DOI issue:
November 1, 1862
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16870#0190
November 1, 1862.J
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
183
Dress was pardoned, when dress was seen
In all its grace on that lovely Queen,
And few, save husbands who had to pay.
Complained that life was a long display :
And that wives were taught she best fulfils
Her mission who shows most milliner's bills.
A shrug was twitched, and then even the wise
Began to talk of Omphale’s eyes.
While Hercules, stern to all beside,
Had naught but praise for his radiant bride.
But lower yet must his godship bow.
Where is that terrible hero now ?
’Tis the Church’s day, and the priest has come
With a tawdry toy from his chief in Borne.
Milliners pack, and the day at least
Is given to Home and the leering priest.
Down is Hercules, crouching down,
Before the befrocked and beshaven clown,
Down, in a land ivhere laughter kills,
Down, for ’tis so that Omphale wills.
And there he lies at the Clwirch’s beck,
AND the priestly eoot’s on the war-god’s neck.
Oh, all who’ve smarted beneath his rod.
Are ye not venged on that prostrate god ?
Up, 0 demi-god! else art none:
Zeus must blush for his vaunted son.
Thine Uncle-idol, the tyrant Dis,
Never had stooped to a doom like this ;
Up, and the pious storm defy,
’Twill not be fierce in that lovely eye.
Up, and declare, to thy sense restored,
That thou lovest her well, but that thou art Lord,
Then turn and deal the avenging blow
On the base low brow of thy priestly foe.
*****
Hurled from thy hand the impostor flies—
To the home of his father—the Bather of Lies.
SOME ODIOUS COMPARISONS.
BY A CONTRIBUTOR JUST ORE HIS HOLIDAY RAMBLES.
We all know pretty well what John Bull thinks of foreigners—their
railways, their hotels, their cafes, their hats, their coats, their cigars and
their civility.
But I should he very curious to know what the foreigner thinks of
John Bull in these and the like particulars. Not the Assouant kind of
foreigner, the feuilleto?i-writing gentleman, who is nothing if not
epigrammatic, _ and looks at things with exclusive reference to their
effect in an article; but the honest, average Brenchman or German who
has been over here this year on International Exhibition business or
pleasure. I should like to compare notes with him on English hotels,
restaurants, refreshment-rooms, lodging-houses, and so forth.
Bresh as I am from a couple of months on the Continent, sflent most of
it in Brance and Italy, I should be very curious to know whether Eng-
lish ways and waiters, rooms and refreshments, bed-rooms and bills,
hotels and lodgings, strike him, as compared with those of his own
; country, in the way they strike me.
I suppose that is, as Lord Bmidreary would say, “ a thing no fellow
can find out.” But I know, at any rate, what 1 think on these points
myself. And I think it worth saying, because I believe there is an
immense deal of cant afloat on these matters—conclusions that won’t
hold water—complaisances that “won’t wash”—conceit that calls for
snubbing, and. big hollow pretentions which would be all the better for
| having the wind let out of them.
Now I am not a decrier of Britons and things British. I have main-
tained before, and I am ready to maintain again, against all comers, and
at all weapons, that Englishmen and women, of the class gentlefolk, are,
as a rule, the cleanliest, neatest, best dressed, and best behaved travellers
in the world, 1 aver, too, and will maintain that in point of speed,
civility, and comfort,—allowing for the higher chances of a smash, and
the inferiority of our second-class carriages—the English railway system
is immeasurably to be preferred to the Brench or German. Indeed I
know nothing half so striking in the way of distinction between matters
at home and abroad, as the contrast in the demeanour, voice, and
behaviour of everybody about the railway-stations, when you change the
lines on the other side the Channel for those on this. 1 look upon our
English railway-guards and porters as the modem Chesterfields. I
know no class equal to them for good breeding, patience, chivalrous
gallantry to women, fine manners, and sustained good temper. I
haven’t an idea how this consummation comes about. It can’t be the
Directors—they are a dreadful set of harpies and vultures, as we all know
from the leading-articles and letters in the newspapers. It can’t be the
influence of the occupation, which is hard and wearing, exposing the
men to all weathers when in motion, to dreary, monotonous watching and
waiting when on station duty. It can’t be the prospect of the “ tip,”
which they are forbidden to take, and which everybody is determined
to give. I dismiss the idea of that motive as alike insulting and in-
sufficient. But what cau it be ? The virtue is universal with the class.
