DOI issue:
July 20, 1867
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16880#0039
July 20, 1867.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
27
I
GOOD MEAT ILL-DRESSED.
Grand Hotel du Louvre, July 13.
ear Mr. Punch,—Papa has
brought us over here for
three weeks. It is most
delightful and really not at
all expensive, all things
considered—particularly as
Papa franks us all—and we
are enjoying ourselves very
much. The Exposition is
immense fun, when you get
accustomed to it, and know
your way about; and luckily
Agnes and I have been
used to long walks, and get
on very well, without Bath-
chairs. Bred Hardy, who
is our neighbour at home,
and who goes out this year
in the poll at Cambridge,
and is a member of the Alpine Club, is here now, and so kind to
us. He says he has calculated that “ we do our twenty miles
a-day, and come up smiling” after it. He is so funny. If you could
hear him, you would not be surprised, I’m sure, even if we came
up laughing, sometimes. I don’t know how we should get on without
Pred. Of course. Mamma has a Bath-chair, and as she and Papa can’t
go our pace, we don’t see much of them in the Exposition. And as
Fred is a neighbour, Papa says he doesn’t mind trusting us to his
escort. Now, please, don’t think I’m going to bother you with my
remarks on the Exposition. But there is one thing which wants putting
t.o-rights sadly. And Fred says that if I write to you, and say what
I have to say very prettily, he has no doubt you will make a repre-
sentation in the proper quarter, he isn’t quite sure whether that means
Mr.Henry Cole, C.B., or the Emperor, but he is quite sure that through
one or the other, or both together, the thing will be done at once.
You must know, then, that the national restaurants and buffets are
an immense feature in the great Paris show. We’ve been round the
whole of them, on what Fred calls the culinary grand tour. He has
actually persuaded Mamma and Papa to take us all to dinner in the
Austrian Restauration; and it was the funniest dinner. We had never
seen one of the dishes before; and Fred says he doesn’t care if
he never sees any of them again; and I really think we all agree
with him. Agnes and I didn’t feel well for a week, and Mamma
was quite ill, and even Papa was what he calls “ off his feed ” all
the next day. He thinks it was the carraway seeds in the bread,
but Mamma says it was the beer, which we all thought so nice
and so refreshing that we drank I don’t know how many of those
big glass jugs—schoppen, I think they call them. But the great attrac-
tion of these places is not what you get to eat and drink, but the girls
who wait on you. They are dressed in their national costumes, and so
coquettishly most of them ! Outside the Spanish cafe, where there is
generally an immense crowd, the guests are served by Spanish girls,
with rich olive complexions, delicate little retroussee noses, low straight
eyebrows, and round chins. You never saw anything more becoming
than their costume, full purple satin skirts, white lace shawls and
aprons, with high combs and damask roses in their raven black hair,
twisted in a great flat curl on each side of the face. In these charming
dresses they trip about with coffee and ices, chocolate, and orgeat, on
t he daintiest little shoes with enormously high heels. Fred declares
they talk beautiful Spanish, and says that till we came he spent a great
deal of time at the Spanish cafe for the sake of the language, as he is
thinking of a trip to the Sierra Nevada next long.
Then in the Russian cafe there is such a tall stately girl with blue
eyes and fair hair, and a clear colour, with a sort of a diadem on her
head, and no end of ribbons floating behind her, who I suppose
speaks Russian very prettily, for she has a great many young men
always studying the language about her. And she has a masculine
waiter to help her in a light crimson tunic and white trousers who
seems a great favourite. Then in Holland you are waited upon by plump,
pleasant-looking Dutch girls, in round caps, with lace lappets, and
great gold plates on their temples. And the Swedish restaurant has
its Swedish maiden, with her scarlet jacket, and silver tags, and
buttons, and laces, all setting off a very pretty modest face and the
most dazzlingly fair complexion Fred declares she’s enamelled, but
we know better. And in the Austrian restaurant the other day the
ices and even the beer were served by the prettiest young waitresses,
one in particular, whom Fred declared was perfectly fascinating, with
her dark hair in a cluh, and over it a little crimson haube, which Fred
tells me is the correct German word for a cap worn over the back hair,—
much prettier, he says, than a chignon— ana a scarlet and gold bodice,
with thin white muslin sleeves, and a blue silk petticoat, it seems
rather gaudy to read, doesn’t it ? But as she wore the dress, I can
assure you we all thought it most becoming.
