DOI Heft:
August 31, 1867
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16880#0095
August 31 1867.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
lcA SLIP O’ THE TONGUE.”
Yachting Biped. “Then you’ll Look us up at Primrose ’ill?”
New Acquaintance {gentlemanly man). “On, yes—near the ‘Zoo,’ isn t it?
We often drop in and have a Look at the Monkeys !”
SONG BY AN OLD SAVAGE.
Dearest girl, for t.lie high cultivation
Of your form, take all possible care,
But oh pray to your mind’s information
Of attention do pay a small share !
In a few years, without satisfaction.
On your toilet you ’ll lavish your pains :
Beauty goes, and a woman’s attraction
Then entirely depends on her brains.
While you still keep the figure and features
Which men gaze on with joy and delight,
You may say what you will, pretty creatures,
’Twill be taken for clever and bright.
Such delusion is owing to Cupid,
That no word can be uttered amiss,
Though entirely unmeaning or stupid,
By the bps that appear made to kiss.
When her mouth’s lines of grace have got broken.
Byes grown dim, cheeks are faded and blurred.
By a woman if nonsense is spoken,
Man perceives that her speech is absurd.
’Tis the waist that has ceased to be slender,
’Tis the ankles that no more are slim,
When she talks any folly, that render
All that folly apparent to him.
Persevere, then, with earnest endeavour,
Still those fugitive charms to enhance.
Study dress as intently as ever.
With a view to display and to dance.
But read books, too, that make the mind stronger.
When your good looks have vanished away,
And you can’t please the eye any longer.
That you then may have something to say.
Bordering on Distraction.
“ The Queen on the Borders.” An agreeable varia-
J tion from the usual announcement of Her Majesty being
on the Slopes. We might have been certain that she
would be welcome to Floors, which made a great floral
display, and beg to suggest that, from its pre-eminence at
the present time, it ought to be known as First Floors.
I SEE THEM! DANCING!
I see them dancing on the Mill,
In Bridewell garb. I see
Among rogues dancing, dancing still,
Dishonest Tradesmen three.
I see, &c.
Three out of fifty-eight are they.
For weight and measure short,
All fined, and those three couldn’t pay,
At Tower Hamlets Court.
I see, &c.
Dance on, dance on ; I’ve steeled my breast ;
That vision I can bear.
I only wish I saw the rest,
All of them, dancing there.
I see, &c.
IMPORTANT WORKS IN THE PRESS.
The Drinks of London, from Coculus to Cooper. By a Consumer.
The Edinburgh Englishman. A Journal for Cockneys in Scotland.
Burns. An Essay on Scottish Poetry and Petroleum. By a
Northern Light.
The Life of a Dog. By a Man who has lived one.
Ln and Gone to Bed. By the Author of “ Out and About.”
Red Rufus, the Rugged Ruffian of the Rvffied Shirt. A Simple Story
for the Young.
Easy A-LLead, or Westminster Wins. A Work for the People.
Uncivil Engineering. By a Thames Embanker.
The Lions. An Epic Poem in four Attitudes. By Sir E- L-.
A GREAT COMING DOWN.
Mr Punch,
Last week I wrote to you in a manner expressive of profound
joy. This week I address you in a manner indicative of the deepest disap-
pointment. I had seen a ladder and a rope on the equestrian statue
of the Duke oe Wellington at Hyde Park Corner, and I naturally
concluded that these were the premonitory symptoms (as its neigh-
bours at St. George’s Hospital would say) of the decline and tall of
that wondrous work of Art. 1 was wrong. All hope is over. The
ladder and the rope are gone, but the statue remains in statu quo—I
openly avow that this is an appropriation of a joke hoary in its an-
tiquity ; indeed, when a very little boy, I remember being warned t hat
nothing had been left unsaid or unsung about the statue—nevertheless,
1 shall quote in reference to its present position a piece of Latiuity
that you may have heard before—Sedet celernumque sedebit. Some-
thing I suppose was wrong, and required to be repaired, perhaps in
the Duke’s bust. I know I was ready to bust with rage when I tound
out my mistake. I have one hope left. I hear that the new Parlia-
ment will pull down and level everything. If it will only lay its
democratic hands on this huge ugly bronze that I am compelled to
pass twice every day, I will get an order and go and hear Beales speak
the first time he addresses the House.
Yours (for the second time of asking),
A Daily Sufferer.
A Little Game that Don’t Pay.
By the judgment of Baron Bramwell, the operative tailors have
lost the game of Picquet they have been carrying on with their masters,
and had better now pocket their losses, give up play, and go to work
again.