I have sometimes observed a snappishness among the young gentle-
men who give out the tickets at the pigeon-holes. But then it
must be owned they are very hardly tried by sudden examinations in
Bradshaw, and difficulties about change. But the porters and guards
never fail one. They are all absolutely lambs, doves, angels in ribbed
corduroy or blue broad-cloth.
Abroad, on the other hand, from the moment your voiture sets you
down at a station, you feel yourself a mark for imposition and extortion,
a helpless victim of despotic forms, the bond-slave of a set of haughty
tyrants in uniform. They are all alike, from the ticket-clerk behind
the grating, who contemptuously thrusts you out your tickets, and is
quite capable of cheating you in your change, when you pay for them,
to the luggage-registering clerk in the cage, who makes out your luggage-
ticket, and blows you up, if you fumble with your billet, or have any
difficulties in handing him the exact amount demanded for trunks and
portmanteaus. When you have run the gauntlet of these tyrants, there
is the man on guard at the waiting-room door, who will not allow you to
pass in or out without showing your ticket, who separates you from
the wife of your bosom or the friend of your youth, supposing them to
have accompanied you with a view to an affectionate farewell at the
last moment; and then, when you have been swept in the rush out of
the waiting-room on to the platform, you find yourself out of the
frying-pan in the fire, in the hands of a despot and slave-driver, to
whom the oppressors you have hitherto had to deal with are meek and
merciful. This is, of course, the guard, who orders you about, crams
you with fiendish satisfaction into the last place of a crowded carriage,
with an empty one on each side of it, clamours down your remon-
strances, gives you the lie direct, separates your party, laughs at your
discomfort, and seems altogether to revel in the opportunity of making
you feel that for the time being the power is his, and that he means to
abuse it. Bleas may be a nuisance, beggars a bore, musquitoes an
infliction, small wash-hand basins an evil, pestering ciceroni a torment;
vin ordinaire is uot, as a rule, delicious ;—but I declare solemnly, that
as far as my experience goes, travelling has no nuisance, irritation and
discomfort comparable to the foreign railway official. He is at least as
open to a “ tip ” as his British brother; but the one is civil to you,
though you never offer him a sixpence; the other is uncivil, though
you try to propitiate him with five-franc pieces.
The contrast between the two puzzles me. I cannot understand
why the railway uniform should transform John Bull into a Grandi-
son and Johnny Crapaud into a Legree. As for the German railway
people they are, if possible, worse than the Brench—because they
are clumsy and stupid, besides being overbearing and oppressive.
If the difference be caused by the fact that England is a constitu-
tional country, and Brance and Germany paternal despotisms, I can
only wonder that the difference should be felt so much in this and so
little in other things.
But whatever the cause, the difference I insist upon is more marked
and more operative on a traveller’s comfort, than any other distinction
between this tight little island and the big loose Continent beside it.
But I admit it is at this point the balance must be struck, if one means
to keep up the old notion that England is the country for neatness,
cleanliness, kindliness, practical good sense, and all other things that
conduce to comfort. If one goes further—to the refreshment rooms,
the hotels, the eating-houses, the shops with their ministering spirits,—
waiters, and shop-men and women—and their appliances—beds, fur-
niture, bed and table linen, washing, cookery, service, &c., &c.—then
I am bound to own that England stands fearfully below neighbouring
Continental countries. I am forced to the conclusion that m all that
relates to the accommodation and enjoyment of the traveller, England
cannot hold her own for an instant with foreign parts—that she falls
below them as far in comfort, cleanliness, convenience, and common-
sense as in cheapness. I throw this paradoxical proposition down at
the end of this paper, and give the reader a week to digest it. Next
week I will tell him on what grounds I maintain so seemingly unpa-
triotic a doctrine.
The Celtic Water Cure.
Captain Hans Busk, of the Yictoria Bifles, writing to the Times
on the subject of suppressing riots, observes :—
“ As soon as a popular tumult assumes a threatening aspect, nothing mor ia
necessary in order to quell it than a couple of fire-engines, supported by a detach-
ment of police, who have only then to direct a steady horizontal jet of water full
at the head of the mob.”
