DOI Heft:
February 28, 1874
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16938#0092
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [February 28, 1874.
JUSTICE FOR JOHN BULL.
Conservative majority
other day, the Post
“ That majority is now as nearly as may he one
hundred and fifteen. It is only when Scotland,
Wales, and Ireland are thrown in that the majority
is reduced to about fifty-four.”
Comparisons are not all odious to every-
body ; and the Post has probably dis-
pleased very few of its readers by comparing
SkHi&viwt'. vlv 'V" the present Parliament with its predecessor,
in respect of parties, as follows
“Mb. Gladstone’s majority—by means of which he carried such colossal measures, affecting vitally
for good or for evil the institutions of the country—was not an English majority. In fact, if he had
had to deal with English Members alone, he could
probably not have even attempted any one of
those measures; for although the parties in
England were pretty evenly balanced, there was
a slight Conservative majority. Hence in the
late Parliament England was completely over-
borne by the lesser Members of the Kingdom.”
Mr. Butt, and the rest of you, Gentle-
men of Mr. Butt’s party, allow us to
congratulate you on the prospect of Home-
Rule—for England.
Something About Dr. Beke.
One of Dr. Beke’s scientific attendants
reached, the summit of a mountain before
the eminent Eastern explorer, who was
somewhat out of breath, could arrive.
The worthy and learned Doctor was evi-
dently annoyed, but forgave the man on
account of his previous good character, hut
remarked that, in case he should at any
future time be had up in a police-court,
he would not then he able to say that he
had “never been up before the Behe."
Such is life in the East.
Dines to a Young Lady.
Fair Dolly, who allows her skirt
To trail behind her through the dirt,
Forgets the nickname that prevailed
Of Dorothy the Draggle-tailed.
PEACE AND WAR.
“ Talk about the slaughter of war! ” said
Major O’Rourke. “ Isn’t it the pace that
kills ? »
OCCASIONAL HAPPY THOUGHTS.
Still engaged with Mr. Jarvis about the Morse.
There seems to me to be an air of depression about the cob.
Perhaps he’s shy, and doesn’t like being exhibited in the public road.
Jarvis’s legs form an isosceles triangle (on their own account, he
having nothing to do with it), his hands thrust themselves (under
Jarvis’s direction here, as being nearer the head) into his trowser
ockets, so as to rumple up the waistcoat on each side, and Jarvis’s
ead drops down towards the left shoulder, as though there were a
strong wind blowing at his right ear. He looks critical: he looks
knowing. In spite of his nautical straw hat, he has nothing what-
ever of the sailor about him now. Even his whiskers, which, under
another aspect, did convey something of the mariner to my mind,
now suggest more of the Barrister.
Imagine at this moment Jarvis in a white wig and hands, and his
photograph would do for ten out of fifteen barristers. He has no
moustache; and I do not believe in a Barrister with a moustache.
I don’t think that moustachios should he worn by either Barristers,
Anglican Clergymen, or Milkmen. This, however, has nothing to
do with horse-dealing.
Feeling that it is his turn to move in the game, Jarvis says,
repeating himself to begin with,
“ Yes, you won’t see such a little ’orse as that every day. Reg’lar
good plucked ’un.”
Happy Thought.—A reg’lar good “ plucked ’un” must mean that
the animal has failed in passing a veterinary examination.
As Jarvis wouldn’t understand this joke, and as (besides Pul-
linger, who’s a Clergyman, and mightn’t like joking) there’s only
one gentleman (the Equestrian Yisitor) present who may, or may not,
be up to .it, I decide upon not risking it. Shall note it down, ana
arrange it for one of Sydney Smith’s good things. Then people
will say, “How witty ! so like him !”
The Tall Equestrian, who cannot possibly be interested in my
being taken in and done for by Jarvis or any other horse-dealer,
observes gratuitously,
“ Yes ! he’s not a bad stamp of animal.”
Whereat the Ladies appear interested.
How what does he mean by a “ had stamp ” ? If he were a bad
stamp he wouldn’t evidently he worth a penny. But that he should
be only “ not a bad stamp ” doesn’t seem to imply that he is a good
stamp, hut is very nearly being a good stamp. It’s as if you said
of a bottle of spurious Eau de Cologne, “ Yes, that’s Eau de
Cologne, only it’s not Jean Maria Farina.”