Then there are the French flower-girls going about in their elegant
lace caps, and skirts looped up with bunches of violets, and their fresh
bouquets, and neat scissors hanging by silver chains from their belts
to cut rosebuds for the gentlemen, rather bold you know, but so clever,
and pleasant, and pretty in their ways. And even the fat, indolent
dame de comptoir at the Tunisian cafe, with her long sleepy almond
eyes, fringed with kohl—Fred says that’s the right way to spell
it; 1 spelt it “ coal: ” it’s some black stuff they use to tinge the lower
eyelid,—who looks almost too lazy to give change to her customers, or
to pile the lumps of sugar in the little trays, seems to have quite a
levee of admirers about her, and is bewitchingly got up a Vot ientale.
Of course, as a woman, one likes to see women admired, and as an
Englishwoman one would like to be properly represented in this part
of the Exposition. Now, the effect of a woman depends not on face and
figure only, but on face, figure, and dress. As far as face and figure
go, I am bound to admit that the young ladies in the English refresh-
ment department can quite hold their own against the foxeigners, but
as for costume ! It may be very provoking to think we haven’t such
a thing as a national dress left in England. AH the more reason, I
say, somebody should invent one for the Exposition. Whv shouldn’t
we have English, Scotch, and Irish lasses prettily and picturesquely
got up for the occasion ? I’ve no doubt that Madame Elise, or better
still, Mr. May, of Bow Street, who got up the costume of our private
theatricals, and dressed Lady Stunner’s tableaux last season, would
do it beautifully. And by all I hear, I suspect it would be quite as
like the real thing as the "Spanish, Russian, or Swedish dresses 1 have
described are like anything one sees in Madrid, Moscow, or Stockholm.
But real, or make believe, what I say is that they ’re charming. And
it’s too provoking, in the midst of all this pretty foreign masquerading,
to find England unable to rise above the Mugby Junction style of
toilette. Fred says it is the case of the English cuisine over again—
excellent meat, but in artistically cooked, and badly served up.
I suppose Messrs. Spiers and Pond think that as good wine needs
no bush, so the pretty faces of old England require no recommenda-
tion from attractive costume. Even as a lady I don’t agree with them.
And Fred says, that as a gentleman, he doesn’t.
So please, Mr. Punch, make the proper representation in the proper
quarter, aud either get Messrs. Spiers and Pond to relorm the
dress of their waiting-women, or, if they won’t, tell Mr. Henry Cole,
and he ’ll send over a body of properly qualified costumiers by the
first van he may be dispatching from South Kensington.
I remain, dear Mr. Punch,
Your constant, though much mortified reader,
Leila.
THUGGISM NATIVE AND FOREIGN.
Thuggish with its tender blood-red blossoms, has been transplanted
from India’s soft enervating air to one of our keenest northern towns.
On its native soil we believe it was languishing, for this rare exotic ha.s
a strong inclination for the shade, aud will perish in our cold climate if
only a little light is thrown on it. Kalee, its first cultivator, trained
it with his own hands, inspired by feelings of superstitious devotion.
Here agents as assiduous, but entirely free from fanaticism, are em-
ployed at fair wages to watch its creeping tendrils day and night.
Not labour alone, but capital, has contributed to promote its growth.
The precious metal in fine dust has been sprinkled over its roots, and a
system of forcing adopted with startling results. So successful indeed
has been the improved mode of culture, that the Thuggism of com-
merce now produces a gold leaf as brilliant as any by which the choicest
instruments of assassination—those emblazoned with the indelible
stamp of infamy—are gilt.
Trades’ Unions Law Superseded.
There can be no doubt that Trades’ Unions would never resort to
assassination as a punishment for disobedience to their edicts, if that
offence were severely punishable by law, as no doubt it will be when
the members of those societies enjoy that preponderance in the
Legislature which will result from the perfect representation of
their numbers.
THEY KNOW LETTER.
One of the Newspapers having spoken of the rush that there was
to see the Viceroy in the Zoological Gardens on Sunday week as an
“ ententef the senior Emeu in that establishment, on behalf of himself
and his colleagues, wishes thus publicly to announce that they took no
part in it. _
GASTRONOM1CAL DISCOVERY.
The hippophagists of France are said to have invented a new disli
of horse soup, namely, a Consomme aux oeufs, in which the eggs have
been obtained from a mare’s-nest.
