DOI issue:
May 4, 1867
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16879#0194
188
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[May 4, 1867.
POETRY IN THE PANTRY.
Some people say that poetry, like chivalry, is dead. In these prosaic
times, they tell you, a lover never pens a sonnet to his mistress’s eye-
brow : such a thing, he would most likely say, is “ all my eye,” and if
he sent her any lines they would probably be fishing ones. Railways,
it is said, have annihilated poetry, as well as time and space. In these
high-pressure days, making verses is by far too slow an occupation.
Except perhaps the poet laureate, and Punch, no one now-a-days writes
anything that people can call poetry.
Eor the credit of mankind, Punch is glad to think these statements
are not founded upon fact. Poetical himself, Punch is proud to be the
cause of poetry in others; and that he is so his waste-paper basket
daily gives full proof. Some lines, however, reach him now and then,
which he finds worth preservation in the amber of his type. Such for
instance are the following, which appeared upon the 10th of April in
the Irish Times:—
\ PLACE is Wanted by a Girl,
c* Ere this short week doth end,
To wait upon an invalid.
And all her wants attend : •
She has the power which few possess.
To soothe and comfort in distress !
Or wait upon two ladies fair,
For she excels in dressing hair.
Address, &c.
If this be not true poetry, Punch would like to know what is. And
how much prettier is such a notice than the curt, blunt, prosy state-
ments of people who “ Want Places ” in the columns of the Times !
Nobody now ever dreams of reading those advertisements, but by the
help of poetry they might, we think, be made delightfully attractive.
We really advise servants not to be too proud to act upon the precedent
this Irish girl has given them. A footman, we should fancy, would
soon find himself engaged, if he announced his talents in some such
style as this :—
A Footman now doth want a place ;
His height is five feet eight:
He can both ope the door with grace,
And at the table wait.
His calves are fine, his figure good,
His H’s ne’er he drops :
He deigns to eat the simplest food—
Yes, even mutton chops !
If exiled from his pantry by some unlucky chance, Jeames might
find his muse of service in procuring him a place. And who could fail
be impressed by this poetical appeal by a paragon of a Cook ?—
You want a Cook ? Well, here is one
Who ne’er sent pork up underdone:
Who drinks no beer, who cribs no grease,
Nor ^ives cold meat to the police.
No kitchenmaid doth she require,
Nor ever burns too big a fire.
Her wages twenty pounds a year ;
For such a Jewel ’tis not dear !
Surely such a jewel deserves a finer setting than the plain, unpolished
prose of a common-place advertisement. And why should not a
Coachman put his Pegasus in harness, and thus modestly announce his
bilities in verse ?—
As coachman, for a gent or swell:
Can drive one, or a pair :
Is single : steady : knows town well:
Can sleep in country air.
N.B. Would also like to state,
Finds his own gloves when he doth wait.
From the butler to the “ Buttons,” from the valet to the scullery-
maid, all servants, high or low, might find the art of poetry a valuable
agent in procuring them a place. We should be glad if our remarks
at all assist towards this result, but we candidly confess we do not
think they will. However, while the rhyming fit is on us, we must
supply one more poetical advertisement, just to show that poets soon
might be as common as potatoes, if our servants took to writing in the
manner of the advertiser in the Irish Times:—
Pray, which of you ladies now wants a nice page F
He is not quite thirteen yet, and tall for his age.
Yet, though fast he is growing, his appetite’s small.
And he ne’er bursts his buttons by larks in the hall.
In lollipops never his wages are spent.
Nor plays he at leap-frog, on errands when sent.
To give him a trial you’d never refuse.
Could you see how he ’ll polish your knives and your shoes !
THE EMPRESS OF LAQUES.
We do not know the age of the lady named by the Post in the sub-
joined paragraph. We do not inquire. Far be it from Punch to moot
so delicate a question. But there was a time when the idea of a most
sensible woman and a large landowner, combined in one person, would
have invested that person with peculiar interest in the eyes of Mr.
