DOI Heft:
October 13, 1860
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16866#0151
October 13, I860.] PUNCH, OK THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 143
i
'financiere' what it sounds. How can that remembrance explain such
mystic phrases as ‘ Crecettes en Buissons’ and ‘ Timbales ala Financiered
which perplexed me in the bill of fare of which I speak P Shrimps are
common diet, but can a man eat bushes ? And who could feed on
kettle-drums, and expect to live? That ‘homard' means a lobster
everybody knows; but I have looked into my dictionary, and the only
word for ‘ Chartreuse' given there is ‘Charterhouse.’ Yet ‘ Chartreuse
d'Homard' I find confronts me in the carte. Shade of Soyer ! Ami
then to eat the Charterhouse! I who spent six years beneath its
classic shades!
“ Some dishes, it is true, may be such horrible concoctions that
nobody would dream of touching them if they were known by their
right names. Who would call for that ‘ Batoinie,' which G. IT. M.
informs us was served up for him at Moscow, if ‘ Chopped tea. leaves
and salt cucumbers ’ were put down in the carte? Or who would ask a
Russian servant for a ‘ Bitok,' if he saw before him a confession of the
fact that the dainty was composed of several chopped meats, mashed
into a mass with honey and stewed onions, vinegar and capers, and
surrounded with stoned olives, sliced lemons, and peas ? Moreover,
now and then the converse might occur; and one might miss a dainty
because of its fine name. I myself, the other day, very nearly lost a
taste of that same ‘ Coq de Bruyere,' because of the word ‘ Cratin '
which was stupidly prefixed to it, and which, as I conceived, meant
‘ the burnt scrapings of a saucepan,’ a conception which my dictionary
afterwards confirmed.
“ I am a plain man, and like to call a spade a spade, and in talking
to an Englishman I can’t quite see the good of calling it a beche. I
don’t relish a cutlet or a cucumber the more for being written * cotelette '
and ‘concombre’ by the cook. ‘ Capons farcis aux Champignons' may
sound all very fine, but 1 think ‘Fowls stuffed with mushrooms’ is
more.pleasant in my ears ; and my laughter rather than my palate is
excited by such polyglot absurdities as ‘ Chickens aux huitres !' This
entry I observed in the carte the other day, and I suppose when next
a Civic Company invites me, I shall be asked to eat. of ‘ Stewed biftek
aux oysters,' or recommended to take ‘ Fin sauce' with my ‘pouding de
plum?
“ With our advancing sense (thanks to Punch) of what is ludicrous,
surely it is time to put a stop to all this gibberish. As good wine
needs no bush, so shrimps require no ‘ buissons' in the carte to make
them palatable. Let our cooks serve up French dishes, if they please;
but when they cook for Englishmen, let their bills of fare be English.
We mostly like plain names, although we may not like plain living;
and until our Aldermen habitually speak French (which, judging by
their progress, possibly may happen at the time of the Greek Kalends)
let them beg their cooks to condescend to write in English for them.
“ Pray, Sir, lend your powerful aid in this direction, and oblige one
who is free to own he likes French cookery, although it is his fortune
to have been born <« ^ Briton ”
“ THE LIGHT OF OTHER HAYS.”
At Coleshill, in Warwickshire, Mr. Newdegate entertained the
agriculturists by saying that—
“ Protection was not dead ; it was a principle of our nationality, and burned now
more brightly than ever.”
No, it is not burning. Mr. Newdegate mistakes for a pure flame
what is merely the phosphorescence of a dead body. Poor Protection
has been buried now for years, and many a fruitful harvest has since
ripened over its grave. It was but right that Protection should give
back to corn what in its lifetime it took from it. Why does Mr.
Newdegate attempt to play the part of a resurrectionist ? If Pro-
tection is still burning, it must look uncommonly like a gas-lamp that
we sometimes see accidentally flaring in the day-time, and, in charity,
the pale, flickering, and ghastly thing should be put out. Nothing
could be more out of place in our day.
Momentous if True.
The appended statement, heterographic but thrilling, is contained in
a letter from Cologne, published by a contemporary:—
“ The Prince Regent accompanied the Queen as far as DUren, whence he pro-
ceeded to Juliers.”
What an interesting if illiterate announcement! The Prince Re-
gent proceeded to his cousin Julia’s, the writer of the above piece of
intelligence obviously meant to say. When he left Julier’s did he go
on to Aunt Amelier’s ? The Almanack de Gotha only knows !
Justice to Scotland.—You can scarcely call the Scotch syco'
phants; for though they are toddy-drinkers, they are far from being
toad-eaters.—A Black-Woodsman.
Advice to Garibaldi.—The Red Shirt is glorious; but don’t make
s Flag of it.
SHAVING A SERIOUS THING.
The attention of Sabbatarians is earnestly called to the subjoined
copy of an advertisement:—
Q HAVING a Breach of the Sabbath and a Hindrance to the Spread of
the Gospel. By ©EOAOrOS. M. A. Cantab. London. Saunders & Otlet.
