DOI Heft:
October 1, 1864
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16874#0148
October 1, 1864.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
141
will be continued. Mr. Phelps next Saturday will re-appear as plump
Jack Falstaff, and that day week his plumpness will dwindle into lean
and slippered Justice Shallow. On the Saturday that follows, Mr.
Phelps will black his face, and for a week perform Othello ; and then,
after one week’s rest (wherein the shade of Shakspeare, if he revisit
this dull earth, may see his charming Imogen once, more upon the stage)
the Swells who are in Town may improve their minds by going some fine
evening to Macbeth, which is to be revived “ on a scale of great com-
pleteness,” with real broomsticks for the witches, and real “ eye of
newt and toe of frog,” and other savoury ingredients for the hell-broth
that they brew. Mr. Creswick the careful, is associated with him,
so you see here is a feast of Shakspeare in prospect, and 1 hope it
will pay better than the Shakspeare feast at Stratford which was
held last Spring.
I have only reached the letter I) in my dramatic alphabet, yet you
see here are four theatres where any solitary Swell who is in Town at
this dull season may go if he so please. How many other nights’
amusement the other two-and-twenty letters may afford him, I will,
with your permission, demonstrate in my next. qne who pAYS
AN AWFUL SNOB AT LIVERPOOL.
lendid specimen of
the British Snob
(Sn. atrox) exhibited
himself the other day
at Liverpool on the
arrival of the pri-
soner Muller at
that City. This Snob
may be characterised
as one of the ego-
tistic class, imperti-
nent order, and
vulgar hero-hunting
obtrusive species.
To the eyes of the
reporter, who de-
scribes him, he ap-
peared “ a tall and
gentlemanly-dressed
man.” He contrived
to get admission into
the room where
Muller was de-
tained, by walking
in the rear of two
of the detective officers. Going up to MUller, he shook hands with
him, saying, “ And you are Franz MUller. Well, I am glad to see
you and shake hands with you. Ho you think you will be able to
prove your innocence ? ” In answer to the Snob, MUller replied,
“I do.” The Snob then, speaking “in aloud tone of voice,” said,
“You know, MUller, this is a very serious charge.” To this asinine
observation, MUller made no reply, but Detective Patrick, who of'
course had heard it, immediately rebuked the Snob, telling him that
“ his own good sense ought to have prevented him addressing the
prisoner at all,” and thereupon desired him to leave the room, which
the Snob would not do till the request had been repeated.
Detective Patrick may be apt at apprehending fugitives, but he had
no apprehension of the nature of the Snob to whom he was talking.
Such a Snob has no good sense, nor any sense or feeling at all beyond
a sense of self-importance, and a feeling of desire to participate in the
notoriety, no matter what, of anybody notorious.
It is the nature and property of this sort of Snob to obtrude himself
on any man whose name for good or evil is before the public, if he can
anyhow get at him, and to endeavour to obtain some sort of notice from
him, contemptuous rather than none. It signifies little to the Snob
who or what the public man is, so long as the man is public ; he regards
a public man as he does a public building; and takes a liberty with the
former as he cuts out his name on the latter. If Garibaldi had been
at Liverpool he would have forced himself into Garibaldi’s presence,
and tried to shake hands with him; but doubtless he is somewhat
gladder to have shaken MUller’s hand than he would be to have
. grasped that of Garibaldi. If MUller had kicked him instead of
shaking hands with him, he would have been better pleased than he
would if he had not been touched by MUller at all. He would have
wished MUller, rather than not paying any attention to him, to say,
“ Take that man away.” There is no physical substance more offensive
to the olfactory nerves than this sort of Snob is to the interior nostrils.
His moral odour is such that he is quite unbearable, and it is dreadful
to be in the same room with him.
For the Calendar.—Moveable Feast, not usually set down on any
table. A Pic-nic.
CLERGYMEN IN BORROWED ROBES.
