DOI Heft:
January 16, 1864
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16873#0029
January 16, 1864.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
21
FEATS ON THE ICE.
Pretty Figure cut by Mr. de Boots when attempting one or his Fascinating
Bows on the Ice.”
A NEW VERSION OE THE POPULAR AIR, THE
KIEL ROW.
(As sung by L. N., the great basso profondo, in the Imperial Concerts at
Compiegne, with unbounded applause.)
Weel in the Kiel row, the Kiel row, the Kiel rowr,
Weel in the Kiel row, I see my way to "win;
I ’ll lay my hie upon it, upon it, upon it,
I ’ll lay my life upon it, soon that pie my finger’s in!
John Bull might trust to Johnny,
If words were current money ;
But lie’s no match for Boney,
This letter-writer fine.
He snubbed my scheme so lightly.
And I felt angry slightly;
Now I retort, politely,
“ Tour Congress f What of mine ! ”
Chorus. Then weel in the Kiel row, &c.
Let Austria lean on Bussell,
Let Prussia brag and bustle,
But Deutschland’s flabby muscle
No terrors has for me ;
No Spree they ’ll find the Eider;
When Denmark sees beside her
Armed Prance, and me to guide her,
Then whose will Rhineland be ?
Chorus. Then weel in the Kiel row, &c.
JUSTICE TO IRELAND.
Sour,
Misther Admiral Pitzroy, waiting to the Times
about the Storrms and tliim great nautical pests, the Tim-
pests, and such like divarsions, says,—
“ There is usually about a day’s interval before Irish weather
reaches England,’ &c.
And who’s to blame for this ? Sure ’tis the mismanage-
ment of the Saxon. What’s to prevent them letting the
Lish weather start the day before, and then ’twill be here
in time.
I am, Sorr, yours contimptuously.
An Irish Owl.
THE NEW BABY.
“That’s done it!” said Mr. Punch.
The fact is, that he was breakfasting in his elegant and luxurious
apartment in the shadow of the Church of Saint Bride, the handsomest
spire, bar one, hi London. And he does not read the papers until after
breakfast, for he gets so indignant with bad English, brutal relieving
officers, base husbands, and puffing advertisements, that it is not giving
tan- play to his cook to mix such things up with an artistic breakfast.
So he takes them with his subsequent cigar, and meantime reads
Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy.
The bells of St. Bride suddenly dashed out into a wild chorus of
metallic jubilation.
“ Hallo! ” said Mi\ Punch, recalling his fine mino. irom Burton’s
celestial devils to terrestrial topics. “ Have I been publishing another
new volume, that the world is in ecstacies F ”
His Secretary entered.
Tkis_ young Nobleman, who is the heir-apparent to a dukedom, and
is qualifying himself, under Mr. Punch’s training, to be Prime Minister
when Pam: resigns in 1884, had divined his chief’s puzzledom, and at
once said,. with the most highly-bred composure, and as if continuing a
conversation,
“The Princess oe Wales presented ns with a Prince about nine
o’clock last night.”
“ The telegram must have been sent to my private residence,” said
Mr. Punch. “ How is the dear young lady going on ? ”
“ Excellently.’
“ Hooray ! And a Prince ? ”
“A Prince,” said the young Nobleman.
“ That’s done it,” said Mr. Punch.
“ I see what you mean,” said the young Nobleman.
“I should be sorry, my dear Marquis, if you did not. Explain what
I mean.”
“ You would say that this most opportune event has clinched the
nail. . That we previously felt it a duty to prevent King Christian
from being rcbbed by the Sausages, but that now it is also a pleasure to
aid him. That the darling Princess having given the Queen a grand-
son, the Prince a son, and the nation a pet, we are not going to let
Schleswig be taken from her father.”
“ Very well said, Marquis, but call it Slesvick for the future. That
is the good old title, and we won’t have the duchy Germanised, even in
name. Send beer to those ringers. I must write a nursery song for the
new baby.”
The Secretary withdrew, and hi ten minutes had made a beautiful
copy, on phik paper, of the following ditty, and was hurrying away_with
it to Erogmore:—
NURSERY SONG EOR THE NEW BABY.
O slumber, my darling, thy she is a Prince
Whom Mamma beheld skating not quite five hours since.
And Grandpapa Christian is off to the fray
With Germans, who’d steal his nice duchy away.
But slumber, my darling, the English are true, .
And they ’ll help him for love of Mamma and of you,
And the Channel fleet’s coming with powder and shot,
And the Germans must run, or they’ll catch it all hot.
We have only to add that the infant Prince will be christened
Edward Christian Punch Alexander John Bull Slesvick.
A Star in the Ice.
The London Star and New York Herald, in an article which describes
all England as in mourning because the Home Secretary has not
reversed another verdict by a jury, says that Townley has “ escaped
Scot free.” We do not know what is considered freedom in Scotland,
but in this country the being imprisoned in a lunatic asylum for
life, with the alternative of coming out to be hanged, is as mild an
allowance of freedom as even Mr. Lincoln would inflict on a Con-
federate. This gushing provincial Star and Herald should be a little
more truthful.
