DOI Heft:
November 14, 1863
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16872#0214
November 14, 1S63.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
203
FLOWERS FROM LE FOLLET.
HA
he following extract from Le
Follet, under the head of
“ Fashions for November,” ap-
pears fit to have rather been
published under that of “ Sport-
ing Intelligence: ”
‘ ‘ A band of the same width as the
pattes on the skirt is put on the body,
like a square berthe in front, and
forms a jockey behind.”
To be sure, the rider of a horse
running for the Derby could
hardly be spoken of as a “ j >ckey
behind.” There is, however, a
description of race in which the
competing quadrupeds are all
ridden on the crupper, and to this
class of animals perhaps we must
refer the creature that has a
band of the same width as the
pattes on the skirt put upon the
body; though pattes are not
situated on skirts, but consti-
tute the ext remities of four legs,
and are properly called hoofs in
the case of any creature capable
of carrying a jockey behind.
Le Follet has also the ensuing
remark about, bonnets :—
“ Many of them have soft crowns,
although these are not suited to the
style in which the hair is now worn.”
Begging pardon of a lady for contradicting her, we must tell the Editress of Le Follet
that, in our humble opinion, bonnets which have soft crowns—within or under them—are
particularly well suited to the fantastic style in which the hair is now worn.
THE RAM OF LIVERPOOL.
Air-
' The Ram of Derby.
As I was sailing the Mersey
I saw a wonderful Ram,
Which the people there they told me
Had frightened Uncle Sam.
Thinks I, it is no wonder
For the Ram’s as long as a street,
And his head is covered with iron
To smash whatever it meet.
And out, of the small of his back, Sir,
Is sticking a roaring flue,
And under his terrible stern, Sir,
Is no end of an awful screw.
And a Ram we know is addicted
To rushing about in play,
And it might be a wiry time, Sir,
For whatever got into his way.
They said he was going to Egypt,
At least so his owner states,
But suppose he mistook the turning,
And made for Davis’s straits.
I think that an honest drover
Might prove where he’d made a sale,
And not come smoothing us over
With a cock and a bullish tale.
And I think that Policeman Russell,
Who to keep the peace is bound ,
Has used a wise discretion
In clapping the Ram in the Pound.
A SHREWSBURY CAKE.
Mr. David Masson’s attention is respectfully solicited to the fol-
lowing extract from the Shrewsbury Chronicle.
Stop, though. We must explain.
No, on second thoughts, we will put it another way. Mr. Masson
will have the kindness to read these two verses :—
“ In a purer clime
My being fills with rapture ; waves of thought
Roll in upon my spirit ; streams sublime
Break over me unsought.
Give me now my lyre !
I feel the stirrings of a gift divine,
Within my bosom glows unearthly fire,
Lit by no skill of mine.”
They are preceded, in the complete poem, by nine more verses, which
Mr. Punch does not quote, because they touch upon matters to wffiich
he never adverts lightly.
Very well. Now, hear what the Salopian oracle has to say upon the
poem :—
“ These lines were composed by the celebrated John Milton, a short time before
his death ; but, strange to say, they have not been reprinted in any modem edition
of his works, and therefore are not much known. They are worthy of his glorious
genius.”
Now, as Mr. David Masson is supposed, and with reason, to be
more intimately acquainted with the writings of Mu. John Milton
than is any other author of the age, it is remarkable that the first men-
tioned Mr. M. should never have referred to this poem by the second
mentioned Mr. M. Especially as the Shrewsbury Chronicle gives a
certificate that the verses are worthy of Mr. Milton’s “ glorious
genius.”
When Mr. Masson shall have been sufficiently humbled by the
discovery that the Shrewsbury Chronicle knows more about Milton
than he does, and indeed knows so much as to be able to gauge the
genius of a poet, whose gjenius is not usually thought t o be easily gauged,
we will whisper something to him, for his comfort, in our very smallest
type.
The lines are not Milton*a at all, but are by an American lady, Elizabeth Lloyd, of Philadelphia. They
were re-published, in the Oswestry Advertiser, nearly two years ago.
Still, Mr. Punch begs to cling, with the tenacity of a scared limpet,
to the dogma of critical infallibility.
Query.—If you give two persons a seat in a cornfield, can this pro-
ceeding be called “ setting them by the ears P ”
A FOUL WORD FOR THE FAIR SEX.
Chivalrous Mr. Punch.
