DOI issue:
July 16, 1864
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16874#0037
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
29
July 16, 1864.
TIME FOR LADIES’ TAILORS.
5 look upon the fol-
lowing announce-
ment as a sign of
the times:—
“Coatfor Ladies.
—The paper shapes
for cutting out a
lady’s summer coat,
with full directions
for making up and
trimming, will be
given in the Quern,
the Lady’s Newspa-
per, of July 16.”
No longer con-
tent to wear pet-
ticoats, ladies have
no w taken to wear-
ing coats. What
will they; next get
to wear instead of
petticoats ? As
many of them as
are industrious
and clever enough
to cut out their
own coats, will,
doubtless, cut out
the other things
too; but the ma-
jority of husbands
and fathers must
evidently prepare
to sustain a new
expense in the j
tailors’ bills which!
will be run up by
their wives and;
last, and we can
see how its place will be supplied. Already the mind’s eye beholds
the maidens and matrons of England going about with their hands in
then- pockets.
LORD'S CRICKET GROUND IN DANGER.
“ What’s that there they be a playun of upon the Green, yander ? ”
inquired an agriculturist on a visit to a suburban friend.
“Croquet,” answered his host.
“ Croaky. How d ’ye spell ut ? ”
“C.r.o.q.u.e. t.”
“ That are spells crocket. Crocket and cricket zounds summut like.
Cricket vor men, eh, and crocket for ladies ? ”
“ Your parallel runs on all fours.”
“My what? My pig do. Well, I zay, and ben’t there a Lord’s
Cricket Ground ? Dp tiiere out o’ Marrowbone way zumwhere ? ”
“ Yes ? ”
“ Well, then, what I sez, is, Why don’t they likewise ha’ a Lady’s
Crocket Ground ? ”
“ Mu. Homegbeen, your analogy excels Butleb’s. But we mustn’t
talk of a Lady’s Croquet Ground till we have secured Lord’s Cricket
Ground for the Marylebone Club. Do you know that it’s in danger of
being cut up and covered with bricks and mortar—threatened with
being sold on building leases ? ”
“ Cuss them buildun lases; they be the rhuun o’ the country.
What’s to be done ? ”
“ Why, the land must be bought up by subscription. Ten thousand
pounds will be wanted in all. A large part of that has already been
raised, but a good deal more remains to be.”
“ Do ut, now? Well, here’s vive shilluns towards ut, and I wish
they was pounds. Do away wi’ Lord’s Cricket Ground, massy ho!
That ’ood be a burnun sheam; a disgreass to the cricketers of England,
and a sorrer and grafe to all as be admirers of manly English spoorts
and pastimes.”
“ Just so, Sir, and I wish your truly liberal example may be followed
by others, in subscribing what they can afford. There is a too general
disinclination to put down a modest crown by the side of the larger but
not more magnificent sum of five guineas.”
“ Every little helps, as the old ’ooman zed o’ the tear as veil in the
sea. And zo I hopes ’tween us we shall zave Lard’s Cricket Ground.”
What Mb. Gladstone heard the Bow Bells saying. “Turn again,
Organman, great bore of London ! ”
A JOLLY PUFE EOR JOLLY NOSE.
When are we to have the Green Bushes again ? Soon, Mb. Websteb,
we hope, because we understand that in one of the comic scenes between
Mb. Paul Bedeobd and Mb. Toole, something of this kind is to be
introduced •.—
Paul B. Easy now, easy now, my bumptious boy, and do not be in
such a remarkably indecorous hurry to demonstrate the deficiencies of
your education.
Toole. My education deficient, you antibilious old pterodactyl! And
if it are, you had the broughtage of me up, and might have eliminated
me into a consternation of talent.
Paul B. I taught you your reading, my obtuse and antiseptic child,
but read you will not, neither improve your little mind, you ungrateful
and intransitive preterpluperfectibility.
Toole. Don’t say that, Guv’nor; don’t be hard upon a promiscuous
cove. I read when I can approximate a book as is within my meteor.
Paul B. Within your what, my uninstructed one ? Say that again,
or say something else.
Toole (preferring the first alternative, repeats), “Meteor.”
Paul B. You must be irresponsible, to make such a response. What
do you mean by “ meteor ? ” hay ?
Toole. No, not hay; nor yet Will o’ the wisp of straw. I am given
to understand that it is a delicate Erench Gallicism, and means “ in my
line like.”
_ Paul B. Your line like! You mean metier, I suppose, my polyglot-
tical babv ?
Toole. I was afeard if I sounded it too Erenchy as you wouldn’t have
understood me, Guv’nor. But you’ve no call to say as I never read.
I have just been reading a work of suppernatural interest.
Paul B. Did it keep you from your supper, my greedy one ?
Toole. Well, I won’t go quite so fur into waccuum as to say that,
Guv’nor, but it made me enjoy the sassingers to that degree as I got
the nightmare, and dreamed I were Mount Vesuvius in a eruption,
spitting out laver, which indeed I always do in real life, hating that
same nasty weggitable.
