DOI Heft:
August 3, 1867
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16880#0053
August 3, 1867.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
41
LEADERS FOR A LOCAL PAPER.
erily there is something
suggestive in the subjoined
extract from the prospectus
of a provincial paper :—
Everybody nowadays reads
the London news in the London
daily papers, and the cheap
press of the Metropolis provides
for all, (and provides well) the
current history of the time. A
provincial Journal has another,
perhaps a narrower, but still an
exact sphere of duty. To tell
the news of his own town should
be, in our opinion, the first and
last object of the country jour-
nalist—the fire of yesterday, the
ball of last night, the accident
which has crippled a neighbour,
or the amusement which
delights the town ; to describe
these things well, should be
his pleasure and his pride.”
The leading articles of
such a journal should of course correspond to its news. The following
are offered as specimens of what some of them might be :—
KILLING THE FATTED HOG.
Combining resentment and indignation with a sense of uneasiness,
and while waxing fainter and fainter, expressing a spirit of dissent and
resistance to the last, a succession of squeals issuing from the back
premises of Mr. Blubb, on Monday last, announced the intelligence
that our respected neighbour was killing a pig. Of course we do not
mean to say that it was his own hand which performed the act of
porcicide. For that purpose he had invoked the customary services of
our friend Smithers. It is a great mistake to regard the event
which took place in Mr. Blubb’s yard last Monday as an every-day
occurrence. The case, in fact, is just the reverse. We do not kill a
pig every day. The performance of that solemnity is a festive occasion,
and warrants an extra glass of beer. We are enabled to state that the
weight of Mr. Blubb’s pig was seventeen score, and not, as was
estimated by incompetent judges, sixteen and a half. The smoke
ascending from behind that gentleman’s palings, attended by the
crackle of blazing straw, intimated that the victim was intended for
bacon, being “ swealed ” instead of scalded, as it would have beeu if it
had been designed for pork.
It is unnecessary to say that plenty has, for the last ffiree days,
reigned at Mr. Blubb’s abode. We all know that the pig is esculent,
the entire animal, from the end of his snout to the tip of hie tail; and
we need not expatiate on the excellence of pig’s liver. It is sufficient
to quote the dictum of William Cobbett : “Now then this hog is
altogether a good thing.” We may state, in conclusion, that the whole
of the pig has been utilised, inclusive even of the vital fluid. The chit-
terlings were, of course, the perquisite of Smithers.
A CHANGE OF OFFICE.
Our readers will be prepared for the information that Thomas has
quitted the service of the Harringtons, and is succeeded by James.
The circumstances which led to Thomas’s resignation are well known.
Not only was he not strong enough for the place, but he objected to
cleaning boots and shoes. His successor in office is more robust and
less fastidious; whilst the superiority of James’s calves to those of
his predecessor will render him an ornamental addition to Mrs. Har-
rington’s new carriage. We are enabled to state that James finds
himself on the best of terms with his fellow-servants, and conjecture is
already rife as to the probability of a future matrimonial alliance
between him and Mary; but speculation of this kind must for the
present be regarded as premature.
THE WEDDING OF THE WEEK.
The secret of young Mr. Binnister’s frequent visits to the farm
over the water is now out. On Wednesday last, as will be seen in
another part of our impression, "Was married at All Souls’ Church, in
this city, William, only son of John Binnister, Esq., wine mer-
chant, to Ellen, eldest daughter of the eminent agriculturist John
Stubbs, Esq., of Snawley. A marriage in which both mercantile and
agricultural interests are so largely represented as they are in the
present instance is to be looked upon as an urban, if not a national
event. The relations of the parties on either side in this auspicious
union cannot but exercise an important influence for good on the
extensive business of which Mr. Binnister junior is the active con-
ductor. The bachelor uncle of the bride, Mr. Nubbley, the coal
merchant, is possessed of enormous wealth ; and it is understood that
the bridegroom will inherit an immense property at the death of his
maternal grandfather, old Mr. Plumkins. We were honoured with a
card of invitation to the nuptial ceremony, and, when the procession
had left the hymeneal altar, had the pleasure of proposing, at the
wedding breakfast, the health of the newly-married couple. Our
talented fellow-townsman, Mr. Lingo, then, in a humorous speech,
gave the toast of “The Ladies,” and Mr. O’Rourke, who officiated
as the bridegroom’s “ best man,” distinguished himself by throwing an
old shoe after the happy pair as they drove off to spend their honey-
moon at Kiddlums Hall.
