DOI issue:
June 4, 1864
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16873#0238
230 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI [June 4, 1864.
turning them out if they fail to comply with that tyrannical arrangement,
and generally going on in a style not understood in Oireland. It was
humbly urged for the Company that it had advanced very large sums on
mortgage of tin’s oppressed property, and had been obliged to take to it,
and on the whole the Government did not see that the Company could
be committed to prison and their land handed over to the peasantry.
The question of Meetings in the Parks came up again, and Sin
George Grey, with some show of surprise at the ignorance of certain
Members, stated that the Parks belong to the Queen, and that no
meetings can be held there without her permission, signified through
her advisers. But Primrose Hill is in a different category, and is under
Mr. Cowper, and it is not probable that he will interfere with any rea-
sonably decent and orderly assemblage that may be idiotic enough to
prefer listening to bad speeches to lying about on the grass and smoking
the pipe of peace.
Mr. Scully, snubbed for talking too much, explained that he had
supposed that on Priday nights everybody was to speak on every
subject. The imaginary rule might be inconvenient, as he will see, if
he will multiply the 18 topics of the night by the 658 Members.
THE CRYSTAL PALACE OPERA.
Being blessed with what is
called “ a good ear for music/’
(though which ear is the good
one we can’t precisely specify),
we never miss a chance of going
to the Opera. We rejoice
therefore to hear that a new
Opera is open to us, and that,
as it will be open only in the
afternoon, it will not interfere
with our visits to the old ones.
We have an Opera in a Hay-
market and an Opera in a
Garden (to wit, the one called
Covent), and this Season we
have also an Opera in a Green-
house. At the Crystal Palace
Concerts Opera music is per-
formed by the best of foreign
artists (if we were a critic, we
of course should say artistes),
and performed as well as either
in the Garden or the Hay-
market. At these pleasant
Concerts, too, you sit in cool
fresh air, and not in heat and
gaslight, and you have greenery
to look at, if you have not
scenery. In many scenes,
moreover, the Crystal Palace
greenery is all that _ can be |
wished. There are real flowers there for the garden scene in Faust,
and that is more than you will see upon the stage of Mr. Gye, or
that of Mr. Mapleson.
Thus at the Crystal Palace Opera there is pleasure for your nose as
well as for your ears and eyes; and you hear the sweetest airs of
Donizetti or Mozart,—
“ While gales of roses round you rise,”
as Mr. Thomas Moore affirms they did around Anacreon.
So thank you, Mr. Bowley, for your Opera at Sydenham, where one
may pleasantly employ one’s ears and eyes and nose from lunek-time
until dinner; after which, if one so liketh, one may take them in the
evening to the Opera in London.
TOPICS OF THE DAY.
{General, Political, Polemical, Moral, Social.)
It is a long time since I treated you to a general article on the cur-
rent events of the day. I then told you, if you will refer to the Number
(which it is, I forget), that I was blessed, or otherwise, with the very
shortest memory of man, which seems always to be running to the con-
trary. That is a legal phrase, you know, and exactly expresses my case.
Talking of cases, I must say a few words about America. Of course,
one has to converse on this unhappy subject continually ; but although
I manage very fairly, I have never thoroughly mastered the events.
The other day 1 came into my club, and anxiously inquired for the
Second Edition of the Times. 1 generally do this as early as possible in
the afternoon, and then somebody is sure to say, “Eh ! what? Second
Edition ? Any important Telegrams from America ? ”
I confine myself to replying ominously'-, “ Yes, expected.”
While deploring the miserable state of Transatlantic matters at a
dinner-party, a lady says to me, “ Oh! Mr. Muddle, you can tell me.
What is the American War about ? ”
Everybody at table was silent, in order to hear my exposition.
I’d have given anything for a tooth-ache, or a summons on business
that would have taken me out of the room.
