Punch (67.1874)

September 26, 1874.]

125

PUNCH, OK THE LONDON CHARIVARI.



“na> that fou.”

Good Templar. “ We’re Twen’y Min’sh too soon. Jtjsh Time for ano’r

Bottle ’Ginger Beer! !”

LE CYNICISME ARTISTIQUE.

Artists, I know, any lengths will go
When it suits their humour fantastic;

But, neighbour of mine, I cannot divine
Why to run down my poor little tunes you incline,
In terms decidedly drastic.

This corner to me seemed restful and free,

Well fitted for musical culture;

Yet no sooner am I snug nested within it
Than I feel like a poor little singing linnet
Pursued by an Artist-vulture.

I also delight that the cats at night
Don’t give us their shrill reminders,

And that sheltered close in a cul de sac,

I can practise sublime Sebastian Bach,

Afar from the organ-grinders.

There’s no sky-blue, I agree with you,

Where the butterman’s milk-cans glitter ;

But I’ve nothing to say of the public near,

Except that, if you drink the beer,

It must be tremendously bitter.

I’ve a garden as well, hut the stuffy smell
Of your turps doth its fragrance tarnish,—

My limoncina and heliotrope
Yainly attempt with the scent to cope
Of your odoriferous varnish.

When the evening’s fair in the quiet air
I lounge, having shut my piano;

But your window is wide, and there cometh thence,
To utterly drown the soft flower-scents,

The smell of a strong havana.

Then at night, when I’d fain amid dreams remain,
I hear—well, I won’t say a howling—

Some Artist song of the German land,

Which would, no doubt, be uncommonly grand
If your bass weren’t given to growling.

You flatter me where you say I am fair,—

’Tis your one word eulogistic :

Well, I have spied you too, Mr. McGilp,

And you certainly are better-looking than Quilp,
Though your costume ’s too artistic.

!




FOREIGN INTELLIGENCE.

When one considers that history may in some measure be written out of news-
papers, there is food for some reflection in the following bit of news:—

“ A Paris journal {La I/iberte) asserts that ‘Bishop Manning gave orders to Dean
Stanley to do the honours of Westminster Abbey to His Highness the Prince op
Asturias and adds, that Members of Parliament conducted the Prince to the Common
House.”

We need hardly say that this, like most other London news which is found in
Paris newspapers, is most thoroughly veracious, as far as it goes; hut it ap-
pears, to our mind, a little incomplete. For the benefit of foreign readers we
should, therefore, like to add some few details like the following, which may
he equally relied on for their perfect truth:—

By the command of Bishop Manning, not merely did Dean Stanley act as
Showman of the Abbey, hut High Mass was there performed by the Reverend
C. H. Spurgeon, in special recognition of the presence of the Prince. All
the Members of the Common House attended at the service in their splendid
robes of State, consisting, as is usual at such Britannic ceremonies, of top-
boots and velvet breeches, cocked hats and scarlet waistcoats, and. swallow-
tailed blue coats. The Speechmaker, or Speaker, led them from the Common
House, and, as is customary upon such occasions, was honoured on returning
with the Order of the Bathroom, and an order on the Treasury for three
hundred thousand francs. The Prince, attended by his suite, was then con-
veyed in a State cab to the Palace of Dean Stanley, where a sumptuous
English breakfast of rosbif and plumb-pudding was provided for His High-
ness; the Churchwardens of the Abbey assisting at the banquet, and emptying
to his health eleven casks of portare-beer.

A Dual Domestic.

Some answer may have been returned to the following advertisement, inserted
in the Western Morning News:—

WANTED, a good General SERVANT. Two ladies ; must cook well; good
reference. Address, &c.

Apparently, however, to supply the advertiser’s want, it would take two
Ladies united in the capacity of one good General Servant.

With hair too long and colours too strong,

Your taste is none of the purest:

But I say to myself, as you’ve done me the favour
To dress me all over in crotchet and quaver,
You’re merely a caricaturist.

Had your genius a glow like Angelo,

Or that glory of Venice, Titian,

I’m perfectly sure you would not swea
Because there is melody filling the air,

Wrought by a pretty Musician.

Forget and forgive, Sir ; live and let live:

Good neighbour, I’m perfectly willing.

Just sketch yourself, with those long black locks
Blown wild by the wind of the equinox,

While I am jingling and trilling.

Your hair on end, and your favourite friend
With a pewter to save you from fainting:

Just do that soon, in a Punch Cartoon,

And I ’ll promise to play my softest tune
When you are not smoking, but painting.

The Prince of Wales’s Debts.

Several impertinent statements, which have since
been flatly contradicted, having lately appeared in print
on this subject, we are authorised to inform the public
that the only debt which His Royal Highness has con-
tracted is the enormous Debt of Gratitude to Heaven for
his recovery, which, the Prince himself would be the
first to admit, he will never be able to repay.

Not a Temperance Society.—A “Band of Hope”—
the Staff of the Saturday Review.