DOI Heft:
January 23, 1875
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16940#0049
January 23, 1875.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 41
THE ECCLESIASTICAL FREE-EIGHT.
When will Clericals settle
Clash of Church-pot and kettle,
To the tinkle of cymbals emphatic ?
The dogmatic free-light,
At no time too polite,
Is fast growing cat and dog-matic.
Fed with Ritual oil,
Cleric fires counter-coil
Round the Church-pot, high-bubbling their mid on;
Capel hoping that first
It will boil, and then burst,
If by Law’s stress it must keep its Lid on.
Nestor-Newman now claims
To pour oil on the flames—
Patristic, plain, pure, prseter-human:
While Rome, half-askance,
Marks him cross Gladstone’s lance—
Glads t o n e—imp a r congressus to Newman !
Brutum fuhnen forth flashes
In clerical clashes
Of in-com-per-trans-sub-st&n.t\Rt\on :
And its senseless sounds rattle,
Till, tired of their brattle,
Both the Churches one gives to cremation:
And admires the wise Bishop,
Who, when asked to help dish-up
Gurney’s Bill by a vote hot and hearty,
Replied he was quite
Oft the cards for a fight,
Being hooked for a snug garden-party.
Better spirting at hockey,
Or spooning at croquet,
Or flirting, or fun, or lawn-tennis,
Than ’twixt High Church and Low Church,
Breach-widening for No Church,
“ Saffragiis, Unguis, et pennis.”
Fessler, Dollinger, Schumann,
Manning, Capel, and Newman,
Gladstone, Liddon, both Churches’ free-fighters,
In his garden could Punch,
But once gather at lunch,
Disarmed of pens, books, robes, and mitres
His Sense, Wisdom, and Wit,
For them some clue would hit
From their maze, fenced by dogma and creed in,
And his garden they’d own,
Had a right to he known
As a genuine Garden of Eden !
Here we Go “ Up, Up, Up!”—The most successful
example of “ Levitation ”—the Daily Telegraph.
With such right Royal bidding. May each Wise Man from the West,
Who finds himself so lucky as to he your welcome guest,
Resolve that one eclipse at least shall ne’er dim British brightness,
Eclipse of English courtesy by Siamese politeness.
WHY I GO TO CHURCH.
Feminine Reasons.
Because the Rev. Voluble Cope intones so delightfully, and
looks so interesting and emaciated, and preaches such delightfully
high sermons—and so sweet and short too.
Because the little boys in white surplices chant so angelically—
and one somehow feels it all so delightfully wrong and Roman
Catholic.
Because my bonnet is the loveliest in the village, and it is a duty
to show the country girls what a really tasteful thing in dress means.
Because one likes to look at other peoples’ bonnets and dresses ;
and nothing but seeing could make one believe what execrable taste
most English girls have !
Because Charlie is sure to he there, with that inevitable white
flower and fern leaf in his button-hole (the ridiculous fellow!), and
Mamma will probably ask him home to lunch.
Because I want to see how my Christmas decorations look.
Because it’s Sunday, and it would look so strange to stay away.
Masculine Reasons.
Because Canon Manley is safe to utter some home-truth from
the pulpit which nobody dare say out of it, and one likes to see how
awfully scandalised the old fogies of both sexes are safe to be at it.
Because one feels curious to ascertain to what lengths of rot old
Boshville can go in the pulpit.
Because one likes to see how near that young Rubrics can get to
Rome without actually crossing the Rubicon.
Because, unless I go to-day, the opportunity may be lost, as—if
one is to believe my Liberationist neighbour, old Jawkins—the
Church is safe to be disestablished, if not next week, next year at
latest.
Because one likes to set a good example.
Because one catches glimpses of all the pretty girls in the
parish.
Because most respectable people go.
Because I really should like to believe in something or other, omy
I haven’t time to decide for myself what that something should be.
and a fellow might get a lead at church some Sunday, perhaps.
DIAGNOSIS.
“I CAN TELL YOU WHAT you’re SUFFERING FROM, MY GOOD FELLOW!
You’re suffering from Acne!”
Ackney? Why, that’s just what the t'other Medical Gent he
TOLD me! I ONLY WISH I’D NEVER BEEN NEAR THE PLACE!’’
