DOI Heft:
June 28, 1862
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16869#0264
256
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [June 28, 1862.
Passenger. “ Extremely Disagreeable Weather!”
Driver. “ Yes, 'specially for them as is made Drippiv! Pans of!
PUNCH FOR CORONER.
Mr. Punch, moved by no selfish considerations, of
course, but, equally of course, actuated solely by a desire
for the public good, begs to offer himself to the Freeholders
of Middlesex as a Candidate for the now vacant Office of
Coroner.
He cannot be bored with canvassing, having other
engagements.
He certainly has no idea of humiliating himself to the
extent of producing testimonials.
But he conceives that the Freeholders had better elect
him, lor several reasons, which, to his mind, combine to
make him the Beau Ideal of a Coroner, to judge by speci-
mens, chiefly provincial, which crop up in the journals.
First. He knows very little about Law.
Secondly. He knows nothing about Medicine.
Thirdly. He is utterly ignorant of the rules of evidence.
Fourthly. He is particularly short-tempered.
Fifthly. He has large gifts in the way of twaddle.
Sixthly. He has an intense respect for great people.
Seventhly. He adores railway officials.
Eighthly. He is horribly afraid of a barrister.
Ninthly. He thinks every demise demands an Inkwhich.
Tenthly. He is an Ass, generally.
PUNCH FOR CORONER!
BOTANY AT ONE’S FINGERS’ ENDS.
In the Times’ account of the last show of the Horticul-
tural we read:
“ Great curiosity was evinced to see the rare flowers of the hand
tree, which was shown yesterday in the conservatory in fu)l bloom,
the first time that it has ever flowered in this country, in spite of
all the care and skill that have been brought to bear to force it into
blossom. The flowers very closely resemble the shape of the human
hand, and from this the shrub takes its name.”
We suppose this “hand tree” is only a new species of
palm ? Of course, it wears nothing but fox-gloves, for it is
only natural that such a tree should be hand-and-glove
with Digit-alls.
The Music of the Future.—Promissory notes.
LORD CANNING.
DIED TUESDAY, JUNE 17th, 1862.
One more strong swimmer gone down in the deep,
But not in mist of storm and breakers’ roar :
He had fought through the surf and gained the shore,—
His native England’s windy whitewalled steep,
Which he had toiled, and borne so much, to reach.
Ah, little did we think, who cheered him in,
How busy Death was mining all within !
The while we gave him welcome from the beach.
He waived acclaim and greetings of the crowd.
And only prayed he might be left at peace,
In pomp’s eclipse and toil’s well-earned surcease—
Toil mat had stemmed disease, and grief o’ercowed.
We who had seen him striving with the storm,
In that dread time when Euglaud’s Empire reeled,
Till her foes shouted : “ Lo, her doom is sealed! ”
And, as foul things round a sick lion swarm,
Base creatures on sore-stricken England pressed,
We who then watched him, patient, calm, and strong,
Not paying hate with hate, and wrong with wrong,
But fear ana fury both serene to breast.
We deemed him steeled of body as of soul,
And when Death took his partner from his side.
And left him lone, his weary lot to abide,
We said the same high heart could grief control,
That had controlled despair, and doubt, and fear;
And when we knew that his return was nigh.
We planned him labours new and honours nigh,
Blind that we were, nor dreamed the end was near.
Of all the gifts that England could bestow
He has received but one—an honoured grave;
Where kniHitly banners in the Abbey wave
O’er dust of English worthies, heaped below,
Another worthy sleeps ; the black plumes waved
Above him, cold and coffined, through the street
Where oft, we hoped, he would in council meet
For India’s weal, the land that he had saved.
Not for such council, nor speech of his peers,
Comes he to Westminster, but for his grave,
Where write, “ He died for duty—modest, brave.
Mild, when the good felt wrath, calm, when the brave bad fears.”
A Prophet Right.
A recent American mail stated as follows :—
“ Tbe New York Times' Correspondent thinks there is a probability of the Federal
army going into trenches before Richmond.”
The latest accounts show that the prophet was very right, at least to
the extent of 2,000 or 3,000 Eederais.
Monuments of Delay.
The Temple of Diana at Ephesus, we are informed by a classical
scholar, took not less than 220 years in building. This is certainly a
long period for the completion of a monument, but we think we know
of one that, if you only give it time and fair play, will certainly beat it
by half a century at least, and that is the Nelson Column.
The Tories’ excuse for not turning out Pam is that the country is
not ripe yet for a Conservative government. “Humbug! Dizzy. You
mean it isn’t green enough.”
