DOI Heft:
August 15, 1863
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16872#0074
August 15, 1863.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
63
AMUSEMENT AT WINCHESTER.
YEK-WE ABIED of
crowded streets,
maddened by or-
gan grinders, ob-
structed by pla-
card-bearers and
tired of crammed
omnibuses lined
■with puffs of cheap
tea and shirts,
catch-penny inven-
tions, and penny
papers, I seceded
from London to
spend the dog-days
without the fear of
hydrophobia.
“ To rejoice in a
fewhoursof special
quietude, I betook
myself one day to
the ancient City
of Winchester, in
whose venerable
Cathedral, at the
back of the altar-
screen, inscribed
by the veracious
monks of old, you
will find these
lines:—
Corpora sanctorum sunt hie in pace sepulta,
Ex meritis quorum fulgent miracula multa.”
“ Sir, I wish the relics of the saints at Winchester would cure rheu-
matism, and replace some of those teeth the loss of which is so injurious
to digestion and articulation. However, this I will say, that there is,
around the place where those remains are said to be buried in peace, a
sphere, or atmosphere of repose which is very soothing to the nervous
system. It extends around the Cathedral to some distance, and espe-
cially along Kingsgate Street; a thoroughfare in which the passengers
may be described as mostly invisible. You meet hardly anybody, but
seem to feel that those whom you cannot see are passing you. So to
speak, few but ghosts walk in Kingsgate Street. The houses look as
if their present occupants had departed this life. Under these circum-
stances, anybody but a gross materialist is naturally or supernaturally,
and humbug apart, disposed to inquire ‘ Are there any spirits present p ’
But the other day, when I found myself under their influence, the added
condition of a high material temperature compelled me rather to ask
‘ Is there any beer? 5 A prompt answer to this invocation occasioned
an immediate adjournment to the Crown, a hostelry which is one of
those few in which the landlord now-a-days keeps good old ale. Experto
crede; and, if ever you pass through Kingsgate Street, Winchester,
and the echoes of your heels raise spirits that depress your own, to
refresh your soul try Mb. Watts’s tap. But, Sir, I went into his
coffee-room, and there I not only enjoyed his ale, but also an advertise-
ment, (so different from the London puffs which I detest.,) the idea
whereof may have been, if not inspired by the genius loci, carefully
adapted to it. This was an illustrated prospectus of the ‘ Accidental
Death Insurance Company.’ It included an Almanack, surrounded by
a series of oval borders corresponding to the twelve months of the year,
and each containing an illustration of a fatal accident suitable to the
month. For January was represented a skater slipping through the
ice. For February, a shipwreck. For March, a cannon, during artillery-
practice, bursting and killing a volunteer. For April, a collision be-
tween two steamers at sea. For May, a railway collision. For June,
a boat containing a lady, and attendant gents, upset. For July a gig
with a gent in it capsized by lightning. For August, a man gored by a
bull. For September, a man thrown from his horse, and pitching on
his head. For October, a Volunteer withdrawn from a Beview, and
swooning under surgical assistance against a tree; supposed to have
been shot with a ramrod. For November, a woman run over in a fog.
For December, a house on fire; female with child appearing at a window
m the flames; fireman below, too late.
“ Too late, too late, ye cannot enter now,’’
as I heard a young lady sing, to my edification, the other evening, in a
party at a most, unseasonable hour.
“Now, Sir, this illustrated prospectus of the Accidental Death Insur-
ance Company amused me more than any caricatures I have seen for
some time, except yours. The notion of enticing a man to insure his
life by pictorial embellishments of the various casualties by which lie
may be killed, is genuine commercial humour. Think how highly
attractive it is—much more so than ‘ Sydenham 17<s. 6<#.,’ and all that
style of thing. It is just the sort of fun I like. And it has a moral
purpose. Every Paterfamilias should insure his life from loss by
accident in these railway times. I should, if I had any relations that I
care about. As it is I shall buy an annuity, instead of insuring my life
at all; and I am, “ Smelfungus.”