As the Equestrian Yisitor appears to know something about the
matter, and as Jarvis has at once seen (I catch his eye) the import-
ance of enlisting such respectable and unprejudiced evidence on his
own side, I feel hound to ask the last speaker, “ What he means by
that observation ? ”
“ Well,” he replies, “it’s a good serviceable beast. It’s what I
should call a good slave for the country.”
Oho ! Then we ’re not horse-dealing, we ’re slave-dealing.
I reply, “ Ah, I see what you mean,” and I think I shall, presently.
Mr. Jarvis seizes the opportunity.
“ Ah, he’s all that, and more. He ’ll do his thirteen mile an hour
easy, in a level country. I’ve taken him to Scragford, round bj
Hillfield, and hack, in a day, with a waggonette full.”
He takes for granted that we know the country. The Tall Eques-
trian does, or pretends to, and says, “ stiff work.”
“ Nothing to him,” returns Jarvis, jauntily, as if he had dragged
the waggonette full himself. (The Horse looks sleepily on all the
time, but, like the prisoner at an English Criminal trial, “his mouth
is closed,” and I pity him.) “Nothing! He faces his hills from
first to last as though they were mole-heaps.”-
“P’raps,” I interrupt, sharply, with a side-glance at my Aunt
and the Ladies, “he’d stumble over mole-heaps.”
My Aunt, and the Ladies, don’t enjoy my little fun, just thrown in
as it were to lighten the entertainment. They are gradually coming
to admire the horse. They began by pitying him, because of his
woebegone appearance ; then they pitied him more on hearing the
account of the work he had done. The next step was to admire him
as a hero, while compassionating him as an uncomplaining martyr,
and, finally, they burst into singing his praises.
“ He really is a pretty-looking creature,” says my Aunt.
“ Only wants a little more care and attention than I can afford
to give him, Ma’am,” says Mr. Jarvis, artfully.
“ Yes,” says Mrs. Pullinger to her husband, “I think when we
bought Luby for the children, he wasn’t a bit better-looking than
this.”
“ No dear,” replies Pullinger, “ and he’s as handsome a pony—
not quite the size of this—as I’ve ever seen.”
(Ahem ! Does Pullinger wish me to buy Luby, I wonder ?)
The Lady in the Riding-habit observes, “ I think he would turn
out very well.”
“Of course,” observes my Equestrian Yisitor, “he’ll never be
JUSTICE FOR JOHN BULL.
Conservative majority
other day, the Post
“ That majority is now as nearly as may he one
hundred and fifteen. It is only when Scotland,
Wales, and Ireland are thrown in that the majority
is reduced to about fifty-four.”
Comparisons are not all odious to every-
body ; and the Post has probably dis-
pleased very few of its readers by comparing
SkHi&viwt'. vlv 'V" the present Parliament with its predecessor,
in respect of parties, as follows
“Mb. Gladstone’s majority—by means of which he carried such colossal measures, affecting vitally
for good or for evil the institutions of the country—was not an English majority. In fact, if he had
had to deal with English Members alone, he could
probably not have even attempted any one of
those measures; for although the parties in
England were pretty evenly balanced, there was
a slight Conservative majority. Hence in the
late Parliament England was completely over-
borne by the lesser Members of the Kingdom.”
Mr. Butt, and the rest of you, Gentle-
men of Mr. Butt’s party, allow us to
congratulate you on the prospect of Home-
Rule—for England.
Something About Dr. Beke.
One of Dr. Beke’s scientific attendants
reached, the summit of a mountain before
the eminent Eastern explorer, who was
somewhat out of breath, could arrive.
The worthy and learned Doctor was evi-
dently annoyed, but forgave the man on
account of his previous good character, hut
remarked that, in case he should at any
future time be had up in a police-court,
he would not then he able to say that he
had “never been up before the Behe."
Such is life in the East.
Dines to a Young Lady.
Fair Dolly, who allows her skirt
To trail behind her through the dirt,
Forgets the nickname that prevailed
Of Dorothy the Draggle-tailed.
PEACE AND WAR.
“ Talk about the slaughter of war! ” said
Major O’Rourke. “ Isn’t it the pace that
kills ? »
OCCASIONAL HAPPY THOUGHTS.
Still engaged with Mr. Jarvis about the Morse.
There seems to me to be an air of depression about the cob.
Perhaps he’s shy, and doesn’t like being exhibited in the public road.