21
FEATS ON THE ICE.
Pretty Figure cut by Mr. de Boots when attempting one or his Fascinating
Bows on the Ice.”
A NEW VERSION OE THE POPULAR AIR, THE
KIEL ROW.
(As sung by L. N., the great basso profondo, in the Imperial Concerts at
Compiegne, with unbounded applause.)
Weel in the Kiel row, the Kiel row, the Kiel rowr,
Weel in the Kiel row, I see my way to "win;
I ’ll lay my hie upon it, upon it, upon it,
I ’ll lay my life upon it, soon that pie my finger’s in!
John Bull might trust to Johnny,
If words were current money ;
But lie’s no match for Boney,
This letter-writer fine.
He snubbed my scheme so lightly.
And I felt angry slightly;
Now I retort, politely,
“ Tour Congress f What of mine ! ”
Chorus. Then weel in the Kiel row, &c.
Let Austria lean on Bussell,
Let Prussia brag and bustle,
But Deutschland’s flabby muscle
No terrors has for me ;
No Spree they ’ll find the Eider;
When Denmark sees beside her
Armed Prance, and me to guide her,
Then whose will Rhineland be ?
Chorus. Then weel in the Kiel row, &c.
JUSTICE TO IRELAND.
Sour,
Misther Admiral Pitzroy, waiting to the Times
about the Storrms and tliim great nautical pests, the Tim-
pests, and such like divarsions, says,—
“ There is usually about a day’s interval before Irish weather
reaches England,’ &c.
And who’s to blame for this ? Sure ’tis the mismanage-
ment of the Saxon. What’s to prevent them letting the
Lish weather start the day before, and then ’twill be here
in time.
I am, Sorr, yours contimptuously.
An Irish Owl.
THE NEW BABY.
“That’s done it!” said Mr. Punch.
The fact is, that he was breakfasting in his elegant and luxurious
apartment in the shadow of the Church of Saint Bride, the handsomest
spire, bar one, hi London. And he does not read the papers until after
breakfast, for he gets so indignant with bad English, brutal relieving
officers, base husbands, and puffing advertisements, that it is not giving
tan- play to his cook to mix such things up with an artistic breakfast.
So he takes them with his subsequent cigar, and meantime reads
Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy.
The bells of St. Bride suddenly dashed out into a wild chorus of
metallic jubilation.
“ Hallo! ” said Mi\ Punch, recalling his fine mino. irom Burton’s
celestial devils to terrestrial topics. “ Have I been publishing another
new volume, that the world is in ecstacies F ”
His Secretary entered.
Tkis_ young Nobleman, who is the heir-apparent to a dukedom, and
is qualifying himself, under Mr. Punch’s training, to be Prime Minister
when Pam: resigns in 1884, had divined his chief’s puzzledom, and at
once said,. with the most highly-bred composure, and as if continuing a
conversation,
“The Princess oe Wales presented ns with a Prince about nine
o’clock last night.”
“ The telegram must have been sent to my private residence,” said
Mr. Punch. “ How is the dear young lady going on ? ”
“ Excellently.’
“ Hooray ! And a Prince ? ”
“A Prince,” said the young Nobleman.
“ That’s done it,” said Mr. Punch.
“ I see what you mean,” said the young Nobleman.
“I should be sorry, my dear Marquis, if you did not. Explain what
I mean.”
“ You would say that this most opportune event has clinched the
nail. . That we previously felt it a duty to prevent King Christian
from being rcbbed by the Sausages, but that now it is also a pleasure to
aid him. That the darling Princess having given the Queen a grand-
son, the Prince a son, and the nation a pet, we are not going to let
Schleswig be taken from her father.”
“ Very well said, Marquis, but call it Slesvick for the future. That
is the good old title, and we won’t have the duchy Germanised, even in
name. Send beer to those ringers. I must write a nursery song for the
new baby.”
The Secretary withdrew, and hi ten minutes had made a beautiful
copy, on phik paper, of the following ditty, and was hurrying away_with
it to Erogmore:—
NURSERY SONG EOR THE NEW BABY.
O slumber, my darling, thy she is a Prince
Whom Mamma beheld skating not quite five hours since.
And Grandpapa Christian is off to the fray
With Germans, who’d steal his nice duchy away.
But slumber, my darling, the English are true, .
And they ’ll help him for love of Mamma and of you,
And the Channel fleet’s coming with powder and shot,
And the Germans must run, or they’ll catch it all hot.
We have only to add that the infant Prince will be christened
Edward Christian Punch Alexander John Bull Slesvick.
A Star in the Ice.
The London Star and New York Herald, in an article which describes
all England as in mourning because the Home Secretary has not
reversed another verdict by a jury, says that Townley has “ escaped
Scot free.” We do not know what is considered freedom in Scotland,
but in this country the being imprisoned in a lunatic asylum for
life, with the alternative of coming out to be hanged, is as mild an
allowance of freedom as even Mr. Lincoln would inflict on a Con-
federate. This gushing provincial Star and Herald should be a little
more truthful.