DOI issue:
October 17, 1868
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16882#0173
October 17, 1868.]
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHAPIVARI.
167
to sitting down, and continuing tliat pleasant flirtation gossip, which,
the chair has interrupted, when Tupton says, in a voice which seems
to me louder than usual,
“ And how’s the Missus ? Hey F ”
It’s his jocular way of mentioning any friend’s wife, instead of giving
her name and title fairly and plainly.
Loungers turn and smile. A quick side glance shows me a slight
movement of my lovely young lady’s parasol. She evidently considers
herself deceived, and doesn’t like it. Tupton must be answered
quickly, and dismissed.
“ Oh, she’s very well,” I answer, “ at least,” correcting myself, for
when I do speak, it must be the whole truth, though one does consent
now and then to a suppressio, “ she’s getting on very well, indeed. I
hope,” I add by way of choking him off, and getting to my seat by the
lovely young lady before any further mischief is done, “ when she is
well again you ’ll come and see us.” And here I extend my hand.
“ Thank ye ! ” he returns, and taking my hand, holds it affectionately.
There is a stoppage in the drive, and the carriages closely packed
together are at a standstill.
One shake of the hand, and I shall be clear of Tupton. He gives
the shake, and says, (says ! I mean bellows out for the information of
the whole Park, confound him !)
“ Remember me to your wife. Glad she’s getting on so well.” I
nod and smile. “ Saw it in the paper: usual column.” Everybody is
listening nowr: I am thinking how I should like to jump at him and
put a plaster on his mouth, like Burke and Hare used to do, when
he roars out as he half turns to go, “ It was Twins ? eh ? ”
I can’t restrain myself: I shout in reply, “ No.”
I can’t help myself. I ’ll never speak to him again in a public place.
1 must calm myself. Pools are laughing and whispering about mo.
They don’t (as it seems to me) laugh at Tupton. No: he escapes;
they laugh at Twins. And why F Why should they laugh at Twins r
I don’t. His Voice has made me the butt of the whole Park. I turn
to the lovely young lady: Twins have settled it; she is talking to
somebody else. Serve me right: what business have I-
Hats up ! Here’s Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, and all the
Royal Family out for a drive, and under cover of this excitement I
migrate.
So much for the Man with a Voice out-of-doors in London. He is
a first-rate fellow to hail omnibuses and cabs, or in an emergency to
call Police, though in this last case it would of course be a mere waste
of breath.
The Man with a Voice is almost always inquisitive. At a dinner-
party, or at any assemblage of people, one is perpetually saying “hush”
to him.
Tupton at table confides to me his opinion of an elderly lady
opposite, in what he supposes to be a whisper, but which can be heard
distinctly at either end of the table.
“ She looks,” he says to me in one of his asides—“ she looks as if
she’d peppered herself with gunpowder before she came out: just look
at her—” I frown at him, say “ Ssh! ” quietly, and attend to my plate.
He looks into my ear and says, “ Who is she, eh ? ”
I tell him presently that it is Mrs. Emptwizzle, our host’s aunt:
and warn him to take care what he’s saying.
Tupton fives at home with his mother, and an unmarried sister who
is Ms senior by some years.
These two elderly ladies Tupton is always, as he expresses, “waking
up.”
I don’t mean that he invariably returns home late without a latch-
key, though that happens occasionally, and then all the neighbourhood
is in an uproar.
They don’t go out much, and Tupton does, so.they depend upon Mm
for reports of the exterior world, theatres, parties and concerts; and
precious loud reports they are.
I have stopped at Tupton’s, and a very pleasant house it is, only you
can’t be quiet, except in the absence of the master.
Tupton lmsn’t got much knowledge of music, but he is slightly
acquainted with tunes, and bawls selections from popular songs about
the place.
I take a book and retire to the library. I hear him in the passage
bellowing out, “ Not for Jo, Not for Jo, Not if he knows it. Oh dear
no;” again, “Not for Jo,” &c., da capo. There is a pause, and I
fancy he has gone out. No. He is walking up-stairs with a tremendous
power of voice on for “ I dreamt that I dwe-elt in mar-ar-ble halls,
lum doodle lum doodle dum diddy dum. And of all-” pause, appa-
rently he is stopping on the staircase.
