DOI Heft:
January 25, 1868
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16881#0041
January 25, 1868.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
33
“A HORSE! GIVE ME ANOTHER HORSE!”
Y Dear Mr. Punch, — As it
seems all the rage at present to
give what I call Horseman-
feeds, I and two or three other
fellows have determined to get
one up in better style than is
usually attempted. We have
rescued a venerable cab-horse
{dun of course) from the
knacker’s, and named Knagg
Chairman,because of his name ;
it seems so suitable, don’t it ?
Well, you see, that’s just what
we mean it to be, symbolical,
illustrative, and that sort of
thing. I just want you, dear
Mr. Punch, to cast your ap-
preciative eye over a rough
sketch of a kind of Pro-
gramme Knagg and I have
been making out, and tell us
what you think of it. I think
it don’t sound bad.
First place, Knagg issues the
invitations for a feed, next
Saturday, in his dining-room—
Black, that’s another of our
fellows, wanted us to call it a
“ sally m anger; ” but that’s only
to show off his French, because he was at the Paris Exhibition, and we weren’t. He says
“Ahorse is far more in its place in a manger than in a room.” I can’t deny there’s
something in that. He says he ’ll send us a cheval-glass to decorate the sally manger. Of
course he can if he likes. We mean to have a band, of course; that’s to say we’ve got
Skweeker to promise to come with his fiddle, and give us a tune at the proper intervals.
He has composed a grand martial air expressly for the occasion, entitled “To Horse, to
Horse!” This he will play while we seat ourselves at a horse-shoe table, spread with a fair
saddle cloth.
First Course.—Saddle of horse, with capers ; vegetable—grass.
Second Course.—Curried horse.
Obligato accompaniment from Skweeker on one string.
Issh . . . ssh . . . ssh ... (as like a groom as he can make it.)
This we expect to be very effective, and cause so much emotion that probably no one will
eat the curry. Still hock is now to be handed round.
Third Course.—Entrees of horse’s trotters, and other kickshaws.
Air, “ Trah, Trab,” to which they will be sent trotting.
Salad.—Horse-radish.
Towards the close of the banquet there will be a dish of bridal cake handed round, and
the stirrup cup will be set on the table ; but before this Knagg and I have agreed he’s to
ask me to sing. Of course I shall say I’m a little hoarse, and couldn’t get through an air.
Knagg is to reply, he’s not particular to a horse hair (good, that, isn’t it?), and to press
me again, and then Pm to say, “Nay /” We reckon on some of our guests here rising and
saying something good about our horsepitality. We can’t very well introduce that ourselves,
but we shall take care to get up a horse-laugh. Well, then the stirrup-cap is to be sent
round, and Knagg, rising, will give the toast of the evening. Gentlemen, charge your glasses,
| “ The Horse, and Peace to his Mane-s /”
What do you think of it, Punchey? I think it ’ll do. Yours, admiringly,
John Trott.
P.S. I can’t help thinking something good might be got out of de-canter. Canter’s plain
enough, but what the d to do with the de. I’m a moral man, and shouldn’t wish to swear.
J. T.
MENDING OUR WAYS.
Any Londoner who chances to be driven about Paris must be struck with the extraordinary
smoothness of the streets, and must sigh for French steam-rollers when he returns to
England. However, it is never too late to mend. After being bumped, and bruised, and
shaken, and driven to distraction in every drive we have taken for many a year past, we are
happy to see it stated that :—
“ The Commission of Sewers have resolved to substitute asphalt, or gas-pitch, as a cement for the usual
granite pavement of the roadway, in place of the ordinary grouting. This plan will prevent the soft bed
from passing up between the stones, which will remain firm and level much longer than at present while
the formation of mud will be rendered impossible.”
Fancy London without mud ! What a blessing to look forward to ! Certainly, if gas-pitch
be of service in keeping the streets clean, we hope that no time will be lost in endeavouring
to bring them to such a pitch of excellence. The crossing-sweepers possibly may ask for
compensation ; but with the saving in our clothes, from having no more muddy streets, we
could very well afford to compensate the crossing-sweepers.
