DOI Heft:
May 10, 1862
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16869#0191
Mat 10, 1862.J
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
183
A KING WITH A STRANGE TASTE EOR MUSIC.
Herb Wagner, the great composer, “ for the future ”
(a.d. 1962), has received sharp orders from the King or
Saxony to return home instantly. Is the King jealous
that other parts of the Continent should have so much of
the services of his Kapellmeister, and he comparatively
so little? He probably wishes to have Wagner all to
himself. Ear from quarrelling with the desired monopoly
in the cause of music we heartily rejoice at it. The royal
edict will have the effect of narrowing the evil of contami-
nating compositions. It is tantamount to a musical qua-
rantine. Travellers must not venture too near, or else they
may be infected with one of his malignant airs, which are
not so catching, perhaps, as they are lowering, leaving a
fearful sense of depression behind them. Henceforth, the
flights of The Flying Dutchman will be restricted to one
kingdom instead of half-a-dozen. We hope Wagner will
be confined to Dresden all his life. Our Philharmonic
will gain from his imprisonment. It will run no further
risk of being nearly knocked on the head from another blow
of his erratic baton. However, it is but right that tourists
should be made acquainted with the above fact. If, in
their next autumnal excursions, they visit Saxony, they
will know precisely what to expect.
CLOSE ULTRAMONTANE CONGRESS.
The following item of intelligence appears in the Tablet:
“ The Papal Secretaryship of State has already received notification
of the intended arrival of 400 Bishops in Rome for the great Festival”
At this time of day the above-quoted announcement will
be read without alarm. The mediaeval habits of Romish
bishops have been—we believe—generally discarded by their
modem successors, few of whom are now suspected of
wearing horsehair shirts next their skin and never having
that truly Irish linen washed. The prelates of the un-
changing Church, as they call it, now change their un-
derclothing, however, and when the four hundred bishops
mentioned by the Tablet meet together in Rome, there can
be no reasonable fear that they will generate a pestilence
whereof other people as well as themselves will die in the
odour of sanctity.
PUNCH’S ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
While Lord Granville was reading that long document on
Thursday Mr. Punch and Lord Palmerston were conversing, in the
most affable planner, upon the beauty of the Inauguration day, upon
the. choice things which would be found in the Building, upon the
capital music, upon the fitness of Sterndale Bennett’s composition
to the poetry of the Laureate, upon the different beauty of the ladies
who were around, and upon other matters not now necessary to be
narrated.
“ By the way, Pam,” said Mr. Punch, “ when do the Houses meet ? ”
“ Not bad,” said Pam.
“ Well, I suppose it is not bad, as you say so,” returned Mr. Punch,
laughing, “ and what do you mean ? ”
“ Don’t sell a cove,” said Pam.
“ Sell be hanged,” said Mr. Punch, “I never do those things.”
“ Don’t you know that we met on Monday ? ” said Pam.
“ Bother ! ” said Mr. Punch.
“ Pact! ” said Pam.
“ Brand ought to have reminded me,” said Mr. Punch.
“ Well, you’ve lost nothing,” said Pam. “On Monday we took
some money for Civil Service Estimates, and Slanet suggested that
one day in the week there should be a charge for entrance to the
National Gallery.”
“ What for ? ”
“ Because, he says, that ladies would like to see the pictures without
being elbowed by private soldiers and nursery maids.”
“ Don’t stand that. There are plenty of picture collections where
ladies can go without fear of being elbowed by their inferiors.”
“ Of course. Well, we took moneyfor the New Eoreign Office and
Westminster Bridge approaches,, and Whalley tried to knock off the
item of £500 for Catholic chaplains to gaols.”
“ That would not do, of course. Why, fifteen per cent, of the
j criminals in our gaols are Catholics.”
“ I dare say they are,” said Pam. “ 1 don’t care. We didn’t let
W halley carry it, you may be sure.”
“I suppose not, especially as the Irish are so desperately in love
with you just now. Did you get beaten ? ”
“ Only once.”
“ Careless fellows you are. Majority ?
