DOI issue:
October 24, 1857
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16620#0186
176
PUNCH, Oil THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[October 24. 1857.
THE NICE LITTLE DINNER.
Tommy (who is standing a feed to Berry). " Oh, hang it, you know, Fourteen
Bob for a Bottle of Champagne ! That's coming it ratber stkong, ain't it?"
Waiter (with perfect composure). " We have some Cheap wine, Sir, at Half-a-
Guinea ! "
PATTERNS TOR DRAPERS' YOUNG MEN.
" Dear Mr. Punch,
" Allow me to observe, Sir, that we Linen-
drapers' Assistants are not the only parties who are doing
women's work whilst they might be righting the battles
of their country. What do you say to the great majority
of the Parliamentary gents ? At present, to be sure, they
are doing nothing but shooting pheasants; but their work,
when they do any, consists in talk, if I may be allowed to
express myself in fine Irish. Now, Sir, I ask you whether
talk, and mere talk please to observe, is not, of all occu-
pations, most decidedly that of a woman. Well, then,
suppose, by way of setting us an example, honourable
members leave words to the ladies, and resort to blows
instead, _ and relinquish the fowling-piece for the rifle.
They might take their footmen of six feet—you see the
joke, Sir?—with them; and then they would revive the
romantic arrangement of knight and squire, usual in the
good old times of chivalry. Noble lords, with their
retainers, might also go out to India, in the capacity of
volunteers. The Bishops could not accompany the tem-
poral nobs, but they might send their domestics to serve
under them • and in the meanwhile do without coaches,
and be satisfied with first-class railway carriages, and with
the apostles' horses. Parties in a superior station would
have a great advantage over us as soldiers. Pay would be
no object to them; but it would be important to us gents,
and how can we be expected to throw up our situations
for Y&d. a-day, reduced by sundry stoppages to 2\d. ? One-
and-one cut down to nought two-and-a-half is too low. We
couldn't do it. We should have much pleasure in making
some sacrifice ; but really it must not be quite so alarming
as that. We should be happy to do business with the
recruiting-sergeant on reasonable terms—but, at the above,
certainly not at this establishment. I am, Sir,
"Your obedient Servant,
" Crinoline House, 21/1Q_57 „ « Sjlkshot."
Going Awry.
A Damsel of Rye has (to the great wrath of the Morning
Advertiser) permitted a Popish priest to cajole her into
renouncing a religion for a superstition. We can spare the
silly girl to Romanism; but, in the name of George
Borrow, must protest against her being known as the
Romany Rye.
SNOBS ALL, MY MASTERS !
Ch, Flunkeydom, flunkeydom, what paragraphs are written in thy
name! Thy domain is co-extensive with the spread of the great
Anglo Saxon Race ! I apprehend that it is a fact not to be gainsaid
that, taking John Bull, in the widest sense—as including the Ameri-
can branch of the family—he is the greatest snob beyond comparison,
and most abject flunkey, ever known in this world.
1 find nothing of the same peculiar kind in Prance, or Germany, or
Italy, or Spain, or Turkey, or even Russia. In the latter country the
serf bows down to the noble—the Tschin is respected by all classes not
included within its thirteen giades—because nobility in Russia is the
symbol of power and authority, and means the right and privilege
to inflict some kind of punishment or pain. I do not call this sort of
kotow snobbishness. It is slavishness, if you will—a dog-like feeling
—but there is no flunkeyism in it. So in Austria, what people bow
down to, is military rank, or official position, both sources of possible
oppression, if not conciliated. But only in England do I find that
abject worship of a Lord as a Lord—that licking the shoes of a class,
which has no power or privilege to oppress or brow-beat, or bastinado
either literally or metaphorically—that hoisting of them into every
chair at every public dinner—that foisting of them into every office of
every calibre—that silent reverence of them in every private gathering
of every condition of men—that hustling and hurraing of them in
every public concourse on every occasion.