THE LAND OF THE SNOB.
Illustrious Visitor, hail!
Right welcome to Albion’s shore !
Wherever you go, through the streets or by rail.
Bystanders will holloa and roar.
Be prepared with your eyes and your ears,
For the stare and the shouts of the mob.
Their aloft flourished hats, and demonstrative cheers ;
For Old England’s the Land of the Snob, of the Snob :
Old England’s the Land of the Snob.
The people of England are free,
And Heaven for equality thank :
But none have such wild adoration as we
For folks of superior rank.
On the toes of each other we tread.
With delight, at the heels of a “nob,”
And in herds we await and pursue a crowned head;
For Old England’s the Land of the Snob, of the Snob :
Old England’s the Land of the Snob.
To put on sweet Majesty’s hat
Would joy to a Briton impart.
The cushion to press where it sat,
With lips, some could find in their heart.
There are those, could they do such a thing,
On a tempting occasion, as rob,
Who a tooth-brush would filch from a king ;
For Old England’s the Land of the Snob, of the Snob:
Old England’s the Land of the Snob.
REPRESENTATION OF MINORITIES.
Dear Punch,
I don’t read penny papers, nor do I make a study of politics.
Old Maids may, but I am not an old Maid. As to what is going on
in Parliament, I know no more from reading than Mop does, (Mop is
asleep on my velvet mantle—how happy he looks, bless him ! with his
hair all over his eyes), yet when I travel, too often alone, from London
to Brighton by odious rail, I can’t help learning something from loud
talking M.P.’s, whose conversation, instead of taking a light first-class
tone, invariably falls into a heavy parliamentary train. (I said odious
rail, didn’t I ? Yes ! because there is a charming four-horse coach now,
and I should so like to occupy the box-seat.) Where was I? Oh!
I remember. Well, it seems that some sensible man in the Commons
has been proposing to give a voice to Minorities—a still small voice of
course—in legislative matters. Now that I call a very kind thing indeed ;
for dear Punch, by way of illustration, just look at my position. I am a
ward in Chancery, and shall be till next April. Cornelius and I have
been engaged for nearly two years. Cornelius is a Cornet, and will
be eighteen next birthday. In law we are both infants, and during
our minorities are looked upon as things of no more consequence than
a crochet-needle or a ball of cotton. We must not dream of being
united for an age (at least for eight months), unless the Chancellor
will kindly give his consent, which as Cornelius is entirely dependent
on his father, who allows him £300 a year to find him in cigars, is very,
very doubtful. And although I am entitled to £30,000, and mean to
give it all to Cornelius on our bridal day, I am not allowed, at present,
to have a will of my own ! How do you account for all this injustice P
simply because there is no representation of Minorities—it stands to
reason it can’t proceed from anything else.
Now Mr. Mill is a dear creature, and I am a person very unfortu-
nately situated, and I therefore leave, my case in his hands, feeling with
him that until every person, and especially young persons, are properly
represented, we can never have that political paradise of which nis
admirers so fondly dream, and which I hope will soon be realised,
although I differ from them on one point, and cannot allow tnat mind
should take precedence of millinery in their approaching millennium.
Dashmgton Chase. Diana Derby.
P.S. Is Mr. Mill a military man? Cornelius fancies he must be,
because it is reported he once had the command of a Review.