Here was a question with a vengeance! “ What is the American
War about ? ”
I attempted to parry, jocosely. “About as bad, Ma’am,” I began,
using a very old form of joke, much patronised by my lamented Grand-
father, and preserved in our family, when this She-inquisitor interrupted
me with, “No, Mr. Muddle, I mean what is the Cause of the War ? ”
Had 1 been asked the Origin of Evil, I could have spoken well,
knowing that others knew little more on the subject than I. But on
the Cause of the American War ! that was quite another thing.
“Well, Miss Vivid,” I said (she’s a maiden lady, affecting a girlish 1
carelessness regarding everything, but—ahem!), “ Well, Miss Vivid,”
I said, sententiously, “You see the North and South” (I was safe so
far), “The North and South are—in fact—fighting, with one another, in
order, ahem—to see which will get the mastery.” This was all very |
safe, and would have historically suited the Romans and Carthaginians,
Jews and Philistines, English and Maoris, Sayers and Heenan, or
any other combatants.
“ But,” persisted the intelligent female, “ which are the Confederates,
and which the Eederals ? ”
Now this is precisely the point that has invariably puzzled me. How
many times I have got the fact by heart, I’m afraid to say; but I’ve
always forgotten it again. I wisely answered her thus—
“ The Confederates are those who confederate together—from two
Latin words, con and federate: and the Eederals are those who don’t
con-federate, but are bound by a Esedus or treaty.”
“ Yes,” said she, “ but are the Northerners the Confederates, or the
Southerners ? ”
The eyes of the dinner-party were upon me.
“ I must do something to save my character,” I said to myself.
Boldly assuming an ah- of incredulity—“ What! ” I exclaimed, “ You
do not mean to say that you don’t know ? ”
“ Well,” she began, apologetically--
Directly she fell into this strain, the game was mine. She was a
weak soul, and I triumphed. Sir, I refused to give. her the required
information, on the score that she ought to ascertain it for herself from
the Papers. At this moment, an old gentleman stepped in good-
naturedly, and said-
But I beg your pardon—this is not what he said, but what I say—my
intention was to have given you a general article on social, political, ,
polemical, and moral subjects.
Sir, if my memory serves me fairly, I will write to you upon the very
first opportunity.
OUR DERBY PROPHECY.
Pooh, pooh, no thanks—there, take your hands out of your pockets, I want no
“ trifle of your Winnings,” dear bloaters. When I give you a piece of sporting
information I do it out of sheer generosity and good-nature, and not for the sake of
any wretched commission. Only, as you certainly will have to pay no other
prophet this time, for the whole boiling was about as floundering and helpless as
so many porpoises on dry land, you may send subscriptions to the Newspaper Press
Fund, in gratitude for the capital accounts of the Derby Day. If you think it’s ,
easy to write such things, just try, that's all. Difficile est communia dicere, Pindar
tells you, and so does Punch. So it wasn’t the Knight of Snowdon but the day of
Snowdon, eh ? There, don’t shake a fellow’s hand off, if you can help it. I told you
that Blair Athol would win, and that General Peel was a very good horse, and would
run well, and that Scottish Chief would turn out small beer. You know how they
were placed. I said, “Blair Athol, like my heart, is in the Highlands, (meaning,
of course, bloaters, that the beautiful place whence he takes name is there,) but
that it was upon Epsoni Downs that the horse would run.” And did he not ? And,
says I, nec timothy nec temmery, and if you did not understand what two necks meant
you are not fit to read my writings. But I also said, by way of making assurance
a double sewer (like the high and low level drainage), that the name of the winner j
was, in fact, the same as my own. Well, so it is. What am I but the greatest thin
out, underr Snowdon ? Very like whales, that, isn’t it ? But you are sold again,
and I have bought a ninepenny cigar with the money and eight-pence farthing
added by myself, for I meant that I am often what Blair Athol was, “ Caviar
to The Genwal” and that I am always ahead in the course followed by Peel, the
Second. Yah!
Change of Name.
In consequence of the notoriety of one of the persons interested in
the Great Nuttall Will Case, he who was nobody at all, will now be
known as Somebody Else.
