is true they look better, when bghted up about eleven
o'clock with a brilbant display of fireworks; but they are not the
gossamer, lithesome, winged beauties that usually haunt a theatrical
Abode of Bliss. However, supposing the Fairies are not exactly
the butterfly creations of our early pantomimic recollections, still
it must be confessed that the music they float to at the Surrey
Gardens is of the very best. When sung by a Madame Gassieb,
or a Miss Dolby, it is so good as to justify almost the encomium of
" What Fairy-like Music! "

SONG OF THE CHEMIST AND DRUGGIST.

To Medical Bill Framers.

Oveb the counter and into the till,

Over the counter I practise,
DeaHng out mixture and powder and pill,

Doctoring patients, the fact is.
Says an old woman "What's good for the bile ?"

Vainly you '11 bid me not tell her ;
All prohibition defying, I smile,

Whilst I a remedy sell her.

Over the counter for colic and cramp,

Over the counter for phthisick.
Now Mbs. Habbis and then Mbs. Gamp,

And their connections, I physick.
How is a Medical Bill to force me

Not to dispense cream-of-tartar.
Sulphur, and senna, and salts, whilst I'm free

Still to ply pestle and mortar ?

AN ORGANIC CURE.

" Sib,

" Thank you for that little cut of the Organ-Fiend, dancing and
grinning as he grinds your soul out. But I write chiefly to tell you
that some of us out here, who live in a sort of cul-de-sac, into which
the organs used to come all day long (encouraged of course by the
abominable mothers and servant-girls), have hit upon a way of crippling
the rascals, without doing them any harm. We privately hire three
or four smart sharp gamins, glad to earn an honest shilling, to keep
watch. An organ comes, and they fly to the fellow, and while one or
two dance, and chaff, and amuse him, another sbps out a sharp pocket
knife and quietly cuts the strap that holds up the organ. Next
minute the whole lot have vanished, and the brown beast is left per-
fectly helpless. The cure was soon effected, for the wretches tell one
another everything (as where there is a sick person who will pay for
silence, or where a man who writes will give anything for peace), and
we have not had an organ here for weeks and weeks. Recommending
the invention,

" I am, dear Sir, yours truly,

"Old Mobosb."

" Rhododendron Square, Bayswater. W."

THOUGHTS FOR ANY WEATHER.

(Taken principally on the Shady Side of Life.)

All is sugar to the vain, even the praise of fools.

The Man of Honour makes no vow, but acts as if he had made one.

To the Epicure " living well " means " good living."

Shame of Poverty is almost as bad as Pride of Wealth.

A Man must feel his own streugth, before he can make an impression with it
upon others.

Envy is a glutton that is never at a loss for a meal, and a glutton, too, that let is
feed as grossly as it will, is sure to leave off with an appetite, and ready to begia
again.

One may show tremendous courage for another, and yet be a great coward for
oneself—as you will frequently see a man put his name to a Bill for a friend, who
would not, on any consideration, do it for himself.

If men would take as much care of their characters as they do of their clothes,
they would show fewer stains, nor would there, probably, be io many holes picked
in them.

Vanity is mental dram-drinking.

When parents spoil their children, it is less to please them tjhan to please them-
selves. It is the egotism of parental love.