DOI Heft:
January 23, 1869
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16883#0040
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[January 23, 1869.
BiRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES.
CHAPTER THE SECOND.—A WORD TO THE WISE; PRINCIPALLY OF A
JOLLY OLD COCK; ALSO OF MR. KOCK ROBBINS, THE PROFES-
SIONAL CRUMB-EATER, AND THE MACAWS.
I am perfectly aware that other Social Zoologists have from time to
time exhibited their specimens; and so much indeed you may have
already gathered from the prefatory remarks to these Papers. If,
therefore, I do not originate the idea itself of such an Exhibition, at
all events I shall be able to show you new species of the old genus,
and even the genera themselves, under novel aspects. I show them
all under one roof, and will point them out as they come and go,
hopping backwards and forwards.
The Jolly Old Cock. First Specimen—Often described by his friends
and acquaintances as a Hare Old Bird. He is apparently the essence
of hospitality. He is a widower without encumbrances, living an easy
bachelor life. His home, a compact snuggery, with all the appliances
of comfort and luxury within reach of his arm; and, for what is
beyond this distance, there is a butler attached to a bell, who will get
it for you, whatever or wherever it is. So excellent are this Joily Old
Cock’s dinners, that, strange to say, other birds are perpetually press-
ing him to come away from them and dine at their nests, where neither
food, drink, nor serving, are half so good as at the table of the Jolly
Old Cock himself. let he is not without at least four invitations for
every night in the week, including Sunday; and he would be really
welcome were he to “drop in” on some families suddenly at dinner-
time, only that he is much too old a bird to run such a fearful risk as
that.
Young Kock Robbins, who has recently gone on the Stock
Exchange, with a view to doing something somewhere (or, perhaps,
somebody), looks in upon me one morning about breakfast-time, and
complains of headache. Kock Hobbins even refuses the crumbs, he
is so poorly. Knowingly, I offer him soda-water.
“ Yes,” he says; “ I was dining with old Barndoor last night.
Jolly old Cock—old Barndoor. By Jingo ! he has got wine. You
don’t want to smoke when you get such wine as that.”
I observe that it’s a great treat to get really fine wine.
“ I should think so ! ” says Robbins, gulping down his soda-water.
“ It was foolishly taking one glass of Champagne at dinner that gave
me my headache. I didn’t know we were going in for Port after-
wards.”
Having relieved his mind on this score—{he tries to believe in his
own theory about the one glass of Champagne; but knows that he
can’t impose it upon others)—he reiterates his conviction that “ Old
Barndoor is the jolliest old Cock going. You must know him!” cries
Hobbins to me, enthusiastically. “ I’ll introduce you to him He ’ll
be delighted to see you at any time. Quite an accident my meeting him
yesterday as he was walking home from the City ; he asked me to
dine without ceremony, and I was delighted at the chance.”
Little Kock Hobbins is, by the way, a bird who is always coming
in for crumbs. When first Kocky came to town, he was in want of a
dinner, and hopped about piteously until something was thrown to
him.
Now, bless you, crumbs are spread out before him. He is a Pro-
fessional Diner-out. Not that he is asked out for his beautiful notes,
or his brilliant cluttering powers : no, he is simply asked, “ to make
one.” Hobbins is the small weight thrown in to adjust the dinner-
arty scales. Time was when little Kocky would have flown for a
_ inner from the Strand to Bayswater. Now, he says, “ Notting Hill
is really too far to go,” and he chooses the nearest out of three equally
good invitations. But wherever there is a dinner difficulty, Hobbins
is called in.
The Macaws of Macaw (whose plumage made such a sensation some
seasons ago) expect a party of fourteen to dinner.
On the morning of the day itself, Mrs. Macaw receives an apology.
One can’t come.
“ Well,” says Mr. Macaw, who is in his slippers examining the
Mining Journal, and is not fully alive to the difficulty-
“ Well, my dear,” returns his wife, “ we shall be thirteen /”
“ Shall we ? ” answers Mr. Macaw, who has just ascertained that
one of his numerous speculations is looking up—“ Well, it can’t be
helped.”
Thereupon Mrs. Macaw demonstrates the utter impossibility of
sitting down thirteen to dinner, and presses (not for the first time, of
course) her superstition upon her husband so pertinaciously as to make
him feel a little uncomfortable about that codicil which he has been
going to add to his will any day this last two years.
