DOI Heft:
October 17, 1863
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16872#0166
October 17, 1S63.]
nJNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
155
The Earthquake was felt, too, in many parts of London.
This is Old Beery, the Churchwarden, who declares that when
HE CAME OUT OF THE MaRQUIS OF GRANBY THE PAVEMENT HIT HIM ON
the Nose, and that his Street Door wouldn’t let him get his
Latch-key in.
ANTI-PUNCH LEAGUE.
That part of the public which is unfortunately obliged to look, occa-
sionally, at the Inferior Press, must have been struck with the recent
appearance of a large crop of paragraphs in abuse of Mr. Punch. The
simultaneous apparition of these tilings, and their clumsy family like-
ness, naturally indicate confederacy, and at this slack season of the year,
Mr. Punch thinks that it may amuse some of his readers to be informed
as to the little game of the accomplices. As a rule, of course, any
person who abuses Mr. Punch is either a fool, or a would-be contributor
whose writings have been rejected, but there is a trifle of novelty about
the little shower of mud which has been lately flung at that gentleman’s
windows, and the onslaught has been made for a sort of reason beyond
mere folly or spite.
Mr. Punch will own at once that he should have known nothing of
the terrible conspiracy if one of the accomplices had not split upon his
friends in the hope of obtaining a reward. He has furnished the fol-
lowing particulars, for which, of course, he has been paid, but he has
not been engaged by Mr. Punch, and is not likely to be.
_ It seems that a Meeting of distinguished literary men, held a short
time ago in a private room at a tavern near Holborn, suddenly awoke
to the conviction that something ought to be done to “put down Punch”
and set up a successor to that gentleman. The first gentleman who
put words to the idea was loudly cheered and promptly chaired, and
he assumed the headship of the meeting, with some little expenditure
of affidavit at being bothered with changing his seat. We see no
necessity for giving names, which nobody cares to know, but they have
been supplied by t he faithful traitor, and are also appended to letters
j in Mr. Punch's desk. ■
^ The Chairman said that there was no need for much cackle, as they
: all knew what they wanted. Here they sat, perhaps as gifted a set
I ot men as were ever touched with the fire-coal of genius {cheers), and
yet there was not, a man in that room who had not been insulted by
Punch's rejection of his contributions. {Yells.) Let ’em scrunch
Punch, and have a Punch of their own. {Loud cheers.)
A Speaker said that there could be no doubt that Punch was very
, inferior to what that meeting could produce. He would back himself,
for a new hat-
A Voice. “ Not before you want it, my boy.”
The Speaker said that such coarse and vulgar allusions were worthy
of the person who made them. If the meeting encouraged such bru-
tality, he would decline to associate with them. Some trouble was
caused by this literary gentleman’s irritability, but having had a little
more stimulant, he suddenly began to cry, and declared that he loved
the entire room, waiter and all, like brothers.
The Chairman said that this statement was uncommonly gratifying,
but a little from the point. He called attention to the necessity ot
attacking Punch right and left, and he supposed that everybody in the
room had some channel through which he could do it.
A Speaker said that he had been abusing Punch without cessation in
the columns of the Dirtyborough Liberator for seven years, and he would
do it for seven more; for Punch had sent him back some verses which
he had offered for nothing, and which were-
A Voice. “ Exactly worth it.” (Laughter.)
The Speaker would like to see the flippant idiot who had emitted
that asinine howl write anything half so good.
The Chairman said that such language was spicy, but had better be
kept for the journal which he hoped they would soon start.
Another Speaker said that Punch was a mere clique, and he hoped
they would take precious good care that none of the Punch men were
allowed to join the new journal. {Cheers.)
The Chairman asked whether anybody had got a good name for the
new affair.
A great number of names were suggested, but in each case somebody
or other recollected that a journal had come out with the name—and
gone out. The Bohemian seemed to find most favour, until somebody
suggested The Cad, which was instantly and outrageously cheered, and
glasses were ordered to christen the new sheet.
“ The Cad” having been drunk with all the honours,
The Chairman said that there were a few details to be considered,
such as finding a publisher who would trust them, artists who could
draw, and so on, but these might be discussed another time.
He would renew his urgent appeal to them all to bombard the old
humbug, Punch.
A Speaker pledged himself to go the entire hog in the_ Commercial
Lavatory, and he thought he could get what he wrote copied into the
Morning Starfish.
Another Speaker said that he was for pitching into the Times also.