It is with mingled feelings of horror and disgust that I would
bring to your attention one of the most brutal outrages on women that
have ever yet been perpetrated. 1 cite it from an article in the Scotsman,
which treats of the admission of the fair sex to the medical protessiou,
and in so doing gives vent to a few vinegarish remarks upon a paper
which was read by a certain Mr. Brown, at the Social Science Congress
which was held a short while since. This gentleman—or gorilla, I
incline rather to call him—described the social status and distinction of
the sexes in language which it must have been most horrible to hear, if
this summary in the Scotsman be a credible report
“ Man is made for work ; his is the strong arm to expel poverty, to bring comfort
to the door. Woman is made, in common with bitter beer and tobacco, to urge him
to exertion, to soothe him in defeat.”
“Bitter beer and tobacco!” faugh! what a vile simile! Breathes
there a man with soul so dead as to talk of Lovely Woman in the same
breath with such things—such low, common, nasty, noisome, vulgar,
bestial things—as bitter beer and tobacco! Sir, surely such a senti-
ment could never have been emitted at the Social Science Congress. Its
president, Lord Brougham, has ever been a devoted admirer of the
ladies, and would not have suffered such an insult to be offered to them.
So I cannot but presume it was the Scotsman that invented the vile
words which it puts into the mouth of Mr. Brown : and instead of
begging you to call upon that gentleman to kick liim for the outrage
(which, as champion of the ladies, it would be the privilege ol Mr.
Punch to do), I would ask of you to pitch into the scribbler in the
Scotsman, and tell him—or it may be her, for I hear there are she-scnb-
blers in these degenerate days—that writers should take care, when
they epitomise a speech, not to weaken its effect by strong language of
their own.
I am, Sir, your, and the dear creatures,
Most sincere admirer and ever humble servant,
Beau Nash Buildings, Monday. Albany Eitz-Brtjmmell.
P.S. As for Woman, Lovely Woman, being ever made a Doctor—
u°di! Judy forbid sffch profanation of her sex! For only just consider,
Sir. ' How could ODe whisper a soft nothing to an ear that had been
hardened by the chaff of medical students and the language of the
schools : or how could one press tenderly the fingers which had just
been spreading a big blister, or dispensing a black dose?
Putting on the Drag.—Getting married.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
203
FLOWERS FROM LE FOLLET.
HA
he following extract from Le
Follet, under the head of
“ Fashions for November,” ap-
pears fit to have rather been
published under that of “ Sport-
ing Intelligence: ”
‘ ‘ A band of the same width as the
pattes on the skirt is put on the body,
like a square berthe in front, and
forms a jockey behind.”
To be sure, the rider of a horse
running for the Derby could
hardly be spoken of as a “ j >ckey
behind.” There is, however, a
description of race in which the
competing quadrupeds are all
ridden on the crupper, and to this
class of animals perhaps we must
refer the creature that has a
band of the same width as the
pattes on the skirt put upon the
body; though pattes are not
situated on skirts, but consti-
tute the ext remities of four legs,
and are properly called hoofs in
the case of any creature capable
of carrying a jockey behind.
Le Follet has also the ensuing
remark about, bonnets :—
“ Many of them have soft crowns,
although these are not suited to the
style in which the hair is now worn.”
Begging pardon of a lady for contradicting her, we must tell the Editress of Le Follet
that, in our humble opinion, bonnets which have soft crowns—within or under them—are
particularly well suited to the fantastic style in which the hair is now worn.
THE RAM OF LIVERPOOL.
Air-
' The Ram of Derby.
As I was sailing the Mersey
I saw a wonderful Ram,
Which the people there they told me
Had frightened Uncle Sam.
Thinks I, it is no wonder
For the Ram’s as long as a street,
And his head is covered with iron
To smash whatever it meet.
And out, of the small of his back, Sir,
Is sticking a roaring flue,
And under his terrible stern, Sir,
Is no end of an awful screw.
And a Ram we know is addicted
To rushing about in play,
And it might be a wiry time, Sir,
For whatever got into his way.
They said he was going to Egypt,
At least so his owner states,
But suppose he mistook the turning,
And made for Davis’s straits.
I think that an honest drover
Might prove where he’d made a sale,
And not come smoothing us over
With a cock and a bullish tale.
And I think that Policeman Russell,
Who to keep the peace is bound ,
Has used a wise discretion
In clapping the Ram in the Pound.
A SHREWSBURY CAKE.