“You can ask some one at the Club, dear, can’t you?” suggests
Mrs. Macaw. Cunning woman; she knows that this, at most times,
would be a grateful concession on her part; but unfortunately he
can’t go near the Club to-day-in fact, must be in the City almost up
to the moment of returning to dress for dinner. This means that he
can’t think of anyone at the Club, just now, whom he -would be certain
to find there, and he doesn’t want to run the chance of a refusal. He
knows how men talk.
“Oh, send to Mr. Robbins,” cries Mrs. Macaw. “He’ll be glad
to come, I’m sure.”
“ But at such short notice,” says her husband, with some sort of
regard for Robbins’ feelings, who, he should think, would not always
like being asked merely at the last moment to make an even number.
Mrs. Macaw poohpoohs Robbins’ feelings. She knows he’ll be too
delighted to come, ana she rather prides herself upon having performed
a charitable action.
“I’m glad,” she says subsequently, “I thought of Mr. Kock
Robbins. He hasn’t got much money, and it’s quite a kindness to
ask him ouk” So this estimable lady spreads this account of poor
Hobbins among her friends and acquaintances, and consequently
Robbins, for pity’s sake, is the gayest man I know. _ He is, in fact,
a Professional Dinner-Eater. He is less engaged in the Regular
Season than he is in the Off-Seasons; but at all times he has as much
as he can do, and in the Winter, especially, Kock Hobbins comes out
in great force.
{To he Continued.)
THE SONG OE THE STREET RUFFIAN.
I’m a Rough ! I ’m a Rough ! I’m a cowardly thief!
Yet the way men endure me is past all belief.
I deserve to be hanged, but from Jack Ketch I’m free,
Coves ain’t got the pluck now to ’ang curs like me 1
I live as I like, and I fear not the law,
On me ne’er a Crusher his truncheon dare draw :
For I’m strong as a bull, and no mercy I feel
While my fist carries weight, and my boot bears a heel!
If you ask where I work, well, garotting’s my trade,
And a good bit o’ money at times I have made :
But it soon goes in lush when I’m out on the spree.
For the molls like a man with his shiners who’s free.
I’m a brute to my wife, and, whene’er I gets riled.
Her wisage it somehow is apt to get spiled ;
She’s seldom without two black eyes in her ’ead,
And when drunk lor’ I kick ’er, and leave ’er for dead.
’Ave we children ? Why, yes, we’ve at present got three,
And them brats, if they live, will all grow brutes like me :
Their unilateral father ne’er guv ’em a meal,
They’ve been bred up from babbies to beg or to steal.
Will I emigrate ? thank’ee,. I’ve no taste to roam,
I prefers to live idle and wicious at home ;
And, besides, what’s the good of my crossing the sea ?
I’m a Rough ! where’s the land as ’ud like to have me ?
OUR NEW DISSENTERS.
Well, the Ritualists have held a meeting to consider whether they
ought to obey the law of the land, and they are good enough to think
that, on the whole, they may as well do so. But not the Reform
League itself, headed by the great Beales, could have made it more
clear that in deciding not to defy the law, it was doing society an un-
merited favour. They declared that they did not recognise the
authority of the Court that announced the law, and as for the sentence
itself it was utterly absurd, as it did not allow the Ritualist the rigid,
of going back to early days, and inquiring whether Justin Martyr,
Irenteus, Athenagoras, Origen, Tertullian, Cyprian, Eusebius,
Athanasius, Cyril (in the days of his Success), Chrysostom, Am-
brose, Jerome, and Augustine, or any of them, mentioned candles.
The meeting, indeed, was inclined to refuse to admit the duty of sub-
mission, and at first knocked out of a resolution words recognising
that duty; but Archdeacon Denison, however tolerant of Ritualistic
nonsense, had too much respect for scholarship to sanction nonsense in
composition, and threatened to leave the chair if the sentence were not
completed. So the duty was owned, but it was also declared that the
degree in which it was to be performed.must be left to individual judg-
ment ; that is, priests are to be ritualistic where they may, and to obey
the law where they must. And then they bound themselves to spread
to the utmost of their power the doctrine which they say can only be
properly taught by the aid of a yard of best wax. How'ever, it is
something that they did not imitate the Scotch clergy, and leave the
Church for a reason of conscience. They were too much men of the
world for that. Now, we would not persecute, even with a smile, a
sincere fanatic, while he does no harm, but as many of these gentlemen are
clearly not sincere, and as they all do much harm, preaching that which
their vows distinctly forbid them to preach, Punch continues to hope that
the bishops will look after them, or he will have to look after the bishops.
i
[January 23, 1869.
BiRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES.
CHAPTER THE SECOND.—A WORD TO THE WISE; PRINCIPALLY OF A
JOLLY OLD COCK; ALSO OF MR. KOCK ROBBINS, THE PROFES-
SIONAL CRUMB-EATER, AND THE MACAWS.
I am perfectly aware that other Social Zoologists have from time to
time exhibited their specimens; and so much indeed you may have
already gathered from the prefatory remarks to these Papers. If,
therefore, I do not originate the idea itself of such an Exhibition, at
all events I shall be able to show you new species of the old genus,
and even the genera themselves, under novel aspects. I show them
all under one roof, and will point them out as they come and go,
hopping backwards and forwards.
The Jolly Old Cock. First Specimen—Often described by his friends
and acquaintances as a Hare Old Bird. He is apparently the essence
of hospitality. He is a widower without encumbrances, living an easy
bachelor life. His home, a compact snuggery, with all the appliances
of comfort and luxury within reach of his arm; and, for what is
beyond this distance, there is a butler attached to a bell, who will get
it for you, whatever or wherever it is. So excellent are this Joily Old
Cock’s dinners, that, strange to say, other birds are perpetually press-
ing him to come away from them and dine at their nests, where neither
food, drink, nor serving, are half so good as at the table of the Jolly
Old Cock himself. let he is not without at least four invitations for
every night in the week, including Sunday; and he would be really
welcome were he to “drop in” on some families suddenly at dinner-
time, only that he is much too old a bird to run such a fearful risk as
that.
Young Kock Robbins, who has recently gone on the Stock
Exchange, with a view to doing something somewhere (or, perhaps,
somebody), looks in upon me one morning about breakfast-time, and
complains of headache. Kock Hobbins even refuses the crumbs, he
is so poorly. Knowingly, I offer him soda-water.
“ Yes,” he says; “ I was dining with old Barndoor last night.
Jolly old Cock—old Barndoor. By Jingo ! he has got wine. You
don’t want to smoke when you get such wine as that.”
I observe that it’s a great treat to get really fine wine.
“ I should think so ! ” says Robbins, gulping down his soda-water.
“ It was foolishly taking one glass of Champagne at dinner that gave
me my headache. I didn’t know we were going in for Port after-
wards.”
Having relieved his mind on this score—{he tries to believe in his
own theory about the one glass of Champagne; but knows that he
can’t impose it upon others)—he reiterates his conviction that “ Old
Barndoor is the jolliest old Cock going. You must know him!” cries
Hobbins to me, enthusiastically. “ I’ll introduce you to him He ’ll
be delighted to see you at any time. Quite an accident my meeting him
yesterday as he was walking home from the City ; he asked me to
dine without ceremony, and I was delighted at the chance.”
Little Kock Hobbins is, by the way, a bird who is always coming
in for crumbs. When first Kocky came to town, he was in want of a
dinner, and hopped about piteously until something was thrown to
him.
Now, bless you, crumbs are spread out before him. He is a Pro-
fessional Diner-out. Not that he is asked out for his beautiful notes,
or his brilliant cluttering powers : no, he is simply asked, “ to make
one.” Hobbins is the small weight thrown in to adjust the dinner-
arty scales. Time was when little Kocky would have flown for a
_ inner from the Strand to Bayswater. Now, he says, “ Notting Hill
is really too far to go,” and he chooses the nearest out of three equally
good invitations. But wherever there is a dinner difficulty, Hobbins
is called in.
The Macaws of Macaw (whose plumage made such a sensation some
seasons ago) expect a party of fourteen to dinner.
On the morning of the day itself, Mrs. Macaw receives an apology.
One can’t come.
“ Well,” says Mr. Macaw, who is in his slippers examining the
Mining Journal, and is not fully alive to the difficulty-
“ Well, my dear,” returns his wife, “ we shall be thirteen /”
“ Shall we ? ” answers Mr. Macaw, who has just ascertained that
one of his numerous speculations is looking up—“ Well, it can’t be
helped.”
Thereupon Mrs. Macaw demonstrates the utter impossibility of
sitting down thirteen to dinner, and presses (not for the first time, of
course) her superstition upon her husband so pertinaciously as to make
him feel a little uncomfortable about that codicil which he has been
going to add to his will any day this last two years.