That was as much a clique as Punch, and he could say himself that
though he had been on the press for years, and had sent to the Times a
book full of leading articles as specimens of his style, his contributions
had been returned unread. He knew that, for he had stuck little
pieces of paper between the sheets, and, when he came to examine
them, they hadn’t tumbled out. This was sheer insolence, and he would
say, pitch into the Times.
A Speaker said that he never gave the Times any quarter in his letter
to the Duffers' Gazette. He would henceforth also give it to Punch,
hot and hot.
The Chairman said that they knew of course what to say. Let ’em
keep on declaring that Punch was not/what it had been, that there were
days when it showed talent, but now its pictures were bad and its
writing worse, and that the public wanted a good slashing, dashing,
free spoken thing, that would make people feel uncomfortable, not
knowing who was to get into hot water next. That’s what they would
make the Cad.
A Speaker said he hoped they wouldn’t be too prudish. Punch was
read by the women, but he would write for men. They had no such
timid notions in Paris. Eesides, he flattered himself he knew women
well, and he knew that they didn’t think worse of a paper because they
could only enjoy it on the sly. {General applause.)
It was then agreed that the forthcoming Cad should be puffed in
every way, that such papers as could be “ got at” should be loaded
with paragraphs in abuse of Punch, and that in all public houses fre-
quented by the meeting, the gentleman present should lose no oppor-
tunity of saying loudly to waiters, or to one another (it the waiters were
too haughty to discuss the matter with them), that Punch was very bad
indeed.
The question of editorship then came up, upon which so fearful a row
ensued, that the landlord came up also, attended by a policeman, who
turned the literary gentlemen into the street. They have kept their
word, though, and the result has been, as Mr. Punch mentioned, the
shower of mud which has splashed his windows.
Silly snobs, go and pelt St. Paul’s with your paragraphs. Or better,
wash and work, and be honest and civil, and don’t be envious, and some
of you may come to a decent ending.
Obadiah on the Earthquake.
Among the numerous Correspondents of the Times on the subject of
the Earthquake, there was one gentleman who began his letter with
“ Respected Eriend,” and signed it with “ Thine ” instead of Yours.
A particular account of the Earthquake was to be expected from a
Quaker. The Eriends dislike titles of honour, but Mr. Punch hopes
that this gentleman will permit himself to be called in future an
Earthquaker.
nJNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
155
The Earthquake was felt, too, in many parts of London.
This is Old Beery, the Churchwarden, who declares that when
HE CAME OUT OF THE MaRQUIS OF GRANBY THE PAVEMENT HIT HIM ON
the Nose, and that his Street Door wouldn’t let him get his
Latch-key in.
ANTI-PUNCH LEAGUE.
That part of the public which is unfortunately obliged to look, occa-
sionally, at the Inferior Press, must have been struck with the recent
appearance of a large crop of paragraphs in abuse of Mr. Punch. The
simultaneous apparition of these tilings, and their clumsy family like-
ness, naturally indicate confederacy, and at this slack season of the year,
Mr. Punch thinks that it may amuse some of his readers to be informed
as to the little game of the accomplices. As a rule, of course, any
person who abuses Mr. Punch is either a fool, or a would-be contributor
whose writings have been rejected, but there is a trifle of novelty about
the little shower of mud which has been lately flung at that gentleman’s
windows, and the onslaught has been made for a sort of reason beyond
mere folly or spite.
Mr. Punch will own at once that he should have known nothing of
the terrible conspiracy if one of the accomplices had not split upon his
friends in the hope of obtaining a reward. He has furnished the fol-
lowing particulars, for which, of course, he has been paid, but he has
not been engaged by Mr. Punch, and is not likely to be.
_ It seems that a Meeting of distinguished literary men, held a short
time ago in a private room at a tavern near Holborn, suddenly awoke
to the conviction that something ought to be done to “put down Punch”
and set up a successor to that gentleman. The first gentleman who
put words to the idea was loudly cheered and promptly chaired, and
he assumed the headship of the meeting, with some little expenditure
of affidavit at being bothered with changing his seat. We see no
necessity for giving names, which nobody cares to know, but they have
been supplied by t he faithful traitor, and are also appended to letters
j in Mr. Punch's desk. ■
^ The Chairman said that there was no need for much cackle, as they
: all knew what they wanted. Here they sat, perhaps as gifted a set
I ot men as were ever touched with the fire-coal of genius {cheers), and
yet there was not, a man in that room who had not been insulted by
Punch's rejection of his contributions. {Yells.) Let ’em scrunch
Punch, and have a Punch of their own. {Loud cheers.)
