Punch (39.1860)

December 8, I860.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

229

ORGANS AND ORGAN-PLAYERS.

BE

art of (street) organ-
playing, dear Mr.
Punch, has attained
to such a degree of
popularity at the pre-
sent day, especially
in the suburbs of
London, that, know-
ing as I do from a
constant perusal of
your pages the great
interest, you take in
the subject, I venture
to offer a few sugges-
tions for your con-
sideration ; and my
remarks will perhaps
have greater weight
if 1 mention, with, all
due modesty, that I
am myself a performer
of some experience on
that noble instru-
ment, as I have fre-

auently in my younger
ays, by the offer of
small coins, induced
the gentleman who
attended our house
to allow me to turn
the handle of his
organ.

“ I would suggest
that, with regard to
the performance of
the most favourite
airs,—as, for exam-
ple, II Balen, or the
Power of Love, — it

should not be considered necessary to play them oftener than about twenty-five times each
in any one place, as a more frequent repetition occasionally produces a feeling of monotony ;
and if the organ should happen to be revoltingly out of tune, as might sometimes be the case,
the performer should consider himself limited to a fifteenth repetition of those ever-fresh and

beautiful melodies. In cases where the player
accompanies the organ with his voice,—where a
pedal passage is introduced,—where there is a
monkey obbligato,—in short, where any ges-
ticulation is required from either performer,—
the duration of the entertainment should be
limited to half an hour before each house, as a
longer performance is an unreasonable tax on
the physical powers of the executants. In case
of sickness in any house which he might visit,
I think it should certainly be left to the judg-
ment and good taste of the performer to deter-
mine how long he should play; and no remon-
strances ought, under any o;'cursA.ances, to be
offered by the inhabitants. I trust that these
few suggestions will be received in the spirit in
which they are offered by those whose arduous
business it, is to perambulate the streets for our
gratification, aud I hope that they will meet with
due consideration from all admirers of the Italian
school ofrorgan-playing.

“I remain, dear Mr. Bunch, very truly yours,
“A Lover of the ‘Divine Art.’”

KILT, NOT KILTED.

The Tralee Chronicle has a remarkable con-
clusion to its record of a recent interment.
We have simply altered the names of the p’ace
where it took place, and of the deceased:—•

“ The remains were deposited in the family tomb at
Blunderbuss Castle, which, of the many warm hearts
we have known in life, now slumbering in its time-
honoured cemeterj', holds not one which beats with a
warmer or a kinder pulse than that of Timothy Thady
Mulligan.”

How the Tralee Chronicle justifies the inter-
ment, of a gentleman whose heart, is still beating
with a warm and kind pulse, or indeed what, the
above elegantly complicated sentence means at
all at all, Mr. Punch knows not, and merely
submits the scrap as a Curiosity of Irish
Literature.

THE THREE TAILORS—TO WIT.

We are three Tailors of Toolev Street, and trusty men are we,

And of the people of England we claim the mouthpiece to be —

Of the people of England in general, and of Southwark in partic’lar,
Aud we do hereby of our principles make this confession aunc’lar.

As touching this here election, that’s just about coming off here,

We don’t want never no Fawcetts, and no Layards to come and
scoff here

At our eminent local wharfingers, and west.ry respectabilities,

Which to us, the Three Tailors of Tooley Street, lias showed the
utmost civilities.

We thinks as how Atsley Pellatt was the likeliest man for our money,
"Wich the bloated aristocrats in the’Ouse they may have considered
him funny,

’Cos his righteous indignation at, times to such lengths bore him,

He’s been knowed to bonnet the hon’rable gent upon the bench before
him.

Put since we can’t have Pellatt, why as next best we ’ll have Scovell,
Wich the rights and wrongs of the borough in course he’s sure to
know veil,

And if he han’t dug up bulls with wings and uniform ’scriptions
Ninny vit.e,

He’s a tradesman aginst whom nobody hasn’t nothing to insinivite.

He ain’t like to trouble the ’Ouse oratorically or wocally.

But what’s the odds of that, if he does the right thing, locally ?

We don’t want a flighty Member, to talk about Milan or Moussul,

But a party as can say ditto to Lords Palmerston and John Russell,

And the more he says ditto to them, why the better they ’re sure to
like him.

And the less inclined to say no if any chance should strike him
In the way of a nice little job for Tooley Street or the Borough—
(Wich we ’re all independent westrymen and likes to see tilings done
thorough).

Then this here Layabd’s as poor as a mouse, and Scovell he is rich,
And in course at an election time he’s safe to behave as sicli,

And to open the public ’ouses and pay canvassers, agents, aud runners,—
(Wich we’re independent westrymen, aud scorns to be any man’s
dunners).

Then this here Layard’s always a gettiiT hisself in hot water,

And a goin’ in at the big-wigs, arid, in course, mostly catching a Tartar,
But Scovell will mind iris own business—wich that’s Southwark, and
nothin’ but it,

And where there’s a shindy he’ll behave like a sensible man and cut it.

For our part we haven’t no confidence in your learned men and writers :
There was old Charley Napier was all very well,—though he was
one of your fighters,—

But still he was pleasant aud affable, and hadn’t no pride about him,
But as for this here Layard,—we don’t know, but somehow we doubt
him.

He’s been a sort of a rolling stone ; and we haven’t a great opinion
Of a man that spends his time digging rubbish, not worth an ’inion,
lustead of sticking to business, like Scovell, and making a fortiu’,
Aud spending it on his Constituents—a thing this here Layard falls
short in.

So altoget her, as leaders of opinion in the Borough,

VVe recommend the Electors to give Scovell their confidence thorough,
And the motter we put on our banners, and the ticket on which we
start is,

“ Here’s Scovell the Local Candidate, and no Extraneous parties.”

Their First Introduction.

There is a respectful distance between the Duke of York, as he
stands on the top of his brazen column, and the Victory that is dis-
tributing plaster of Paris crowns from the top of the Guards’ Memorial
half a cab-stand behind him. As was his wont, the Duke is turning
his back upon Victory. They might have pulled him round, just to
; have allowed him to see what Victory was like