We know not whether Sheffield has many “ Wise Saws,” but she
certainly has very foolish Sawgrinders.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
lcA SLIP O’ THE TONGUE.”
Yachting Biped. “Then you’ll Look us up at Primrose ’ill?”
New Acquaintance {gentlemanly man). “On, yes—near the ‘Zoo,’ isn t it?
We often drop in and have a Look at the Monkeys !”
SONG BY AN OLD SAVAGE.
Dearest girl, for t.lie high cultivation
Of your form, take all possible care,
But oh pray to your mind’s information
Of attention do pay a small share !
In a few years, without satisfaction.
On your toilet you ’ll lavish your pains :
Beauty goes, and a woman’s attraction
Then entirely depends on her brains.
While you still keep the figure and features
Which men gaze on with joy and delight,
You may say what you will, pretty creatures,
’Twill be taken for clever and bright.
Such delusion is owing to Cupid,
That no word can be uttered amiss,
Though entirely unmeaning or stupid,
By the bps that appear made to kiss.
When her mouth’s lines of grace have got broken.
Byes grown dim, cheeks are faded and blurred.
By a woman if nonsense is spoken,
Man perceives that her speech is absurd.
’Tis the waist that has ceased to be slender,
’Tis the ankles that no more are slim,
When she talks any folly, that render
All that folly apparent to him.
Persevere, then, with earnest endeavour,
Still those fugitive charms to enhance.
Study dress as intently as ever.
With a view to display and to dance.
But read books, too, that make the mind stronger.
When your good looks have vanished away,
And you can’t please the eye any longer.
That you then may have something to say.
Bordering on Distraction.
“ The Queen on the Borders.” An agreeable varia-
J tion from the usual announcement of Her Majesty being
on the Slopes. We might have been certain that she
would be welcome to Floors, which made a great floral
display, and beg to suggest that, from its pre-eminence at
the present time, it ought to be known as First Floors.
I SEE THEM! DANCING!
I see them dancing on the Mill,
In Bridewell garb. I see
Among rogues dancing, dancing still,
Dishonest Tradesmen three.
I see, &c.
Three out of fifty-eight are they.
For weight and measure short,
All fined, and those three couldn’t pay,
At Tower Hamlets Court.
I see, &c.
Dance on, dance on ; I’ve steeled my breast ;
That vision I can bear.
I only wish I saw the rest,
All of them, dancing there.
I see, &c.
IMPORTANT WORKS IN THE PRESS.
The Drinks of London, from Coculus to Cooper. By a Consumer.
The Edinburgh Englishman. A Journal for Cockneys in Scotland.
Burns. An Essay on Scottish Poetry and Petroleum. By a
Northern Light.
The Life of a Dog. By a Man who has lived one.
Ln and Gone to Bed. By the Author of “ Out and About.”
Red Rufus, the Rugged Ruffian of the Rvffied Shirt. A Simple Story
for the Young.
Easy A-LLead, or Westminster Wins. A Work for the People.
Uncivil Engineering. By a Thames Embanker.
The Lions. An Epic Poem in four Attitudes. By Sir E- L-.
A GREAT COMING DOWN.
Mr Punch,
Last week I wrote to you in a manner expressive of profound
joy. This week I address you in a manner indicative of the deepest disap-
pointment. I had seen a ladder and a rope on the equestrian statue
of the Duke oe Wellington at Hyde Park Corner, and I naturally
concluded that these were the premonitory symptoms (as its neigh-
bours at St. George’s Hospital would say) of the decline and tall of
that wondrous work of Art. 1 was wrong. All hope is over. The
ladder and the rope are gone, but the statue remains in statu quo—I
openly avow that this is an appropriation of a joke hoary in its an-
tiquity ; indeed, when a very little boy, I remember being warned t hat
nothing had been left unsaid or unsung about the statue—nevertheless,
1 shall quote in reference to its present position a piece of Latiuity
that you may have heard before—Sedet celernumque sedebit. Some-
thing I suppose was wrong, and required to be repaired, perhaps in
the Duke’s bust. I know I was ready to bust with rage when I tound
out my mistake. I have one hope left. I hear that the new Parlia-
ment will pull down and level everything. If it will only lay its
democratic hands on this huge ugly bronze that I am compelled to
pass twice every day, I will get an order and go and hear Beales speak
the first time he addresses the House.
Yours (for the second time of asking),
A Daily Sufferer.
A Little Game that Don’t Pay.
By the judgment of Baron Bramwell, the operative tailors have
lost the game of Picquet they have been carrying on with their masters,
and had better now pocket their losses, give up play, and go to work
again.
We know not whether Sheffield has many “ Wise Saws,” but she
certainly has very foolish Sawgrinders.