DOI issue:
October 27, 1866
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16878#0186
178 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [October 27, 1866
VOLUNTEERS AND REGULARS.
SCENE BOX-LOBBY, THEATRE-ROYAL, KINGSTON, JAMAICA.
General Officer (in a rage, thinking he has discovered a flagrant breach of “ Orders”). “What Regiment do you belong to, Sir?
What the d’ you mean by coming in that Tom-Fool's Dress, Sir ? I—I—I-”
Volunteer Captain (independent of, and not under the General’s command). “You the Box-Keeper ? Too late, old boy ; you should
have Objected at the Door. Ta, ta ! ” [General looks Close Arrests and Drum-head Courts-Martial, but can’t articulate.
GLADSTONE UNMASKED.
Dear Punch,
When, in my admirable speech the other day, I accused
Mr. Gladstone of entertaining towards true Liberalism and Progress
that “ concentrated malignity ” which the poet has described as existing
in the “ Spanish Cloister,” I meant to have quoted the following adap-
tation of Mr. Browning’s verses, to which I referred. But time
pressed, so I send the travestie to yon. It is very close, and I have
placed in the mouth of the Malignant as much bitterness as I well
could. Gratified at having revealed the hitherto unsuspected wickedness
of Mr. Gladstone, believe me, Yours, sincerely,
Eden, near Ba?ff. Grant Durr.
MR. GLADSTONE’S REAL SENTIMENTS AS TO PROGRESS.
Brutal.
Old Singleton, on hearing there was a song called “ The Childrens
Hour,” remarked, that it could of course only mean bed-time. He
added a hope that the song did not sanction the absurd idea of after-
! dinner being the children’s hour.
Gr-r-r— there go, you worst of ogres,
Talk your cant of Manhood, do !
If hate Killed folk, Mrs. Progress,
[ Bless me, would not mine kill you!
What, the English Church wants trimming ?
Oh, the Irish has first claims,
Then the tax-cream you’d be skimming—
Don’t I see your little games ?
In the House we sit together,
Salve tibi ! I must hear
Birds of every kind of feather
Screeching nonsense in my ear.
Listening to such trash and stuff, rage
Makes me look uncommon black :
What’s the Latin name for Suffrage ?
What’s the Greek name for “ a Quack.”
Whew ! We ’ll have our Education,
Eree from article and test,
Dogma is our detestation,
Each man’s creed is in his breast.
0 dear yes, and why should College
With its Greek our jawbone wrench ?
What it ought to teach is knowledge
How to call a cab in Erench.
Progress—Bah ! I see your meaning,
Things will get beyond a joke,
But, my friend so overweening,
In your wheel I ’ll put a spoke.
Row your Liberal boat, yes, row it,
While I steer it into storm :
I, although you may not know it.
Am the man that killed Reform.
Don’t I hate you and your preachers,
Chiefly don’t I hate Grant Duep,
With his most obnoxious features,
And his skimble-skamble stuff ?
You will find me bold and wary—
You beware this tongue of mine!
Ossibus exoriare
Ultor ali— Gr—you swine !
VOLUNTEERS AND REGULARS.
SCENE BOX-LOBBY, THEATRE-ROYAL, KINGSTON, JAMAICA.
General Officer (in a rage, thinking he has discovered a flagrant breach of “ Orders”). “What Regiment do you belong to, Sir?
What the d’ you mean by coming in that Tom-Fool's Dress, Sir ? I—I—I-”
Volunteer Captain (independent of, and not under the General’s command). “You the Box-Keeper ? Too late, old boy ; you should
have Objected at the Door. Ta, ta ! ” [General looks Close Arrests and Drum-head Courts-Martial, but can’t articulate.
GLADSTONE UNMASKED.
Dear Punch,
When, in my admirable speech the other day, I accused
Mr. Gladstone of entertaining towards true Liberalism and Progress
that “ concentrated malignity ” which the poet has described as existing
in the “ Spanish Cloister,” I meant to have quoted the following adap-
tation of Mr. Browning’s verses, to which I referred. But time
pressed, so I send the travestie to yon. It is very close, and I have
placed in the mouth of the Malignant as much bitterness as I well
could. Gratified at having revealed the hitherto unsuspected wickedness
of Mr. Gladstone, believe me, Yours, sincerely,
Eden, near Ba?ff. Grant Durr.
MR. GLADSTONE’S REAL SENTIMENTS AS TO PROGRESS.
Brutal.
Old Singleton, on hearing there was a song called “ The Childrens
Hour,” remarked, that it could of course only mean bed-time. He
added a hope that the song did not sanction the absurd idea of after-
! dinner being the children’s hour.
Gr-r-r— there go, you worst of ogres,
Talk your cant of Manhood, do !
If hate Killed folk, Mrs. Progress,
[ Bless me, would not mine kill you!
What, the English Church wants trimming ?
Oh, the Irish has first claims,
Then the tax-cream you’d be skimming—
Don’t I see your little games ?
In the House we sit together,
Salve tibi ! I must hear
Birds of every kind of feather
Screeching nonsense in my ear.
Listening to such trash and stuff, rage
Makes me look uncommon black :
What’s the Latin name for Suffrage ?
What’s the Greek name for “ a Quack.”
Whew ! We ’ll have our Education,
Eree from article and test,
Dogma is our detestation,
Each man’s creed is in his breast.
0 dear yes, and why should College
With its Greek our jawbone wrench ?
What it ought to teach is knowledge
How to call a cab in Erench.
Progress—Bah ! I see your meaning,
Things will get beyond a joke,
But, my friend so overweening,
In your wheel I ’ll put a spoke.
Row your Liberal boat, yes, row it,
While I steer it into storm :
I, although you may not know it.
Am the man that killed Reform.
Don’t I hate you and your preachers,
Chiefly don’t I hate Grant Duep,
With his most obnoxious features,
And his skimble-skamble stuff ?
You will find me bold and wary—
You beware this tongue of mine!
Ossibus exoriare
Ultor ali— Gr—you swine !