The blessed Father or Brother Ignatius, and his troop of mimic
monks, running about the country with shaven heads, and wearing
frocks, cowls, and sandals, are mistaken by many people for real mem-
bers of a monastic order. The law, however, forbids genuine friars to
sport their conventual habits in public. It protects the Homan Catholic
clergy, both regular and secular, from Protestant little boys, who in
some districts would be their followers and not their disciples. It does
not, however, prohibit the procession of Guy Fawkes, nor forbid a
buffoon or a mountebank to masquerade in Popish vestments. Did it
ever contemplate the possibility that the friends of an Anglican clergy-
man would suffer him to go about in the trim affected by Ignatius and
his companions ?
Ignatius and one of his company, according to the Leeds Mercury,
appeared, last Saturday, at York, attired in character. They went to
the New Roman Catholic Church of St. Wilfrid. There they knelt
before the altar, as though really saying their prayers: then they
pressed their lips to the floor. It was as much like the real thing as an
artificial fly appears to a trout. As such it was taken; for:—
“ A number of Catholics were in the church, and mistaking them for high func-
tionaries of their own faith, bent their knees before them for their blessing. This
the ‘Father’and his brother bestowed in Latin. Afterwards it was discovered who
they were, and then their proceedings assumed the character of a good joke.”
Father IIgnatius and his associate might, in some districts, have
found that they had carried a joke too far. Their joke, or what would
have been taken for a joke, would have been resented as profane tom-
foolery. The ecclesiastical jackdaws would have been stripped of their
feathers, and have suffered worse than anything that excommunication
inflicted on the famous jackdaw of Rheims. The forbearance of the
York Roman Catholics is laudable. Some others, not content with
stripping these pretenders to monasticism, might have proceeded to
teach them what it really is, by subjecting then hides to the discipline
of the rope’s end. That discipline would once have been prescribed as
salutary for any unfortunate person imagining himself to be somebody
else. If the reverend gentleman who has taken the name of Ignatius
is not merely making a fool of himself, and really believes that he is a
monk, is he much other than what he would be if he thought himself
the Pope ?
ALL IN A BROTHERLY WAY.
The following extract is borrowed from the Newcastle Chronicle, and
may be looked upon as a characteristic incident of a very stormy
meeting (need we say it was a religious one ?) that took place in the
Lecture Hall of that town
“ A voice from an individual in the front of the platform : How can you explain
to me that it would be a blessing for me to become a Monk ? (Great laughter.)
“ Brother Ignatius (with considerable warmth, and looking fiercely at the fellow). It
could not be a blessing, Sir.”
We advise our bare-footed Monk to change his name instantly from
Brother Ignatius to Brother Indignatius.
The Ethnology of Capitular Barbarism.
It is a question for ethnologists on what tribe of barbarians to affiliate
those dignitaries of whose ill-doings in chipping off the surfaces of our
Cathedrals we have lately heard so much. Those who flayed St. Bar-
tholomew alive are supposed to have been Armenians, and the Saturday
declares it an unjust reviling of Genseric to father these modern flayers
upon the Yandals. Sir Charles Lyell might connect them with his
re-historic skinners of flints, but it is our own conviction that they
elong to the Chip-away tribe.
TO A SPORTING CORRESPONDENT.
We are aware that fictitious names are used by sporting men, but we
have no reason to believe, with you, that the announcement of a pugi-
listic encounter between “ Coburn ” and “ Mace ” means that tbe
Lord Chief Justice is going to have a turn up with the Lord
Chancellor. Their characters forbid the supposition.
A Case for the next Donkey Show.
The Times, the other day, contained the following announcement,
which we think we have seen before:—
“ The Chancellor of the Exchequer acknowledges the receipt of the first half
of a note for £5 for Income-Tax from X. Y. Z."
Everybody who has seen X. Y. Z. will at once perceive that the money
therefrom must have been sent by Neddy Bray.
The German Fleet.—It does not progress very fast. They have
only got as yet a “ Kiel ” towards it.