The Duke of Cambridge, and a distinguished party—distinguished
as containing a large proportion of peers, and peer's kith and kin—visits
the Manchester Exhibition ; straightway the Ancient Masters are
abandoned, and the moderns cease to charm. Mr. Halle's cunning
fails in the orchestra, and even the Corporation Gold plate no longer
attracts a ring of gapers. The Art Treasures of the Lnited Kingdom
are for the moment eclipsed and swallowed up, and set aside by the
Ddke or Cambridge. The crowd run after him, they dog his heels, they
press upon him. It is necessary to form a ring of policemen round the
ducal person to save it from damage. So, girt by his ring of protecting
policemen, the Duke, with much ado, gets the Art-Treasures seen,
himself the sole and single Art-Treasure, while he remains in the
building. He looks at everything—and as if all the fruit of his gazing
passed into him, and there became quintessentialised and sublimated,
everybody else looks only upon him !
Our Yankee friends are as bad, for all their affected equality and
democracy. Jonathan loves a Lord as absolutely, abjectly, and
offensively, as John Bull.
It is not enough for us to mob their movements, and drive them into
a hedge of policemen, but we must follow them about with the most
miserable drivel of recording penny-a-linism, and Court N ewsmanship.
We must have a human being paid to solemnly record how particularly
"affable and amusing" His Royal Highness, Prince Albert, was,
when he met " a select party at the Mayor of Manchester's," and
how he told several anecdotes.
Among others was the following:—
"While in Osborne he was in the habit of getting up very early, and walking
about his farm. Passing a farmer's house he stopped to make some inquiries;
knocked at the door, and asked the servant if his master were in? The servant
replied, ' He is in, Sir, but not down-stairs.' ' Oh, very well,' was PrinCk Albert's
reply, and he was about to leave. ' Would you be kind enough to leave your name,
Sir?' said the servant. 'Oh, it does not matter,'said the Prince. 'Because,'
said the servant, ' my master would be angry with me if i did not tell him
who called.' ' Very well.' said the other, 'You may say Prince Albert.' Upon
which the man dre w back, looked up significantly, put his thumb to the tip of his
nose, extended his fingers, and exclaimed ' Walker !' "
Whereupon the reader, exhausted with the sustained and breathless
interest with which he has followed his Royal Highness to this point,
can but ejaculate, in faint echo, " Walker ! " also, and put his thumb to
the tip of his nose, and extend his fingers, in the direction of the gifted
penny-a-liner.
PUNCH, Oil THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[October 24. 1857.
THE NICE LITTLE DINNER.
Tommy (who is standing a feed to Berry). " Oh, hang it, you know, Fourteen
Bob for a Bottle of Champagne ! That's coming it ratber stkong, ain't it?"
Waiter (with perfect composure). " We have some Cheap wine, Sir, at Half-a-
Guinea ! "
PATTERNS TOR DRAPERS' YOUNG MEN.
" Dear Mr. Punch,
" Allow me to observe, Sir, that we Linen-
drapers' Assistants are not the only parties who are doing
women's work whilst they might be righting the battles
of their country. What do you say to the great majority
of the Parliamentary gents ? At present, to be sure, they
are doing nothing but shooting pheasants; but their work,
when they do any, consists in talk, if I may be allowed to
express myself in fine Irish. Now, Sir, I ask you whether
talk, and mere talk please to observe, is not, of all occu-
pations, most decidedly that of a woman. Well, then,
suppose, by way of setting us an example, honourable
members leave words to the ladies, and resort to blows
instead, _ and relinquish the fowling-piece for the rifle.
They might take their footmen of six feet—you see the
joke, Sir?—with them; and then they would revive the
romantic arrangement of knight and squire, usual in the
good old times of chivalry. Noble lords, with their
retainers, might also go out to India, in the capacity of
volunteers. The Bishops could not accompany the tem-
poral nobs, but they might send their domestics to serve
under them • and in the meanwhile do without coaches,
and be satisfied with first-class railway carriages, and with
the apostles' horses. Parties in a superior station would
have a great advantage over us as soldiers. Pay would be
no object to them; but it would be important to us gents,
and how can we be expected to throw up our situations
for Y&d. a-day, reduced by sundry stoppages to 2\d. ? One-
and-one cut down to nought two-and-a-half is too low. We
couldn't do it. We should have much pleasure in making
some sacrifice ; but really it must not be quite so alarming
as that. We should be happy to do business with the
recruiting-sergeant on reasonable terms—but, at the above,
certainly not at this establishment. I am, Sir,
"Your obedient Servant,
" Crinoline House, 21/1Q_57 „ « Sjlkshot."