Paul B. Eavour me, favour me, favour me with the nomenclature of
the literary production which has stimulated your tardy predilection for
the Muses.
Toole. Gov’nor, we are married men, and had better talk according.
I have noticing to say about Muses. I have been reading a book. It’s
name, says you ? Hurry no man’s appellations, says I; one day you
may have a title-page of your own. 1 wrote it down: Wanderings and
Recollections, Facts, not Fancies, by Paul Bedeobd. Ever hear that
name, Gov’nor ?
Paul B. That concatenation of syllabic utterances does not seem
entirely novel to my auricular organs.
Toole. Very likely. Ah! But did you ever hear that name before ?
_ Paul B. Have I not said so, unperiphrastic one ? And the emana-
tions of this autobiographical historiographer have excited your organs
of approbativeness.
Toole. Now I’ll tell you what it is, Gov’nor. I’m a plain man.
Paul B. Were a prize offered for a plainer, I believe that it would
remaiu the undisputed property of the liberal benefactor who pro-
posed it.
Toole. You are an indigenous old Behemoth and a hypochondriacal
Anabaptist, if you come to that. I can say long words as well as you,
but I prefer common civility.
Paul B. It is well, my excitable one. Now, impart to me your im-
pression of the literary performance of Mb. Bedeobd.
Toole. Why, it’s a stunner.
Paul B. The epithet is compact, but might be expanded with advan-
tage to the platitudinarian intellect of the nineteenth century.
Toole. Well, I was talking about it with a lot of Swells, and them as
know’d better than me, and the Swells say that the book is Paul
Bedeobd to the life, and all the better for being so, and that everybody
ought to read it, and have a jolly good laugh,
Paul B. So recommended, I shall probably administer some leisure to
the perusal of the tome in question. And I am glad, our uncultured
one, that you are not so palpable a relative of the family whose susten-
tation is derived from a certain Scottish wild flower as I had appre-
hended.
Toole. Shut up, you thundering old elaborated Oystergoth, you blos-
som-nosed Buddhist of Trincomalee, shut up, will you ? Here comes
Miami.
Enter Miami, with her gun.
Miami. Ah ! my friends, &c.
“ Oh, It’s Nuffin’ ! ”
It is not generally known that there is a small colony of indefatigable
snuff-takers living on the banks of the Thames. They are called the
Snuffers of Hampton Wick.
29
July 16, 1864.
TIME FOR LADIES’ TAILORS.
5 look upon the fol-
lowing announce-
ment as a sign of
the times:—
“Coatfor Ladies.
—The paper shapes
for cutting out a
lady’s summer coat,
with full directions
for making up and
trimming, will be
given in the Quern,
the Lady’s Newspa-
per, of July 16.”
No longer con-
tent to wear pet-
ticoats, ladies have
no w taken to wear-
ing coats. What
will they; next get
to wear instead of
petticoats ? As
many of them as
are industrious
and clever enough
to cut out their
own coats, will,
doubtless, cut out
the other things
too; but the ma-
jority of husbands
and fathers must
evidently prepare
to sustain a new
expense in the j
tailors’ bills which!
will be run up by
their wives and;
last, and we can
see how its place will be supplied. Already the mind’s eye beholds
the maidens and matrons of England going about with their hands in
then- pockets.
LORD'S CRICKET GROUND IN DANGER.
“ What’s that there they be a playun of upon the Green, yander ? ”
inquired an agriculturist on a visit to a suburban friend.
“Croquet,” answered his host.
“ Croaky. How d ’ye spell ut ? ”
“C.r.o.q.u.e. t.”
“ That are spells crocket. Crocket and cricket zounds summut like.
Cricket vor men, eh, and crocket for ladies ? ”
“ Your parallel runs on all fours.”
“My what? My pig do. Well, I zay, and ben’t there a Lord’s
Cricket Ground ? Dp tiiere out o’ Marrowbone way zumwhere ? ”
“ Yes ? ”
“ Well, then, what I sez, is, Why don’t they likewise ha’ a Lady’s
Crocket Ground ? ”
“ Mu. Homegbeen, your analogy excels Butleb’s. But we mustn’t
talk of a Lady’s Croquet Ground till we have secured Lord’s Cricket
Ground for the Marylebone Club. Do you know that it’s in danger of
being cut up and covered with bricks and mortar—threatened with
being sold on building leases ? ”
“ Cuss them buildun lases; they be the rhuun o’ the country.
What’s to be done ? ”
“ Why, the land must be bought up by subscription. Ten thousand
pounds will be wanted in all. A large part of that has already been
raised, but a good deal more remains to be.”
“ Do ut, now? Well, here’s vive shilluns towards ut, and I wish
they was pounds. Do away wi’ Lord’s Cricket Ground, massy ho!
