DOI issue:
February 1, 1862
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16869#0051
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
43
February 1,
1862.1
Wait till Jeff.-Davis we have whipped,
And crash’d the rebel millions ;
Then let the Britishers bewar—
Both soldiers and civilians!
We ’ll flog their armies, take their ships.
Upset their aristoxy:
And when the hull New World’s annexed,
We’ll rale the Old by proxy.
NASAL INTELLIGENCE.
mong other festive novel-
ties (for however sad a
Christmas may nationally
be, the advertisements _ are
sure to say the season is a
festive one) we see an-
nounced that any purchaser
of New Year’s Gifts at a
named scent-shop will be
presented with a “ perfumed
piece of original music.”
It is certainly not new to
hear a song called “ a sweet
thing,” and equally well
used are we to hear a song-
stress spoken of as having
a “sweet voice.” But in
future when _we find these
epithets applied, we shall
fancy they bear reference
rather to a nasal than a
vocal point of excellence,
and that a piece is called a
sweet one because it is per-
fumed with some delicious
scent.
To make the novelty more
popular, we would suggest that it were well if songs and other com-
positions were scented with an odour appropriate to their subject, as
tar as that might be. Thus, the air of “ Cherry Ripe ” might be per-
fumed with the smell of that delicious fruit, and “Rose, Thou art the
Fairest Flower,” should be scented with fresh rose-water, to attract
thereby the noses of the ballad-buying world. Millefleurs would per-
haps be the perfume most appropriate to “I know a Bank,” whereon
the wild thyme and the oxlip, and a score of other wildflowers
are understood to grow: but the scents which are expressed from a
lily and a daffodil would be fittest for “Fair Daffodils” and “ Ye Lilies
Chaste,” while Mr. Balfe’s new song of “ Pretty Lowly, Modest
Flower,” should of course be nicely scented with forget-me-not, if it be
discovered that forget-me-nots have scent. Drinking songs we think
might be perfumed like the grape: except when some more potent drink
than wine is spoken of, as for instance Mr. Harrison’s new song in
praise of punch, which a mixed scent to resemble the fumes of that
lamed beverage should be invented to perfume. Of course the air of
“ Drops of Brandy ” should smell strongly of eau-de-vie; while Handel’s
“ Water Music,” if scented with a sprinkling of Bouquet dela Tamise,
would scarcely, one would fear, be much enhanced in either its sweet-
ness or attractiveness.
If our hint be carried out, a ballad may be made as good as a bouquet,
with the additional advantage of being far more durable. Besides, if
pieces be perfumed with the due sense of what is proper, only think
what time and trouble may be saved when people go to purchase some
new music; which now they either must hum over, or strum on the
piano, if they have any wish to know what it is like. Selection will
however become an easy matter, when music is perfumed according to
its nature, and its quality may be detected by a sniff. No one then
will care to hear a piece tried over before paying down the money for
it: and young ladies when they want to know if a new song be pretty,
will simply ask their friends the question, “Doesit smell nice? ”
Everybody’s Godfather.
Our scholarly friend, the Revue du Samedi, has devoted an elaborate
article to prove that the North and South folks of America use very
awkward distinctive names. It does not like “ Federal,” it does not
like “ Confederate,” it does not like anything. Its arguments are un-
impeachable, but its exertions are superfluous. The South has long
since accepted, with an honest joy and delight, the name affixed to it by
Mr. Bunch, namely, Slaveownia ; and the North is about to take his
other suggestion, and call itself Bennett’s Land. Messrs. Stanford
and TV ylde are preparing maps with the new nomenclature.
LORD PUNCH TO LORD RUSSELL, GREETING.
Bravo ! Lord Russell ! Bunch pats you on the back with mingleo
pride and admiration. Admiration of your language anent the Trent
affair, and pride that he, Bunch, was the one who taught you to write
letters. Excellently well has your Lordship profited by the instruction
which has been vouchsafed you gratis in these columns. Notably, some
years since, when you wrote your Durham letter, Bunch felt it was his
duty to tender you advice in the epistolary art: and your late despatches
and letters to Lord Lyons prove fully how you laid to heart the pre-
cious hints you then received. Your style is now perspicuous, clear,
simple, and straightforward. There is no beating about the bush in
the plain English you write. What you have to say you say without
leaving a loophole of escape from what you mean. You clearly state
your case, and name your terms for satisfection of the injury received.
You plumply call a spade a spade: and leave no shadow of a chance to
bandy words about it. _ You ask for justice simply, without bluster or
bombast: and speak with not more plainness than you do politeness.
There is but one sarcastic sentence in all that you have written, and it
deserves to be embalmed, for the pleasure of posterity, in the amber-type
of Bunch:—
“ I stated to Mr. Adams the substance of M. Thouvenel’s despatch to M. Mercier
as I had heard it from M. de Flahault.
“ Mr. Adams said that the French Government had always been very consistent
in their maintenance of the rights of neutrals. He added that he could not pay our
Government the same compliment.
“ I said I would dispense with compliments, if this matter could be amicably
arranged.”