“ 48 to 24.”
“ By Jove ! What was it ?
“ Highland roads and Scotch bridges—vote for £5000.”
“ Deuced careless, I tell you, and if I go North this year, and get
abused on your account, I ’LL make no fight for you.”
“ One can’t attend to everything.”
“No, you’re not attending to Granville’s reading, for instance.
But I repeat that you ought not to be always getting yourselves beaten.
Anything else ? ”
“ Not on Monday. On Tuesday, Layard told Kinnaird that our
Consul at Seville had been obliged to suspend Protestant Worship in
his house. We’ll have a row about that.”
“ Do—for more reasons than one.”
“ I understand, and Disraeli is looking at us. There was the new
writ for Oldham.”
“Eh? O, ah. We’ve heard a good deal of the Last Words of
Mr. Pitt, so we have the Last Words of Mr. Eox, for a change. He’s
a clever man, bitter, and telling. I’m sorry he resigns.”
“I don’t care about it,” said Pam. “Then Baillie Cochrane
moved for a commission to inquire into the sale of public buildings, and
was floored by 116 to 49.”
“ There’s a good deal to be said about that, though.”
“ I dare say there is,” said Pam. “ A good deal was said. I don’t
care. What a lovely face that woman has, the thud from the column.”
“ Yes, she is a relation of mine, and thought to be like me,” said Mr.
Punch. “What did you do yesterdav ? ”
“ Nothing: worth mention—squabbles over some of the clauses in the
s Granny
Upon looking at the papers Mr. Punch ascertained that his friend the
Premier had, in his jaunty way, given a very fair account of the first
part of the Parliamentary week, and there has been nothing later which
calls for much notice. On Thursday there was a discussion on a Bill
providing a registration of births and deaths in Ireland. _Mr. Punch is
occasionally written to by an infuriated Hibernian who unjustly charges
him with over-severity in regard to the Irish. Look at tms bit, cut out
of the speech of Mr. Maguire, an editor of a leading Irish paper, and
Metropolitan Management Bill. Sit to-night at six. Oh, here’
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
183
A KING WITH A STRANGE TASTE EOR MUSIC.
Herb Wagner, the great composer, “ for the future ”
(a.d. 1962), has received sharp orders from the King or
Saxony to return home instantly. Is the King jealous
that other parts of the Continent should have so much of
the services of his Kapellmeister, and he comparatively
so little? He probably wishes to have Wagner all to
himself. Ear from quarrelling with the desired monopoly
in the cause of music we heartily rejoice at it. The royal
edict will have the effect of narrowing the evil of contami-
nating compositions. It is tantamount to a musical qua-
rantine. Travellers must not venture too near, or else they
may be infected with one of his malignant airs, which are
not so catching, perhaps, as they are lowering, leaving a
fearful sense of depression behind them. Henceforth, the
flights of The Flying Dutchman will be restricted to one
kingdom instead of half-a-dozen. We hope Wagner will
be confined to Dresden all his life. Our Philharmonic
will gain from his imprisonment. It will run no further
risk of being nearly knocked on the head from another blow
of his erratic baton. However, it is but right that tourists
should be made acquainted with the above fact. If, in
their next autumnal excursions, they visit Saxony, they
will know precisely what to expect.
CLOSE ULTRAMONTANE CONGRESS.
The following item of intelligence appears in the Tablet:
“ The Papal Secretaryship of State has already received notification
of the intended arrival of 400 Bishops in Rome for the great Festival”
At this time of day the above-quoted announcement will
be read without alarm. The mediaeval habits of Romish
bishops have been—we believe—generally discarded by their
modem successors, few of whom are now suspected of
wearing horsehair shirts next their skin and never having
that truly Irish linen washed. The prelates of the un-
changing Church, as they call it, now change their un-
derclothing, however, and when the four hundred bishops
mentioned by the Tablet meet together in Rome, there can
be no reasonable fear that they will generate a pestilence
whereof other people as well as themselves will die in the
odour of sanctity.
