DOI issue:
December 20, 1873
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16937#0255
December 20, 1873.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
243
GOOD NEWS FOR CHRISTMAS.
andldly, Mr. Punch detests travel.
London,
as has been well
said, is the best place in the world for summer, and the only
place in the world for winter. But Christmas is the drawback.
There is a good deal to endure at Christmas, and indigestion is
not the smallest of its afflictions, while relations, extortions, fogs, sham con-
gratulations, and general boredom are among its biggest. Now, he has always
admired Mr. Thomas Cook, considering him one of the benefactors of mankind.
If one must leave home-comforts, the best thing is to place oneself under the
care of one who has “ seen men and cities,” and will make a pilgrimage as little
like a penance as possible. But Mr. Cook has now established a claim not
merely to admiration hut to veneration. He has provided a way of escape from
Christmas Home Joys. He has organised an expedition
for men who will abandon London bores and slay German
boars.. Mr. Cook has engaged a large track of land in
the Eifel Mountains, and he proposes to lead thither a
gallant hand of hunters who, while folks at home are
slowly recovering from one fit of dyspepsia in order to
bring on another, will do battle with the Wild Boar,
“ Strike thro’ the ravine
At the foaming Behemoth,”
and,. just as Christmas is over, will return vivified and
glorified, and laden with the spoils of the chace. Mr.
Punch thinks the idea so hold, so novel, and so humane,
that he has ordered half-a-dozen rifles, ten new spears,
and a brandy-flask, and will speedily be heard on the
deck of an “ Antwerks package,” lustily carolling
(better than raucous Christmas Carols) with Warton,
“ Boars of Eifel, grunt and weep,
English Punch he ploughs the deep.”
A CALL TO SIR SAMUEL.
Sir Samuel Baker, in his speech the other evening,
observed, that the Exeter Hall notions, about the Darkies
being “Men and Brothers,” were rather mistaken ones.
He instanced a case, where, after touching an old Chief-
tain’s heart with some Christian philanthropy, the old
Chieftain, having mastered his emotion, offered to sell
his own son for a spade. Perhaps the son wasn’t much
of a fellow after all, and Sir Samuel, had he accepted
the offer, might have found that, in exchange for a useful
spade, he had only received a stupid spoon.
Let Sir Samuel come and preach to the old Chieftains
and Chieftainesses in the West End, during the Season.
There is, in our Metropolis, a large traffic in sons and
daughters going on. He would earn the gratitude of
many could, he prevent even a few of these Living
Human Sacrifices. Here is a field for Missionary
Enterprise. To play such a part in the Drama of High
Life, would be, indeed, a role worthy of a great Baker.
EFFECTS OF THE FOG.
Besides killing numbers of the beasts assembled at the Cattle-
Show, the fog last week occasioned many singular mishaps, some of
which may turn out serious. By the zeal of our reporters, we can
here record a few of them:—
Mr. Flitterton made an abortive attempt to shoot the moon
under cover of the darkness. But his landlord appeared suddenly
with a policeman at his heels, and Mr. Flitterton abandoned his
idea of lunar sporting.
Mr. Dodge declined to meet a bill drawn, payable at sight,
alleging that the fog made it impossible to see it.
Mr. Jollicock was discovered by his anxious wife a long while
after midnight, vainly trying with his latch-key to open the front
door. He stated for excuse that the fog was sho shoth-hic- tha’ he
c-couldn sheekeyhole.
Mr. Shirker found the fog so dense on starting for his business
that he stayed prudently at home, and played all day at billiards
with his pretty cousin Polly.
Mrs. Lynx found a Policeman on duty in her area, and was told
he thought it right during the fog, as there were many thieves
about, to keep a close watch on her premises.
Mr. Pheeble tried his best to pop the question to Miss Gad-
about, but the fog so choked his utterance that, when he had
screwed his courage to the popping point, he found himself unable
to stammer out a syllable.
Master Nob isle by indulged in a pipe at his Aunt’s, trusting that
the smoke would not he smelt in such foul atmosphere.
Mr. Clyfake did a fairish stroke of business in the fog, by help-
ing timid people to find their way about, while he helped himself by
finding his own way into their pockets.
Miss McElirter somehow managed in the fog to miss her party at
the Cattle-Show, and was gallantly escorted home by Captain Sli-
boots, to whom she is engaged now.
Mr. Jones’s mother-in-law contrived under cover of the darkness
to pay his house a visit, and is now quite comfortably quartered for
some six weeks on his larder.
