DOI Heft:
March 21, 1874
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16938#0129
124
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [March 21, 1874.
i
MANNERS!
“May I have the Pleasure of Engaging you for the next Valse?”
“ All right ! What’s your Name ?”
“ My Name ? Oh—er—Lord Algernon Plantagenet Montgomery de-
“ 0, bother ! What a Lot ! ”
A TEN-YEAR-OLD MARTYR.
Dear Mr. Punch,
There will be a great deal of war-paint going
round soon, in the shape of titles, honours, and decora-
tions, official rewards for“ killing, slaying, and burning.”
Will you give a decoration to the little motherless girl
of ten, Louisa Row,* who “undertook the cooking”
for her father, “ a labourer,” and his family, and died in
the execution of her duty ?
She has not killed anyone, black or white, except her-
self ; she has not burned anyone’s huts, or anyone’s
villages—she has only burned herself. She will get no
glory, unless you, with a stroke of your pen, will put
one little star of honour upon her unknown grave.
The Author oe “ Olive Varcoe.”
Will our Correspondent accept this inscription for her
poor little martyr’s tombstone ?
Duty’s small Servant, without prize or praise,
How soon on thy hard life hath death come down !
Take this brief record of thy childish days—
Gold, tried with lire, makes the best Martyr’s Crown.
* “ A painful death by burning has happened at Torquay.
Louisa Row, aged ten, lost her mother a few weeks ago, and
undertook the cooking for her father, a labourer, and the rest of
the family. She had well performed the duties devolving upon
her since her mother’s death, until one day she went too near
the grate, her frock was ignited, and she was terribly burned.
The poor child lived several days after the accident. At the
inquest, a verdict of * 1 Accidental death’ was returned.”
A Boon to the Million.
Tax A to give to B, C, D,
IJntaxed Sugar; ditto tea.
That’s your Breakfast Table Free :
Fairer wbat demand can be ?
A Common Complaint.
Until he read that reference was made to its pre-
valence in tbe veterinary report, at the recent Monthly
Meeting of tbe Royal Agricultural Society, Sloperton
acknowledges that he did not know what ‘ ‘ Quarter Evil ”
really was. His idea had always been that it was
rent-day.
He has got the collar as far as the cob’s eyes, where it sticks, and
makes the poor creature wild.
Murgle has got all the rest of the harness on first, and the cob
seems to me to show ominous signs of impatience about the tail.
“ Can’t you manage it F ” I ask Murgle. I know I can’t help him.
“Ar’ll do it afore arve done with him,” says Murgle, with
cheerful determination.
It is now a contest. The Horse won’t give in, nor will Murgle.
I am on the point of saying, “ Well, it’s no good keeping a horse
that you can’t harness under an hour and a half,”—by which I
really mean “ it’s no good keeping a man who knows nothing about
horses,”—when the stable-yard gate opens, and a small, thick-set,
shambling man, in an ostler’s dress, enters. He has come from
Jarvis’s. He sets matters right in a second. He is only two-thirds
of Murgle’s height, but he manages the cob’s head perfectly. The
collar seems suddenly to have become india-rubber in his hands,
and fits the cob’s head and neck to a nicety.
Then he looks at the harness. Murgle has buckled up the crup-
per so tightly that it’s a wonder the horse hasn’t kicked the stable
j to pieces. I had noticed something wrong about his tail.
Murgle tries to induce the horse to accept the bit at his hands.
. The horse won’t; resolutely. In fact, he won’t have it; not a
bit. The Ostler says simply, “ ’Ere, give it me!” He has the most
evident contempt for Murgle.
Happy Thought.—To get little Ostler to give Murgle lessons in
harnessing.
“ He knows me,” says the Ostler, alluding to the horse.
I “ 0’ course he does, Dick,” answers Murgle, eyeing me doubt-
,1 fully, to see if I accept this as an excuse for his not being able to do
j anything with the animal. I don’t.
The Ostler, having harnessed him and put bim in the trap, says
j as “Mr. Jarvis wished him to come with me.”
I feel it is but just, that Jarvis should be represented at the
j trial. I accept: and we—Myself and the Ostler—are to start.
I
PONTIFICAL PLEASANTRIES.
Like his predecessor, Gregory, the first of that name, who made
puns which are historical, the present Holy Father, Pope Pius the
Ninth, is well known to be fond of his joke. He lately deigned to
make one which has gone the round of the papers. In a familiar
allocution spoken to Cardinal Tarquini, His Holiness addressed
that “ Prince of the Church ” as :—
“ Tarquinis atavis edite regibus.”
May this pleasantry be said to be Pope Pius’s last F Probably
not. A recent telegram from Italy announces that:—
“ Sano, the Japanese Minister, had an audience of the Pope yesterday
before leaving Rome. His Holiness recommended to him the interests of the
Catholics in Japan.”
There is every reason to believe that the venerable Pontiff added,
“And We cannot but say that—Orandum est ut sit mens sanain
corpore Sano.”
Which words, if applied to Sano by the Head of the Latin
Church, Sano, not knowing Latin Grammar, most likely took for
the Apostolical benediction; the thought of having received which
may be no small comfort to him.
Letting Loose an Irish. Gentleman.
We read in a list of the Tice-Regal Household, of “ one Gentle-
man at large.” If there is only one Gentleman at large, even in the
seat of Vice-Royalty, what must be the state of private households
in Ireland! _ How can Home Rule ever be possible in a country
where restraint, even of Gentlemen, is so habitual that the appear-
ance of so much as one at large in Dublin Castle, is thought worthy
of mention in the newspapers !