)
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
27
I
GOOD MEAT ILL-DRESSED.
Grand Hotel du Louvre, July 13.
ear Mr. Punch,—Papa has
brought us over here for
three weeks. It is most
delightful and really not at
all expensive, all things
considered—particularly as
Papa franks us all—and we
are enjoying ourselves very
much. The Exposition is
immense fun, when you get
accustomed to it, and know
your way about; and luckily
Agnes and I have been
used to long walks, and get
on very well, without Bath-
chairs. Bred Hardy, who
is our neighbour at home,
and who goes out this year
in the poll at Cambridge,
and is a member of the Alpine Club, is here now, and so kind to
us. He says he has calculated that “ we do our twenty miles
a-day, and come up smiling” after it. He is so funny. If you could
hear him, you would not be surprised, I’m sure, even if we came
up laughing, sometimes. I don’t know how we should get on without
Pred. Of course. Mamma has a Bath-chair, and as she and Papa can’t
go our pace, we don’t see much of them in the Exposition. And as
Fred is a neighbour, Papa says he doesn’t mind trusting us to his
escort. Now, please, don’t think I’m going to bother you with my
remarks on the Exposition. But there is one thing which wants putting
t.o-rights sadly. And Fred says that if I write to you, and say what
I have to say very prettily, he has no doubt you will make a repre-
sentation in the proper quarter, he isn’t quite sure whether that means
Mr.Henry Cole, C.B., or the Emperor, but he is quite sure that through
one or the other, or both together, the thing will be done at once.
You must know, then, that the national restaurants and buffets are
an immense feature in the great Paris show. We’ve been round the
whole of them, on what Fred calls the culinary grand tour. He has
actually persuaded Mamma and Papa to take us all to dinner in the
Austrian Restauration; and it was the funniest dinner. We had never
seen one of the dishes before; and Fred says he doesn’t care if
he never sees any of them again; and I really think we all agree
with him. Agnes and I didn’t feel well for a week, and Mamma
was quite ill, and even Papa was what he calls “ off his feed ” all
the next day. He thinks it was the carraway seeds in the bread,
but Mamma says it was the beer, which we all thought so nice
and so refreshing that we drank I don’t know how many of those
big glass jugs—schoppen, I think they call them. But the great attrac-
tion of these places is not what you get to eat and drink, but the girls
who wait on you. They are dressed in their national costumes, and so
coquettishly most of them ! Outside the Spanish cafe, where there is
generally an immense crowd, the guests are served by Spanish girls,
with rich olive complexions, delicate little retroussee noses, low straight
eyebrows, and round chins. You never saw anything more becoming
than their costume, full purple satin skirts, white lace shawls and
aprons, with high combs and damask roses in their raven black hair,
twisted in a great flat curl on each side of the face. In these charming
dresses they trip about with coffee and ices, chocolate, and orgeat, on
t he daintiest little shoes with enormously high heels. Fred declares
they talk beautiful Spanish, and says that till we came he spent a great
deal of time at the Spanish cafe for the sake of the language, as he is
thinking of a trip to the Sierra Nevada next long.
Then in the Russian cafe there is such a tall stately girl with blue
eyes and fair hair, and a clear colour, with a sort of a diadem on her
head, and no end of ribbons floating behind her, who I suppose
speaks Russian very prettily, for she has a great many young men
always studying the language about her. And she has a masculine
waiter to help her in a light crimson tunic and white trousers who
seems a great favourite. Then in Holland you are waited upon by plump,
pleasant-looking Dutch girls, in round caps, with lace lappets, and
great gold plates on their temples. And the Swedish restaurant has
its Swedish maiden, with her scarlet jacket, and silver tags, and
buttons, and laces, all setting off a very pretty modest face and the
most dazzlingly fair complexion Fred declares she’s enamelled, but
we know better. And in the Austrian restaurant the other day the
ices and even the beer were served by the prettiest young waitresses,
one in particular, whom Fred declared was perfectly fascinating, with
her dark hair in a cluh, and over it a little crimson haube, which Fred
tells me is the correct German word for a cap worn over the back hair,—
much prettier, he says, than a chignon— ana a scarlet and gold bodice,
with thin white muslin sleeves, and a blue silk petticoat, it seems
rather gaudy to read, doesn’t it ? But as she wore the dress, I can
assure you we all thought it most becoming.