Mr. Larkington, in the fog, tied a string across the pavement
from the lamp-post to his neighbour’s door-knocker, at an altitude
to catch the hats of passers-by and project them on the pavement.
Mr. Hardupp, wfio has been in hiding for some weeks, took
advantage of the fog to take a little exercise, and did so unperceived
by any of his creditors.
Mr. Rory O’Raeferty, a Goody Templar, strayed into a gin-
shop while strolling home from work, having by sheer accident,
in the denseness of the atmosphere, mistaken the establishment for
a coffee-shop. _
CHORAL.
TO CARPENTERS and WHEELWRIGHTS.—A good CHURCH
SINGER is WANTED for a Small Village; eight acres of Land.—
Apply by letter only, &c.
This is from a local paper, not amongst the “ Varieties” or the
“ Facetiae,” but in the midst of the business advertisements. It may
fairly rank with the most ingenious Christmas puzzles and riddles.
Hitherto it has baffled the acutest intellects to which it has been
submitted, and defied the most vigorous understandings to unravel.
Why, asks the bewildered reader, in mingled accents of defeat and
despair, are Carpenters and Wheelwrights especially singled out as
likely to prove good Church Singers ? Why is the preference given
to them over Attorneys and Solicitors, or Chemists and Druggists,
or Bricklayers and Masons ? Is it because they are exceptionally
free from the taint of Nonconformity ? Again, why the reference to
“eight acres of land F ” Will the fortunate carpenter or favoured
wheelwright be entitled to the rent they bring in as his yearly
stipend, or will his musical services be acknowledged by permission
to cultivate these eight acres free of charge or tax, or will they
become his property, his own absolute freehold in fee simple for
ever, if he gives satisfaction in the village choir ?
Such are a few of the questions which this unique advertisement
suggests, and up to the hour of going to press nothing approaching
to a satisfactory answer to them had been offered. Perhaps when
the fog has gone, the intellect may recover itself, and be able to
grapple with “ To Carpenters and Wheelwrights.” It was wise to
restrict the applicants to letters, otherwise such a levy of carpenters
and wheelwrights, all singing at the top of their voices, and bent on
viewing the eight acres, might have burst upon the “ small village ”
as would have dismayed the stoutest incumbent and daunted the
staunchest churchwarden.
Men of the Time.—Chronometer Makers.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
243
GOOD NEWS FOR CHRISTMAS.
andldly, Mr. Punch detests travel.
London,
as has been well
said, is the best place in the world for summer, and the only
place in the world for winter. But Christmas is the drawback.
There is a good deal to endure at Christmas, and indigestion is
not the smallest of its afflictions, while relations, extortions, fogs, sham con-
gratulations, and general boredom are among its biggest. Now, he has always
admired Mr. Thomas Cook, considering him one of the benefactors of mankind.
If one must leave home-comforts, the best thing is to place oneself under the
care of one who has “ seen men and cities,” and will make a pilgrimage as little
like a penance as possible. But Mr. Cook has now established a claim not
merely to admiration hut to veneration. He has provided a way of escape from
Christmas Home Joys. He has organised an expedition
for men who will abandon London bores and slay German
boars.. Mr. Cook has engaged a large track of land in
the Eifel Mountains, and he proposes to lead thither a
gallant hand of hunters who, while folks at home are
slowly recovering from one fit of dyspepsia in order to
bring on another, will do battle with the Wild Boar,
“ Strike thro’ the ravine
At the foaming Behemoth,”
and,. just as Christmas is over, will return vivified and
glorified, and laden with the spoils of the chace. Mr.
Punch thinks the idea so hold, so novel, and so humane,
that he has ordered half-a-dozen rifles, ten new spears,
and a brandy-flask, and will speedily be heard on the
deck of an “ Antwerks package,” lustily carolling
(better than raucous Christmas Carols) with Warton,
“ Boars of Eifel, grunt and weep,
English Punch he ploughs the deep.”
A CALL TO SIR SAMUEL.
Sir Samuel Baker, in his speech the other evening,
observed, that the Exeter Hall notions, about the Darkies
being “Men and Brothers,” were rather mistaken ones.
He instanced a case, where, after touching an old Chief-
tain’s heart with some Christian philanthropy, the old
Chieftain, having mastered his emotion, offered to sell
his own son for a spade. Perhaps the son wasn’t much
of a fellow after all, and Sir Samuel, had he accepted
the offer, might have found that, in exchange for a useful
spade, he had only received a stupid spoon.
Let Sir Samuel come and preach to the old Chieftains
and Chieftainesses in the West End, during the Season.