A Speaker said that there could be no doubt that Punch was very
, inferior to what that meeting could produce. He would back himself,
for a new hat-
A Voice. “ Not before you want it, my boy.”
The Speaker said that such coarse and vulgar allusions were worthy
of the person who made them. If the meeting encouraged such bru-
tality, he would decline to associate with them. Some trouble was
caused by this literary gentleman’s irritability, but having had a little
more stimulant, he suddenly began to cry, and declared that he loved
the entire room, waiter and all, like brothers.
The Chairman said that this statement was uncommonly gratifying,
but a little from the point. He called attention to the necessity ot
attacking Punch right and left, and he supposed that everybody in the
room had some channel through which he could do it.
A Speaker said that he had been abusing Punch without cessation in
the columns of the Dirtyborough Liberator for seven years, and he would
do it for seven more; for Punch had sent him back some verses which
he had offered for nothing, and which were-
A Voice. “ Exactly worth it.” (Laughter.)
The Speaker would like to see the flippant idiot who had emitted
that asinine howl write anything half so good.
The Chairman said that such language was spicy, but had better be
kept for the journal which he hoped they would soon start.
Another Speaker said that Punch was a mere clique, and he hoped
they would take precious good care that none of the Punch men were
allowed to join the new journal. {Cheers.)
The Chairman asked whether anybody had got a good name for the
new affair.
A great number of names were suggested, but in each case somebody
or other recollected that a journal had come out with the name—and
gone out. The Bohemian seemed to find most favour, until somebody
suggested The Cad, which was instantly and outrageously cheered, and
glasses were ordered to christen the new sheet.
“ The Cad” having been drunk with all the honours,
The Chairman said that there were a few details to be considered,
such as finding a publisher who would trust them, artists who could
draw, and so on, but these might be discussed another time.
He would renew his urgent appeal to them all to bombard the old
humbug, Punch.
A Speaker pledged himself to go the entire hog in the_ Commercial
Lavatory, and he thought he could get what he wrote copied into the
Morning Starfish.
Another Speaker said that he was for pitching into the Times also.
That was as much a clique as Punch, and he could say himself that
though he had been on the press for years, and had sent to the Times a
book full of leading articles as specimens of his style, his contributions
had been returned unread. He knew that, for he had stuck little
pieces of paper between the sheets, and, when he came to examine
them, they hadn’t tumbled out. This was sheer insolence, and he would
say, pitch into the Times.
A Speaker said that he never gave the Times any quarter in his letter
to the Duffers' Gazette. He would henceforth also give it to Punch,
hot and hot.
The Chairman said that they knew of course what to say. Let ’em
keep on declaring that Punch was not/what it had been, that there were
days when it showed talent, but now its pictures were bad and its
writing worse, and that the public wanted a good slashing, dashing,
free spoken thing, that would make people feel uncomfortable, not
knowing who was to get into hot water next. That’s what they would
make the Cad.
A Speaker said he hoped they wouldn’t be too prudish. Punch was
read by the women, but he would write for men. They had no such
timid notions in Paris. Eesides, he flattered himself he knew women
well, and he knew that they didn’t think worse of a paper because they
could only enjoy it on the sly. {General applause.)
It was then agreed that the forthcoming Cad should be puffed in
every way, that such papers as could be “ got at” should be loaded
with paragraphs in abuse of Punch, and that in all public houses fre-
quented by the meeting, the gentleman present should lose no oppor-
tunity of saying loudly to waiters, or to one another (it the waiters were
too haughty to discuss the matter with them), that Punch was very bad
indeed.
The question of editorship then came up, upon which so fearful a row
ensued, that the landlord came up also, attended by a policeman, who
turned the literary gentlemen into the street. They have kept their
word, though, and the result has been, as Mr. Punch mentioned, the
shower of mud which has splashed his windows.
Silly snobs, go and pelt St. Paul’s with your paragraphs. Or better,
wash and work, and be honest and civil, and don’t be envious, and some
of you may come to a decent ending.
Obadiah on the Earthquake.
Among the numerous Correspondents of the Times on the subject of
the Earthquake, there was one gentleman who began his letter with
“ Respected Eriend,” and signed it with “ Thine ” instead of Yours.
A particular account of the Earthquake was to be expected from a
Quaker. The Eriends dislike titles of honour, but Mr. Punch hopes
that this gentleman will permit himself to be called in future an
Earthquaker.