VOL. 68.
2—2
THE ECCLESIASTICAL FREE-EIGHT.
When will Clericals settle
Clash of Church-pot and kettle,
To the tinkle of cymbals emphatic ?
The dogmatic free-light,
At no time too polite,
Is fast growing cat and dog-matic.
Fed with Ritual oil,
Cleric fires counter-coil
Round the Church-pot, high-bubbling their mid on;
Capel hoping that first
It will boil, and then burst,
If by Law’s stress it must keep its Lid on.
Nestor-Newman now claims
To pour oil on the flames—
Patristic, plain, pure, prseter-human:
While Rome, half-askance,
Marks him cross Gladstone’s lance—
Glads t o n e—imp a r congressus to Newman !
Brutum fuhnen forth flashes
In clerical clashes
Of in-com-per-trans-sub-st&n.t\Rt\on :
And its senseless sounds rattle,
Till, tired of their brattle,
Both the Churches one gives to cremation:
And admires the wise Bishop,
Who, when asked to help dish-up
Gurney’s Bill by a vote hot and hearty,
Replied he was quite
Oft the cards for a fight,
Being hooked for a snug garden-party.
Better spirting at hockey,
Or spooning at croquet,
Or flirting, or fun, or lawn-tennis,
Than ’twixt High Church and Low Church,
Breach-widening for No Church,
“ Saffragiis, Unguis, et pennis.”
Fessler, Dollinger, Schumann,
Manning, Capel, and Newman,
Gladstone, Liddon, both Churches’ free-fighters,
In his garden could Punch,
But once gather at lunch,
Disarmed of pens, books, robes, and mitres
His Sense, Wisdom, and Wit,
For them some clue would hit
From their maze, fenced by dogma and creed in,
And his garden they’d own,
Had a right to he known
As a genuine Garden of Eden !
Here we Go “ Up, Up, Up!”—The most successful
example of “ Levitation ”—the Daily Telegraph.
With such right Royal bidding. May each Wise Man from the West,
Who finds himself so lucky as to he your welcome guest,
Resolve that one eclipse at least shall ne’er dim British brightness,
Eclipse of English courtesy by Siamese politeness.
WHY I GO TO CHURCH.
Feminine Reasons.
Because the Rev. Voluble Cope intones so delightfully, and
looks so interesting and emaciated, and preaches such delightfully
high sermons—and so sweet and short too.
Because the little boys in white surplices chant so angelically—
and one somehow feels it all so delightfully wrong and Roman
Catholic.
Because my bonnet is the loveliest in the village, and it is a duty
to show the country girls what a really tasteful thing in dress means.
Because one likes to look at other peoples’ bonnets and dresses ;
and nothing but seeing could make one believe what execrable taste
most English girls have !
Because Charlie is sure to he there, with that inevitable white
flower and fern leaf in his button-hole (the ridiculous fellow!), and
Mamma will probably ask him home to lunch.
Because I want to see how my Christmas decorations look.
Because it’s Sunday, and it would look so strange to stay away.
Masculine Reasons.
Because Canon Manley is safe to utter some home-truth from
the pulpit which nobody dare say out of it, and one likes to see how
awfully scandalised the old fogies of both sexes are safe to be at it.
Because one feels curious to ascertain to what lengths of rot old
Boshville can go in the pulpit.
Because one likes to see how near that young Rubrics can get to
Rome without actually crossing the Rubicon.
Because, unless I go to-day, the opportunity may be lost, as—if
one is to believe my Liberationist neighbour, old Jawkins—the
Church is safe to be disestablished, if not next week, next year at
latest.
Because one likes to set a good example.
Because one catches glimpses of all the pretty girls in the
parish.
Because most respectable people go.
Because I really should like to believe in something or other, omy
I haven’t time to decide for myself what that something should be.
and a fellow might get a lead at church some Sunday, perhaps.
DIAGNOSIS.
“I CAN TELL YOU WHAT you’re SUFFERING FROM, MY GOOD FELLOW!
You’re suffering from Acne!”
Ackney? Why, that’s just what the t'other Medical Gent he
TOLD me! I ONLY WISH I’D NEVER BEEN NEAR THE PLACE!’’
VOL. 68.
2—2