DOI Heft:
August 14, 1880
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17764#0073
August 14, 1880.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
65
WHY EAT ANY MORE?
ir, — If Doctor
Tanner .suc-
ceeds in living
on nothing,
couldn’t the
Tanner system
be applied to
the Corporation
of the City of
London? Why,
a revenue would
he saved enough
to pay off the
National Debt!
Yours hope-
fully,
Real Turtle.
Sir,—Long life to Dr. Tanner is what me and my little lambkins
all say. No more legs o’ mutton ! No more slaughter-houses! No
more being driven about by that worrying sheep-dog. “ Cur woolley
woo ?” I says to him, talking over Dr. Tanner ; at which he only
growled a growl. The young bullock who told me about it roared
at the idea. I couldn’t help taking up my sheep-pen to say a word
to you on the subject. They won’t kill us now, only shear us—
merely cut and come again, to keep up the supply for the Lord
Chancellor’s Woolsack. Dr. Tanner will be the sheep’s friend—
our Sheer Ally. Bless him! I’d have a statue erected, to him by all
the eatable animals, and placed—where ?—in Sheepside.
Yours, not sheepishly,
A Member oe the Baa.
SPORTING INTELLIGENCE.
(The Colonel on Brighton Bubbles and Canterbury Cajoleries.)
Having promised to furnish you occasionally with hints upon
Sporting, need I say I attended Brighton Races !
The journey down was not uneventful. The sole occupant of my
compartment (beside of course myself) was a person of innocent
appearance, who after discussing Hospital Sunday, the Benevolent
Institutions of London, and other interesting topics of conversation,
invited me, when we reached East Croydon, to play a little game of
ecarte. I agreed, when judge of my horror, after a couple of deals,
I discovered that my apparently simple-minded fellow traveller
was nothing less than a Card Sharper! I laid my plans accord-
ingly. As a matter of common precaution, I invariably carry a few
Kings concealed up the sleeves of my coat (if you knew the world
as well I do, my dear young Friend, you would do the same), and
with this advantage in my favour, I soon succeeded in foiling his
iniquitous devices. Having lost some of his ill-gotten gains, the
scoundrel wished to give up play, and to return to the discussion of
Hospital Sunday, the Benevolent Institutions of London, and other
interesting topics of conversation. It was then that I withered him
with my scorn, and painted him in his true colours. I pointed out
to him that travellers were cautioned by the officials of the Railway
Company to beware of fellows of his stamp, and threatened to give
him into custody at the next station. He was deeply moved, and
promising immediate amendment, appealed to me for mercy. His
tears convinced me of the sincerity of his repentance. Feeling,
however, that I must not compound a felony, I as a Magistrate (I
am on the Commission of the Peace for-, but this is a detail),
imposed the fine, and smiled graciously, while I pocketed his money.
Is it necessary to add, Sir, that the fine thus solemnly imposed, will
be expended to the uttermost farthing in true charity—which begins
at home ? No, Sir. I hope not!
Arrived at Brighton. Sir, in spite of the lassitude of the Police,
t he scepticism of the Municipal Authorities, the indifference of the
Public Prosecutor, I insist that the notorious gambling-houses, the
dens of dissipation and gambling are no myth, no horrible trick of
a heated imagination! I myself am a living proof to the contrary.
In the course of a couple of days (would you believe it, Sir ?) I was
turned out of all of them !
Utterly disgusted with Brighton town, on Thursday I left it
to visit the Race Course. The company were neither numerous
nor select. The boxes of the Grand Stand were occupied chiefly
by baskets of flowers, and in the carriages en face was an assort-
ment of paintings in rouge and blanc de perle, mounted apparently
in frames of Worth. These paintings appeared to me, Sir, to
be very indifferent “studies of flesh colour.” The county nota-
bilities were conspicuous by their absence. It was quite a relief
to leave “the nobility and gentry of the district” to mix with
“ the common people.” Here was a vendor of a mysterious com-
pound called “Okey Pokey,” and there a sharp American engaged
in puzzling the county constabulary (who were crowding amicably
around him) with a Yankee edition of “the three-card trick.” I
heard an aged Sergeant of Police observe, d propos of this last feat,
that “he (the Sergeant) couldn’t imagine how he (the American)
could think of such clever things! ” But the most interesting people
on the course in my eyes were some half a dozen worthy fellows
marking race-cards, and giving tips at sixpence the consultation!