Very neat, your Lordship. Even your tutor, Bunch, could scarce
have better worded it. You, the nobleman, are pleased to say you can
“ dispense with compliments,” coming as they would from a less lordly
quarter, and simply want compliance with your just demand. Very
right and proper, and verv neatly put. When a blackguard prigs one’s
handkerchief one can a dispense with compliments,” and is merely
anxious to get back what one has lost. There are, however, compli-
ments which no one can dispense with; and these are the compliments
bestowed on men of worth and merit like your Lordship, by your Lord-
ship’s very faithful friend and tutor,
AN UNBENDING REED.
Mr. Punch begs to congratulate Mr. Charles Reade, author of
Never too Late to Mend, upon having illustrated the title of his book by
vanquishing the people who mutilated it for the stage. It is never too
late to mend bad manners, and he has obtained, after a gallant struggle,
a legal recommendation to theatrical hacks to mend theirs. A certain
class of playwright has hitherto deemed it quite lawful to pounce upon
the work—finished or unfinished—of any novelist, to strip away any
artistic clothing in which the writer may have draped his characters, and
to send them on the stage, either nude or in tawdry stage garments,
to say, do, and mean anything but the sayings, doings, and meanings of
their creator. Some dramatic gentlemen have kindly finished the
story for the writer before he has had time to do so for himself; others
have only rejected his finale and stuck on a new one more likely to be
pleasing to the gallery. And. such is the lovely state of the law that the
more outrageous the violence done to the author, the less chance he has
of obtaining reparation. Too much money is made by plundering and
mangling the books of the living and the dead to make it probable that
the practice will be abandoned; but Mr. Reade has done much
towards asserting an author’s right to some little consideration in the
business, and Mr. Bunch rewards him with the following elegant com-
pliment, namely, that in this case Mr. Reade’s defeated adversary
being named Conquest, Mr. Reade is what Lord Chesterfield was
told by Dr. Johnson that the latter had hoped to be, namely, Le
vainqueur du vainqueur.
The Best Way to Put It.
An old Verse, respectfully recommended to Mr. Seward, as an excuse for settling
the quarrel.
Says the North to the South, “ Though it cost
Much pain, we must break up the U :
For your character’s totally lost,
And I’ve not sufficient for two.”
Woman’s Work.
Signora Mario, (not our dear Grisi, mind,) has been lecturing at
the Whittington Club, and the point of her lecture seems to have been
the announcement that “ red shirts were coming into fashion, in Italy,
in the Spring.” We are glad to see the lady at last turning her atten-
tion to subjects legitimately within her sphere, and we hope that
Signor Mario has buttons on all his shirts, red or not.
I
43
February 1,
1862.1
Wait till Jeff.-Davis we have whipped,
And crash’d the rebel millions ;
Then let the Britishers bewar—
Both soldiers and civilians!
We ’ll flog their armies, take their ships.
Upset their aristoxy:
And when the hull New World’s annexed,
We’ll rale the Old by proxy.
NASAL INTELLIGENCE.
mong other festive novel-
ties (for however sad a
Christmas may nationally
be, the advertisements _ are
sure to say the season is a
festive one) we see an-
nounced that any purchaser
of New Year’s Gifts at a
named scent-shop will be
presented with a “ perfumed
piece of original music.”
It is certainly not new to
hear a song called “ a sweet
thing,” and equally well
used are we to hear a song-
stress spoken of as having
a “sweet voice.” But in
future when _we find these
epithets applied, we shall
fancy they bear reference
rather to a nasal than a
vocal point of excellence,
and that a piece is called a
sweet one because it is per-
fumed with some delicious
scent.
To make the novelty more
popular, we would suggest that it were well if songs and other com-
positions were scented with an odour appropriate to their subject, as
tar as that might be. Thus, the air of “ Cherry Ripe ” might be per-
fumed with the smell of that delicious fruit, and “Rose, Thou art the
Fairest Flower,” should be scented with fresh rose-water, to attract
thereby the noses of the ballad-buying world. Millefleurs would per-
haps be the perfume most appropriate to “I know a Bank,” whereon
the wild thyme and the oxlip, and a score of other wildflowers
are understood to grow: but the scents which are expressed from a
lily and a daffodil would be fittest for “Fair Daffodils” and “ Ye Lilies
Chaste,” while Mr. Balfe’s new song of “ Pretty Lowly, Modest
Flower,” should of course be nicely scented with forget-me-not, if it be
discovered that forget-me-nots have scent. Drinking songs we think
might be perfumed like the grape: except when some more potent drink
than wine is spoken of, as for instance Mr. Harrison’s new song in
praise of punch, which a mixed scent to resemble the fumes of that
lamed beverage should be invented to perfume. Of course the air of
“ Drops of Brandy ” should smell strongly of eau-de-vie; while Handel’s
“ Water Music,” if scented with a sprinkling of Bouquet dela Tamise,
would scarcely, one would fear, be much enhanced in either its sweet-
ness or attractiveness.
