DOI issue:
February 14, 1863
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16871#0077
February 14, 1863. j
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
G9
MUD THAT WON’T STICK.
F course, most
people have seeu a
capital old carica-
ture representing
a debtor behind
prison-bars, and a
drunken soldier
leaning against the
1 outside of the gaol.
They are cackling
politics, after the
fashion of the
Gushers of our own
time. The Debtor
says, “ I am dread-
fully alarmed for
our Liberties.”
“Hang (or some-
thing) our Lib-
Liberties,” hiccups
the soldier, “ itsk
our holy Religion
I’m afraid for.”
Mt. Punch must
reproduce this pic-
ture one of these
fine days, adapting
it for the benefit
of the Gushers. They are in such a dreadful state of mind about our
“ sacred institutions,” of which Gushery has appointed itself the
maudlin curator. One of the Gushers has been let loose upon Mr.
Punch, and this is a ladlefull of the mud-flood :—
“ The cankered jesters who write such venomous caricatures as ‘ The Naggletons ’
—who show us a brute of a man and a fiend of a woman, wrangling, snarling, and
tearing each other to pieces with their forked tongues, from morning till night and
from year’s end to year’s end—may have drawn their morbid diagnoses from solitary
experience or exceptional observation ; but their Ghastly Phantasmagoria are the
exception ; and attentive and healthy study of the real world and its ways will
suffice to convince those who are not incurably splenetic and saturnine, that the
rule is one of honesty, cheerfulness, faith, and love.”
“ Itsh our hic-holy marriages that I’m-hic-hic-afraid for.” Poor
dear Mr. and Mrs. Naggleton ! Only to think that their harmless
sparring should put a sentimentalist into such a condition. Hear him
again:—
“ ‘For better, for worse,’—what a depth, an Awfulness of Significance lies in
these four simple words 1 The Romanists hold marriage to be a sacrament; and
what, indeed, can be more sacramental than the solemn compact of love and union
which are to last for life—the earthly type of the love and union of the hereafter,
and which shall endure for ever ? ‘ For better, for worse.’ ”
Truly Awful!_ And what a new discovery is thus touchingly announced!
The Gusher quite affects us, and it is delightful to observe the ecstacy
of an awakening mind. When the Cockneys found the skeleton of a
donkey on Hampstead Heath, they looked pensively upon the anatomy,
and one of them, (he must have been a Gusher,) exclaimed “All, Sam,
we are fearfully and wonderfully made! There is an Awfulness of
Significance in a donkey.”
Still, sewers have gates, and all kinds of muddy gush should have
some limits. We alniost think that “ Ghastly Phantasmagoria” are
tall words for a conjugal squabble. But there are some sentimentalists
who can never resist a polysyllable. If it prove nothing else, it proves
that the writer can spell. Otherwise, we might take exception to such
a thunderous, blue-fire description of a scene of fire-side chat. Fever
mind. As Sir Edward Lytton observes—
‘1 From vulgar eyes a veil the Isis screens,
And fools on fools still ask what Hamlet vieans.”
The esoteric Naggletonian mystery is hidden from the Gushers. They
do not perceive that those wonderful dialogues are printed with a
purpose of Awful Significance. The “ Naggletons ” is one long warning
against the use of objectionable language; and now that we have
revealed this, Mr. Punch will, he is sure, have the sincerest plaudits
from his friends the Gushers, whose abusive words above-cited, would,
were they not used with an Awful Significance, procure the user a
prompt exclusion from what is venomously and morbidly called the
society of gentlemen, but, which are sanctified by the liig-h moral purpose
that underlies them. If they seem to the outside world a little behind
the taste of the day, a little more suited to certain defunct publications
of the street of the Holy Well, it must be remembered, first, that such
language has an Awful Significance, and secondly, that the journals
from which they may seem to be taken, no longer exist to afford scope
for Gushers. It is a misfortune to be before one’s Age—and Satirist.
So, with permission, Mr. Punch purposes to continue to exhibit his
Ghastly Phantasmagoria, despite objections from those whom the West-
minster Revieto brands as Bohemians, but in respect of whom Mr Punch
employs a milder name—at present.
YANKEE VALENTINES.
• Mrs. Stowe to Tom Brown.
Thanks, dear Tom Brown, for your sweet little speech,
On Exeter’s platform delightful.
Surrounded by Doves there, you scorn’d the owl’s screeclq
Of the foes to our Union so spiteful.
Dear Lincoln says, “ Oh, that Tom Brown,” then he sighs,,
For by patting his back you’ve brought tears in his eyes.
Lincoln to the Star of the North.
