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PUNCH, OK THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[November 11, 1876.

CHAIRING THE CELT.

an fully _ Brither - Scots
should join in gratitude
to the excellent and en-
thusiastic Professor
Blaceie for his ser-
vices in raising between
nine and ten thousand
pounds towards the
endowment of a Pro-
fessorship of Celtic in
Edinburgh University.

Considering that Edin-
burgh is the capital of
Scotland, and that more
than half of Scotia is land
of the Gael, it is little to
the credit of the modern
Athens that it should
have left this work to a
Lowland Professor.
Surely a Celt ought to
have been found ready to
set the Celts on fire at
home and abroad, for the
due upholding, fitting,
and filling of a Celtic
Chair. But if too much
have been laid on Pro-
fessor ' Blackie, as the
stoker and poker of Celtic
sentiment, and the raiser, not'only'of'the needful fire, but the still
more needful funds, for this endowment, it is pleasant to know that
John Hielandman all over the world, in Canada, the United States,
JNorth and South America, Ceylon, India, Singapore, has shown
that wherever be his body, his "heart's in the Hielands," by his
liberal response to the cry for funds for the Celtic Chair. So it
becomes what such a chair should be, a chair resting on Highland
enthusiasm and Highland contributions as its legs, with Highland
poetry and Highland patriotism for its arms, and the world-wide-
spread Highland nationality for its broad and firmly-woven seat.

Paddy and Taffy, we need not remind our readers, are as Celtic
as John Hielandman.

Even John Bell himself, if Saxon in warp, has a Celtic woof
worked into his national web, which furnishes some of the brightest
threads in the fabric. Why should not Oxford and Cambridge, and
Dublin, have their Celtic chairs as well as Edinburgh ?

Now the first blow has been struck to such a handsome tune by
Blackie's strenuous hand, let us hope it may be followed up, and
that, South of the Tweed, for the silly attempt to cry down the
language and literature of Wales—our nearest Celtic Sister—may be
substituted the more intelligent recognition of the value of both to
those who dig about the roots of speech, and track the streams of
letters up to their fountain heads.

Meanwhile the gallant Professor has striven on behalf of his
Celtic Chair, not only by means of speech, subscription-list, solicita-
tion, meeting, and manifesto ; he has, besides, written in furtherance
of his long-cherished and now happily obtained object, a genial,
glowing, and original book, The Language and Literature of the
Scottish Highlands, showing the place of the Celtic in the family of
tongues, and some of its leading affinities and principles of structure,
with a sketch of the history and characteristics of its bards from the
Middle Ages to our own time, including a succinct and sensible
summary of the Ossianic Controversy, in which the son of Flngal
and James Macpherson are very fairly, as it seems to us, set each
on his own bottom.

Let those who have yet to learn the fire and flow of Gaelic verse
read Alexander MacDonald's Song of the Birlinn, or Galley of
Clan-Banald, and Duncan Ban's Ben Dorain, consecrated to the
glory of the red-deer and the stalking thereof. The one was only a
village-schoolmaster, the other an Argyllshire gilly, and at his highest
a Sergeant of the Edinburgh Town-Guard. But both are Poets by the
gift of God. The Professor has done justice to their glowing Gaelic
in his strenuous Saxon. And the volume is one that all should read
who want to learn why the Professor loves the Celts, their language,
and their literature, and to understand and help the movement for
the endowment of a Celtic Chair—nay, rather of a set of Celtic
Chairs, for the furnishing of a room now vacant in our University
Buildings alike in England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland.

quotation from parnell.

General Grant's refusal to receive the Irish Address has quite
upset the balance of Power.

COMING ROUND.

{From Sairey Gamp, of Shoe Lane, to Betsy Prig, of Peterborough Court.)
Dear Betsy,

This 'ere comes a 'oping as 'ow you are well. It's a wale ;
And old women like us needs our comforts—I hopes we may ne'er
find 'em fail!

Which you '11 praps be surpriged at this letter, as well to my Prig
'tis beknown

For some time we ain't hit it together, but each on us monthlied
alone.

But now as you've turned up that Willyum—ah ! Betsy, 'ow could
you, my dear,

Put up with that party so long ? Yes. L'd nuss him ! But there !
there's no fear

As he '11 step in betwixt us agin, which his last games with that
there old Turk

Must have jest about doubled 'im hup—as I'm sure is a 'appy day's
work.

The artful and bragian traitor ! As wanted to bustle my Ben ;
Which, Betsy, you knowed him as sich, but he's took a new title
since then.

Ah, you, Betsy Prig—Lord forgive yer !—did use for to chiwey my

pet' •
Which, now he's so hup, is a thing as I'm sure you must greatly

regret.

But Willyum ! the warmint! Oh, Betsy, that man puts me clean
off my 'ead,

With his speeches, and pamphlets, and stuff, as is things I despise
and yet dread.

But now you are down on 'im proper, it comforts my soul, Betsy
Prig.

Let 'im have it, my dear, hot and strong, till he trembles like
thingemagig!

Which you soaped him too long ; as perhaps he warn't grateful.

An! few on 'em is.
Why there's even my Ben—but no matter ! You rounded a bit, as

he riz :

And now—well, my gingham's a good 'un, my pattens is things as
strikes terror ;

But your nasty sly pokes in his ribs is jest lovely, my dear, and no
error!

Then your love for the Turk is that touching it oftentimes moves
me to tears.

If he only had wings he'd be fit, like a Syrup, for upperer speers.
While as for them Scurvy 'uns, ancetrer, your Sairey sez, " Sarve
'em all right! "

And when Betsy sez ditto to Sairey, I feel I must bust with delight.

Them Rooshuns is Hogres owdashus. Oh, Betsy, I shakes in my
shoes

AYhen I thinks of the knouts, Ultimatums, and other wile 'orrors
they use.

Do slang 'em, my dear. You 're a good 'un at Bouncers with lots o'
big "Caps."

And it does my heart good but to hear you a slogging them Musky-
wite chaps.

But wotever you do, my dear Betsy, don't give that ere Willyum
no peace.

Your Mop and my Pattens must squelch him, or drive him to Rome,
if not Greece.

Though you loved him and nussed him so long, chuck him up, he's

a dead 'un, you know ;
As my friend Missis P. M. G. Harris, assured me o' that long ago.

And, Betsy, let bygones be bygones ! Though doing uncommonly
weU,

Old Sairey yet yearns for her pardner. Drop in, dear, and pull the
top bell.

The tea-pot and srimps shall be ready. Our sperrits two 'ot withs
won't damp,

And a chat o'er old times with her Betsy will comfort

Your own Sairey Gamp.

One of the latest additions to our Fleet is the Bacchante. It is
feared that she will be a wet ship and generally half-seas over.

Mr. Punch would be glad to hear, confidentially, from his Contri-
butor, "D. Ei."
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Chairing the Celt
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Punch
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Grafik

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Universitätsbibliothek Heidelberg
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H 634-3 Folio

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Künstler/Urheber/Hersteller (GND)
Ralston, William
Entstehungsdatum
um 1876
Entstehungsdatum (normiert)
1871 - 1881
Entstehungsort (GND)
London

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Satirische Zeitschrift
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Universitätsbibliothek Heidelberg
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Public Domain Mark 1.0
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Punch, 71.1876, November 11, 1876, S. 210

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