Messrs. Saunders & Otlet publish many novels, but the serious
world need hardly fear that the work above announced is a novel.
There is, indeed, novelty in the idea that Shaving is a Breach of the
Sabbath; because every morning is not Saturday, and many people
shave every morning. Neither is every morning Sunday, if that is the
day which we are to suppose to be meant by the word Sabbath. True
it is, however, that some old clothesmen never shave at all, for some
reason or other, which may possibly be the belief that Shaving, under
any circumstances, is a breach of the Jewish Sabbath. And certainly
there can be no doubt that shaving on a Sunday morning, or during
any portion of Sunday, is a desecration of the Sabbath just as flagrant
as that of travelling by an excursion train; for it is by no means
necessary: and this is probably the truth which the author of the work
under consideration, but which, like many other reviewers, we have
never read, most probably wishes to impress on the serious public.
MY HOUSE AND HOME.
BY MATERFAMILIAS.
I can’t think what can make men care
For foreign wars and strife,
With all the constant wear and tear
There is in daily life!
What signifies about the Pope,
And French invading Rome?
A woman’s mind has ample scope
Within her house and home.
As for what foreign nations do.
And Emperors and Kings,
I have to pay attention to
So many different things,
I could not, if I were inclined.
Allow my thoughts to roam:
Abundant exercise they find
Within my house and home.
Grimaldi is a famous man,
If that’s the general’s name,
The dungeons in the Vatican,
And torture, are a shame;
But Naples Silk, and Bombazine,
This side of Ocean’s foam,
Are pretty features of the scene
W ithin my house and home.
What with the servants, and they cost
What trouble no one knows !
And then there’s always something lost;
The wash, and mending clothes.
And some hairs wanting to be curled,
And all their heads to comb,
Sufficient is my little world
Within my house and home.
Calembourg for Coburg.
As our illustrious friend the F. M. has happily escaped a carriage
accident, which no one would have deplored more than Mr. Punch, the
latter may congratulate the P. C., and add a joke. It is an extraordi-
nary thing that any sort of vehicular indiscretion should have been
manifested in the case of a Prince who has always been so remarkably
Prudent in his Carriage._
A VERY OLD EPITAPH REVIVED.
ON WILLIAM WALKER, FILIBUSTER AND FELON.
Here lies the body of W. W.
Who never more will trouble you, trouble you.
Austria’s best way.
If Austria would do the honestest and wisest thing that she possibly
can, she would sell the Venetian territory to its rightful owners, and
pay over the proceeds into the Court of Bankruptcy.
i
'financiere' what it sounds. How can that remembrance explain such
mystic phrases as ‘ Crecettes en Buissons’ and ‘ Timbales ala Financiered
which perplexed me in the bill of fare of which I speak P Shrimps are
common diet, but can a man eat bushes ? And who could feed on
kettle-drums, and expect to live? That ‘homard' means a lobster
everybody knows; but I have looked into my dictionary, and the only
word for ‘ Chartreuse' given there is ‘Charterhouse.’ Yet ‘ Chartreuse
d'Homard' I find confronts me in the carte. Shade of Soyer ! Ami
then to eat the Charterhouse! I who spent six years beneath its
classic shades!
“ Some dishes, it is true, may be such horrible concoctions that
nobody would dream of touching them if they were known by their
right names. Who would call for that ‘ Batoinie,' which G. IT. M.
informs us was served up for him at Moscow, if ‘ Chopped tea. leaves
and salt cucumbers ’ were put down in the carte? Or who would ask a
Russian servant for a ‘ Bitok,' if he saw before him a confession of the
fact that the dainty was composed of several chopped meats, mashed
into a mass with honey and stewed onions, vinegar and capers, and
surrounded with stoned olives, sliced lemons, and peas ? Moreover,
now and then the converse might occur; and one might miss a dainty
because of its fine name. I myself, the other day, very nearly lost a
taste of that same ‘ Coq de Bruyere,' because of the word ‘ Cratin '
which was stupidly prefixed to it, and which, as I conceived, meant
‘ the burnt scrapings of a saucepan,’ a conception which my dictionary
afterwards confirmed.
“ I am a plain man, and like to call a spade a spade, and in talking
to an Englishman I can’t quite see the good of calling it a beche. I
don’t relish a cutlet or a cucumber the more for being written * cotelette '
and ‘concombre’ by the cook. ‘ Capons farcis aux Champignons' may
sound all very fine, but 1 think ‘Fowls stuffed with mushrooms’ is
more.pleasant in my ears ; and my laughter rather than my palate is
excited by such polyglot absurdities as ‘ Chickens aux huitres !' This
entry I observed in the carte the other day, and I suppose when next
a Civic Company invites me, I shall be asked to eat. of ‘ Stewed biftek
aux oysters,' or recommended to take ‘ Fin sauce' with my ‘pouding de
plum?