Vol. 53.
2—8
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
41
LEADERS FOR A LOCAL PAPER.
erily there is something
suggestive in the subjoined
extract from the prospectus
of a provincial paper :—
Everybody nowadays reads
the London news in the London
daily papers, and the cheap
press of the Metropolis provides
for all, (and provides well) the
current history of the time. A
provincial Journal has another,
perhaps a narrower, but still an
exact sphere of duty. To tell
the news of his own town should
be, in our opinion, the first and
last object of the country jour-
nalist—the fire of yesterday, the
ball of last night, the accident
which has crippled a neighbour,
or the amusement which
delights the town ; to describe
these things well, should be
his pleasure and his pride.”
The leading articles of
such a journal should of course correspond to its news. The following
are offered as specimens of what some of them might be :—
KILLING THE FATTED HOG.
Combining resentment and indignation with a sense of uneasiness,
and while waxing fainter and fainter, expressing a spirit of dissent and
resistance to the last, a succession of squeals issuing from the back
premises of Mr. Blubb, on Monday last, announced the intelligence
that our respected neighbour was killing a pig. Of course we do not
mean to say that it was his own hand which performed the act of
porcicide. For that purpose he had invoked the customary services of
our friend Smithers. It is a great mistake to regard the event
which took place in Mr. Blubb’s yard last Monday as an every-day
occurrence. The case, in fact, is just the reverse. We do not kill a
pig every day. The performance of that solemnity is a festive occasion,
and warrants an extra glass of beer. We are enabled to state that the
weight of Mr. Blubb’s pig was seventeen score, and not, as was
estimated by incompetent judges, sixteen and a half. The smoke
ascending from behind that gentleman’s palings, attended by the
crackle of blazing straw, intimated that the victim was intended for
bacon, being “ swealed ” instead of scalded, as it would have beeu if it
had been designed for pork.
It is unnecessary to say that plenty has, for the last ffiree days,
reigned at Mr. Blubb’s abode. We all know that the pig is esculent,
the entire animal, from the end of his snout to the tip of hie tail; and
we need not expatiate on the excellence of pig’s liver. It is sufficient
to quote the dictum of William Cobbett : “Now then this hog is
altogether a good thing.” We may state, in conclusion, that the whole
of the pig has been utilised, inclusive even of the vital fluid. The chit-
terlings were, of course, the perquisite of Smithers.
A CHANGE OF OFFICE.
Our readers will be prepared for the information that Thomas has
quitted the service of the Harringtons, and is succeeded by James.
The circumstances which led to Thomas’s resignation are well known.
Not only was he not strong enough for the place, but he objected to
cleaning boots and shoes. His successor in office is more robust and
less fastidious; whilst the superiority of James’s calves to those of
his predecessor will render him an ornamental addition to Mrs. Har-
rington’s new carriage. We are enabled to state that James finds
himself on the best of terms with his fellow-servants, and conjecture is
already rife as to the probability of a future matrimonial alliance
between him and Mary; but speculation of this kind must for the
present be regarded as premature.
THE WEDDING OF THE WEEK.
The secret of young Mr. Binnister’s frequent visits to the farm
over the water is now out. On Wednesday last, as will be seen in
another part of our impression, "Was married at All Souls’ Church, in
this city, William, only son of John Binnister, Esq., wine mer-
chant, to Ellen, eldest daughter of the eminent agriculturist John
Stubbs, Esq., of Snawley. A marriage in which both mercantile and
agricultural interests are so largely represented as they are in the
present instance is to be looked upon as an urban, if not a national
event. The relations of the parties on either side in this auspicious
union cannot but exercise an important influence for good on the
extensive business of which Mr. Binnister junior is the active con-
ductor. The bachelor uncle of the bride, Mr. Nubbley, the coal
merchant, is possessed of enormous wealth ; and it is understood that
the bridegroom will inherit an immense property at the death of his
maternal grandfather, old Mr. Plumkins. We were honoured with a
card of invitation to the nuptial ceremony, and, when the procession
had left the hymeneal altar, had the pleasure of proposing, at the
wedding breakfast, the health of the newly-married couple. Our
talented fellow-townsman, Mr. Lingo, then, in a humorous speech,
gave the toast of “The Ladies,” and Mr. O’Rourke, who officiated
as the bridegroom’s “ best man,” distinguished himself by throwing an
old shoe after the happy pair as they drove off to spend their honey-
moon at Kiddlums Hall.
