DOI issue:
September 19, 1874
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16939#0131
SEPTEMBER 19, 1874.]
123
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
A REAL SEA-SIDE PLEASURE.
ANOTHER EXHIBITION.
The success that has attended the Busy
Bee Show at the Crystal Palace, Sydenham,
has suggested the idea that an Exhibition
of Working Men might he made not only
amusing hut instructive. Should the
motion come to anything, the following
Classes will probably be included in the list
of those competing for prizes. Members of
the International Working Men’s Congress,
and other kindred societies, should, for
obvious reasons, be admitted as visitors to
the proposed excellent exhibition without
charge:—
Class 1. Public Serva?its.—For Cabinet
Ministers and other Members of the Govern-
ment Service, whose hours of labour are
often from eight in the morning of one
day, until three a.m. of the day following.
Class 2. Literary Men.—For Journalists
whose toil knows no ending, for Novelists
who frequently have to write two romances
for the Magazines at the time that they are
finishing tales in three volumes for their
own publishers; and for Dramatists who
have to rehearse all day what they are
engaged in writing all night.
Class 3. Clergymen.—For men with re-
fined tastes and educated minds, who have
to spend their week-days in visits to the
poor and the sick, and their Sundays in
hard labour in the pulpit.
Class 4. Doctors.—For men of science,
who cannot call a single hour of their lives
their own, and are ever at the service of
their suffering fellow-creatures.
Ceres in the City.
On Thursday last a Harvest Festival was
held in the City—a thanksgiving service
for the harvest being performed in the
church of St. Edmund, Lombard Street.
An appropriate place for a harvest festival.
Lombard Street is very near Cornhill.
I
‘‘What! Miss Matilda!! You in this pouring Rain, and without either
Waterproof or Umbrella ! !! ’
“ 0, yes. Capital Plan—get Wet through, you know, and then you must Change
all your Clothes when you go in, and that helps to pass the Time, you know.”
Proverb for a Discontented Tour-
ist.—“Abed in a house is worth two in
the Bush! ”
WONDERS OP THE WORLD ABROAD.
Wonder if there be an inn upon the Continent where you are
furnished gratis with a cake of soap and bed candle.
Wonder how many able-bodied English waiters it would take to
do the daily work of half a dozen French ones.
Wonder why it is that Great (and little) Britons are so constantly
heard grumbling at the half a score of dishes in a foreign bill of fare,
while at home they have so frequently to feed upon cold mutton.
Wonder what amount of beer a German tourist daily drinks, and
how many half pint glasses a waiter at Yienna can carry at a time
without spilling a drop out of them.
Wonder how it is that, although one knows full well that many
Paris people are most miserably poor, one never sees such ragged
scarecrows in its streets as are visible in London.
Wonder how many successive ages must elapse ere travellers
abroad enjoy the luxury of salt-spoons.
Wonder why so many tourists, and particularly ladies, will
persist in speaking French, with a true Britannic accent, when the
waiter so considerately answers them in English.
Wonder when our foreign friends, who are in most things so
ingenious, will direct their ingenuity to the art of drainage coupled
with deodorising fluids.
Wonder if there be a watering-place in France where there is no
Casino, a,nd where Frenchmen may be seen engaged in any game
more active than dominoes or billiards.
Wonder when it will be possible to get through seven courses at a
foreign table d'hote without running any risk of seeing one’s fair
; neighbour either eating with her knife or wiping her plate clean by
sopping bread into the gravy.
Wonder what would be the yearly increase of deafness in Great
Britain, if our horses all had bells to jangle on their harness, and
our drivers all were seized with the mania for whip-cracking, which
possesses in such fury all the coachmen on the Continent.
Wonder in what century the historian will relate that a French-
man was seen walking in the country for amusement.
Wonder why it is that when one calls a Paris waiter, he always
answers, “ Y’la, M’sieu,” and then invariably vanishes.
Wonder when Swiss tourists will abstain from buying alpenstocks
which they don’t know how to use, and which are branded with the
names of mountains they would never dare to dream of trying to do
more than timidly look up to.
Wonder in what age of progress a sponge-bath will be readily
obtainable abroad, in places most remote, and where Britons least
do congregate.
Wonder if French ladies, who are as elegant in their manners as
they are in their millinery, will ever acquire the habit of eating
with their lips shut.
Wonder when it will be possible to travel on the Rhine, without
hearing feeble jokelets made about the “ rhino.”
A Real Blessing.
The last weeks of La Fille de Madame Angot are announced.
Thank Heaven ! Let us hope she may be allowed to rest in peace,
or rather that the piece may be allowed to rest undisturbed, that
the airs which the fille had given herself may be soon forgotten.
Let not a drum be heard, nor a funeral note, at the burial of La
fille—la vieille fille by this time—of that notorious old fish-fag,
Madame Angot. The nuisance had become almost intolerable.