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [March 21, 1874.
i
MANNERS!
“May I have the Pleasure of Engaging you for the next Valse?”
“ All right ! What’s your Name ?”
“ My Name ? Oh—er—Lord Algernon Plantagenet Montgomery de-
“ 0, bother ! What a Lot ! ”
A TEN-YEAR-OLD MARTYR.
Dear Mr. Punch,
There will be a great deal of war-paint going
round soon, in the shape of titles, honours, and decora-
tions, official rewards for“ killing, slaying, and burning.”
Will you give a decoration to the little motherless girl
of ten, Louisa Row,* who “undertook the cooking”
for her father, “ a labourer,” and his family, and died in
the execution of her duty ?
She has not killed anyone, black or white, except her-
self ; she has not burned anyone’s huts, or anyone’s
villages—she has only burned herself. She will get no
glory, unless you, with a stroke of your pen, will put
one little star of honour upon her unknown grave.
The Author oe “ Olive Varcoe.”
Will our Correspondent accept this inscription for her
poor little martyr’s tombstone ?
Duty’s small Servant, without prize or praise,
How soon on thy hard life hath death come down !
Take this brief record of thy childish days—
Gold, tried with lire, makes the best Martyr’s Crown.
* “ A painful death by burning has happened at Torquay.
Louisa Row, aged ten, lost her mother a few weeks ago, and
undertook the cooking for her father, a labourer, and the rest of
the family. She had well performed the duties devolving upon
her since her mother’s death, until one day she went too near
the grate, her frock was ignited, and she was terribly burned.
The poor child lived several days after the accident. At the
inquest, a verdict of * 1 Accidental death’ was returned.”
A Boon to the Million.
Tax A to give to B, C, D,
IJntaxed Sugar; ditto tea.
That’s your Breakfast Table Free :
Fairer wbat demand can be ?
A Common Complaint.
Until he read that reference was made to its pre-
valence in tbe veterinary report, at the recent Monthly
Meeting of tbe Royal Agricultural Society, Sloperton
acknowledges that he did not know what ‘ ‘ Quarter Evil ”
really was. His idea had always been that it was
rent-day.
He has got the collar as far as the cob’s eyes, where it sticks, and
makes the poor creature wild.
Murgle has got all the rest of the harness on first, and the cob
seems to me to show ominous signs of impatience about the tail.
“ Can’t you manage it F ” I ask Murgle. I know I can’t help him.
“Ar’ll do it afore arve done with him,” says Murgle, with
cheerful determination.
It is now a contest. The Horse won’t give in, nor will Murgle.
I am on the point of saying, “ Well, it’s no good keeping a horse
that you can’t harness under an hour and a half,”—by which I
really mean “ it’s no good keeping a man who knows nothing about
horses,”—when the stable-yard gate opens, and a small, thick-set,
shambling man, in an ostler’s dress, enters. He has come from
Jarvis’s. He sets matters right in a second. He is only two-thirds
of Murgle’s height, but he manages the cob’s head perfectly. The
collar seems suddenly to have become india-rubber in his hands,
and fits the cob’s head and neck to a nicety.
Then he looks at the harness. Murgle has buckled up the crup-
per so tightly that it’s a wonder the horse hasn’t kicked the stable
j to pieces. I had noticed something wrong about his tail.
Murgle tries to induce the horse to accept the bit at his hands.
. The horse won’t; resolutely. In fact, he won’t have it; not a
bit. The Ostler says simply, “ ’Ere, give it me!” He has the most
evident contempt for Murgle.
Happy Thought.—To get little Ostler to give Murgle lessons in
harnessing.
“ He knows me,” says the Ostler, alluding to the horse.
I “ 0’ course he does, Dick,” answers Murgle, eyeing me doubt-
,1 fully, to see if I accept this as an excuse for his not being able to do
j anything with the animal. I don’t.
The Ostler, having harnessed him and put bim in the trap, says
j as “Mr. Jarvis wished him to come with me.”
I feel it is but just, that Jarvis should be represented at the
j trial. I accept: and we—Myself and the Ostler—are to start.
I
PONTIFICAL PLEASANTRIES.
Like his predecessor, Gregory, the first of that name, who made
puns which are historical, the present Holy Father, Pope Pius the
Ninth, is well known to be fond of his joke. He lately deigned to
make one which has gone the round of the papers. In a familiar
allocution spoken to Cardinal Tarquini, His Holiness addressed
that “ Prince of the Church ” as :—
“ Tarquinis atavis edite regibus.”
May this pleasantry be said to be Pope Pius’s last F Probably
not. A recent telegram from Italy announces that:—
“ Sano, the Japanese Minister, had an audience of the Pope yesterday
before leaving Rome. His Holiness recommended to him the interests of the
Catholics in Japan.”
There is every reason to believe that the venerable Pontiff added,
“And We cannot but say that—Orandum est ut sit mens sanain
corpore Sano.”
Which words, if applied to Sano by the Head of the Latin
Church, Sano, not knowing Latin Grammar, most likely took for
the Apostolical benediction; the thought of having received which
may be no small comfort to him.
Letting Loose an Irish. Gentleman.
We read in a list of the Tice-Regal Household, of “ one Gentle-
man at large.” If there is only one Gentleman at large, even in the
seat of Vice-Royalty, what must be the state of private households
in Ireland! _ How can Home Rule ever be possible in a country
where restraint, even of Gentlemen, is so habitual that the appear-
ance of so much as one at large in Dublin Castle, is thought worthy
of mention in the newspapers !