Mr. David Masson’s attention is respectfully solicited to the fol-
lowing extract from the Shrewsbury Chronicle.
Stop, though. We must explain.
No, on second thoughts, we will put it another way. Mr. Masson
will have the kindness to read these two verses :—
“ In a purer clime
My being fills with rapture ; waves of thought
Roll in upon my spirit ; streams sublime
Break over me unsought.
Give me now my lyre !
I feel the stirrings of a gift divine,
Within my bosom glows unearthly fire,
Lit by no skill of mine.”
They are preceded, in the complete poem, by nine more verses, which
Mr. Punch does not quote, because they touch upon matters to wffiich
he never adverts lightly.
Very well. Now, hear what the Salopian oracle has to say upon the
poem :—
“ These lines were composed by the celebrated John Milton, a short time before
his death ; but, strange to say, they have not been reprinted in any modem edition
of his works, and therefore are not much known. They are worthy of his glorious
genius.”
Now, as Mr. David Masson is supposed, and with reason, to be
more intimately acquainted with the writings of Mu. John Milton
than is any other author of the age, it is remarkable that the first men-
tioned Mr. M. should never have referred to this poem by the second
mentioned Mr. M. Especially as the Shrewsbury Chronicle gives a
certificate that the verses are worthy of Mr. Milton’s “ glorious
genius.”
When Mr. Masson shall have been sufficiently humbled by the
discovery that the Shrewsbury Chronicle knows more about Milton
than he does, and indeed knows so much as to be able to gauge the
genius of a poet, whose gjenius is not usually thought t o be easily gauged,
we will whisper something to him, for his comfort, in our very smallest
type.
The lines are not Milton*a at all, but are by an American lady, Elizabeth Lloyd, of Philadelphia. They
were re-published, in the Oswestry Advertiser, nearly two years ago.
Still, Mr. Punch begs to cling, with the tenacity of a scared limpet,
to the dogma of critical infallibility.
Query.—If you give two persons a seat in a cornfield, can this pro-
ceeding be called “ setting them by the ears P ”
A FOUL WORD FOR THE FAIR SEX.
Chivalrous Mr. Punch.
It is with mingled feelings of horror and disgust that I would
bring to your attention one of the most brutal outrages on women that
have ever yet been perpetrated. 1 cite it from an article in the Scotsman,
which treats of the admission of the fair sex to the medical protessiou,
and in so doing gives vent to a few vinegarish remarks upon a paper
which was read by a certain Mr. Brown, at the Social Science Congress
which was held a short while since. This gentleman—or gorilla, I
incline rather to call him—described the social status and distinction of
the sexes in language which it must have been most horrible to hear, if
this summary in the Scotsman be a credible report
“ Man is made for work ; his is the strong arm to expel poverty, to bring comfort
to the door. Woman is made, in common with bitter beer and tobacco, to urge him
to exertion, to soothe him in defeat.”
“Bitter beer and tobacco!” faugh! what a vile simile! Breathes
there a man with soul so dead as to talk of Lovely Woman in the same
breath with such things—such low, common, nasty, noisome, vulgar,
bestial things—as bitter beer and tobacco! Sir, surely such a senti-
ment could never have been emitted at the Social Science Congress. Its
president, Lord Brougham, has ever been a devoted admirer of the
ladies, and would not have suffered such an insult to be offered to them.
So I cannot but presume it was the Scotsman that invented the vile
words which it puts into the mouth of Mr. Brown : and instead of
begging you to call upon that gentleman to kick liim for the outrage
(which, as champion of the ladies, it would be the privilege ol Mr.
Punch to do), I would ask of you to pitch into the scribbler in the
Scotsman, and tell him—or it may be her, for I hear there are she-scnb-
blers in these degenerate days—that writers should take care, when
they epitomise a speech, not to weaken its effect by strong language of
their own.
I am, Sir, your, and the dear creatures,
Most sincere admirer and ever humble servant,
Beau Nash Buildings, Monday. Albany Eitz-Brtjmmell.
P.S. As for Woman, Lovely Woman, being ever made a Doctor—
u°di! Judy forbid sffch profanation of her sex! For only just consider,
Sir. ' How could ODe whisper a soft nothing to an ear that had been
hardened by the chaff of medical students and the language of the
schools : or how could one press tenderly the fingers which had just
been spreading a big blister, or dispensing a black dose?
Putting on the Drag.—Getting married.