▼ol. 47.
5—2
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
141
will be continued. Mr. Phelps next Saturday will re-appear as plump
Jack Falstaff, and that day week his plumpness will dwindle into lean
and slippered Justice Shallow. On the Saturday that follows, Mr.
Phelps will black his face, and for a week perform Othello ; and then,
after one week’s rest (wherein the shade of Shakspeare, if he revisit
this dull earth, may see his charming Imogen once, more upon the stage)
the Swells who are in Town may improve their minds by going some fine
evening to Macbeth, which is to be revived “ on a scale of great com-
pleteness,” with real broomsticks for the witches, and real “ eye of
newt and toe of frog,” and other savoury ingredients for the hell-broth
that they brew. Mr. Creswick the careful, is associated with him,
so you see here is a feast of Shakspeare in prospect, and 1 hope it
will pay better than the Shakspeare feast at Stratford which was
held last Spring.
I have only reached the letter I) in my dramatic alphabet, yet you
see here are four theatres where any solitary Swell who is in Town at
this dull season may go if he so please. How many other nights’
amusement the other two-and-twenty letters may afford him, I will,
with your permission, demonstrate in my next. qne who pAYS
AN AWFUL SNOB AT LIVERPOOL.
lendid specimen of
the British Snob
(Sn. atrox) exhibited
himself the other day
at Liverpool on the
arrival of the pri-
soner Muller at
that City. This Snob
may be characterised
as one of the ego-
tistic class, imperti-
nent order, and
vulgar hero-hunting
obtrusive species.
To the eyes of the
reporter, who de-
scribes him, he ap-
peared “ a tall and
gentlemanly-dressed
man.” He contrived
to get admission into
the room where
Muller was de-
tained, by walking
in the rear of two
of the detective officers. Going up to MUller, he shook hands with
him, saying, “ And you are Franz MUller. Well, I am glad to see
you and shake hands with you. Ho you think you will be able to
prove your innocence ? ” In answer to the Snob, MUller replied,
“I do.” The Snob then, speaking “in aloud tone of voice,” said,
“You know, MUller, this is a very serious charge.” To this asinine
observation, MUller made no reply, but Detective Patrick, who of'
course had heard it, immediately rebuked the Snob, telling him that
“ his own good sense ought to have prevented him addressing the
prisoner at all,” and thereupon desired him to leave the room, which
the Snob would not do till the request had been repeated.
Detective Patrick may be apt at apprehending fugitives, but he had
no apprehension of the nature of the Snob to whom he was talking.
Such a Snob has no good sense, nor any sense or feeling at all beyond
a sense of self-importance, and a feeling of desire to participate in the
notoriety, no matter what, of anybody notorious.
It is the nature and property of this sort of Snob to obtrude himself
on any man whose name for good or evil is before the public, if he can
anyhow get at him, and to endeavour to obtain some sort of notice from
him, contemptuous rather than none. It signifies little to the Snob
who or what the public man is, so long as the man is public ; he regards
a public man as he does a public building; and takes a liberty with the
former as he cuts out his name on the latter. If Garibaldi had been
at Liverpool he would have forced himself into Garibaldi’s presence,
and tried to shake hands with him; but doubtless he is somewhat
gladder to have shaken MUller’s hand than he would be to have
. grasped that of Garibaldi. If MUller had kicked him instead of
shaking hands with him, he would have been better pleased than he
would if he had not been touched by MUller at all. He would have
wished MUller, rather than not paying any attention to him, to say,
“ Take that man away.” There is no physical substance more offensive
to the olfactory nerves than this sort of Snob is to the interior nostrils.
His moral odour is such that he is quite unbearable, and it is dreadful
to be in the same room with him.
For the Calendar.—Moveable Feast, not usually set down on any
table. A Pic-nic.
CLERGYMEN IN BORROWED ROBES.
