Punch (45.1863)

December 26, 1866 1

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

255

MARRIAGE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

AMENITIES FROM MIDHURST.

Y Dear Punch,

1 am a hand-
some man, and I
have a handsome
income, and I
lately have been
looking for a hand-
some wife tomatch-
But I declare to
you I do so with
no little fear and
trembling, now
that Ihavechanced
to see the follow-
ing advertisement,,
which appeared
the other morning
in a Nottingham-
shire newspaper

T MARY W—,

J-} of -»-, do

hereby caution the
Public against trust-
ing my husband,

John W-; for he

will never pay them.

Good gracious,
Mr. Punch! did
you ever hear of
such a dreadful
piece of tyranny ?
I could not have
believed a wife
would have be-
haved so brutally ?
Why, by Jove!
the woman actually would prevent her husband’s being a credit to
his tailor ! Is not this bare fact sufficient to frighten any handsome
bachelor from committing matrimony ? Very certainly I feel much more
nervous than I did about it. But after all, you know, perhaps the
notice was inserted only as a joke, and so the best we can do—espe-
cially in Punch—is just to have a laugh at it.

Yours in single blessedness (at present),

Narcissus Crcesus Ccelebs.

P.S. I think allusions to the “ grey mare ” are exceedingly indelicate;
still, if this notice be no joke, but written in grim earnest, I certainly
might feel inclined to wonder if the writer ever uses a side-saddle: nor
would it much astonish me to hear she clothed the crural portion of her
figure with a garment much too manly to be fashioned by a milliner.

ALDERLEY EDGE TAKEN OEE.

Oe course, when Mr. Punch takes a British nobleman in hand, that
British nobleman is either brought upon his knees, or he is consigned to
the Asylum for Idiots. But Mr. Punch is always very happy when a
slight and gentlemanly hint—suaviter in modo—spares him the trouble
of extreme measures of any kind. He is delighted to find that in the
case of Lord Stanley of Alderley-Edge, or rather of Lord Stanley
of Alderley-opposite-Edge, the mere intimation that Mr. Punch wished
to see his Lordship on a post office matter has produced the most bene-
ficial results. The grievance, touching which Mr. Punch was inundated
with letters from enraged Edgers, is understood to exist no longer, and
the Post Master General is hereby informed that he may remain in
office quamdiu se bene gesserit. The Testimonial from Alderley Edge
may be sent up as soon as the Edgers please.

The Rochdale News Reader.

He never reads his Times,

But lets contentment, like a moke i’ th’ gorse.
Browse on the Penny Press.

“ IL EAUT SOUFEUIK POUR ETRE BELL.”

People who profess to know something about music (but must not
for that reason be thought musical professors), have been complaining
that Big Ben is not quite “true” in tone since he was cracked. Well,
so long as Ben keeps true to time, we will not quarel with his tone : and
for his want of truth in that, respect we shall console ourselves by think-
ing that “ Si non e vero, e Ben irovato.”

R—OH—D C—BD—N TO J. T. D—L—E.

You’re a bully, you’re a toady, you’re a stabber in a mask,

You cold-shoulder Richard Cobden, in West-end smiles to bask :
You’re a Janus with two faces : one tongue to lick swells’ shoes,

And one to stick in your cheek at me, and my friend Bright to abuse.
Tow, Row, Row ! Hide your brassy brow !

Own if e’er there was a flunkey you’re one now !

Your paper’s a tissue of falsehoods and imputes the worst of crimes—
Not that ever I’d bemean myself to read your nasty Times.

No—I blush for self and species, whene’er your broad-sheet I see,
Which I can’t help doing sometimes, but it’s quite promiscuouslie!
Tow, Row, Row ! Don’t think me to cow.

I’m not nice when out of humour, and that’s now !

I once declared a sheet of the Times,—though it, only cost a groat—
Was worth all the crabbed Greek that ever Thucydides wrote :

But that, was a rash comparison, which I solemnly disavow :

I couldn’t read Thucydides t hen, and I can’t read the Times now.

Tow, Row, Row ! Grovel and kotow •

But don’t think to your dictation I will bow !

You’re a vile anonymous scribbler, you wear a mask on your face,

With “ Editor of the Times ” pinned on to your coat, in a prominent place.
And nobody knows who the Times is, and everybody knows you,

And I’m not quite clear which I’m savage at, but I do feel savage I in.
Tow, Row, Row! Curl your cynic brow !

I’m as cool as a cucumber, Sir, I vow !

How you can call folks such names, and throw out such insinuations,
And use such horrid language, and cast such imputations,

I can’t imagine, being myself a party not given to scold.

But one, who, like Bright, when his right cheek’s slapped, his left for
a slap will hold !

Tow, Row, Row ! Have you had enow !

Print this, or I mean to kick up such a row !

New Law for Bruisers.

A Prize-eight has no right to be turned into a wresuing-match.
In the Ring, as at the Bar, the understanding should be, “No buggery
allowed.”