123
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
A REAL SEA-SIDE PLEASURE.
ANOTHER EXHIBITION.
The success that has attended the Busy
Bee Show at the Crystal Palace, Sydenham,
has suggested the idea that an Exhibition
of Working Men might he made not only
amusing hut instructive. Should the
motion come to anything, the following
Classes will probably be included in the list
of those competing for prizes. Members of
the International Working Men’s Congress,
and other kindred societies, should, for
obvious reasons, be admitted as visitors to
the proposed excellent exhibition without
charge:—
Class 1. Public Serva?its.—For Cabinet
Ministers and other Members of the Govern-
ment Service, whose hours of labour are
often from eight in the morning of one
day, until three a.m. of the day following.
Class 2. Literary Men.—For Journalists
whose toil knows no ending, for Novelists
who frequently have to write two romances
for the Magazines at the time that they are
finishing tales in three volumes for their
own publishers; and for Dramatists who
have to rehearse all day what they are
engaged in writing all night.
Class 3. Clergymen.—For men with re-
fined tastes and educated minds, who have
to spend their week-days in visits to the
poor and the sick, and their Sundays in
hard labour in the pulpit.
Class 4. Doctors.—For men of science,
who cannot call a single hour of their lives
their own, and are ever at the service of
their suffering fellow-creatures.
Ceres in the City.
On Thursday last a Harvest Festival was
held in the City—a thanksgiving service
for the harvest being performed in the
church of St. Edmund, Lombard Street.
An appropriate place for a harvest festival.
Lombard Street is very near Cornhill.
I
‘‘What! Miss Matilda!! You in this pouring Rain, and without either
Waterproof or Umbrella ! !! ’
“ 0, yes. Capital Plan—get Wet through, you know, and then you must Change
all your Clothes when you go in, and that helps to pass the Time, you know.”
Proverb for a Discontented Tour-
ist.—“Abed in a house is worth two in
the Bush! ”
WONDERS OP THE WORLD ABROAD.
Wonder if there be an inn upon the Continent where you are
furnished gratis with a cake of soap and bed candle.
Wonder how many able-bodied English waiters it would take to
do the daily work of half a dozen French ones.
Wonder why it is that Great (and little) Britons are so constantly
heard grumbling at the half a score of dishes in a foreign bill of fare,
while at home they have so frequently to feed upon cold mutton.
Wonder what amount of beer a German tourist daily drinks, and
how many half pint glasses a waiter at Yienna can carry at a time
without spilling a drop out of them.
Wonder how it is that, although one knows full well that many
Paris people are most miserably poor, one never sees such ragged
scarecrows in its streets as are visible in London.
Wonder how many successive ages must elapse ere travellers
abroad enjoy the luxury of salt-spoons.
Wonder why so many tourists, and particularly ladies, will
persist in speaking French, with a true Britannic accent, when the
waiter so considerately answers them in English.
Wonder when our foreign friends, who are in most things so
ingenious, will direct their ingenuity to the art of drainage coupled
with deodorising fluids.
Wonder if there be a watering-place in France where there is no
Casino, a,nd where Frenchmen may be seen engaged in any game
more active than dominoes or billiards.
Wonder when it will be possible to get through seven courses at a
foreign table d'hote without running any risk of seeing one’s fair
; neighbour either eating with her knife or wiping her plate clean by
sopping bread into the gravy.
Wonder what would be the yearly increase of deafness in Great
Britain, if our horses all had bells to jangle on their harness, and
our drivers all were seized with the mania for whip-cracking, which
possesses in such fury all the coachmen on the Continent.
Wonder in what century the historian will relate that a French-
man was seen walking in the country for amusement.
Wonder why it is that when one calls a Paris waiter, he always
answers, “ Y’la, M’sieu,” and then invariably vanishes.
Wonder when Swiss tourists will abstain from buying alpenstocks
which they don’t know how to use, and which are branded with the
names of mountains they would never dare to dream of trying to do
more than timidly look up to.
Wonder in what age of progress a sponge-bath will be readily
obtainable abroad, in places most remote, and where Britons least
do congregate.
Wonder if French ladies, who are as elegant in their manners as
they are in their millinery, will ever acquire the habit of eating
with their lips shut.
Wonder when it will be possible to travel on the Rhine, without
hearing feeble jokelets made about the “ rhino.”
A Real Blessing.
The last weeks of La Fille de Madame Angot are announced.
Thank Heaven ! Let us hope she may be allowed to rest in peace,
or rather that the piece may be allowed to rest undisturbed, that
the airs which the fille had given herself may be soon forgotten.
Let not a drum be heard, nor a funeral note, at the burial of La
fille—la vieille fille by this time—of that notorious old fish-fag,
Madame Angot. The nuisance had become almost intolerable.