“ With our advancing sense (thanks to Punch) of what is ludicrous,
surely it is time to put a stop to all this gibberish. As good wine
needs no bush, so shrimps require no ‘ buissons' in the carte to make
them palatable. Let our cooks serve up French dishes, if they please;
but when they cook for Englishmen, let their bills of fare be English.
We mostly like plain names, although we may not like plain living;
and until our Aldermen habitually speak French (which, judging by
their progress, possibly may happen at the time of the Greek Kalends)
let them beg their cooks to condescend to write in English for them.
“ Pray, Sir, lend your powerful aid in this direction, and oblige one
who is free to own he likes French cookery, although it is his fortune
to have been born <« ^ Briton ”
“ THE LIGHT OF OTHER HAYS.”
At Coleshill, in Warwickshire, Mr. Newdegate entertained the
agriculturists by saying that—
“ Protection was not dead ; it was a principle of our nationality, and burned now
more brightly than ever.”
No, it is not burning. Mr. Newdegate mistakes for a pure flame
what is merely the phosphorescence of a dead body. Poor Protection
has been buried now for years, and many a fruitful harvest has since
ripened over its grave. It was but right that Protection should give
back to corn what in its lifetime it took from it. Why does Mr.
Newdegate attempt to play the part of a resurrectionist ? If Pro-
tection is still burning, it must look uncommonly like a gas-lamp that
we sometimes see accidentally flaring in the day-time, and, in charity,
the pale, flickering, and ghastly thing should be put out. Nothing
could be more out of place in our day.
Momentous if True.
The appended statement, heterographic but thrilling, is contained in
a letter from Cologne, published by a contemporary:—
“ The Prince Regent accompanied the Queen as far as DUren, whence he pro-
ceeded to Juliers.”
What an interesting if illiterate announcement! The Prince Re-
gent proceeded to his cousin Julia’s, the writer of the above piece of
intelligence obviously meant to say. When he left Julier’s did he go
on to Aunt Amelier’s ? The Almanack de Gotha only knows !
Justice to Scotland.—You can scarcely call the Scotch syco'
phants; for though they are toddy-drinkers, they are far from being
toad-eaters.—A Black-Woodsman.
Advice to Garibaldi.—The Red Shirt is glorious; but don’t make
s Flag of it.
SHAVING A SERIOUS THING.
The attention of Sabbatarians is earnestly called to the subjoined
copy of an advertisement:—
Q HAVING a Breach of the Sabbath and a Hindrance to the Spread of
the Gospel. By ©EOAOrOS. M. A. Cantab. London. Saunders & Otlet.
Messrs. Saunders & Otlet publish many novels, but the serious
world need hardly fear that the work above announced is a novel.
There is, indeed, novelty in the idea that Shaving is a Breach of the
Sabbath; because every morning is not Saturday, and many people
shave every morning. Neither is every morning Sunday, if that is the
day which we are to suppose to be meant by the word Sabbath. True
it is, however, that some old clothesmen never shave at all, for some
reason or other, which may possibly be the belief that Shaving, under
any circumstances, is a breach of the Jewish Sabbath. And certainly
there can be no doubt that shaving on a Sunday morning, or during
any portion of Sunday, is a desecration of the Sabbath just as flagrant
as that of travelling by an excursion train; for it is by no means
necessary: and this is probably the truth which the author of the work
under consideration, but which, like many other reviewers, we have
never read, most probably wishes to impress on the serious public.
MY HOUSE AND HOME.
BY MATERFAMILIAS.
I can’t think what can make men care
For foreign wars and strife,
With all the constant wear and tear
There is in daily life!
What signifies about the Pope,
And French invading Rome?
A woman’s mind has ample scope
Within her house and home.
As for what foreign nations do.
And Emperors and Kings,
I have to pay attention to
So many different things,
I could not, if I were inclined.
Allow my thoughts to roam:
Abundant exercise they find
Within my house and home.
Grimaldi is a famous man,
If that’s the general’s name,
The dungeons in the Vatican,
And torture, are a shame;
But Naples Silk, and Bombazine,
This side of Ocean’s foam,
Are pretty features of the scene
W ithin my house and home.
What with the servants, and they cost
What trouble no one knows !
And then there’s always something lost;
The wash, and mending clothes.
And some hairs wanting to be curled,
And all their heads to comb,
Sufficient is my little world
Within my house and home.
Calembourg for Coburg.
As our illustrious friend the F. M. has happily escaped a carriage
accident, which no one would have deplored more than Mr. Punch, the
latter may congratulate the P. C., and add a joke. It is an extraordi-
nary thing that any sort of vehicular indiscretion should have been
manifested in the case of a Prince who has always been so remarkably
Prudent in his Carriage._
A VERY OLD EPITAPH REVIVED.
ON WILLIAM WALKER, FILIBUSTER AND FELON.
Here lies the body of W. W.
Who never more will trouble you, trouble you.
Austria’s best way.
If Austria would do the honestest and wisest thing that she possibly
can, she would sell the Venetian territory to its rightful owners, and
pay over the proceeds into the Court of Bankruptcy.