There is, in our Metropolis, a large traffic in sons and
daughters going on. He would earn the gratitude of
many could, he prevent even a few of these Living
Human Sacrifices. Here is a field for Missionary
Enterprise. To play such a part in the Drama of High
Life, would be, indeed, a role worthy of a great Baker.
EFFECTS OF THE FOG.
Besides killing numbers of the beasts assembled at the Cattle-
Show, the fog last week occasioned many singular mishaps, some of
which may turn out serious. By the zeal of our reporters, we can
here record a few of them:—
Mr. Flitterton made an abortive attempt to shoot the moon
under cover of the darkness. But his landlord appeared suddenly
with a policeman at his heels, and Mr. Flitterton abandoned his
idea of lunar sporting.
Mr. Dodge declined to meet a bill drawn, payable at sight,
alleging that the fog made it impossible to see it.
Mr. Jollicock was discovered by his anxious wife a long while
after midnight, vainly trying with his latch-key to open the front
door. He stated for excuse that the fog was sho shoth-hic- tha’ he
c-couldn sheekeyhole.
Mr. Shirker found the fog so dense on starting for his business
that he stayed prudently at home, and played all day at billiards
with his pretty cousin Polly.
Mrs. Lynx found a Policeman on duty in her area, and was told
he thought it right during the fog, as there were many thieves
about, to keep a close watch on her premises.
Mr. Pheeble tried his best to pop the question to Miss Gad-
about, but the fog so choked his utterance that, when he had
screwed his courage to the popping point, he found himself unable
to stammer out a syllable.
Master Nob isle by indulged in a pipe at his Aunt’s, trusting that
the smoke would not he smelt in such foul atmosphere.
Mr. Clyfake did a fairish stroke of business in the fog, by help-
ing timid people to find their way about, while he helped himself by
finding his own way into their pockets.
Miss McElirter somehow managed in the fog to miss her party at
the Cattle-Show, and was gallantly escorted home by Captain Sli-
boots, to whom she is engaged now.
Mr. Jones’s mother-in-law contrived under cover of the darkness
to pay his house a visit, and is now quite comfortably quartered for
some six weeks on his larder.
Mr. Larkington, in the fog, tied a string across the pavement
from the lamp-post to his neighbour’s door-knocker, at an altitude
to catch the hats of passers-by and project them on the pavement.
Mr. Hardupp, wfio has been in hiding for some weeks, took
advantage of the fog to take a little exercise, and did so unperceived
by any of his creditors.
Mr. Rory O’Raeferty, a Goody Templar, strayed into a gin-
shop while strolling home from work, having by sheer accident,
in the denseness of the atmosphere, mistaken the establishment for
a coffee-shop. _
CHORAL.
TO CARPENTERS and WHEELWRIGHTS.—A good CHURCH
SINGER is WANTED for a Small Village; eight acres of Land.—
Apply by letter only, &c.
This is from a local paper, not amongst the “ Varieties” or the
“ Facetiae,” but in the midst of the business advertisements. It may
fairly rank with the most ingenious Christmas puzzles and riddles.
Hitherto it has baffled the acutest intellects to which it has been
submitted, and defied the most vigorous understandings to unravel.
Why, asks the bewildered reader, in mingled accents of defeat and
despair, are Carpenters and Wheelwrights especially singled out as
likely to prove good Church Singers ? Why is the preference given
to them over Attorneys and Solicitors, or Chemists and Druggists,
or Bricklayers and Masons ? Is it because they are exceptionally
free from the taint of Nonconformity ? Again, why the reference to
“eight acres of land F ” Will the fortunate carpenter or favoured
wheelwright be entitled to the rent they bring in as his yearly
stipend, or will his musical services be acknowledged by permission
to cultivate these eight acres free of charge or tax, or will they
become his property, his own absolute freehold in fee simple for
ever, if he gives satisfaction in the village choir ?
Such are a few of the questions which this unique advertisement
suggests, and up to the hour of going to press nothing approaching
to a satisfactory answer to them had been offered. Perhaps when
the fog has gone, the intellect may recover itself, and be able to
grapple with “ To Carpenters and Wheelwrights.” It was wise to
restrict the applicants to letters, otherwise such a levy of carpenters
and wheelwrights, all singing at the top of their voices, and bent on
viewing the eight acres, might have burst upon the “ small village ”
as would have dismayed the stoutest incumbent and daunted the
staunchest churchwarden.
Men of the Time.—Chronometer Makers.