“ Mother ! ” he shouts. “ Mother! Mo-tlier ! ”
Why doesn’t she answrer ? She must hear him. Oh, thank goodness,
some one has answered.
“ Are you going out, Polly ? ”
This is answered, and he shouts back in reply to a question, “ Y ERY
WELL. I WILL.”
“Where’s BlanqueF” He is inquiring for me. I hope lie won’t
get a satisfactory answer. He doesn’t, for he goes on singing, still
ascending the staircase, “ Oh Where, and Oh WHERE, is my-y-
Iiighland Laddie gone ? ” then very boldly, fortissimo, on the landing,
“ HE ’S GONE to fight the FRENCH for King GEORGE upon
the—” Bang goes his bed-room door.
“ What an infernal noise ! ” I say to myself, and recommence the
interesting chapter. I shouldn’t like, I think, to live in such a noise as
this always; it would drive one mad. The possibility of its breaking out
again at any moment keeps me in a constant state of alarm. However,
at all events for the present-
“ Come five with me,—” He is on the landing and srnging again,
“ and be my Love ; ” then very high and straining his voice, “ Come
five with me, and be my Love,” he changes the key, and roars out some
song without words, tune unknown.
I fervently hope he may pass the library door, and go out into the
garden, the woods, far away.
He passes the door with the march from Faust, sung by substituting
Ha Ha Har Ha-ha-ha ha ha-HA ! and then Ho Ho Ho ho-ho-ko ho ho-HA
for words of any sort, selecting the aspirate and an open vowel for
the purpose of shoutmg louder.
I thrnk he is now getting his hat, and has returned to “ Come Live
with me and be my Love.”
Yes, with delight I trace his voice to the front door. A few bars of
“ Some love to roam o’er the dark sea foam ” takes him quite out of
the house, and on to the gravel path. Now for a few quiet chapters of
Bacon. * * *
“ Hark follow, hark follow, TALLYHO, TALLYHO, TALLYHO,”
&c. He is at the window with the celebrated Chorus from her
Freischutz.
SWINE AND ACORNS.
{A Poem by a Porciculturist.)
What thee canst do doan’t leave undone.
As the wise man did remark.
Therefore I, when up in London,
Thought I’d goo zee Richmond Park.
In that pleasant situation
Oak trees mostly do abound ;
And I sid, wi’ lamentation,
Acorns kiver’n all the ground.
Want o’ bread makes Christians riot,
Hogs, if hungry be their mood,
Can but grunt for want o’ diet.
What a sinful waste o’ food !
Herds o’ swine, that Park all over,
Ought to be turned in to roam,
For to five like ’twere in clover,
In the Forest as at whoam.
Acorn-fcd, both pork and bacon
Into wet, some says, do run.
Not unless pigs’ lives is taken
’Fore their eddication’s done.
With high art I be acquainted ;
For my likenus once I sat,
And I zee a sign-board painted:
Just likewise a pig you fat.
Paint a pictur, then you lays un
Colour on, quoat arter quoat,
Last of all you takes and glaze un,
That’s the way as I took note.
So wi’ pigs : you gives ’um taters
Fust, and wash, and orts, and peel,
Acorns next, and last the craters
Touches off wi’ barley meal.
AN UNKIND CUT.
Something in the Lively Vein.
At the Closing Meeting of the Church Congress in Dublin, one of
the Speakers is reported to have said, with reference to the sensational
style of writing, that it “ stirred the blood in an easy chair.” Is there
sensation even in our furmture F Where is such animated upholstery
to be procured F We have seen tears in a perambulator,, and. laughter
has been heard to proceed from a dining-table ; and now it will not be
surprising if we are told that Mr. Bumpshuss’s Election . Address
roused the bile in a sofa, or that Mrs. Dacry'on’s affecting story
touched the feelings in an ottoman.
The Italian Correspondents say that the Pope’s Eye is an Evil Eye.
We wish that they would hold their tongues. We shall never carve a
leg of mutton again in comfort.
