DOI Heft:
December 5, 1863
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16872#0236
December 5, 1863.]
225
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
PAINFUL SITUATION OF A FATHER OF THE CHURCH.
“I say, Guv'nor, give us sixpennuth o’ bronze for a Tizzy, to toss loith Shiney Villiam."
THE CONGRESS CORRESPONDENCE.
BY OUR OWN PATENT HIGH-PRESSURE CONDENSING ENGINE.
THE EUTURE OE THE EINIANS.
To Mr. Punch.
Sir,—To give you some faint idea of the bashfulness of
an Irishwoman (that of an Irishman has been long well
known), I beg to forward you “ The Future of the Finians.”
Yours truly, An Irishwoman.
Whoop, ould Eyrian, rouse up from your slumbers,
Sure 'tis we have the illigant news,
How the Finians are coming in numbers.
To make Saxons shake in their shoes ;
Their raal ould aincient Milasians,
Who tuck all the “ castles in Spain,”
To be backed be their Yankee relations
Whin they’ve washed their own blackymoor clane.
’Tis quite sartain they flourished at Bable,
Of which they wor always called bricks.
An at Eyrian first cast their cable,
Whin the tin thribes wor cuttin’ their sticks ;
An besides whin they all lost their sinses.
Whin their languidges all wint asthray,
They stuck to the ould. tongue like princes,
An talk “ Babble ” down to this day.
Whoop hubbaboo tare an ages,
What dhread on ould Palmy now falls,
Arrah! where will they all find safe cages
Whin the Finians are bombing St. Paul’s?
Yeh, thin, where is that famous Zealandher?
Till he ready gits pincil and book,
He’ll be hardly in time, the slow gandher,
London Bridge, if not broken, is shook.
An won’t we too who niver “bethrayed her,”
All join in the beautyful row,
Marching joyful to meet the invadhor,
With cabbage-laives wraithing aitch brow.
Thin the green flag an stars an sthripes wavin’
Togither in joy will be seen.
An the Saxons for mercy vain cravin’,
Must to Jarminey thramp width their Queen.
Oh ’tis thin our Reypublic will flourish,
That’s publican’s licker cost free,
So that our poor hearts we can nourish,
An no more blighted praties we ’ll see;
A presarve full of landlords for shootin’
We’ll keep till the race i3 extinct,
An the whole thribe of agints uprootin’,
We ’ll pay no more taxes or rint.
No. 1.—Napoleon to Victoria.
Madame ma Soeur,—Folks don’t believe in my pacific intentions. I invite you
and all the Sovereigns to a Congress.
Madame ma soeur, de votre Majestd, le bon lrere, Napoleon.
No. 2.—Russell to Cowley.
Tell the Emperor that we are considering his letter. Say everything civil.
We ’ll be all sint to Aishey to colledge,
Where one Goodle* they say keeps a school.
Who spakes Irish width great taste and knowledge,
An taches its grammar be rule;
He’s full cousin, I’m tould, to O’Foodle,
Who lid on our army of yore,
An own cousin to ivery McNoodle,
Who flocked to our sthandhard before.
No. 3.—From the Same to the Same.
We have considered, and don’t think the Congress necessary. Neither the
Treaty of Westphalia nor that of Utrecht was revised at a Congress, and the
Treaty of Vienna is, mainly, in full force. However, the Emperor can let us know
exactly what he proposes to discuss, and whether we are to be bound to lick any
monarchs who may not see things as the majority in Congress does. Keep, of
course, awfully civil.
No. 4—Drouyn de Lhuys to De Cadore.
We have nothing to say against the Treaty of Vienna; indeed the Emperor
has bound himself to observe all engagements, after which of course there can be
no doubt of his views. But we think it wants re-editing. We cannot, as the
youngest of Sovereigns, pretend to bind Congress, nor can we even sav for our-
selves, at present, whether we should feel inclined to fight or not. We should
like to overhaul Poland, Denmark, the Turkish provinces, Italy, and Rome.
No. 5.—Russell to Cowley.
We have nothing to gain or lose. We don’t see that a Congress will set matters
square. Nobody will give up anything. We have been preaching to Russia foi
months about Poland, and have been snubbed. Would the Pope recognise tin
King oe Italy ? Would Austria give up Venice ? What have Spain and Turkey
to do with Denmark? And really, is it asked that a Congress shall mee>
about Mouldy-Wallachia ? All bosh. But I shall be too happy to write despatche-
to everybody about everything, till all’s blue.
So, say, with the most intense civility, that we are not coming.
’Tis that Paat.hriarch great from the Aiste, Sir,
Larning’s light will thin shedow our path,
Winn the blissings of paice we shall taste, Sir,
An we shaithe our good broadswoords of lath,-?
In the Castle our own King will reign thin.
Full an plinty aitch iv us to give,
Ould Eyrian will thin be our own whin
We’ll all go to London to live.
There we’ll practise aitch ould ancient game. Sir,
Have beautiful fairs every day,
Width no could Saxon laws to make tame, Sir,
Our lives will be splindid and gay;
Thin whoop, hubbaboo, botheration,
Ould Eyrian, wake up to the news.
Sure ’tis we’ll be the illigant nation,
Au make Saxons shake in their shoes.
* This distinguished sage seems to be identical with “ Gadel ”
mentioned in Wright’s History of Ireland, pages 9 and 10.
f Perhaps the inimies of this Great Brotherhood in their mane
sperit of parsicution may not wish it to be made ginerally known,
that with the noble consisthency which marks their intire behavor,
they shuite their arms to their heads, an phractise the swoord exer-
cise width laths—width which “ wooden arguments ” they are reddy
an willin to meet any Saxon that iver Aid before a Dane.—Note by one
of the Brotherhood.