“ The Owl in the Ivy, August, 1863.”
TRUTH ON TOMBSTONES.
Mb. Monsell accused Mb. Newdegate of having hounded the late
Mb. Tubnbull to death by insisting that, as a violent religious par-
tisan, he was not to be trusted as Calendarer in the State Paper Office.
Sib Geobge Bowyeb backed Mb. Monsell’s accusation by asserting
that Mb. Tubnbull had died of a broken heart, as in fact he did, if
rupture of the heart is the same thing with bronchitis, and if heretics
can excite inflammation in the breast of a zealous Catholic by declaring
their want of confidence in him under circumstances in which the
interests of his Church are concerned. Can Sib Geobge Bowteb
demonstrate that this is so ? In that case he has made a discovery in
nosology for which the College of Physicians ought to send him an
honorary diploma.
Mb. Newdegate, however, in a letter to Mb. Monsell, repels the
imputation of having, like an East wind or a fog, affected poor Mb.
Tubnbull with fatal pulmonary disease. Incidentally in this document,
he makes, with reference to a certain Oratorian burying-ground at
Sydenham, a statement which, if accurate, raises an interesting question.
He says, referring to a speech in the House of Commons :—
“ The facts I stated referred to the late Mr. William Hutchinson, who was
buried on the 16th of this month at Sydenham, except the misdescription of the
deceased upon his tombstone, which applied to the late Mr. Frederick Fortescue
Wells, who is described on his tombstone as Albanus Wells.”
If, then, Mb. Newdegate, has been rightly informed, a man who
was named Fbedebick. Fobtescue is on his tombstone called Albanus.
How was his name registered ? As Albanus too ? If so, we should
like to know what the law says about such a registration, and if it says
nothing, what security it has provided against false entries on the
register.
Of course, if James Bugg may call himself Nobfolk Howabd, a
gentleman whose godfathers and godmothers gave him the names of
Fbedebick Fobtescue is, or should be, at liberty to renounce them
for Albanus, or Vitus, or any other which his taste may prefer to
them. But then the change should be duly advertised and recorded.
To preclude mistake a reminiscence of the old names might be preserved
by an alias. A misnomer on a tombstone may create a flaw in a pedi-
gree. Heirs may be wronged by an epitaph whose “ Hie Jacet’1 may
be ambiguously translated “ Here lies.”
But perhaps we shall be reminded that the defunct who rest in the
cemetery of the Oratorians at Sydenham cannot leave any posterity, and
that if they could, unless in the case of a very tightly entailed estate,
good care has been taken that no question touching the inheritance of
their property shall ever arise to trouble any of their descendants.
PHILANTHROPY AT THE SEASIDE.
The Royal National Lifeboat Institution met on Thursday last week
at its house in John Street, Adelphi, Mb. Thomas Chapman, F.R.S.,
Vice-President in the Chair. Etymology suggests that the Adelphi is
a fitting site for the offices of an Institution which is based on the
principle of human brotherhood. It has been the means of saving in
the course of the past year no less than 339 lives from the maw of
the sea.
Out of the number above stated, the figures 123—a remarkable suc-
cession—represent the persons saved by the Society off their own bats,
that is to say, with their own boats, of which they count 125; in pro-
portion to the rescued, nearly a boat a man. To keep up these boats,
however, they require subscriptions to be kept up by subscribers, of
whom it may be said, “the more the merrier.” What fun, then, it will
be for all our opulent readers to contribute to the funds of the Lifeboat
Institution, which surely deserves the support of all who are able to
keep their own heads above water.
Fashion.
Dress.for Ladies Visiting the Moors.—Powder and shot silk. Married
ladies will of course get their husbands to see to the charge. Percussion
Caps are only suitable for matrons. As a harmless initiation into the
use of fire-arms, the prettiest girls should practise shooting glances
through double-barrelled opera-glasses.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
63
AMUSEMENT AT WINCHESTER.