Then there are the French flower-girls going about in their elegant
lace caps, and skirts looped up with bunches of violets, and their fresh
bouquets, and neat scissors hanging by silver chains from their belts
to cut rosebuds for the gentlemen, rather bold you know, but so clever,
and pleasant, and pretty in their ways. And even the fat, indolent
dame de comptoir at the Tunisian cafe, with her long sleepy almond
eyes, fringed with kohl—Fred says that’s the right way to spell
it; 1 spelt it “ coal: ” it’s some black stuff they use to tinge the lower
eyelid,—who looks almost too lazy to give change to her customers, or
to pile the lumps of sugar in the little trays, seems to have quite a
levee of admirers about her, and is bewitchingly got up a Vot ientale.
Of course, as a woman, one likes to see women admired, and as an
Englishwoman one would like to be properly represented in this part
of the Exposition. Now, the effect of a woman depends not on face and
figure only, but on face, figure, and dress. As far as face and figure
go, I am bound to admit that the young ladies in the English refresh-
ment department can quite hold their own against the foxeigners, but
as for costume ! It may be very provoking to think we haven’t such
a thing as a national dress left in England. AH the more reason, I
say, somebody should invent one for the Exposition. Whv shouldn’t
we have English, Scotch, and Irish lasses prettily and picturesquely
got up for the occasion ? I’ve no doubt that Madame Elise, or better
still, Mr. May, of Bow Street, who got up the costume of our private
theatricals, and dressed Lady Stunner’s tableaux last season, would
do it beautifully. And by all I hear, I suspect it would be quite as
like the real thing as the "Spanish, Russian, or Swedish dresses 1 have
described are like anything one sees in Madrid, Moscow, or Stockholm.
But real, or make believe, what I say is that they ’re charming. And
it’s too provoking, in the midst of all this pretty foreign masquerading,
to find England unable to rise above the Mugby Junction style of
toilette. Fred says it is the case of the English cuisine over again—
excellent meat, but in artistically cooked, and badly served up.
I suppose Messrs. Spiers and Pond think that as good wine needs
no bush, so the pretty faces of old England require no recommenda-
tion from attractive costume. Even as a lady I don’t agree with them.
And Fred says, that as a gentleman, he doesn’t.
So please, Mr. Punch, make the proper representation in the proper
quarter, aud either get Messrs. Spiers and Pond to relorm the
dress of their waiting-women, or, if they won’t, tell Mr. Henry Cole,
and he ’ll send over a body of properly qualified costumiers by the
first van he may be dispatching from South Kensington.
I remain, dear Mr. Punch,
Your constant, though much mortified reader,
Leila.
THUGGISM NATIVE AND FOREIGN.
Thuggish with its tender blood-red blossoms, has been transplanted
from India’s soft enervating air to one of our keenest northern towns.
On its native soil we believe it was languishing, for this rare exotic ha.s
a strong inclination for the shade, aud will perish in our cold climate if
only a little light is thrown on it. Kalee, its first cultivator, trained
it with his own hands, inspired by feelings of superstitious devotion.
Here agents as assiduous, but entirely free from fanaticism, are em-
ployed at fair wages to watch its creeping tendrils day and night.
Not labour alone, but capital, has contributed to promote its growth.
The precious metal in fine dust has been sprinkled over its roots, and a
system of forcing adopted with startling results. So successful indeed
has been the improved mode of culture, that the Thuggism of com-
merce now produces a gold leaf as brilliant as any by which the choicest
instruments of assassination—those emblazoned with the indelible
stamp of infamy—are gilt.
Trades’ Unions Law Superseded.
There can be no doubt that Trades’ Unions would never resort to
assassination as a punishment for disobedience to their edicts, if that
offence were severely punishable by law, as no doubt it will be when
the members of those societies enjoy that preponderance in the
Legislature which will result from the perfect representation of
their numbers.
THEY KNOW LETTER.
One of the Newspapers having spoken of the rush that there was
to see the Viceroy in the Zoological Gardens on Sunday week as an
“ ententef the senior Emeu in that establishment, on behalf of himself
and his colleagues, wishes thus publicly to announce that they took no
part in it. _
GASTRONOM1CAL DISCOVERY.
The hippophagists of France are said to have invented a new disli
of horse soup, namely, a Consomme aux oeufs, in which the eggs have
been obtained from a mare’s-nest.
)