One of these “prophets” was a most finished orator. He gave his
autobiography. He had been a surgeon, then a jockey, then a
trainer, then a gentleman, then the proprietor of numerous “ ’orses.”
He was now, apparently, a millionnaire, and certainly the servant of
the public. As the servant of the public he was ready to mark race-
cards and give tips, naming the absolute winners for the races—all
for the ridiculous sum of sixpence.
And now, my dear young friend, if you knew how impulsive I am
you would not be surprised at what followed. I happened to be in
a rollicking humour, and ready for any piece of waggery. I had
preserved my incognito. There was not a soul on the course that
knew me. So I thought I would play a little practical joke. Taking
one of these prophets aside I arranged that he should mark the cards
as I directed. Then came my part of the pleasantry. By the merest
chance I happened to have brought on to the course with me a carpet
bag containing a green hat with yellow stars at the front and back,
a bright blue coat with large red buttons, a pair of—perhaps I had
better say—a dado of pink and black stripes, a false nose, a large
porte-monnaie labelled ‘ ‘ Brown of London,” and a board plastered over
with the races arranged on a white card with a deep black margin.
Hastily assuming this disguise I strongly resembled “commis-
sioners ” of a really respectable character. And now the joke com-
menced. My friend the prophet sent me plenty of customers. I
assisted to put the public “on” the King of Scotland for the Clifton -
ville Plate, Grace for the Preston Handicap, Chutney for the Kemp
Town Plate, and Marc Antony for the Welter Handicap. Those
who were present know that none of these “ noble quadruped ’orses ”
(as my prophet called them) “ was able to win.” The King, in spite
of a good thumping from Cannon (rather suggestive of Blackheath
riding on a Sunday) failed to get up to the Judge’s Chair at the
finish. Grace's colours (straw and sky-blue sleeves) were prettier
than her performances. Rossiter had it all his own way on Ligu-
rian, and as for Marc Antony, he was as much out of the race as
Cleopatra. But now I considered that the joke was growing a little
stale—the more especially as I learned from my customers that the
Prophet had given Cannie Chiel (the horse that subsequently
came in first) as his selection for the Steward’s Cup. I retired during
the running of this race, hastily resumed my ordinary costume, and.
quietly and unostentatiously returned to Brighton. Not a soul
saw me go! In conclusion, 1 may say that I spent the day, on the
whole, in rational, innocent, and not altogether unprofitable amuse-
ment.
I will merely add, that the remainder of the “ Snssex Fortnight ”
was passed at Lewes, and I am hard at woik upon the entries
for the Autumn Handicaps. The Old Stagers have had a good week
of it at Canterbury, though they missed the Old Stagerest Stager of
’em all, myself— The Colonel.
Musical Information.
Dr. Arthur Sullivan, it is said, had chosen Jonathan as the
subject of his forthcoming Oratorio at Leeds; but he changed his
mind probably after visiting America, on the ground that some of
his friends out there might object to it as too personal.
Con. for Backers of the Favourite. — How many “bad
seconds ” go to a mauvais quart d’heure ?
Yol. 79.
3
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
65
WHY EAT ANY MORE?
ir, — If Doctor
Tanner .suc-
ceeds in living
on nothing,
couldn’t the
Tanner system
be applied to
the Corporation
of the City of
London? Why,
a revenue would
he saved enough
to pay off the
National Debt!
Yours hope-
fully,
Real Turtle.
Sir,—Long life to Dr. Tanner is what me and my little lambkins
all say. No more legs o’ mutton ! No more slaughter-houses! No
more being driven about by that worrying sheep-dog. “ Cur woolley
woo ?” I says to him, talking over Dr. Tanner ; at which he only
growled a growl. The young bullock who told me about it roared
at the idea. I couldn’t help taking up my sheep-pen to say a word
to you on the subject. They won’t kill us now, only shear us—
merely cut and come again, to keep up the supply for the Lord
Chancellor’s Woolsack. Dr. Tanner will be the sheep’s friend—
our Sheer Ally. Bless him! I’d have a statue erected, to him by all
the eatable animals, and placed—where ?—in Sheepside.
Yours, not sheepishly,
A Member oe the Baa.
SPORTING INTELLIGENCE.