“You can ask some one at the Club, dear, can’t you?” suggests
Mrs. Macaw. Cunning woman; she knows that this, at most times,
would be a grateful concession on her part; but unfortunately he
can’t go near the Club to-day-in fact, must be in the City almost up
to the moment of returning to dress for dinner. This means that he
can’t think of anyone at the Club, just now, whom he -would be certain
to find there, and he doesn’t want to run the chance of a refusal. He
knows how men talk.
“Oh, send to Mr. Robbins,” cries Mrs. Macaw. “He’ll be glad
to come, I’m sure.”
“ But at such short notice,” says her husband, with some sort of
regard for Robbins’ feelings, who, he should think, would not always
like being asked merely at the last moment to make an even number.
Mrs. Macaw poohpoohs Robbins’ feelings. She knows he’ll be too
delighted to come, ana she rather prides herself upon having performed
a charitable action.
“I’m glad,” she says subsequently, “I thought of Mr. Kock
Robbins. He hasn’t got much money, and it’s quite a kindness to
ask him ouk” So this estimable lady spreads this account of poor
Hobbins among her friends and acquaintances, and consequently
Robbins, for pity’s sake, is the gayest man I know. _ He is, in fact,
a Professional Dinner-Eater. He is less engaged in the Regular
Season than he is in the Off-Seasons; but at all times he has as much
as he can do, and in the Winter, especially, Kock Hobbins comes out
in great force.
{To he Continued.)
THE SONG OE THE STREET RUFFIAN.
I’m a Rough ! I ’m a Rough ! I’m a cowardly thief!
Yet the way men endure me is past all belief.
I deserve to be hanged, but from Jack Ketch I’m free,
Coves ain’t got the pluck now to ’ang curs like me 1
I live as I like, and I fear not the law,
On me ne’er a Crusher his truncheon dare draw :
For I’m strong as a bull, and no mercy I feel
While my fist carries weight, and my boot bears a heel!
If you ask where I work, well, garotting’s my trade,
And a good bit o’ money at times I have made :
But it soon goes in lush when I’m out on the spree.
For the molls like a man with his shiners who’s free.
I’m a brute to my wife, and, whene’er I gets riled.
Her wisage it somehow is apt to get spiled ;
She’s seldom without two black eyes in her ’ead,
And when drunk lor’ I kick ’er, and leave ’er for dead.
’Ave we children ? Why, yes, we’ve at present got three,
And them brats, if they live, will all grow brutes like me :
Their unilateral father ne’er guv ’em a meal,
They’ve been bred up from babbies to beg or to steal.
Will I emigrate ? thank’ee,. I’ve no taste to roam,
I prefers to live idle and wicious at home ;
And, besides, what’s the good of my crossing the sea ?
I’m a Rough ! where’s the land as ’ud like to have me ?
OUR NEW DISSENTERS.
Well, the Ritualists have held a meeting to consider whether they
ought to obey the law of the land, and they are good enough to think
that, on the whole, they may as well do so. But not the Reform
League itself, headed by the great Beales, could have made it more
clear that in deciding not to defy the law, it was doing society an un-
merited favour. They declared that they did not recognise the
authority of the Court that announced the law, and as for the sentence
itself it was utterly absurd, as it did not allow the Ritualist the rigid,
of going back to early days, and inquiring whether Justin Martyr,
Irenteus, Athenagoras, Origen, Tertullian, Cyprian, Eusebius,
Athanasius, Cyril (in the days of his Success), Chrysostom, Am-
brose, Jerome, and Augustine, or any of them, mentioned candles.
The meeting, indeed, was inclined to refuse to admit the duty of sub-
mission, and at first knocked out of a resolution words recognising
that duty; but Archdeacon Denison, however tolerant of Ritualistic
nonsense, had too much respect for scholarship to sanction nonsense in
composition, and threatened to leave the chair if the sentence were not
completed. So the duty was owned, but it was also declared that the
degree in which it was to be performed.must be left to individual judg-
ment ; that is, priests are to be ritualistic where they may, and to obey
the law where they must. And then they bound themselves to spread
to the utmost of their power the doctrine which they say can only be
properly taught by the aid of a yard of best wax. How'ever, it is
something that they did not imitate the Scotch clergy, and leave the
Church for a reason of conscience. They were too much men of the
world for that. Now, we would not persecute, even with a smile, a
sincere fanatic, while he does no harm, but as many of these gentlemen are
clearly not sincere, and as they all do much harm, preaching that which
their vows distinctly forbid them to preach, Punch continues to hope that
the bishops will look after them, or he will have to look after the bishops.
i