THE LAND OF THE SNOB.
Illustrious Visitor, hail!
Right welcome to Albion’s shore !
Wherever you go, through the streets or by rail.
Bystanders will holloa and roar.
Be prepared with your eyes and your ears,
For the stare and the shouts of the mob.
Their aloft flourished hats, and demonstrative cheers ;
For Old England’s the Land of the Snob, of the Snob :
Old England’s the Land of the Snob.
The people of England are free,
And Heaven for equality thank :
But none have such wild adoration as we
For folks of superior rank.
On the toes of each other we tread.
With delight, at the heels of a “nob,”
And in herds we await and pursue a crowned head;
For Old England’s the Land of the Snob, of the Snob :
Old England’s the Land of the Snob.
To put on sweet Majesty’s hat
Would joy to a Briton impart.
The cushion to press where it sat,
With lips, some could find in their heart.
There are those, could they do such a thing,
On a tempting occasion, as rob,
Who a tooth-brush would filch from a king ;
For Old England’s the Land of the Snob, of the Snob:
Old England’s the Land of the Snob.
REPRESENTATION OF MINORITIES.
Dear Punch,
I don’t read penny papers, nor do I make a study of politics.
Old Maids may, but I am not an old Maid. As to what is going on
in Parliament, I know no more from reading than Mop does, (Mop is
asleep on my velvet mantle—how happy he looks, bless him ! with his
hair all over his eyes), yet when I travel, too often alone, from London
to Brighton by odious rail, I can’t help learning something from loud
talking M.P.’s, whose conversation, instead of taking a light first-class
tone, invariably falls into a heavy parliamentary train. (I said odious
rail, didn’t I ? Yes ! because there is a charming four-horse coach now,
and I should so like to occupy the box-seat.) Where was I? Oh!
I remember. Well, it seems that some sensible man in the Commons
has been proposing to give a voice to Minorities—a still small voice of
course—in legislative matters. Now that I call a very kind thing indeed ;
for dear Punch, by way of illustration, just look at my position. I am a
ward in Chancery, and shall be till next April. Cornelius and I have
been engaged for nearly two years. Cornelius is a Cornet, and will
be eighteen next birthday. In law we are both infants, and during
our minorities are looked upon as things of no more consequence than
a crochet-needle or a ball of cotton. We must not dream of being
united for an age (at least for eight months), unless the Chancellor
will kindly give his consent, which as Cornelius is entirely dependent
on his father, who allows him £300 a year to find him in cigars, is very,
very doubtful. And although I am entitled to £30,000, and mean to
give it all to Cornelius on our bridal day, I am not allowed, at present,
to have a will of my own ! How do you account for all this injustice P
simply because there is no representation of Minorities—it stands to
reason it can’t proceed from anything else.
Now Mr. Mill is a dear creature, and I am a person very unfortu-
nately situated, and I therefore leave, my case in his hands, feeling with
him that until every person, and especially young persons, are properly
represented, we can never have that political paradise of which nis
admirers so fondly dream, and which I hope will soon be realised,
although I differ from them on one point, and cannot allow tnat mind
should take precedence of millinery in their approaching millennium.
Dashmgton Chase. Diana Derby.
P.S. Is Mr. Mill a military man? Cornelius fancies he must be,
because it is reported he once had the command of a Review.
Vol. 53.
2—8