That ’ood be a burnun sheam; a disgreass to the cricketers of England,
and a sorrer and grafe to all as be admirers of manly English spoorts
and pastimes.”
“ Just so, Sir, and I wish your truly liberal example may be followed
by others, in subscribing what they can afford. There is a too general
disinclination to put down a modest crown by the side of the larger but
not more magnificent sum of five guineas.”
“ Every little helps, as the old ’ooman zed o’ the tear as veil in the
sea. And zo I hopes ’tween us we shall zave Lard’s Cricket Ground.”
What Mb. Gladstone heard the Bow Bells saying. “Turn again,
Organman, great bore of London ! ”
A JOLLY PUFE EOR JOLLY NOSE.
When are we to have the Green Bushes again ? Soon, Mb. Websteb,
we hope, because we understand that in one of the comic scenes between
Mb. Paul Bedeobd and Mb. Toole, something of this kind is to be
introduced •.—
Paul B. Easy now, easy now, my bumptious boy, and do not be in
such a remarkably indecorous hurry to demonstrate the deficiencies of
your education.
Toole. My education deficient, you antibilious old pterodactyl! And
if it are, you had the broughtage of me up, and might have eliminated
me into a consternation of talent.
Paul B. I taught you your reading, my obtuse and antiseptic child,
but read you will not, neither improve your little mind, you ungrateful
and intransitive preterpluperfectibility.
Toole. Don’t say that, Guv’nor; don’t be hard upon a promiscuous
cove. I read when I can approximate a book as is within my meteor.
Paul B. Within your what, my uninstructed one ? Say that again,
or say something else.
Toole (preferring the first alternative, repeats), “Meteor.”
Paul B. You must be irresponsible, to make such a response. What
do you mean by “ meteor ? ” hay ?
Toole. No, not hay; nor yet Will o’ the wisp of straw. I am given
to understand that it is a delicate Erench Gallicism, and means “ in my
line like.”
_ Paul B. Your line like! You mean metier, I suppose, my polyglot-
tical babv ?
Toole. I was afeard if I sounded it too Erenchy as you wouldn’t have
understood me, Guv’nor. But you’ve no call to say as I never read.
I have just been reading a work of suppernatural interest.
Paul B. Did it keep you from your supper, my greedy one ?
Toole. Well, I won’t go quite so fur into waccuum as to say that,
Guv’nor, but it made me enjoy the sassingers to that degree as I got
the nightmare, and dreamed I were Mount Vesuvius in a eruption,
spitting out laver, which indeed I always do in real life, hating that
same nasty weggitable.
Paul B. Eavour me, favour me, favour me with the nomenclature of
the literary production which has stimulated your tardy predilection for
the Muses.
Toole. Gov’nor, we are married men, and had better talk according.
I have noticing to say about Muses. I have been reading a book. It’s
name, says you ? Hurry no man’s appellations, says I; one day you
may have a title-page of your own. 1 wrote it down: Wanderings and
Recollections, Facts, not Fancies, by Paul Bedeobd. Ever hear that
name, Gov’nor ?
Paul B. That concatenation of syllabic utterances does not seem
entirely novel to my auricular organs.
Toole. Very likely. Ah! But did you ever hear that name before ?
_ Paul B. Have I not said so, unperiphrastic one ? And the emana-
tions of this autobiographical historiographer have excited your organs
of approbativeness.
Toole. Now I’ll tell you what it is, Gov’nor. I’m a plain man.
Paul B. Were a prize offered for a plainer, I believe that it would
remaiu the undisputed property of the liberal benefactor who pro-
posed it.
Toole. You are an indigenous old Behemoth and a hypochondriacal
Anabaptist, if you come to that. I can say long words as well as you,
but I prefer common civility.
Paul B. It is well, my excitable one. Now, impart to me your im-
pression of the literary performance of Mb. Bedeobd.
Toole. Why, it’s a stunner.
Paul B. The epithet is compact, but might be expanded with advan-
tage to the platitudinarian intellect of the nineteenth century.
Toole. Well, I was talking about it with a lot of Swells, and them as
know’d better than me, and the Swells say that the book is Paul
Bedeobd to the life, and all the better for being so, and that everybody
ought to read it, and have a jolly good laugh,
Paul B. So recommended, I shall probably administer some leisure to
the perusal of the tome in question. And I am glad, our uncultured
one, that you are not so palpable a relative of the family whose susten-
tation is derived from a certain Scottish wild flower as I had appre-
hended.
Toole. Shut up, you thundering old elaborated Oystergoth, you blos-
som-nosed Buddhist of Trincomalee, shut up, will you ? Here comes
Miami.
Enter Miami, with her gun.
Miami. Ah ! my friends, &c.
“ Oh, It’s Nuffin’ ! ”
It is not generally known that there is a small colony of indefatigable
snuff-takers living on the banks of the Thames. They are called the
Snuffers of Hampton Wick.