Friend Bright, I hope that thou ’It not take amiss
Some lines poetic from an ex-Wood-cutter,
Thy bunkum might well suit a place like this,
Would I could cut my stick I often mutter.
In our Smart Nation, how thy Starwould shine !
Why not come then, and be our Valentine ?
Secretary Seward to Earl Russell.
This terrible tussle,
The waste of blood, muscle.
And treasure, Lord Russell,
With sorrow you see,
While letters voluminous
Reprimands numerous,
And Lincoln so humorous,
Are too much for me.
From Hallecic’s aridity,
Cass Clay’s acidity,
Stanton’s stupidity,
Fain would I flee.
I hate a Democracy,
Adore Aristocracy,
Is this base hypocrisy P
Fiddle-de-dee.
Secretary Stanton to the Peace Society.
For peace I’ve always panted and by deed
Have shown that in my War Administration,
Can you assist me in my hour of need,
When I require another situation ?
My plan is—though some fancy that I blunder,
Our foes to frighten, not with shot but thunder.
General Butler to Barclay and Perkins’s Draymen,
So I hear, British Bulldogs, you’re making a lash,
In case I should visit your Nation,
I know Austria’s hero went off like a flash,
When you offer’d him a potation.
But 1 spurn ye, Tapsters ! you can’t make me smart,
For my hide tann’d by whipping’s as tough as my heart,.
Rev. Beecher to U. and L.
Union and Liberty, fair sisters twin,
How I adore ye !
But willingly would wade through blood up to the chin,
Could I restore ye
To these fond arms, but if poor U.
Must perish soon or later,
Why then let L. take Davis and his crew,
For without U. I’d hate her !
Secretary Chase to Kite Flyer, Air Street.
I’ve a lot of waste paper on hand,
And though some may deem me an oddity.
It’s more fit for air than for land.
So I ’ll sell you some of the commodity.
Tied to a kite’s tail off it goes,
And people will stare while they praise it, Sir,
For my greenbacks tell how the wind blows,
Though they are unable to raise it, Sir.
SingiDg, i'ol de riddy, tol lol, &c.
Cassius Clay to the Friends of Emancipation.
I love dear England for her generous heart.
True ! tender girls pout now and then at fond men;
So I at her—but grateful tears will start
When I think how she ransom’d all her Bondmen.
You ask why love that purse-proud England so ?
Why ! twenty million reasons I could show.
A Breach of Promise of Marriage.—A Runaway-Ring.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
G9
MUD THAT WON’T STICK.
F course, most
people have seeu a
capital old carica-
ture representing
a debtor behind
prison-bars, and a
drunken soldier
leaning against the
1 outside of the gaol.
They are cackling
politics, after the
fashion of the
Gushers of our own
time. The Debtor
says, “ I am dread-
fully alarmed for
our Liberties.”
“Hang (or some-
thing) our Lib-
Liberties,” hiccups
the soldier, “ itsk
our holy Religion
I’m afraid for.”
Mt. Punch must
reproduce this pic-
ture one of these
fine days, adapting
it for the benefit
of the Gushers. They are in such a dreadful state of mind about our
“ sacred institutions,” of which Gushery has appointed itself the
maudlin curator. One of the Gushers has been let loose upon Mr.
Punch, and this is a ladlefull of the mud-flood :—
“ The cankered jesters who write such venomous caricatures as ‘ The Naggletons ’
—who show us a brute of a man and a fiend of a woman, wrangling, snarling, and
tearing each other to pieces with their forked tongues, from morning till night and
from year’s end to year’s end—may have drawn their morbid diagnoses from solitary
experience or exceptional observation ; but their Ghastly Phantasmagoria are the
exception ; and attentive and healthy study of the real world and its ways will
suffice to convince those who are not incurably splenetic and saturnine, that the
rule is one of honesty, cheerfulness, faith, and love.”
“ Itsh our hic-holy marriages that I’m-hic-hic-afraid for.” Poor
dear Mr. and Mrs. Naggleton ! Only to think that their harmless
sparring should put a sentimentalist into such a condition. Hear him
again:—
“ ‘For better, for worse,’—what a depth, an Awfulness of Significance lies in
these four simple words 1 The Romanists hold marriage to be a sacrament; and
what, indeed, can be more sacramental than the solemn compact of love and union
which are to last for life—the earthly type of the love and union of the hereafter,
and which shall endure for ever ? ‘ For better, for worse.’ ”
Truly Awful!_ And what a new discovery is thus touchingly announced!
The Gusher quite affects us, and it is delightful to observe the ecstacy
of an awakening mind. When the Cockneys found the skeleton of a
donkey on Hampstead Heath, they looked pensively upon the anatomy,
and one of them, (he must have been a Gusher,) exclaimed “All, Sam,
we are fearfully and wonderfully made! There is an Awfulness of
Significance in a donkey.”