The blessed Father or Brother Ignatius, and his troop of mimic
monks, running about the country with shaven heads, and wearing
frocks, cowls, and sandals, are mistaken by many people for real mem-
bers of a monastic order. The law, however, forbids genuine friars to
sport their conventual habits in public. It protects the Homan Catholic
clergy, both regular and secular, from Protestant little boys, who in
some districts would be their followers and not their disciples. It does
not, however, prohibit the procession of Guy Fawkes, nor forbid a
buffoon or a mountebank to masquerade in Popish vestments. Did it
ever contemplate the possibility that the friends of an Anglican clergy-
man would suffer him to go about in the trim affected by Ignatius and
his companions ?
Ignatius and one of his company, according to the Leeds Mercury,
appeared, last Saturday, at York, attired in character. They went to
the New Roman Catholic Church of St. Wilfrid. There they knelt
before the altar, as though really saying their prayers: then they
pressed their lips to the floor. It was as much like the real thing as an
artificial fly appears to a trout. As such it was taken; for:—
“ A number of Catholics were in the church, and mistaking them for high func-
tionaries of their own faith, bent their knees before them for their blessing. This
the ‘Father’and his brother bestowed in Latin. Afterwards it was discovered who
they were, and then their proceedings assumed the character of a good joke.”
Father IIgnatius and his associate might, in some districts, have
found that they had carried a joke too far. Their joke, or what would
have been taken for a joke, would have been resented as profane tom-
foolery. The ecclesiastical jackdaws would have been stripped of their
feathers, and have suffered worse than anything that excommunication
inflicted on the famous jackdaw of Rheims. The forbearance of the
York Roman Catholics is laudable. Some others, not content with
stripping these pretenders to monasticism, might have proceeded to
teach them what it really is, by subjecting then hides to the discipline
of the rope’s end. That discipline would once have been prescribed as
salutary for any unfortunate person imagining himself to be somebody
else. If the reverend gentleman who has taken the name of Ignatius
is not merely making a fool of himself, and really believes that he is a
monk, is he much other than what he would be if he thought himself
the Pope ?
ALL IN A BROTHERLY WAY.
The following extract is borrowed from the Newcastle Chronicle, and
may be looked upon as a characteristic incident of a very stormy
meeting (need we say it was a religious one ?) that took place in the
Lecture Hall of that town
“ A voice from an individual in the front of the platform : How can you explain
to me that it would be a blessing for me to become a Monk ? (Great laughter.)
“ Brother Ignatius (with considerable warmth, and looking fiercely at the fellow). It
could not be a blessing, Sir.”
We advise our bare-footed Monk to change his name instantly from
Brother Ignatius to Brother Indignatius.
The Ethnology of Capitular Barbarism.
It is a question for ethnologists on what tribe of barbarians to affiliate
those dignitaries of whose ill-doings in chipping off the surfaces of our
Cathedrals we have lately heard so much. Those who flayed St. Bar-
tholomew alive are supposed to have been Armenians, and the Saturday
declares it an unjust reviling of Genseric to father these modern flayers
upon the Yandals. Sir Charles Lyell might connect them with his
re-historic skinners of flints, but it is our own conviction that they
elong to the Chip-away tribe.
TO A SPORTING CORRESPONDENT.
We are aware that fictitious names are used by sporting men, but we
have no reason to believe, with you, that the announcement of a pugi-
listic encounter between “ Coburn ” and “ Mace ” means that tbe
Lord Chief Justice is going to have a turn up with the Lord
Chancellor. Their characters forbid the supposition.
A Case for the next Donkey Show.
The Times, the other day, contained the following announcement,
which we think we have seen before:—
“ The Chancellor of the Exchequer acknowledges the receipt of the first half
of a note for £5 for Income-Tax from X. Y. Z."
Everybody who has seen X. Y. Z. will at once perceive that the money
therefrom must have been sent by Neddy Bray.
The German Fleet.—It does not progress very fast. They have
only got as yet a “ Kiel ” towards it.
▼ol. 47.
5—2