A Pbofessional Yiew oe Things.—Old Paynter never neglects any opportunity for
advancing Art. Every evening he has the cloth drawn.
BLACK MONDAY.
What means this throng of maidens
With boxes canvas-clad,
Which porters see
Expecting fee
And wait on mothers sad ?
Mammas, papas, and brothers
Beside the carriage pace,
So much they try
To check a sigh
And keep a cheerful face.
Ah ! Christmas-tide is over,
The holidays are done,
Each ball-room belle
Young lady swell
Is mournful, woe-begone.
For hath not Mrs. Nifskid,
With psedagogual craft
Enclosing bill
That bitter pill
Precursor of a draft,
Sent forth an invitation
To make young ladies tremble
On such a day
She hopes she may
See young friends re-assemble ?
The joy of many mansions.
The pride of many a home,
By road and rail,
Express and mail,
Unhappy girls they come.
When manly hearts are failing,
And mothers sit in tears,
Oh! hardest fate
For Jane and Kate
To combat with their fears.
The journey little comfort brings,
Such trials are in store.
They almost drop
When cabbies stop
A-front o’ th’ hated door.
How kind the Dowager appears
Till the first night’s expired,
“ The journey’s long,
You are not strong,
I’m sure you must be tired.
“ Your holidays you have enjoyed,
Your friends are well, I trust ;
Now come with me
And have some tea.
Be hungry ’deed you must.”
Some five-and-twenty perhaps sit down
Around the smoking toast:
A sorry sight.
No appetite
That any one can boast.
Teetotallers may prattle ;
It’s very plain to see,
The cup which cheers
These doleful dears,
Is not the cup of tea.
When left alone the old ones seem
A little more resigned”,
The new girls meek,
Afraid to speak,
But little comfort find.
Now Night, the old Confessor, comes
To listen to their woes :
What tears are shed,
When they’re in bed.
He never will disclose.
An Old Revolver—The Earth.
Yon. 54.
2
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
33
“A HORSE! GIVE ME ANOTHER HORSE!”
Y Dear Mr. Punch, — As it
seems all the rage at present to
give what I call Horseman-
feeds, I and two or three other
fellows have determined to get
one up in better style than is
usually attempted. We have
rescued a venerable cab-horse
{dun of course) from the
knacker’s, and named Knagg
Chairman,because of his name ;
it seems so suitable, don’t it ?
Well, you see, that’s just what
we mean it to be, symbolical,
illustrative, and that sort of
thing. I just want you, dear
Mr. Punch, to cast your ap-
preciative eye over a rough
sketch of a kind of Pro-
gramme Knagg and I have
been making out, and tell us
what you think of it. I think
it don’t sound bad.
First place, Knagg issues the
invitations for a feed, next
Saturday, in his dining-room—
Black, that’s another of our
fellows, wanted us to call it a
“ sally m anger; ” but that’s only
to show off his French, because he was at the Paris Exhibition, and we weren’t. He says
“Ahorse is far more in its place in a manger than in a room.” I can’t deny there’s
something in that. He says he ’ll send us a cheval-glass to decorate the sally manger. Of
course he can if he likes. We mean to have a band, of course; that’s to say we’ve got
Skweeker to promise to come with his fiddle, and give us a tune at the proper intervals.
He has composed a grand martial air expressly for the occasion, entitled “To Horse, to
Horse!” This he will play while we seat ourselves at a horse-shoe table, spread with a fair
saddle cloth.
First Course.—Saddle of horse, with capers ; vegetable—grass.
Second Course.—Curried horse.
Obligato accompaniment from Skweeker on one string.
Issh . . . ssh . . . ssh ... (as like a groom as he can make it.)
This we expect to be very effective, and cause so much emotion that probably no one will
eat the curry. Still hock is now to be handed round.
Third Course.—Entrees of horse’s trotters, and other kickshaws.
Air, “ Trah, Trab,” to which they will be sent trotting.
