Punch (42.1862)

10

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[January 4, 1862.

ART AT A CATTLE SHOW.

First Small Boy. “I say, Bill, what's he a doing of .? ”

Second Ditto. “ Can't you see he’s a taking that old Gent's Picture, and isn’t
it like him l ”

THE DINER A LA RUSSE.

BY A RUSTIC.

I Just bin up to London Town,

Sir Thomas was spendun the sazun there;

I wanted to zee un afore a come down :

Zo 1 called upon un in Belgrave Square.

Ri too ral loo, &c.

There was that theer matter about the barn,

And ’tother affair o’ cuttun the copse ;

I’d got zum rent in my pocket for’n,

Which I thought ’ood zet un a smackun his chops.

Ri too ral loo, &c.

Sir Thomas succeeded to my design,

And altogether I come off winner;

For he made me drink a bottle o’ wine:

And axed me to come next day to dinner.

Ri too ral loo, &o.

The dinner hour was seven at night;

(The “ Later ” classes I calls the “ Upper ”)

But there, thinks I, ’twill be all right:

I ’ll ate my dinner, and think ’tis supper.

Ri too ral loo, &c.

Zo on I puts my best black quoat,

I’ve had un some time, but seldom worn un,

And ties a white neckcloth round my dhroat,

Puttun myself into dacent mournun.

Ri too ral loo, &c.

A footman ushered me all up stairs,

In a livery suit of blue and yeller,

A plumidge like what a kingfisher wears.

“ Mr. Solomon Homegreen ! ” bawls the feller

Ri too ral loo, &c.

I’d got to hand a lady down,

Rigged out in her Crinoline, full feather.

What wi’ my broad back, and her wide gown.

We had zurnmut to do to git down together.

Ri too ral loo, &c.

Howsomedever we racked the dinner-room;

And there was the table, without e’er a cover.

But wi’ basons and baskets o’ flowers in bloom,

A greenery like, a wras spread all over !

Ri too ral loo, &c.

“ A CERTAIN STAR SHOT MADLY FROM ITS SPHERE.”

The American organ, the Morning Star, has put itself into one of those violent
rages which are peculiar to journals that preach peace-at-any-price, and quote
Scripture at random. This awful fury has been caused by Mr. Punch’s mild little
allusion to the fact that on the day when all the London journals came out with
black borders, the Star did not manifest that token of respect. So the Christian
Star showers on us a volley of Billingsgate. “ Buffoon,” “ unfeeling,” “ a fool,”
“a liar,” “a malicious and silly liar,” “disgust,” “insolence,” are among the
phrases with which the Star endeavours to express its wrath, and at the' same
time to show that Mr. Punch’s gentle rebuke was unfelt. The outbreak takes the
form of a letter, which was clearly intended for a leading article, as it begins with
a sentence of nineteen lines; but we do not think that this composition is the
production of one of the regular leader-writers, because it is in very fair grammar,
and lacks the provincial and smart-young-Dissenting-student tone which usually
pervades the Star disquisitions. Besides, the writer is honest enough to quote the
little paragraph that has caused such heavenly rage, and unless in a paroxysm of
unthinking fury, a regular Star writer would hardly have offered the Punch anti-
dote along with the Bright bane. However, as we have shamed the Star into
protesting that it meant nothing, and is as mournful as it ought to be, we will
accept the rather amusing excuse about its machinery (an excuse at which the
intelligent workmen who manage Mr. Punch’s machinery are irreverent enough to
smile in a most rude manner), and will add that there is now a very fitting way
for the Star’s great patron at once to show his sense of his own self-stultification
as to American matters, and to atone for his organ’s forgetfulness of funereal
decorum. Let Mr. Bright be—Mute.

There was apples, and raisins, and grapes, and pears,
Foreign fruit and presarves from every quarter;

Zo the fashion, thinks I, as I gapes and stares,

Is fust the aessart and the dinner arter.

Ri too ral loo, &c.

I took a apple from out of a lot,

And was just a gwian to peel and ate un,

When a plate o’ zoup all smokun hot,

Was offered to me oy a sarvunt in waitun.

Ri too ral loo, &c.

The feller he brought me a plate o’ fish
As soon as he zee the zoup I’d swollered,

Then French fricassees, dish arter dish,

And slices o’ beef and mutton follered.

Ri too ral loo, &c.

There was plenty to drink as well as to ate,

As much as ever a chap was able;

But I’d rather zee my jinte o’ mate.

And taters and turmuts and greens, on my table.

Ri too ral loo, &c.

Next time we dines at the Fox-and-Goose,

I ’ll stick a flowerpot ’fore my platter,

And zay I be dinun “ allaw Roose,”

As they calls the new style in their foreign chatter.

Ri too ral loo, &c.

Conscientious Assurance.

“ Ie,” says the New York Times, in allusion to the Trent affair, “ popular passion
is to be allowed to contravene a right in the law of nations, we accept any issue
that may result.” Indeed ! If popular passion is allowed to insist on refusing
die surrender of Slidell aud Mason, is our Yankee contemporary prepared to
accept the bombardment of New York ?

The Height of Gratitude.—Mr. Cox returning
thanks for being elected for Fmsbury ! . !

To get a Cheerful View of Affairs in the United
I States.—Only look at them from the Bright side.