Going Awry.
A Damsel of Rye has (to the great wrath of the Morning
Advertiser) permitted a Popish priest to cajole her into
renouncing a religion for a superstition. We can spare the
silly girl to Romanism; but, in the name of George
Borrow, must protest against her being known as the
Romany Rye.
SNOBS ALL, MY MASTERS !
Ch, Flunkeydom, flunkeydom, what paragraphs are written in thy
name! Thy domain is co-extensive with the spread of the great
Anglo Saxon Race ! I apprehend that it is a fact not to be gainsaid
that, taking John Bull, in the widest sense—as including the Ameri-
can branch of the family—he is the greatest snob beyond comparison,
and most abject flunkey, ever known in this world.
1 find nothing of the same peculiar kind in Prance, or Germany, or
Italy, or Spain, or Turkey, or even Russia. In the latter country the
serf bows down to the noble—the Tschin is respected by all classes not
included within its thirteen giades—because nobility in Russia is the
symbol of power and authority, and means the right and privilege
to inflict some kind of punishment or pain. I do not call this sort of
kotow snobbishness. It is slavishness, if you will—a dog-like feeling
—but there is no flunkeyism in it. So in Austria, what people bow
down to, is military rank, or official position, both sources of possible
oppression, if not conciliated. But only in England do I find that
abject worship of a Lord as a Lord—that licking the shoes of a class,
which has no power or privilege to oppress or brow-beat, or bastinado
either literally or metaphorically—that hoisting of them into every
chair at every public dinner—that foisting of them into every office of
every calibre—that silent reverence of them in every private gathering
of every condition of men—that hustling and hurraing of them in
every public concourse on every occasion.
The Duke of Cambridge, and a distinguished party—distinguished
as containing a large proportion of peers, and peer's kith and kin—visits
the Manchester Exhibition ; straightway the Ancient Masters are
abandoned, and the moderns cease to charm. Mr. Halle's cunning
fails in the orchestra, and even the Corporation Gold plate no longer
attracts a ring of gapers. The Art Treasures of the Lnited Kingdom
are for the moment eclipsed and swallowed up, and set aside by the
Ddke or Cambridge. The crowd run after him, they dog his heels, they
press upon him. It is necessary to form a ring of policemen round the
ducal person to save it from damage. So, girt by his ring of protecting
policemen, the Duke, with much ado, gets the Art-Treasures seen,
himself the sole and single Art-Treasure, while he remains in the
building. He looks at everything—and as if all the fruit of his gazing
passed into him, and there became quintessentialised and sublimated,
everybody else looks only upon him !
Our Yankee friends are as bad, for all their affected equality and
democracy. Jonathan loves a Lord as absolutely, abjectly, and
offensively, as John Bull.
It is not enough for us to mob their movements, and drive them into
a hedge of policemen, but we must follow them about with the most
miserable drivel of recording penny-a-linism, and Court N ewsmanship.
We must have a human being paid to solemnly record how particularly
"affable and amusing" His Royal Highness, Prince Albert, was,
when he met " a select party at the Mayor of Manchester's," and
how he told several anecdotes.
Among others was the following:—
"While in Osborne he was in the habit of getting up very early, and walking
about his farm. Passing a farmer's house he stopped to make some inquiries;
knocked at the door, and asked the servant if his master were in? The servant
replied, ' He is in, Sir, but not down-stairs.' ' Oh, very well,' was PrinCk Albert's
reply, and he was about to leave. ' Would you be kind enough to leave your name,
Sir?' said the servant. 'Oh, it does not matter,'said the Prince. 'Because,'
said the servant, ' my master would be angry with me if i did not tell him
who called.' ' Very well.' said the other, 'You may say Prince Albert.' Upon
which the man dre w back, looked up significantly, put his thumb to the tip of his
nose, extended his fingers, and exclaimed ' Walker !' "
Whereupon the reader, exhausted with the sustained and breathless
interest with which he has followed his Royal Highness to this point,
can but ejaculate, in faint echo, " Walker ! " also, and put his thumb to
the tip of his nose, and extend his fingers, in the direction of the gifted
penny-a-liner.