Still, sewers have gates, and all kinds of muddy gush should have
some limits. We alniost think that “ Ghastly Phantasmagoria” are
tall words for a conjugal squabble. But there are some sentimentalists
who can never resist a polysyllable. If it prove nothing else, it proves
that the writer can spell. Otherwise, we might take exception to such
a thunderous, blue-fire description of a scene of fire-side chat. Fever
mind. As Sir Edward Lytton observes—
‘1 From vulgar eyes a veil the Isis screens,
And fools on fools still ask what Hamlet vieans.”
The esoteric Naggletonian mystery is hidden from the Gushers. They
do not perceive that those wonderful dialogues are printed with a
purpose of Awful Significance. The “ Naggletons ” is one long warning
against the use of objectionable language; and now that we have
revealed this, Mr. Punch will, he is sure, have the sincerest plaudits
from his friends the Gushers, whose abusive words above-cited, would,
were they not used with an Awful Significance, procure the user a
prompt exclusion from what is venomously and morbidly called the
society of gentlemen, but, which are sanctified by the liig-h moral purpose
that underlies them. If they seem to the outside world a little behind
the taste of the day, a little more suited to certain defunct publications
of the street of the Holy Well, it must be remembered, first, that such
language has an Awful Significance, and secondly, that the journals
from which they may seem to be taken, no longer exist to afford scope
for Gushers. It is a misfortune to be before one’s Age—and Satirist.
So, with permission, Mr. Punch purposes to continue to exhibit his
Ghastly Phantasmagoria, despite objections from those whom the West-
minster Revieto brands as Bohemians, but in respect of whom Mr Punch
employs a milder name—at present.
YANKEE VALENTINES.
• Mrs. Stowe to Tom Brown.
Thanks, dear Tom Brown, for your sweet little speech,
On Exeter’s platform delightful.
Surrounded by Doves there, you scorn’d the owl’s screeclq
Of the foes to our Union so spiteful.
Dear Lincoln says, “ Oh, that Tom Brown,” then he sighs,,
For by patting his back you’ve brought tears in his eyes.
Lincoln to the Star of the North.
Friend Bright, I hope that thou ’It not take amiss
Some lines poetic from an ex-Wood-cutter,
Thy bunkum might well suit a place like this,
Would I could cut my stick I often mutter.
In our Smart Nation, how thy Starwould shine !
Why not come then, and be our Valentine ?
Secretary Seward to Earl Russell.
This terrible tussle,
The waste of blood, muscle.
And treasure, Lord Russell,
With sorrow you see,
While letters voluminous
Reprimands numerous,
And Lincoln so humorous,
Are too much for me.
From Hallecic’s aridity,
Cass Clay’s acidity,
Stanton’s stupidity,
Fain would I flee.
I hate a Democracy,
Adore Aristocracy,
Is this base hypocrisy P
Fiddle-de-dee.
Secretary Stanton to the Peace Society.
For peace I’ve always panted and by deed
Have shown that in my War Administration,
Can you assist me in my hour of need,
When I require another situation ?
My plan is—though some fancy that I blunder,
Our foes to frighten, not with shot but thunder.
General Butler to Barclay and Perkins’s Draymen,
So I hear, British Bulldogs, you’re making a lash,
In case I should visit your Nation,
I know Austria’s hero went off like a flash,
When you offer’d him a potation.
But 1 spurn ye, Tapsters ! you can’t make me smart,
For my hide tann’d by whipping’s as tough as my heart,.
Rev. Beecher to U. and L.
Union and Liberty, fair sisters twin,
How I adore ye !
But willingly would wade through blood up to the chin,
Could I restore ye
To these fond arms, but if poor U.
Must perish soon or later,
Why then let L. take Davis and his crew,
For without U. I’d hate her !
Secretary Chase to Kite Flyer, Air Street.
I’ve a lot of waste paper on hand,
And though some may deem me an oddity.
It’s more fit for air than for land.
So I ’ll sell you some of the commodity.
Tied to a kite’s tail off it goes,
And people will stare while they praise it, Sir,
For my greenbacks tell how the wind blows,
Though they are unable to raise it, Sir.
SingiDg, i'ol de riddy, tol lol, &c.
Cassius Clay to the Friends of Emancipation.
I love dear England for her generous heart.
True ! tender girls pout now and then at fond men;
So I at her—but grateful tears will start
When I think how she ransom’d all her Bondmen.
You ask why love that purse-proud England so ?
Why ! twenty million reasons I could show.
A Breach of Promise of Marriage.—A Runaway-Ring.