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHAPIVARI.
167
to sitting down, and continuing tliat pleasant flirtation gossip, which,
the chair has interrupted, when Tupton says, in a voice which seems
to me louder than usual,
“ And how’s the Missus ? Hey F ”
It’s his jocular way of mentioning any friend’s wife, instead of giving
her name and title fairly and plainly.
Loungers turn and smile. A quick side glance shows me a slight
movement of my lovely young lady’s parasol. She evidently considers
herself deceived, and doesn’t like it. Tupton must be answered
quickly, and dismissed.
“ Oh, she’s very well,” I answer, “ at least,” correcting myself, for
when I do speak, it must be the whole truth, though one does consent
now and then to a suppressio, “ she’s getting on very well, indeed. I
hope,” I add by way of choking him off, and getting to my seat by the
lovely young lady before any further mischief is done, “ when she is
well again you ’ll come and see us.” And here I extend my hand.
“ Thank ye ! ” he returns, and taking my hand, holds it affectionately.
There is a stoppage in the drive, and the carriages closely packed
together are at a standstill.
One shake of the hand, and I shall be clear of Tupton. He gives
the shake, and says, (says ! I mean bellows out for the information of
the whole Park, confound him !)
“ Remember me to your wife. Glad she’s getting on so well.” I
nod and smile. “ Saw it in the paper: usual column.” Everybody is
listening nowr: I am thinking how I should like to jump at him and
put a plaster on his mouth, like Burke and Hare used to do, when
he roars out as he half turns to go, “ It was Twins ? eh ? ”
I can’t restrain myself: I shout in reply, “ No.”
I can’t help myself. I ’ll never speak to him again in a public place.
1 must calm myself. Pools are laughing and whispering about mo.
They don’t (as it seems to me) laugh at Tupton. No: he escapes;
they laugh at Twins. And why F Why should they laugh at Twins r
I don’t. His Voice has made me the butt of the whole Park. I turn
to the lovely young lady: Twins have settled it; she is talking to
somebody else. Serve me right: what business have I-
Hats up ! Here’s Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, and all the
Royal Family out for a drive, and under cover of this excitement I
migrate.
So much for the Man with a Voice out-of-doors in London. He is
a first-rate fellow to hail omnibuses and cabs, or in an emergency to
call Police, though in this last case it would of course be a mere waste
of breath.
The Man with a Voice is almost always inquisitive. At a dinner-
party, or at any assemblage of people, one is perpetually saying “hush”
to him.
Tupton at table confides to me his opinion of an elderly lady
opposite, in what he supposes to be a whisper, but which can be heard
distinctly at either end of the table.
“ She looks,” he says to me in one of his asides—“ she looks as if
she’d peppered herself with gunpowder before she came out: just look
at her—” I frown at him, say “ Ssh! ” quietly, and attend to my plate.
He looks into my ear and says, “ Who is she, eh ? ”
I tell him presently that it is Mrs. Emptwizzle, our host’s aunt:
and warn him to take care what he’s saying.
Tupton fives at home with his mother, and an unmarried sister who
is Ms senior by some years.
These two elderly ladies Tupton is always, as he expresses, “waking
up.”
I don’t mean that he invariably returns home late without a latch-
key, though that happens occasionally, and then all the neighbourhood
is in an uproar.
They don’t go out much, and Tupton does, so.they depend upon Mm
for reports of the exterior world, theatres, parties and concerts; and
precious loud reports they are.
I have stopped at Tupton’s, and a very pleasant house it is, only you
can’t be quiet, except in the absence of the master.
Tupton lmsn’t got much knowledge of music, but he is slightly
acquainted with tunes, and bawls selections from popular songs about
the place.
I take a book and retire to the library. I hear him in the passage
bellowing out, “ Not for Jo, Not for Jo, Not if he knows it. Oh dear
no;” again, “Not for Jo,” &c., da capo. There is a pause, and I
fancy he has gone out. No. He is walking up-stairs with a tremendous
power of voice on for “ I dreamt that I dwe-elt in mar-ar-ble halls,
lum doodle lum doodle dum diddy dum. And of all-” pause, appa-
rently he is stopping on the staircase.