A capital suggestion. We will only venture to improve upon it by
recommending that the fluid employed to disperse riotous Irish Yahoos
should be particularly pure, because those creatures have a peculiar
antipathy to clean water.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
183
Dress was pardoned, when dress was seen
In all its grace on that lovely Queen,
And few, save husbands who had to pay.
Complained that life was a long display :
And that wives were taught she best fulfils
Her mission who shows most milliner's bills.
A shrug was twitched, and then even the wise
Began to talk of Omphale’s eyes.
While Hercules, stern to all beside,
Had naught but praise for his radiant bride.
But lower yet must his godship bow.
Where is that terrible hero now ?
’Tis the Church’s day, and the priest has come
With a tawdry toy from his chief in Borne.
Milliners pack, and the day at least
Is given to Home and the leering priest.
Down is Hercules, crouching down,
Before the befrocked and beshaven clown,
Down, in a land ivhere laughter kills,
Down, for ’tis so that Omphale wills.
And there he lies at the Clwirch’s beck,
AND the priestly eoot’s on the war-god’s neck.
Oh, all who’ve smarted beneath his rod.
Are ye not venged on that prostrate god ?
Up, 0 demi-god! else art none:
Zeus must blush for his vaunted son.
Thine Uncle-idol, the tyrant Dis,
Never had stooped to a doom like this ;
Up, and the pious storm defy,
’Twill not be fierce in that lovely eye.
Up, and declare, to thy sense restored,
That thou lovest her well, but that thou art Lord,
Then turn and deal the avenging blow
On the base low brow of thy priestly foe.
*****
Hurled from thy hand the impostor flies—
To the home of his father—the Bather of Lies.
SOME ODIOUS COMPARISONS.
BY A CONTRIBUTOR JUST ORE HIS HOLIDAY RAMBLES.
We all know pretty well what John Bull thinks of foreigners—their
railways, their hotels, their cafes, their hats, their coats, their cigars and
their civility.
But I should he very curious to know what the foreigner thinks of
John Bull in these and the like particulars. Not the Assouant kind of
foreigner, the feuilleto?i-writing gentleman, who is nothing if not
epigrammatic, _ and looks at things with exclusive reference to their
effect in an article; but the honest, average Brenchman or German who
has been over here this year on International Exhibition business or
pleasure. I should like to compare notes with him on English hotels,
restaurants, refreshment-rooms, lodging-houses, and so forth.
Bresh as I am from a couple of months on the Continent, sflent most of
it in Brance and Italy, I should be very curious to know whether Eng-
lish ways and waiters, rooms and refreshments, bed-rooms and bills,
hotels and lodgings, strike him, as compared with those of his own
; country, in the way they strike me.
I suppose that is, as Lord Bmidreary would say, “ a thing no fellow
can find out.” But I know, at any rate, what 1 think on these points
myself. And I think it worth saying, because I believe there is an
immense deal of cant afloat on these matters—conclusions that won’t
hold water—complaisances that “won’t wash”—conceit that calls for
snubbing, and. big hollow pretentions which would be all the better for
| having the wind let out of them.
Now I am not a decrier of Britons and things British. I have main-
tained before, and I am ready to maintain again, against all comers, and
at all weapons, that Englishmen and women, of the class gentlefolk, are,
as a rule, the cleanliest, neatest, best dressed, and best behaved travellers
in the world, 1 aver, too, and will maintain that in point of speed,
civility, and comfort,—allowing for the higher chances of a smash, and
the inferiority of our second-class carriages—the English railway system
is immeasurably to be preferred to the Brench or German. Indeed I
know nothing half so striking in the way of distinction between matters
at home and abroad, as the contrast in the demeanour, voice, and
behaviour of everybody about the railway-stations, when you change the
lines on the other side the Channel for those on this. 1 look upon our
English railway-guards and porters as the modem Chesterfields. I
know no class equal to them for good breeding, patience, chivalrous
gallantry to women, fine manners, and sustained good temper. I
haven’t an idea how this consummation comes about. It can’t be the
Directors—they are a dreadful set of harpies and vultures, as we all know
from the leading-articles and letters in the newspapers. It can’t be the
influence of the occupation, which is hard and wearing, exposing the
men to all weathers when in motion, to dreary, monotonous watching and
waiting when on station duty. It can’t be the prospect of the “ tip,”
which they are forbidden to take, and which everybody is determined
to give. I dismiss the idea of that motive as alike insulting and in-
sufficient. But what cau it be ? The virtue is universal with the class.