YEK-WE ABIED of
crowded streets,
maddened by or-
gan grinders, ob-
structed by pla-
card-bearers and
tired of crammed
omnibuses lined
■with puffs of cheap
tea and shirts,
catch-penny inven-
tions, and penny
papers, I seceded
from London to
spend the dog-days
without the fear of
hydrophobia.
“ To rejoice in a
fewhoursof special
quietude, I betook
myself one day to
the ancient City
of Winchester, in
whose venerable
Cathedral, at the
back of the altar-
screen, inscribed
by the veracious
monks of old, you
will find these
lines:—
Corpora sanctorum sunt hie in pace sepulta,
Ex meritis quorum fulgent miracula multa.”
“ Sir, I wish the relics of the saints at Winchester would cure rheu-
matism, and replace some of those teeth the loss of which is so injurious
to digestion and articulation. However, this I will say, that there is,
around the place where those remains are said to be buried in peace, a
sphere, or atmosphere of repose which is very soothing to the nervous
system. It extends around the Cathedral to some distance, and espe-
cially along Kingsgate Street; a thoroughfare in which the passengers
may be described as mostly invisible. You meet hardly anybody, but
seem to feel that those whom you cannot see are passing you. So to
speak, few but ghosts walk in Kingsgate Street. The houses look as
if their present occupants had departed this life. Under these circum-
stances, anybody but a gross materialist is naturally or supernaturally,
and humbug apart, disposed to inquire ‘ Are there any spirits present p ’
But the other day, when I found myself under their influence, the added
condition of a high material temperature compelled me rather to ask
‘ Is there any beer? 5 A prompt answer to this invocation occasioned
an immediate adjournment to the Crown, a hostelry which is one of
those few in which the landlord now-a-days keeps good old ale. Experto
crede; and, if ever you pass through Kingsgate Street, Winchester,
and the echoes of your heels raise spirits that depress your own, to
refresh your soul try Mb. Watts’s tap. But, Sir, I went into his
coffee-room, and there I not only enjoyed his ale, but also an advertise-
ment, (so different from the London puffs which I detest.,) the idea
whereof may have been, if not inspired by the genius loci, carefully
adapted to it. This was an illustrated prospectus of the ‘ Accidental
Death Insurance Company.’ It included an Almanack, surrounded by
a series of oval borders corresponding to the twelve months of the year,
and each containing an illustration of a fatal accident suitable to the
month. For January was represented a skater slipping through the
ice. For February, a shipwreck. For March, a cannon, during artillery-
practice, bursting and killing a volunteer. For April, a collision be-
tween two steamers at sea. For May, a railway collision. For June,
a boat containing a lady, and attendant gents, upset. For July a gig
with a gent in it capsized by lightning. For August, a man gored by a
bull. For September, a man thrown from his horse, and pitching on
his head. For October, a Volunteer withdrawn from a Beview, and
swooning under surgical assistance against a tree; supposed to have
been shot with a ramrod. For November, a woman run over in a fog.
For December, a house on fire; female with child appearing at a window
m the flames; fireman below, too late.
“ Too late, too late, ye cannot enter now,’’
as I heard a young lady sing, to my edification, the other evening, in a
party at a most, unseasonable hour.
“Now, Sir, this illustrated prospectus of the Accidental Death Insur-
ance Company amused me more than any caricatures I have seen for
some time, except yours. The notion of enticing a man to insure his
life by pictorial embellishments of the various casualties by which lie
may be killed, is genuine commercial humour. Think how highly
attractive it is—much more so than ‘ Sydenham 17<s. 6<#.,’ and all that
style of thing. It is just the sort of fun I like. And it has a moral
purpose. Every Paterfamilias should insure his life from loss by
accident in these railway times. I should, if I had any relations that I
care about. As it is I shall buy an annuity, instead of insuring my life
at all; and I am, “ Smelfungus.”