Punch. For reasons which may be imagined, he would then have been
anxious to know whether a lady, evidently endowed as well with much
property as with great taste and intelligence, had also the advantage
of parity of years with himself. This would have sufficed him. He
is satisfied with intellectual beauty—the beauty of expression: “the
mind, the music beaming from the face.” That he would have taken
for granted. Here is the brief but suggestive statement, which has
occasioned him to gush at the unusual rate foregoing :—
“ Crinoline.—The Oswestry Advertiser says that Miss Lloyd, of Laques, has
given wholesale notice to quit to her tenants in Carmarthenshire and Pembroke
shire, in consequence of their wives and daughters wearing crinoline, a practice to
which Miss Lloyd objects.”
The mandate above described as issued by the Lady of Laques must
be owned apparently to partake of the nature of an Ukase, or a Bull.
Arbitrary, however, as that decree may seem. Crinoline, in excess, is
such a bore, such an ugly, such a troublesome, such a vicious, such a
dangerous, and now, happily, such a vulgar thing, and gives rise to
such unpleasantnesses, that if 1867 were an earlier date, and Mr. Punch
were not blest as he is, he would certainly inquire immediately about
Miss Lloyd of Laques.
A JOKE OF THE FIRST WATER.
The Rev. Sydney Smith calumniated a facetious nation when he
declared that a surgical operation was necessary to get a joke into a
Scotchman’s head. The following extract from the British Medical
Journal will show that, so far from being impermeable to a joke from
without, a Scotchman’s head is capable of giving issue to a joke con-
ceived in its interior :—
“ A Musselburgh Baillie’s Opinion on the Best Water for making Toddy
— We find in the Shields Daily News a note to the following effect: ‘The Senior
Baillie of Musselburgh (Mr. Peter Millar, of Eskside) has requested us to state,
in reference to the discussion at the Town Council meeting on Monday night, upon
the condition of the public wells, that it was not Dr. Sanderson’s opinion, but his
own “that the finest toddy was made from the worst water in the town.” ’ ”
Does anybody doubt about the jocosity of Baillie Millar’s joke F
Let him try it. Let him see if it will not set any intellectual table in a
roar. Besides the Baillie’s joke is suggestive. It is not only witty
in itself, bat calculated to be the cause of other wit. The public wells
of Musselburgh are perhaps replete with the results of intramural inter-
ment. The reason why the worst water in the town makes the best
toddy may be surmised to be that it forms with whiskey a union of
body and spirit As a combination of animal matter with spirit, the
toddy made with the Musselburgh wells water may be represented as
an elixir of animal spirits. And so on. No wonder Baillie Peter
Millar was jealous of his fame for the joke which he had made, and
did not like to have the good thing that had been said by himself
attributed to Dr. Sanderson.
THE MYSTERY OF BONNETS.
Mr. Punch is unfortunately unable to speak as often as he could
wish in commendatory terms of fashionable articles of ladies’ dress.
His nature prompts him to praise with the utmost enthusiasm any and
everything that tends to enhance the charms of beauty. Any effectual
contrivance for setting off a bast, an arm, or an ancle, would set birr,
raving with eulogy at least as frantically as the loveliest new thing in
sauce. But he seldom has the pleasure of thus expressing himself.
The demon of perversity has for a long time presided over the fashions.
What could Punch say, for instance, of chignons F Simply that they
are more ridiculous than pigtails, and less cleanly.
• But now there has at last arisen a fashion that Mr. Punch has the
unspeakable happiness of being able to extol in the highest terms. It
is that of those charming little bonnets that ladies now wear.
Mr. Punch has a most particular reason for magnifying these little
bonnets, while wishing they may never get bigger. His reason is that
those same bonnets-No 1
Never give reasons is a maxim which must now be followed. The
little bonnets are popular. Mr. Punch is glad of it. If he were to
state his reason why, he has no doubt that they would be instantly
discarded. He must, therefore, withhold his reason for admiring
them until he is implored to assign it by their wearers, whose entrea-
ties are never addressed to him in vain.
a distinction with a difference.
Liberty, Fraternity and Equality F Yes, good people. Liberty foi
ever. Fraternity also, and likewise Equality—but not Equalisation.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[May 4, 1867.