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [June 28, 1862.
Passenger. “ Extremely Disagreeable Weather!”
Driver. “ Yes, 'specially for them as is made Drippiv! Pans of!
PUNCH FOR CORONER.
Mr. Punch, moved by no selfish considerations, of
course, but, equally of course, actuated solely by a desire
for the public good, begs to offer himself to the Freeholders
of Middlesex as a Candidate for the now vacant Office of
Coroner.
He cannot be bored with canvassing, having other
engagements.
He certainly has no idea of humiliating himself to the
extent of producing testimonials.
But he conceives that the Freeholders had better elect
him, lor several reasons, which, to his mind, combine to
make him the Beau Ideal of a Coroner, to judge by speci-
mens, chiefly provincial, which crop up in the journals.
First. He knows very little about Law.
Secondly. He knows nothing about Medicine.
Thirdly. He is utterly ignorant of the rules of evidence.
Fourthly. He is particularly short-tempered.
Fifthly. He has large gifts in the way of twaddle.
Sixthly. He has an intense respect for great people.
Seventhly. He adores railway officials.
Eighthly. He is horribly afraid of a barrister.
Ninthly. He thinks every demise demands an Inkwhich.
Tenthly. He is an Ass, generally.
PUNCH FOR CORONER!
BOTANY AT ONE’S FINGERS’ ENDS.
In the Times’ account of the last show of the Horticul-
tural we read:
“ Great curiosity was evinced to see the rare flowers of the hand
tree, which was shown yesterday in the conservatory in fu)l bloom,
the first time that it has ever flowered in this country, in spite of
all the care and skill that have been brought to bear to force it into
blossom. The flowers very closely resemble the shape of the human
hand, and from this the shrub takes its name.”
We suppose this “hand tree” is only a new species of
palm ? Of course, it wears nothing but fox-gloves, for it is
only natural that such a tree should be hand-and-glove
with Digit-alls.
The Music of the Future.—Promissory notes.
LORD CANNING.
DIED TUESDAY, JUNE 17th, 1862.
One more strong swimmer gone down in the deep,
But not in mist of storm and breakers’ roar :
He had fought through the surf and gained the shore,—
His native England’s windy whitewalled steep,
Which he had toiled, and borne so much, to reach.
Ah, little did we think, who cheered him in,
How busy Death was mining all within !
The while we gave him welcome from the beach.
He waived acclaim and greetings of the crowd.
And only prayed he might be left at peace,
In pomp’s eclipse and toil’s well-earned surcease—
Toil mat had stemmed disease, and grief o’ercowed.
We who had seen him striving with the storm,
In that dread time when Euglaud’s Empire reeled,
Till her foes shouted : “ Lo, her doom is sealed! ”
And, as foul things round a sick lion swarm,
Base creatures on sore-stricken England pressed,
We who then watched him, patient, calm, and strong,
Not paying hate with hate, and wrong with wrong,
But fear ana fury both serene to breast.
We deemed him steeled of body as of soul,
And when Death took his partner from his side.
And left him lone, his weary lot to abide,
We said the same high heart could grief control,
That had controlled despair, and doubt, and fear;
And when we knew that his return was nigh.
We planned him labours new and honours nigh,
Blind that we were, nor dreamed the end was near.
Of all the gifts that England could bestow
He has received but one—an honoured grave;
Where kniHitly banners in the Abbey wave
O’er dust of English worthies, heaped below,
Another worthy sleeps ; the black plumes waved
Above him, cold and coffined, through the street
Where oft, we hoped, he would in council meet
For India’s weal, the land that he had saved.
Not for such council, nor speech of his peers,
Comes he to Westminster, but for his grave,
Where write, “ He died for duty—modest, brave.
Mild, when the good felt wrath, calm, when the brave bad fears.”
A Prophet Right.
A recent American mail stated as follows :—
“ Tbe New York Times' Correspondent thinks there is a probability of the Federal
army going into trenches before Richmond.”
The latest accounts show that the prophet was very right, at least to
the extent of 2,000 or 3,000 Eederais.
Monuments of Delay.
The Temple of Diana at Ephesus, we are informed by a classical
scholar, took not less than 220 years in building. This is certainly a
long period for the completion of a monument, but we think we know
of one that, if you only give it time and fair play, will certainly beat it
by half a century at least, and that is the Nelson Column.
The Tories’ excuse for not turning out Pam is that the country is
not ripe yet for a Conservative government. “Humbug! Dizzy. You
mean it isn’t green enough.”