I have sometimes observed a snappishness among the young gentle-
men who give out the tickets at the pigeon-holes. But then it
must be owned they are very hardly tried by sudden examinations in
Bradshaw, and difficulties about change. But the porters and guards
never fail one. They are all absolutely lambs, doves, angels in ribbed
corduroy or blue broad-cloth.
Abroad, on the other hand, from the moment your voiture sets you
down at a station, you feel yourself a mark for imposition and extortion,
a helpless victim of despotic forms, the bond-slave of a set of haughty
tyrants in uniform. They are all alike, from the ticket-clerk behind
the grating, who contemptuously thrusts you out your tickets, and is
quite capable of cheating you in your change, when you pay for them,
to the luggage-registering clerk in the cage, who makes out your luggage-
ticket, and blows you up, if you fumble with your billet, or have any
difficulties in handing him the exact amount demanded for trunks and
portmanteaus. When you have run the gauntlet of these tyrants, there
is the man on guard at the waiting-room door, who will not allow you to
pass in or out without showing your ticket, who separates you from
the wife of your bosom or the friend of your youth, supposing them to
have accompanied you with a view to an affectionate farewell at the
last moment; and then, when you have been swept in the rush out of
the waiting-room on to the platform, you find yourself out of the
frying-pan in the fire, in the hands of a despot and slave-driver, to
whom the oppressors you have hitherto had to deal with are meek and
merciful. This is, of course, the guard, who orders you about, crams
you with fiendish satisfaction into the last place of a crowded carriage,
with an empty one on each side of it, clamours down your remon-
strances, gives you the lie direct, separates your party, laughs at your
discomfort, and seems altogether to revel in the opportunity of making
you feel that for the time being the power is his, and that he means to
abuse it. Bleas may be a nuisance, beggars a bore, musquitoes an
infliction, small wash-hand basins an evil, pestering ciceroni a torment;
vin ordinaire is uot, as a rule, delicious ;—but I declare solemnly, that
as far as my experience goes, travelling has no nuisance, irritation and
discomfort comparable to the foreign railway official. He is at least as
open to a “ tip ” as his British brother; but the one is civil to you,
though you never offer him a sixpence; the other is uncivil, though
you try to propitiate him with five-franc pieces.
The contrast between the two puzzles me. I cannot understand
why the railway uniform should transform John Bull into a Grandi-
son and Johnny Crapaud into a Legree. As for the German railway
people they are, if possible, worse than the Brench—because they
are clumsy and stupid, besides being overbearing and oppressive.
If the difference be caused by the fact that England is a constitu-
tional country, and Brance and Germany paternal despotisms, I can
only wonder that the difference should be felt so much in this and so
little in other things.
But whatever the cause, the difference I insist upon is more marked
and more operative on a traveller’s comfort, than any other distinction
between this tight little island and the big loose Continent beside it.
But I admit it is at this point the balance must be struck, if one means
to keep up the old notion that England is the country for neatness,
cleanliness, kindliness, practical good sense, and all other things that
conduce to comfort. If one goes further—to the refreshment rooms,
the hotels, the eating-houses, the shops with their ministering spirits,—
waiters, and shop-men and women—and their appliances—beds, fur-
niture, bed and table linen, washing, cookery, service, &c., &c.—then
I am bound to own that England stands fearfully below neighbouring
Continental countries. I am forced to the conclusion that m all that
relates to the accommodation and enjoyment of the traveller, England
cannot hold her own for an instant with foreign parts—that she falls
below them as far in comfort, cleanliness, convenience, and common-
sense as in cheapness. I throw this paradoxical proposition down at
the end of this paper, and give the reader a week to digest it. Next
week I will tell him on what grounds I maintain so seemingly unpa-
triotic a doctrine.
The Celtic Water Cure.
Captain Hans Busk, of the Yictoria Bifles, writing to the Times
on the subject of suppressing riots, observes :—
“ As soon as a popular tumult assumes a threatening aspect, nothing mor ia
necessary in order to quell it than a couple of fire-engines, supported by a detach-
ment of police, who have only then to direct a steady horizontal jet of water full
at the head of the mob.”
A capital suggestion. We will only venture to improve upon it by
recommending that the fluid employed to disperse riotous Irish Yahoos
should be particularly pure, because those creatures have a peculiar
antipathy to clean water.