PUNCH’S ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
While Lord Granville was reading that long document on
Thursday Mr. Punch and Lord Palmerston were conversing, in the
most affable planner, upon the beauty of the Inauguration day, upon
the. choice things which would be found in the Building, upon the
capital music, upon the fitness of Sterndale Bennett’s composition
to the poetry of the Laureate, upon the different beauty of the ladies
who were around, and upon other matters not now necessary to be
narrated.
“ By the way, Pam,” said Mr. Punch, “ when do the Houses meet ? ”
“ Not bad,” said Pam.
“ Well, I suppose it is not bad, as you say so,” returned Mr. Punch,
laughing, “ and what do you mean ? ”
“ Don’t sell a cove,” said Pam.
“ Sell be hanged,” said Mr. Punch, “I never do those things.”
“ Don’t you know that we met on Monday ? ” said Pam.
“ Bother ! ” said Mr. Punch.
“ Pact! ” said Pam.
“ Brand ought to have reminded me,” said Mr. Punch.
“ Well, you’ve lost nothing,” said Pam. “On Monday we took
some money for Civil Service Estimates, and Slanet suggested that
one day in the week there should be a charge for entrance to the
National Gallery.”
“ What for ? ”
“ Because, he says, that ladies would like to see the pictures without
being elbowed by private soldiers and nursery maids.”
“ Don’t stand that. There are plenty of picture collections where
ladies can go without fear of being elbowed by their inferiors.”
“ Of course. Well, we took moneyfor the New Eoreign Office and
Westminster Bridge approaches,, and Whalley tried to knock off the
item of £500 for Catholic chaplains to gaols.”
“ That would not do, of course. Why, fifteen per cent, of the
j criminals in our gaols are Catholics.”
“ I dare say they are,” said Pam. “ 1 don’t care. We didn’t let
W halley carry it, you may be sure.”
“I suppose not, especially as the Irish are so desperately in love
with you just now. Did you get beaten ? ”
“ Only once.”
“ Careless fellows you are. Majority ?
“ 48 to 24.”
“ By Jove ! What was it ?
“ Highland roads and Scotch bridges—vote for £5000.”
“ Deuced careless, I tell you, and if I go North this year, and get
abused on your account, I ’LL make no fight for you.”
“ One can’t attend to everything.”
“No, you’re not attending to Granville’s reading, for instance.
But I repeat that you ought not to be always getting yourselves beaten.
Anything else ? ”
“ Not on Monday. On Tuesday, Layard told Kinnaird that our
Consul at Seville had been obliged to suspend Protestant Worship in
his house. We’ll have a row about that.”
“ Do—for more reasons than one.”
“ I understand, and Disraeli is looking at us. There was the new
writ for Oldham.”
“Eh? O, ah. We’ve heard a good deal of the Last Words of
Mr. Pitt, so we have the Last Words of Mr. Eox, for a change. He’s
a clever man, bitter, and telling. I’m sorry he resigns.”
“I don’t care about it,” said Pam. “Then Baillie Cochrane
moved for a commission to inquire into the sale of public buildings, and
was floored by 116 to 49.”
“ There’s a good deal to be said about that, though.”
“ I dare say there is,” said Pam. “ A good deal was said. I don’t
care. What a lovely face that woman has, the thud from the column.”
“ Yes, she is a relation of mine, and thought to be like me,” said Mr.
Punch. “What did you do yesterdav ? ”
“ Nothing: worth mention—squabbles over some of the clauses in the
s Granny
Upon looking at the papers Mr. Punch ascertained that his friend the
Premier had, in his jaunty way, given a very fair account of the first
part of the Parliamentary week, and there has been nothing later which
calls for much notice. On Thursday there was a discussion on a Bill
providing a registration of births and deaths in Ireland. _Mr. Punch is
occasionally written to by an infuriated Hibernian who unjustly charges
him with over-severity in regard to the Irish. Look at tms bit, cut out
of the speech of Mr. Maguire, an editor of a leading Irish paper, and
Metropolitan Management Bill. Sit to-night at six. Oh, here’