Punch (41.1861)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

204

[November 23, 18G1.

THE NEW PHOTOGRAPHIC LOOKING-GLASS.

“ Ain't it a jolly sell, Me. O’Toole ? but don't tell Ma when she comes down, 'cause she said I wasn't
to sho>w it you on any account l ”

(N. B. Anybody failing to see the point, is referred to the now widely-circulated “ Portrait of the
Gorilla,” to be obtained at the nearest Photographers.)

MIRACULOUS MUSIC.

“ Lord Shaftesbury, while speaking at a meeting,
at Birmingham, the other night, became so indisposed
that he was obliged to resume his seat. A few verses
of a hymn having been sung, the noble chairman
sufficiently recovered to be able to proceed with his
address.”

It is very uncharitable, that is to say, very
like the Record, not to have told us what the
hymn was that was instantly efficient in re-
storing the health of a British Nobleman. It
might be beneficial to others besides the ex-
cellent Lord Shaftesbury (who will be the
last person to be offended at Mr. Punch's
asking him to join in a laugh at the Record),
and the words and music should be made
known. That is to say, they should, unless
the remedy were like that composed by Don
Quixote in the tin bottle, and which did the
knight good, but made the squire Sancho so
awfully ill, that he became convinced that
aristocratic medicines did not suit plebeians.
If the Record did not think this the case, we
decidedly ought to have been told all about
the magic hymn. We have heard beautiful
music at Birmingham, but never anything to
equal this.

Concise, if Not Correct.

An Englishman, who thought he knew
everything, as many Englishmen do, was en-
deavouring to prove that the Erench language
was capable of expressing a great deal more in
a few words than the English could in several,
and as a convincing, example he brought for-
ward the following instance“ You see, if I
wanted to state that I had lost my war-horse
in battle, all I should have to say would be
simply, ‘ Mon cheval est horse-de-combat.’ ”

A Bill Acceptor.—A Dead Wall.

TALES OE MY GRANDMOTHER.

THE SPENDTHRIFT BROUGHT TO HIS SENSES.

arah, my dear, I know ot a
chimney (though stopping at
present in a lodging-house,
it, is one of very high ascent),
that is so extremely well
brought up that,, though it
has been an inveterate, and,
we may say, an incurable
smoker all its life, yet no
sooner does it see a lady enter
the room, than it says in a
voice as sweet as a tea-
kettle’s^ c I hope my smoke
isn’t disagreeable to you,
Ma’rm?’ And, if the lady
says c as how it is,’ and be-
gins coughing to prove it
so—then the chimney, with-
out waiting to* be blown up,
or hauled over the coals, or
put out, as all smokers in the
presence of ladies certainly
deserve being done unto,
does not give another blessed
puff, but goes out instantly
of its own accord! There,
you wouldn’t believe it, but
I tell you it’s a fact.”
Observation (made by Sarah, an Elderly Lady). “ Yes, my dear, and
there’s many a young gentleman of the present day, who might follow
the example of that excellent chimney with the very best advantage!”

[Left Speaking.

Another Secessionist.—Should the Pope at last resolve upon
yielding up his temporal power, it will obviously be an act of Papal
See -cession.

Louis Napoleon, Emperor of the Erench,

So now your Majesty must needs retrench.

I said that you were going on too fast,

And such extravagance could never last.

If sovereigns would achieve grand works of peace,
Their armaments of war they ought to cease;

Great cities to rebuild it will not do.

If you keep up great fleets and armies too.

Big vessels, cased in adamantine mail,

And armed with rifle-cannon, cost entail.

So do fine streets, which may, from end to end,

Be swept with cannon, my Imperial friend.

You’ve let your cask at tap and bunghole run;

Of those two outlets you must now stop one.
You’ve burnt your candle, wasting too much fat,
At either end—must blow out this or that.

And then you’ve put me to a vast expense,
Obliging me to arm in self-defence;

Gladly would I some building, too, have done;

But I could not afford it, so did none.

This penal Income-Tax, whose pinch I rue,

1 pay my Government, but owe to you,

Whilst your own folks endure still greater woes,

In every manner paying through the nose.

Come, now, your threatening preparations stop;
Take stock;. let either of us mind his shop;

Try, not which most can spend, but which can get:
Adopting thrift, we may be happy yet.

The Largest Cotton Mill in the World.—The fight at present
going on between North and Souti in America.