If our hint be carried out, a ballad may be made as good as a bouquet,
with the additional advantage of being far more durable. Besides, if
pieces be perfumed with the due sense of what is proper, only think
what time and trouble may be saved when people go to purchase some
new music; which now they either must hum over, or strum on the
piano, if they have any wish to know what it is like. Selection will
however become an easy matter, when music is perfumed according to
its nature, and its quality may be detected by a sniff. No one then
will care to hear a piece tried over before paying down the money for
it: and young ladies when they want to know if a new song be pretty,
will simply ask their friends the question, “Doesit smell nice? ”
Everybody’s Godfather.
Our scholarly friend, the Revue du Samedi, has devoted an elaborate
article to prove that the North and South folks of America use very
awkward distinctive names. It does not like “ Federal,” it does not
like “ Confederate,” it does not like anything. Its arguments are un-
impeachable, but its exertions are superfluous. The South has long
since accepted, with an honest joy and delight, the name affixed to it by
Mr. Bunch, namely, Slaveownia ; and the North is about to take his
other suggestion, and call itself Bennett’s Land. Messrs. Stanford
and TV ylde are preparing maps with the new nomenclature.
LORD PUNCH TO LORD RUSSELL, GREETING.
Bravo ! Lord Russell ! Bunch pats you on the back with mingleo
pride and admiration. Admiration of your language anent the Trent
affair, and pride that he, Bunch, was the one who taught you to write
letters. Excellently well has your Lordship profited by the instruction
which has been vouchsafed you gratis in these columns. Notably, some
years since, when you wrote your Durham letter, Bunch felt it was his
duty to tender you advice in the epistolary art: and your late despatches
and letters to Lord Lyons prove fully how you laid to heart the pre-
cious hints you then received. Your style is now perspicuous, clear,
simple, and straightforward. There is no beating about the bush in
the plain English you write. What you have to say you say without
leaving a loophole of escape from what you mean. You clearly state
your case, and name your terms for satisfection of the injury received.
You plumply call a spade a spade: and leave no shadow of a chance to
bandy words about it. _ You ask for justice simply, without bluster or
bombast: and speak with not more plainness than you do politeness.
There is but one sarcastic sentence in all that you have written, and it
deserves to be embalmed, for the pleasure of posterity, in the amber-type
of Bunch:—
“ I stated to Mr. Adams the substance of M. Thouvenel’s despatch to M. Mercier
as I had heard it from M. de Flahault.
“ Mr. Adams said that the French Government had always been very consistent
in their maintenance of the rights of neutrals. He added that he could not pay our
Government the same compliment.
“ I said I would dispense with compliments, if this matter could be amicably
arranged.”
Very neat, your Lordship. Even your tutor, Bunch, could scarce
have better worded it. You, the nobleman, are pleased to say you can
“ dispense with compliments,” coming as they would from a less lordly
quarter, and simply want compliance with your just demand. Very
right and proper, and verv neatly put. When a blackguard prigs one’s
handkerchief one can a dispense with compliments,” and is merely
anxious to get back what one has lost. There are, however, compli-
ments which no one can dispense with; and these are the compliments
bestowed on men of worth and merit like your Lordship, by your Lord-
ship’s very faithful friend and tutor,
AN UNBENDING REED.
Mr. Punch begs to congratulate Mr. Charles Reade, author of
Never too Late to Mend, upon having illustrated the title of his book by
vanquishing the people who mutilated it for the stage. It is never too
late to mend bad manners, and he has obtained, after a gallant struggle,
a legal recommendation to theatrical hacks to mend theirs. A certain
class of playwright has hitherto deemed it quite lawful to pounce upon
the work—finished or unfinished—of any novelist, to strip away any
artistic clothing in which the writer may have draped his characters, and
to send them on the stage, either nude or in tawdry stage garments,
to say, do, and mean anything but the sayings, doings, and meanings of
their creator. Some dramatic gentlemen have kindly finished the
story for the writer before he has had time to do so for himself; others
have only rejected his finale and stuck on a new one more likely to be
pleasing to the gallery. And. such is the lovely state of the law that the
more outrageous the violence done to the author, the less chance he has
of obtaining reparation. Too much money is made by plundering and
mangling the books of the living and the dead to make it probable that
the practice will be abandoned; but Mr. Reade has done much
towards asserting an author’s right to some little consideration in the
business, and Mr. Bunch rewards him with the following elegant com-
pliment, namely, that in this case Mr. Reade’s defeated adversary
being named Conquest, Mr. Reade is what Lord Chesterfield was
told by Dr. Johnson that the latter had hoped to be, namely, Le
vainqueur du vainqueur.
The Best Way to Put It.
An old Verse, respectfully recommended to Mr. Seward, as an excuse for settling
the quarrel.
Says the North to the South, “ Though it cost
Much pain, we must break up the U :
For your character’s totally lost,
And I’ve not sufficient for two.”
Woman’s Work.
Signora Mario, (not our dear Grisi, mind,) has been lecturing at
the Whittington Club, and the point of her lecture seems to have been
the announcement that “ red shirts were coming into fashion, in Italy,
in the Spring.” We are glad to see the lady at last turning her atten-
tion to subjects legitimately within her sphere, and we hope that
Signor Mario has buttons on all his shirts, red or not.
I