DOI Heft:
December 1, 1866
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16878#0236
228
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[December 1, 1866.
“ INGENUAS DIDICISSE,” AND SO ON.
Urbane Foreigner. “The—ah—Contemplation of these—ah—Reltcs of Ancient Art in the Galleries of Europe, must be
MOST Int’r’STING TO THE—AH—EDUCATED AMERICAN ! ”
American Tourist. “ Wa’al, don’t seem to care much for these Stone Gals, somehow, Stranger!”
A WARD THAT DESERVES WATCHING.
Mr. Punch would recommend “ funny men,” on or off tlie stage, to
hear Artemus Ward “ speak his piece ” at the Egyptian Hall, and
then, in so far as in them lies, to go and do likewise. Everybody who
is liable to be afflicted by funny men, whether in his business—as dra-
matic author, say,—or in his pleasure (so called), say as theatre-goer
or diner-out, must continually have felt how the dreariness of funny
men is enhanced by the emphasis and effort with which they force their
facetiousness into your face, or dig it into your ribs. The low come-
dian of the second-rate theatre, the comic singer of the music-hall, is
probably the most offensive organ of what is called “ amusement,” ever
allowed to outrage good taste, good sense, and good breeding, and to
minister, unreproved, to coarseness, imbecility, and vulgarity. But
nothing contributes so much to the irritating effect of an “ entertainer ”
of this deplorable kind, as his way of emphasising his own fatuous-
ness, and writing himself down an ass in italics. Without this pecu-
liarity, he would only make us sad : with it, he makes us savage.
Oh, if these unhappy abusers of gag, grimace, and emphasis,—these
grating, grinding, grinning, over-doing obtruders of themselves in the
wrong place,—could take a leaf out of Artemus Ward’s “piece,” and
learn to be as quiet, grave, and unconscious in their delivery of the
words set down for them as he is in speaking his own! Unlike them,
Artemus Ward has brains. That is, of course, beyond hope in their
case. But if they could once be made to feel how immensely true
humour is enhanced by the unforced way it drops out of A. W.’s
mouth, they might learn to imitate what, probably, it is hopeless to
expect they could understand.
To be sure, Artemus Ward’s delivery of fun is eminently “un-
English.” But there are a good many things Engli-sh one would
like to see un-Euglished. Gagging, gross, overdone low comedy is one
of them. Snobbishness is another. The two go hand in hand. One
of the best of many good points of Artemus Ward’s piece is that it is
quite free from all trace of either of these English institutions. And it
is worth noting, that we owe to another native of the States, Joseph
Jefferson, the best example lately set us of unforced and natural low
comedy. His Rip Van Winkle was very un-English, too.
A LITTLE LESSON.
Mr. Punch is pleased to see that a decoration has been given by the
Queen to the Finance Minister of Yictoria [Victoria is one of the
Australian colonies, it is at the southern extremity of the continent,
Melbourne is the capital, and the inhabitants are far in advance of
England in regard to civilisation—for instance, they have compulsory
education]. The Hon. George Yerdon came over on a mission to
our Government. Victoria wants an armour-plated ship, for which
she will partly pay, and a training ship, and Sir John Parington has
assented. The Minister, for his various services to the colony, has
received the Bath Cross. Should it not have been the Victoria Cross P
This little goak is the bit of sugar with which Mr. Punch rewards his
readers for learning more than most English people know about one of
our noblest colonies. If his readers are good, they shall have another
colonial lesson some day. For we have other colonies besides Victoria.
A Good Judge.
Sir Hugh Cairns is said to have declined a Peerage which was
offered to him on his elevation to the Bench. If he did, no doubt he
was wise. We may presume that the title which he declines was a.
mere barony, which would have been a barren honour.
theological degrees of comparison.
Positive, Monk. Comparative, Monkey. Superlative, Ritualist.
How to Kill Time.—Shoot Every Day.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[December 1, 1866.
“ INGENUAS DIDICISSE,” AND SO ON.
Urbane Foreigner. “The—ah—Contemplation of these—ah—Reltcs of Ancient Art in the Galleries of Europe, must be
MOST Int’r’STING TO THE—AH—EDUCATED AMERICAN ! ”
American Tourist. “ Wa’al, don’t seem to care much for these Stone Gals, somehow, Stranger!”
A WARD THAT DESERVES WATCHING.
Mr. Punch would recommend “ funny men,” on or off tlie stage, to
hear Artemus Ward “ speak his piece ” at the Egyptian Hall, and
then, in so far as in them lies, to go and do likewise. Everybody who
is liable to be afflicted by funny men, whether in his business—as dra-
matic author, say,—or in his pleasure (so called), say as theatre-goer
or diner-out, must continually have felt how the dreariness of funny
men is enhanced by the emphasis and effort with which they force their
facetiousness into your face, or dig it into your ribs. The low come-
dian of the second-rate theatre, the comic singer of the music-hall, is
probably the most offensive organ of what is called “ amusement,” ever
allowed to outrage good taste, good sense, and good breeding, and to
minister, unreproved, to coarseness, imbecility, and vulgarity. But
nothing contributes so much to the irritating effect of an “ entertainer ”
of this deplorable kind, as his way of emphasising his own fatuous-
ness, and writing himself down an ass in italics. Without this pecu-
liarity, he would only make us sad : with it, he makes us savage.
Oh, if these unhappy abusers of gag, grimace, and emphasis,—these
grating, grinding, grinning, over-doing obtruders of themselves in the
wrong place,—could take a leaf out of Artemus Ward’s “piece,” and
learn to be as quiet, grave, and unconscious in their delivery of the
words set down for them as he is in speaking his own! Unlike them,
Artemus Ward has brains. That is, of course, beyond hope in their
case. But if they could once be made to feel how immensely true
humour is enhanced by the unforced way it drops out of A. W.’s
mouth, they might learn to imitate what, probably, it is hopeless to
expect they could understand.
To be sure, Artemus Ward’s delivery of fun is eminently “un-
English.” But there are a good many things Engli-sh one would
like to see un-Euglished. Gagging, gross, overdone low comedy is one
of them. Snobbishness is another. The two go hand in hand. One
of the best of many good points of Artemus Ward’s piece is that it is
quite free from all trace of either of these English institutions. And it
is worth noting, that we owe to another native of the States, Joseph
Jefferson, the best example lately set us of unforced and natural low
comedy. His Rip Van Winkle was very un-English, too.
A LITTLE LESSON.
Mr. Punch is pleased to see that a decoration has been given by the
Queen to the Finance Minister of Yictoria [Victoria is one of the
Australian colonies, it is at the southern extremity of the continent,
Melbourne is the capital, and the inhabitants are far in advance of
England in regard to civilisation—for instance, they have compulsory
education]. The Hon. George Yerdon came over on a mission to
our Government. Victoria wants an armour-plated ship, for which
she will partly pay, and a training ship, and Sir John Parington has
assented. The Minister, for his various services to the colony, has
received the Bath Cross. Should it not have been the Victoria Cross P
This little goak is the bit of sugar with which Mr. Punch rewards his
readers for learning more than most English people know about one of
our noblest colonies. If his readers are good, they shall have another
colonial lesson some day. For we have other colonies besides Victoria.
A Good Judge.
Sir Hugh Cairns is said to have declined a Peerage which was
offered to him on his elevation to the Bench. If he did, no doubt he
was wise. We may presume that the title which he declines was a.
mere barony, which would have been a barren honour.
theological degrees of comparison.
Positive, Monk. Comparative, Monkey. Superlative, Ritualist.
How to Kill Time.—Shoot Every Day.