Jarvis’s legs form an isosceles triangle (on their own account, he
having nothing to do with it), his hands thrust themselves (under
Jarvis’s direction here, as being nearer the head) into his trowser
ockets, so as to rumple up the waistcoat on each side, and Jarvis’s
ead drops down towards the left shoulder, as though there were a
strong wind blowing at his right ear. He looks critical: he looks
knowing. In spite of his nautical straw hat, he has nothing what-
ever of the sailor about him now. Even his whiskers, which, under
another aspect, did convey something of the mariner to my mind,
now suggest more of the Barrister.
Imagine at this moment Jarvis in a white wig and hands, and his
photograph would do for ten out of fifteen barristers. He has no
moustache; and I do not believe in a Barrister with a moustache.
I don’t think that moustachios should he worn by either Barristers,
Anglican Clergymen, or Milkmen. This, however, has nothing to
do with horse-dealing.
Feeling that it is his turn to move in the game, Jarvis says,
repeating himself to begin with,
“ Yes, you won’t see such a little ’orse as that every day. Reg’lar
good plucked ’un.”
Happy Thought.—A reg’lar good “ plucked ’un” must mean that
the animal has failed in passing a veterinary examination.
As Jarvis wouldn’t understand this joke, and as (besides Pul-
linger, who’s a Clergyman, and mightn’t like joking) there’s only
one gentleman (the Equestrian Yisitor) present who may, or may not,
be up to .it, I decide upon not risking it. Shall note it down, ana
arrange it for one of Sydney Smith’s good things. Then people
will say, “How witty ! so like him !”
The Tall Equestrian, who cannot possibly be interested in my
being taken in and done for by Jarvis or any other horse-dealer,
observes gratuitously,
“ Yes ! he’s not a bad stamp of animal.”
Whereat the Ladies appear interested.
How what does he mean by a “ had stamp ” ? If he were a bad
stamp he wouldn’t evidently he worth a penny. But that he should
be only “ not a bad stamp ” doesn’t seem to imply that he is a good
stamp, hut is very nearly being a good stamp. It’s as if you said
of a bottle of spurious Eau de Cologne, “ Yes, that’s Eau de
Cologne, only it’s not Jean Maria Farina.”
As the Equestrian Yisitor appears to know something about the
matter, and as Jarvis has at once seen (I catch his eye) the import-
ance of enlisting such respectable and unprejudiced evidence on his
own side, I feel hound to ask the last speaker, “ What he means by
that observation ? ”
“ Well,” he replies, “it’s a good serviceable beast. It’s what I
should call a good slave for the country.”
Oho ! Then we ’re not horse-dealing, we ’re slave-dealing.
I reply, “ Ah, I see what you mean,” and I think I shall, presently.
Mr. Jarvis seizes the opportunity.
“ Ah, he’s all that, and more. He ’ll do his thirteen mile an hour
easy, in a level country. I’ve taken him to Scragford, round bj
Hillfield, and hack, in a day, with a waggonette full.”
He takes for granted that we know the country. The Tall Eques-
trian does, or pretends to, and says, “ stiff work.”
“ Nothing to him,” returns Jarvis, jauntily, as if he had dragged
the waggonette full himself. (The Horse looks sleepily on all the
time, but, like the prisoner at an English Criminal trial, “his mouth
is closed,” and I pity him.) “Nothing! He faces his hills from
first to last as though they were mole-heaps.”-
“P’raps,” I interrupt, sharply, with a side-glance at my Aunt
and the Ladies, “he’d stumble over mole-heaps.”
My Aunt, and the Ladies, don’t enjoy my little fun, just thrown in
as it were to lighten the entertainment. They are gradually coming
to admire the horse. They began by pitying him, because of his
woebegone appearance ; then they pitied him more on hearing the
account of the work he had done. The next step was to admire him
as a hero, while compassionating him as an uncomplaining martyr,
and, finally, they burst into singing his praises.
“ He really is a pretty-looking creature,” says my Aunt.
“ Only wants a little more care and attention than I can afford
to give him, Ma’am,” says Mr. Jarvis, artfully.
“ Yes,” says Mrs. Pullinger to her husband, “I think when we
bought Luby for the children, he wasn’t a bit better-looking than
this.”
“ No dear,” replies Pullinger, “ and he’s as handsome a pony—
not quite the size of this—as I’ve ever seen.”
(Ahem ! Does Pullinger wish me to buy Luby, I wonder ?)
The Lady in the Riding-habit observes, “ I think he would turn
out very well.”
“Of course,” observes my Equestrian Yisitor, “he’ll never be