225
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
PAINFUL SITUATION OF A FATHER OF THE CHURCH.
“I say, Guv'nor, give us sixpennuth o’ bronze for a Tizzy, to toss loith Shiney Villiam."
THE CONGRESS CORRESPONDENCE.
BY OUR OWN PATENT HIGH-PRESSURE CONDENSING ENGINE.
THE EUTURE OE THE EINIANS.
To Mr. Punch.
Sir,—To give you some faint idea of the bashfulness of
an Irishwoman (that of an Irishman has been long well
known), I beg to forward you “ The Future of the Finians.”
Yours truly, An Irishwoman.
Whoop, ould Eyrian, rouse up from your slumbers,
Sure 'tis we have the illigant news,
How the Finians are coming in numbers.
To make Saxons shake in their shoes ;
Their raal ould aincient Milasians,
Who tuck all the “ castles in Spain,”
To be backed be their Yankee relations
Whin they’ve washed their own blackymoor clane.
’Tis quite sartain they flourished at Bable,
Of which they wor always called bricks.
An at Eyrian first cast their cable,
Whin the tin thribes wor cuttin’ their sticks ;
An besides whin they all lost their sinses.
Whin their languidges all wint asthray,
They stuck to the ould. tongue like princes,
An talk “ Babble ” down to this day.
Whoop hubbaboo tare an ages,
What dhread on ould Palmy now falls,
Arrah! where will they all find safe cages
Whin the Finians are bombing St. Paul’s?
Yeh, thin, where is that famous Zealandher?
Till he ready gits pincil and book,
He’ll be hardly in time, the slow gandher,
London Bridge, if not broken, is shook.
An won’t we too who niver “bethrayed her,”
All join in the beautyful row,
Marching joyful to meet the invadhor,
With cabbage-laives wraithing aitch brow.
Thin the green flag an stars an sthripes wavin’
Togither in joy will be seen.
An the Saxons for mercy vain cravin’,
Must to Jarminey thramp width their Queen.
Oh ’tis thin our Reypublic will flourish,
That’s publican’s licker cost free,
So that our poor hearts we can nourish,
An no more blighted praties we ’ll see;
A presarve full of landlords for shootin’
We’ll keep till the race i3 extinct,
An the whole thribe of agints uprootin’,
We ’ll pay no more taxes or rint.
No. 1.—Napoleon to Victoria.
Madame ma Soeur,—Folks don’t believe in my pacific intentions. I invite you
and all the Sovereigns to a Congress.
Madame ma soeur, de votre Majestd, le bon lrere, Napoleon.
No. 2.—Russell to Cowley.
Tell the Emperor that we are considering his letter. Say everything civil.
We ’ll be all sint to Aishey to colledge,
Where one Goodle* they say keeps a school.
Who spakes Irish width great taste and knowledge,
An taches its grammar be rule;
He’s full cousin, I’m tould, to O’Foodle,
Who lid on our army of yore,
An own cousin to ivery McNoodle,
Who flocked to our sthandhard before.
No. 3.—From the Same to the Same.
We have considered, and don’t think the Congress necessary. Neither the
Treaty of Westphalia nor that of Utrecht was revised at a Congress, and the
Treaty of Vienna is, mainly, in full force. However, the Emperor can let us know
exactly what he proposes to discuss, and whether we are to be bound to lick any
monarchs who may not see things as the majority in Congress does. Keep, of
course, awfully civil.
No. 4—Drouyn de Lhuys to De Cadore.
We have nothing to say against the Treaty of Vienna; indeed the Emperor
has bound himself to observe all engagements, after which of course there can be
no doubt of his views. But we think it wants re-editing. We cannot, as the
youngest of Sovereigns, pretend to bind Congress, nor can we even sav for our-
selves, at present, whether we should feel inclined to fight or not. We should
like to overhaul Poland, Denmark, the Turkish provinces, Italy, and Rome.
No. 5.—Russell to Cowley.
We have nothing to gain or lose. We don’t see that a Congress will set matters
square. Nobody will give up anything. We have been preaching to Russia foi
months about Poland, and have been snubbed. Would the Pope recognise tin
King oe Italy ? Would Austria give up Venice ? What have Spain and Turkey
to do with Denmark? And really, is it asked that a Congress shall mee>
about Mouldy-Wallachia ? All bosh. But I shall be too happy to write despatche-
to everybody about everything, till all’s blue.
So, say, with the most intense civility, that we are not coming.
’Tis that Paat.hriarch great from the Aiste, Sir,
Larning’s light will thin shedow our path,
Winn the blissings of paice we shall taste, Sir,
An we shaithe our good broadswoords of lath,-?
In the Castle our own King will reign thin.
Full an plinty aitch iv us to give,
Ould Eyrian will thin be our own whin
We’ll all go to London to live.
There we’ll practise aitch ould ancient game. Sir,
Have beautiful fairs every day,
Width no could Saxon laws to make tame, Sir,
Our lives will be splindid and gay;
Thin whoop, hubbaboo, botheration,
Ould Eyrian, wake up to the news.
Sure ’tis we’ll be the illigant nation,
Au make Saxons shake in their shoes.
* This distinguished sage seems to be identical with “ Gadel ”
mentioned in Wright’s History of Ireland, pages 9 and 10.
f Perhaps the inimies of this Great Brotherhood in their mane
sperit of parsicution may not wish it to be made ginerally known,
that with the noble consisthency which marks their intire behavor,
they shuite their arms to their heads, an phractise the swoord exer-
cise width laths—width which “ wooden arguments ” they are reddy
an willin to meet any Saxon that iver Aid before a Dane.—Note by one
of the Brotherhood.