“ Mother ! ” he shouts. “ Mother! Mo-tlier ! ”
Why doesn’t she answrer ? She must hear him. Oh, thank goodness,
some one has answered.
“ Are you going out, Polly ? ”
This is answered, and he shouts back in reply to a question, “ Y ERY
WELL. I WILL.”
“Where’s BlanqueF” He is inquiring for me. I hope lie won’t
get a satisfactory answer. He doesn’t, for he goes on singing, still
ascending the staircase, “ Oh Where, and Oh WHERE, is my-y-
Iiighland Laddie gone ? ” then very boldly, fortissimo, on the landing,
“ HE ’S GONE to fight the FRENCH for King GEORGE upon
the—” Bang goes his bed-room door.
“ What an infernal noise ! ” I say to myself, and recommence the
interesting chapter. I shouldn’t like, I think, to live in such a noise as
this always; it would drive one mad. The possibility of its breaking out
again at any moment keeps me in a constant state of alarm. However,
at all events for the present-
“ Come five with me,—” He is on the landing and srnging again,
“ and be my Love ; ” then very high and straining his voice, “ Come
five with me, and be my Love,” he changes the key, and roars out some
song without words, tune unknown.
I fervently hope he may pass the library door, and go out into the
garden, the woods, far away.
He passes the door with the march from Faust, sung by substituting
Ha Ha Har Ha-ha-ha ha ha-HA ! and then Ho Ho Ho ho-ho-ko ho ho-HA
for words of any sort, selecting the aspirate and an open vowel for
the purpose of shoutmg louder.
I thrnk he is now getting his hat, and has returned to “ Come Live
with me and be my Love.”
Yes, with delight I trace his voice to the front door. A few bars of
“ Some love to roam o’er the dark sea foam ” takes him quite out of
the house, and on to the gravel path. Now for a few quiet chapters of
Bacon. * * *
“ Hark follow, hark follow, TALLYHO, TALLYHO, TALLYHO,”
&c. He is at the window with the celebrated Chorus from her
Freischutz.
SWINE AND ACORNS.
{A Poem by a Porciculturist.)
What thee canst do doan’t leave undone.
As the wise man did remark.
Therefore I, when up in London,
Thought I’d goo zee Richmond Park.
In that pleasant situation
Oak trees mostly do abound ;
And I sid, wi’ lamentation,
Acorns kiver’n all the ground.
Want o’ bread makes Christians riot,
Hogs, if hungry be their mood,
Can but grunt for want o’ diet.
What a sinful waste o’ food !
Herds o’ swine, that Park all over,
Ought to be turned in to roam,
For to five like ’twere in clover,
In the Forest as at whoam.
Acorn-fcd, both pork and bacon
Into wet, some says, do run.
Not unless pigs’ lives is taken
’Fore their eddication’s done.
With high art I be acquainted ;
For my likenus once I sat,
And I zee a sign-board painted:
Just likewise a pig you fat.
Paint a pictur, then you lays un
Colour on, quoat arter quoat,
Last of all you takes and glaze un,
That’s the way as I took note.
So wi’ pigs : you gives ’um taters
Fust, and wash, and orts, and peel,
Acorns next, and last the craters
Touches off wi’ barley meal.
AN UNKIND CUT.
Something in the Lively Vein.
At the Closing Meeting of the Church Congress in Dublin, one of
the Speakers is reported to have said, with reference to the sensational
style of writing, that it “ stirred the blood in an easy chair.” Is there
sensation even in our furmture F Where is such animated upholstery
to be procured F We have seen tears in a perambulator,, and. laughter
has been heard to proceed from a dining-table ; and now it will not be
surprising if we are told that Mr. Bumpshuss’s Election . Address
roused the bile in a sofa, or that Mrs. Dacry'on’s affecting story
touched the feelings in an ottoman.
The Italian Correspondents say that the Pope’s Eye is an Evil Eye.
We wish that they would hold their tongues. We shall never carve a
leg of mutton again in comfort.