Salad.—Horse-radish.
Towards the close of the banquet there will be a dish of bridal cake handed round, and
the stirrup cup will be set on the table ; but before this Knagg and I have agreed he’s to
ask me to sing. Of course I shall say I’m a little hoarse, and couldn’t get through an air.
Knagg is to reply, he’s not particular to a horse hair (good, that, isn’t it?), and to press
me again, and then Pm to say, “Nay /” We reckon on some of our guests here rising and
saying something good about our horsepitality. We can’t very well introduce that ourselves,
but we shall take care to get up a horse-laugh. Well, then the stirrup-cap is to be sent
round, and Knagg, rising, will give the toast of the evening. Gentlemen, charge your glasses,
| “ The Horse, and Peace to his Mane-s /”
What do you think of it, Punchey? I think it ’ll do. Yours, admiringly,
John Trott.
P.S. I can’t help thinking something good might be got out of de-canter. Canter’s plain
enough, but what the d to do with the de. I’m a moral man, and shouldn’t wish to swear.
J. T.
MENDING OUR WAYS.
Any Londoner who chances to be driven about Paris must be struck with the extraordinary
smoothness of the streets, and must sigh for French steam-rollers when he returns to
England. However, it is never too late to mend. After being bumped, and bruised, and
shaken, and driven to distraction in every drive we have taken for many a year past, we are
happy to see it stated that :—
“ The Commission of Sewers have resolved to substitute asphalt, or gas-pitch, as a cement for the usual
granite pavement of the roadway, in place of the ordinary grouting. This plan will prevent the soft bed
from passing up between the stones, which will remain firm and level much longer than at present while
the formation of mud will be rendered impossible.”
Fancy London without mud ! What a blessing to look forward to ! Certainly, if gas-pitch
be of service in keeping the streets clean, we hope that no time will be lost in endeavouring
to bring them to such a pitch of excellence. The crossing-sweepers possibly may ask for
compensation ; but with the saving in our clothes, from having no more muddy streets, we
could very well afford to compensate the crossing-sweepers.
A Pbofessional Yiew oe Things.—Old Paynter never neglects any opportunity for
advancing Art. Every evening he has the cloth drawn.
BLACK MONDAY.
What means this throng of maidens
With boxes canvas-clad,
Which porters see
Expecting fee
And wait on mothers sad ?
Mammas, papas, and brothers
Beside the carriage pace,
So much they try
To check a sigh
And keep a cheerful face.
Ah ! Christmas-tide is over,
The holidays are done,
Each ball-room belle
Young lady swell
Is mournful, woe-begone.
For hath not Mrs. Nifskid,
With psedagogual craft
Enclosing bill
That bitter pill
Precursor of a draft,
Sent forth an invitation
To make young ladies tremble
On such a day
She hopes she may
See young friends re-assemble ?
The joy of many mansions.
The pride of many a home,
By road and rail,
Express and mail,
Unhappy girls they come.
When manly hearts are failing,
And mothers sit in tears,
Oh! hardest fate
For Jane and Kate
To combat with their fears.
The journey little comfort brings,
Such trials are in store.
They almost drop
When cabbies stop
A-front o’ th’ hated door.
How kind the Dowager appears
Till the first night’s expired,
“ The journey’s long,
You are not strong,
I’m sure you must be tired.
“ Your holidays you have enjoyed,
Your friends are well, I trust ;
Now come with me
And have some tea.
Be hungry ’deed you must.”
Some five-and-twenty perhaps sit down
Around the smoking toast:
A sorry sight.
No appetite
That any one can boast.
Teetotallers may prattle ;
It’s very plain to see,
The cup which cheers
These doleful dears,
Is not the cup of tea.
When left alone the old ones seem
A little more resigned”,
The new girls meek,
Afraid to speak,
But little comfort find.
Now Night, the old Confessor, comes
To listen to their woes :
What tears are shed,
When they’re in bed.
He never will disclose.
An Old Revolver—The Earth.
Yon. 54.
2