Hagiology—The Patron of Accountants and Sporting Men is
St. Ledger.
turning them out if they fail to comply with that tyrannical arrangement,
and generally going on in a style not understood in Oireland. It was
humbly urged for the Company that it had advanced very large sums on
mortgage of tin’s oppressed property, and had been obliged to take to it,
and on the whole the Government did not see that the Company could
be committed to prison and their land handed over to the peasantry.
The question of Meetings in the Parks came up again, and Sin
George Grey, with some show of surprise at the ignorance of certain
Members, stated that the Parks belong to the Queen, and that no
meetings can be held there without her permission, signified through
her advisers. But Primrose Hill is in a different category, and is under
Mr. Cowper, and it is not probable that he will interfere with any rea-
sonably decent and orderly assemblage that may be idiotic enough to
prefer listening to bad speeches to lying about on the grass and smoking
the pipe of peace.
Mr. Scully, snubbed for talking too much, explained that he had
supposed that on Priday nights everybody was to speak on every
subject. The imaginary rule might be inconvenient, as he will see, if
he will multiply the 18 topics of the night by the 658 Members.
THE CRYSTAL PALACE OPERA.
Being blessed with what is
called “ a good ear for music/’
(though which ear is the good
one we can’t precisely specify),
we never miss a chance of going
to the Opera. We rejoice
therefore to hear that a new
Opera is open to us, and that,
as it will be open only in the
afternoon, it will not interfere
with our visits to the old ones.
We have an Opera in a Hay-
market and an Opera in a
Garden (to wit, the one called
Covent), and this Season we
have also an Opera in a Green-
house. At the Crystal Palace
Concerts Opera music is per-
formed by the best of foreign
artists (if we were a critic, we
of course should say artistes),
and performed as well as either
in the Garden or the Hay-
market. At these pleasant
Concerts, too, you sit in cool
fresh air, and not in heat and
gaslight, and you have greenery
to look at, if you have not
scenery. In many scenes,
moreover, the Crystal Palace
greenery is all that _ can be |
wished. There are real flowers there for the garden scene in Faust,
and that is more than you will see upon the stage of Mr. Gye, or
that of Mr. Mapleson.
Thus at the Crystal Palace Opera there is pleasure for your nose as
well as for your ears and eyes; and you hear the sweetest airs of
Donizetti or Mozart,—
“ While gales of roses round you rise,”
as Mr. Thomas Moore affirms they did around Anacreon.
So thank you, Mr. Bowley, for your Opera at Sydenham, where one
may pleasantly employ one’s ears and eyes and nose from lunek-time
until dinner; after which, if one so liketh, one may take them in the
evening to the Opera in London.
TOPICS OF THE DAY.
{General, Political, Polemical, Moral, Social.)
It is a long time since I treated you to a general article on the cur-
rent events of the day. I then told you, if you will refer to the Number
(which it is, I forget), that I was blessed, or otherwise, with the very
shortest memory of man, which seems always to be running to the con-
trary. That is a legal phrase, you know, and exactly expresses my case.
Talking of cases, I must say a few words about America. Of course,
one has to converse on this unhappy subject continually ; but although
I manage very fairly, I have never thoroughly mastered the events.
The other day 1 came into my club, and anxiously inquired for the
Second Edition of the Times. 1 generally do this as early as possible in
the afternoon, and then somebody is sure to say, “Eh ! what? Second
Edition ? Any important Telegrams from America ? ”
I confine myself to replying ominously'-, “ Yes, expected.”
While deploring the miserable state of Transatlantic matters at a
dinner-party, a lady says to me, “ Oh! Mr. Muddle, you can tell me.
What is the American War about ? ”
Everybody at table was silent, in order to hear my exposition.
I’d have given anything for a tooth-ache, or a summons on business
that would have taken me out of the room.