“ The Owl in the Ivy, August, 1863.”
TRUTH ON TOMBSTONES.
Mb. Monsell accused Mb. Newdegate of having hounded the late
Mb. Tubnbull to death by insisting that, as a violent religious par-
tisan, he was not to be trusted as Calendarer in the State Paper Office.
Sib Geobge Bowyeb backed Mb. Monsell’s accusation by asserting
that Mb. Tubnbull had died of a broken heart, as in fact he did, if
rupture of the heart is the same thing with bronchitis, and if heretics
can excite inflammation in the breast of a zealous Catholic by declaring
their want of confidence in him under circumstances in which the
interests of his Church are concerned. Can Sib Geobge Bowteb
demonstrate that this is so ? In that case he has made a discovery in
nosology for which the College of Physicians ought to send him an
honorary diploma.
Mb. Newdegate, however, in a letter to Mb. Monsell, repels the
imputation of having, like an East wind or a fog, affected poor Mb.
Tubnbull with fatal pulmonary disease. Incidentally in this document,
he makes, with reference to a certain Oratorian burying-ground at
Sydenham, a statement which, if accurate, raises an interesting question.
He says, referring to a speech in the House of Commons :—
“ The facts I stated referred to the late Mr. William Hutchinson, who was
buried on the 16th of this month at Sydenham, except the misdescription of the
deceased upon his tombstone, which applied to the late Mr. Frederick Fortescue
Wells, who is described on his tombstone as Albanus Wells.”
If, then, Mb. Newdegate, has been rightly informed, a man who
was named Fbedebick. Fobtescue is on his tombstone called Albanus.
How was his name registered ? As Albanus too ? If so, we should
like to know what the law says about such a registration, and if it says
nothing, what security it has provided against false entries on the
register.
Of course, if James Bugg may call himself Nobfolk Howabd, a
gentleman whose godfathers and godmothers gave him the names of
Fbedebick Fobtescue is, or should be, at liberty to renounce them
for Albanus, or Vitus, or any other which his taste may prefer to
them. But then the change should be duly advertised and recorded.
To preclude mistake a reminiscence of the old names might be preserved
by an alias. A misnomer on a tombstone may create a flaw in a pedi-
gree. Heirs may be wronged by an epitaph whose “ Hie Jacet’1 may
be ambiguously translated “ Here lies.”
But perhaps we shall be reminded that the defunct who rest in the
cemetery of the Oratorians at Sydenham cannot leave any posterity, and
that if they could, unless in the case of a very tightly entailed estate,
good care has been taken that no question touching the inheritance of
their property shall ever arise to trouble any of their descendants.
PHILANTHROPY AT THE SEASIDE.
The Royal National Lifeboat Institution met on Thursday last week
at its house in John Street, Adelphi, Mb. Thomas Chapman, F.R.S.,
Vice-President in the Chair. Etymology suggests that the Adelphi is
a fitting site for the offices of an Institution which is based on the
principle of human brotherhood. It has been the means of saving in
the course of the past year no less than 339 lives from the maw of
the sea.
Out of the number above stated, the figures 123—a remarkable suc-
cession—represent the persons saved by the Society off their own bats,
that is to say, with their own boats, of which they count 125; in pro-
portion to the rescued, nearly a boat a man. To keep up these boats,
however, they require subscriptions to be kept up by subscribers, of
whom it may be said, “the more the merrier.” What fun, then, it will
be for all our opulent readers to contribute to the funds of the Lifeboat
Institution, which surely deserves the support of all who are able to
keep their own heads above water.
Fashion.
Dress.for Ladies Visiting the Moors.—Powder and shot silk. Married
ladies will of course get their husbands to see to the charge. Percussion
Caps are only suitable for matrons. As a harmless initiation into the
use of fire-arms, the prettiest girls should practise shooting glances
through double-barrelled opera-glasses.