POETRY IN THE PANTRY.
Some people say that poetry, like chivalry, is dead. In these prosaic
times, they tell you, a lover never pens a sonnet to his mistress’s eye-
brow : such a thing, he would most likely say, is “ all my eye,” and if
he sent her any lines they would probably be fishing ones. Railways,
it is said, have annihilated poetry, as well as time and space. In these
high-pressure days, making verses is by far too slow an occupation.
Except perhaps the poet laureate, and Punch, no one now-a-days writes
anything that people can call poetry.
Eor the credit of mankind, Punch is glad to think these statements
are not founded upon fact. Poetical himself, Punch is proud to be the
cause of poetry in others; and that he is so his waste-paper basket
daily gives full proof. Some lines, however, reach him now and then,
which he finds worth preservation in the amber of his type. Such for
instance are the following, which appeared upon the 10th of April in
the Irish Times:—
\ PLACE is Wanted by a Girl,
c* Ere this short week doth end,
To wait upon an invalid.
And all her wants attend : •
She has the power which few possess.
To soothe and comfort in distress !
Or wait upon two ladies fair,
For she excels in dressing hair.
Address, &c.
If this be not true poetry, Punch would like to know what is. And
how much prettier is such a notice than the curt, blunt, prosy state-
ments of people who “ Want Places ” in the columns of the Times !
Nobody now ever dreams of reading those advertisements, but by the
help of poetry they might, we think, be made delightfully attractive.
We really advise servants not to be too proud to act upon the precedent
this Irish girl has given them. A footman, we should fancy, would
soon find himself engaged, if he announced his talents in some such
style as this :—
A Footman now doth want a place ;
His height is five feet eight:
He can both ope the door with grace,
And at the table wait.
His calves are fine, his figure good,
His H’s ne’er he drops :
He deigns to eat the simplest food—
Yes, even mutton chops !
If exiled from his pantry by some unlucky chance, Jeames might
find his muse of service in procuring him a place. And who could fail
be impressed by this poetical appeal by a paragon of a Cook ?—
You want a Cook ? Well, here is one
Who ne’er sent pork up underdone:
Who drinks no beer, who cribs no grease,
Nor ^ives cold meat to the police.
No kitchenmaid doth she require,
Nor ever burns too big a fire.
Her wages twenty pounds a year ;
For such a Jewel ’tis not dear !
Surely such a jewel deserves a finer setting than the plain, unpolished
prose of a common-place advertisement. And why should not a
Coachman put his Pegasus in harness, and thus modestly announce his
bilities in verse ?—
As coachman, for a gent or swell:
Can drive one, or a pair :
Is single : steady : knows town well:
Can sleep in country air.
N.B. Would also like to state,
Finds his own gloves when he doth wait.
From the butler to the “ Buttons,” from the valet to the scullery-
maid, all servants, high or low, might find the art of poetry a valuable
agent in procuring them a place. We should be glad if our remarks
at all assist towards this result, but we candidly confess we do not
think they will. However, while the rhyming fit is on us, we must
supply one more poetical advertisement, just to show that poets soon
might be as common as potatoes, if our servants took to writing in the
manner of the advertiser in the Irish Times:—
Pray, which of you ladies now wants a nice page F
He is not quite thirteen yet, and tall for his age.
Yet, though fast he is growing, his appetite’s small.
And he ne’er bursts his buttons by larks in the hall.
In lollipops never his wages are spent.
Nor plays he at leap-frog, on errands when sent.
To give him a trial you’d never refuse.
Could you see how he ’ll polish your knives and your shoes !
THE EMPRESS OF LAQUES.
We do not know the age of the lady named by the Post in the sub-
joined paragraph. We do not inquire. Far be it from Punch to moot
so delicate a question. But there was a time when the idea of a most
sensible woman and a large landowner, combined in one person, would
have invested that person with peculiar interest in the eyes of Mr.