Here was a question with a vengeance! “ What is the American
War about ? ”
I attempted to parry, jocosely. “About as bad, Ma’am,” I began,
using a very old form of joke, much patronised by my lamented Grand-
father, and preserved in our family, when this She-inquisitor interrupted
me with, “No, Mr. Muddle, I mean what is the Cause of the War ? ”
Had 1 been asked the Origin of Evil, I could have spoken well,
knowing that others knew little more on the subject than I. But on
the Cause of the American War ! that was quite another thing.
“Well, Miss Vivid,” I said (she’s a maiden lady, affecting a girlish 1
carelessness regarding everything, but—ahem!), “ Well, Miss Vivid,”
I said, sententiously, “You see the North and South” (I was safe so
far), “The North and South are—in fact—fighting, with one another, in
order, ahem—to see which will get the mastery.” This was all very |
safe, and would have historically suited the Romans and Carthaginians,
Jews and Philistines, English and Maoris, Sayers and Heenan, or
any other combatants.
“ But,” persisted the intelligent female, “ which are the Confederates,
and which the Eederals ? ”
Now this is precisely the point that has invariably puzzled me. How
many times I have got the fact by heart, I’m afraid to say; but I’ve
always forgotten it again. I wisely answered her thus—
“ The Confederates are those who confederate together—from two
Latin words, con and federate: and the Eederals are those who don’t
con-federate, but are bound by a Esedus or treaty.”
“ Yes,” said she, “ but are the Northerners the Confederates, or the
Southerners ? ”
The eyes of the dinner-party were upon me.
“ I must do something to save my character,” I said to myself.
Boldly assuming an ah- of incredulity—“ What! ” I exclaimed, “ You
do not mean to say that you don’t know ? ”
“ Well,” she began, apologetically--
Directly she fell into this strain, the game was mine. She was a
weak soul, and I triumphed. Sir, I refused to give. her the required
information, on the score that she ought to ascertain it for herself from
the Papers. At this moment, an old gentleman stepped in good-
naturedly, and said-
But I beg your pardon—this is not what he said, but what I say—my
intention was to have given you a general article on social, political, ,
polemical, and moral subjects.
Sir, if my memory serves me fairly, I will write to you upon the very
first opportunity.
OUR DERBY PROPHECY.
Pooh, pooh, no thanks—there, take your hands out of your pockets, I want no
“ trifle of your Winnings,” dear bloaters. When I give you a piece of sporting
information I do it out of sheer generosity and good-nature, and not for the sake of
any wretched commission. Only, as you certainly will have to pay no other
prophet this time, for the whole boiling was about as floundering and helpless as
so many porpoises on dry land, you may send subscriptions to the Newspaper Press
Fund, in gratitude for the capital accounts of the Derby Day. If you think it’s ,
easy to write such things, just try, that's all. Difficile est communia dicere, Pindar
tells you, and so does Punch. So it wasn’t the Knight of Snowdon but the day of
Snowdon, eh ? There, don’t shake a fellow’s hand off, if you can help it. I told you
that Blair Athol would win, and that General Peel was a very good horse, and would
run well, and that Scottish Chief would turn out small beer. You know how they
were placed. I said, “Blair Athol, like my heart, is in the Highlands, (meaning,
of course, bloaters, that the beautiful place whence he takes name is there,) but
that it was upon Epsoni Downs that the horse would run.” And did he not ? And,
says I, nec timothy nec temmery, and if you did not understand what two necks meant
you are not fit to read my writings. But I also said, by way of making assurance
a double sewer (like the high and low level drainage), that the name of the winner j
was, in fact, the same as my own. Well, so it is. What am I but the greatest thin
out, underr Snowdon ? Very like whales, that, isn’t it ? But you are sold again,
and I have bought a ninepenny cigar with the money and eight-pence farthing
added by myself, for I meant that I am often what Blair Athol was, “ Caviar
to The Genwal” and that I am always ahead in the course followed by Peel, the
Second. Yah!
Change of Name.
In consequence of the notoriety of one of the persons interested in
the Great Nuttall Will Case, he who was nobody at all, will now be
known as Somebody Else.
Hagiology—The Patron of Accountants and Sporting Men is
St. Ledger.