Punch. For reasons which may be imagined, he would then have been
anxious to know whether a lady, evidently endowed as well with much
property as with great taste and intelligence, had also the advantage
of parity of years with himself. This would have sufficed him. He
is satisfied with intellectual beauty—the beauty of expression: “the
mind, the music beaming from the face.” That he would have taken
for granted. Here is the brief but suggestive statement, which has
occasioned him to gush at the unusual rate foregoing :—
“ Crinoline.—The Oswestry Advertiser says that Miss Lloyd, of Laques, has
given wholesale notice to quit to her tenants in Carmarthenshire and Pembroke
shire, in consequence of their wives and daughters wearing crinoline, a practice to
which Miss Lloyd objects.”
The mandate above described as issued by the Lady of Laques must
be owned apparently to partake of the nature of an Ukase, or a Bull.
Arbitrary, however, as that decree may seem. Crinoline, in excess, is
such a bore, such an ugly, such a troublesome, such a vicious, such a
dangerous, and now, happily, such a vulgar thing, and gives rise to
such unpleasantnesses, that if 1867 were an earlier date, and Mr. Punch
were not blest as he is, he would certainly inquire immediately about
Miss Lloyd of Laques.
A JOKE OF THE FIRST WATER.
The Rev. Sydney Smith calumniated a facetious nation when he
declared that a surgical operation was necessary to get a joke into a
Scotchman’s head. The following extract from the British Medical
Journal will show that, so far from being impermeable to a joke from
without, a Scotchman’s head is capable of giving issue to a joke con-
ceived in its interior :—
“ A Musselburgh Baillie’s Opinion on the Best Water for making Toddy
— We find in the Shields Daily News a note to the following effect: ‘The Senior
Baillie of Musselburgh (Mr. Peter Millar, of Eskside) has requested us to state,
in reference to the discussion at the Town Council meeting on Monday night, upon
the condition of the public wells, that it was not Dr. Sanderson’s opinion, but his
own “that the finest toddy was made from the worst water in the town.” ’ ”
Does anybody doubt about the jocosity of Baillie Millar’s joke F
Let him try it. Let him see if it will not set any intellectual table in a
roar. Besides the Baillie’s joke is suggestive. It is not only witty
in itself, bat calculated to be the cause of other wit. The public wells
of Musselburgh are perhaps replete with the results of intramural inter-
ment. The reason why the worst water in the town makes the best
toddy may be surmised to be that it forms with whiskey a union of
body and spirit As a combination of animal matter with spirit, the
toddy made with the Musselburgh wells water may be represented as
an elixir of animal spirits. And so on. No wonder Baillie Peter
Millar was jealous of his fame for the joke which he had made, and
did not like to have the good thing that had been said by himself
attributed to Dr. Sanderson.
THE MYSTERY OF BONNETS.
Mr. Punch is unfortunately unable to speak as often as he could
wish in commendatory terms of fashionable articles of ladies’ dress.
His nature prompts him to praise with the utmost enthusiasm any and
everything that tends to enhance the charms of beauty. Any effectual
contrivance for setting off a bast, an arm, or an ancle, would set birr,
raving with eulogy at least as frantically as the loveliest new thing in
sauce. But he seldom has the pleasure of thus expressing himself.
The demon of perversity has for a long time presided over the fashions.
What could Punch say, for instance, of chignons F Simply that they
are more ridiculous than pigtails, and less cleanly.
• But now there has at last arisen a fashion that Mr. Punch has the
unspeakable happiness of being able to extol in the highest terms. It
is that of those charming little bonnets that ladies now wear.
Mr. Punch has a most particular reason for magnifying these little
bonnets, while wishing they may never get bigger. His reason is that
those same bonnets-No 1
Never give reasons is a maxim which must now be followed. The
little bonnets are popular. Mr. Punch is glad of it. If he were to
state his reason why, he has no doubt that they would be instantly
discarded. He must, therefore, withhold his reason for admiring
them until he is implored to assign it by their wearers, whose entrea-
ties are never addressed to him in vain.
a distinction with a difference.
Liberty, Fraternity and Equality F Yes, good people. Liberty foi
ever. Fraternity also, and likewise Equality—but not Equalisation.