(The Colonel on Brighton Bubbles and Canterbury Cajoleries.)
Having promised to furnish you occasionally with hints upon
Sporting, need I say I attended Brighton Races !
The journey down was not uneventful. The sole occupant of my
compartment (beside of course myself) was a person of innocent
appearance, who after discussing Hospital Sunday, the Benevolent
Institutions of London, and other interesting topics of conversation,
invited me, when we reached East Croydon, to play a little game of
ecarte. I agreed, when judge of my horror, after a couple of deals,
I discovered that my apparently simple-minded fellow traveller
was nothing less than a Card Sharper! I laid my plans accord-
ingly. As a matter of common precaution, I invariably carry a few
Kings concealed up the sleeves of my coat (if you knew the world
as well I do, my dear young Friend, you would do the same), and
with this advantage in my favour, I soon succeeded in foiling his
iniquitous devices. Having lost some of his ill-gotten gains, the
scoundrel wished to give up play, and to return to the discussion of
Hospital Sunday, the Benevolent Institutions of London, and other
interesting topics of conversation. It was then that I withered him
with my scorn, and painted him in his true colours. I pointed out
to him that travellers were cautioned by the officials of the Railway
Company to beware of fellows of his stamp, and threatened to give
him into custody at the next station. He was deeply moved, and
promising immediate amendment, appealed to me for mercy. His
tears convinced me of the sincerity of his repentance. Feeling,
however, that I must not compound a felony, I as a Magistrate (I
am on the Commission of the Peace for-, but this is a detail),
imposed the fine, and smiled graciously, while I pocketed his money.
Is it necessary to add, Sir, that the fine thus solemnly imposed, will
be expended to the uttermost farthing in true charity—which begins
at home ? No, Sir. I hope not!
Arrived at Brighton. Sir, in spite of the lassitude of the Police,
t he scepticism of the Municipal Authorities, the indifference of the
Public Prosecutor, I insist that the notorious gambling-houses, the
dens of dissipation and gambling are no myth, no horrible trick of
a heated imagination! I myself am a living proof to the contrary.
In the course of a couple of days (would you believe it, Sir ?) I was
turned out of all of them !
Utterly disgusted with Brighton town, on Thursday I left it
to visit the Race Course. The company were neither numerous
nor select. The boxes of the Grand Stand were occupied chiefly
by baskets of flowers, and in the carriages en face was an assort-
ment of paintings in rouge and blanc de perle, mounted apparently
in frames of Worth. These paintings appeared to me, Sir, to
be very indifferent “studies of flesh colour.” The county nota-
bilities were conspicuous by their absence. It was quite a relief
to leave “the nobility and gentry of the district” to mix with
“ the common people.” Here was a vendor of a mysterious com-
pound called “Okey Pokey,” and there a sharp American engaged
in puzzling the county constabulary (who were crowding amicably
around him) with a Yankee edition of “the three-card trick.” I
heard an aged Sergeant of Police observe, d propos of this last feat,
that “he (the Sergeant) couldn’t imagine how he (the American)
could think of such clever things! ” But the most interesting people
on the course in my eyes were some half a dozen worthy fellows
marking race-cards, and giving tips at sixpence the consultation!
One of these “prophets” was a most finished orator. He gave his
autobiography. He had been a surgeon, then a jockey, then a
trainer, then a gentleman, then the proprietor of numerous “ ’orses.”
He was now, apparently, a millionnaire, and certainly the servant of
the public. As the servant of the public he was ready to mark race-
cards and give tips, naming the absolute winners for the races—all
for the ridiculous sum of sixpence.
And now, my dear young friend, if you knew how impulsive I am
you would not be surprised at what followed. I happened to be in
a rollicking humour, and ready for any piece of waggery. I had
preserved my incognito. There was not a soul on the course that
knew me. So I thought I would play a little practical joke. Taking
one of these prophets aside I arranged that he should mark the cards
as I directed. Then came my part of the pleasantry. By the merest
chance I happened to have brought on to the course with me a carpet
bag containing a green hat with yellow stars at the front and back,
a bright blue coat with large red buttons, a pair of—perhaps I had
better say—a dado of pink and black stripes, a false nose, a large
porte-monnaie labelled ‘ ‘ Brown of London,” and a board plastered over
with the races arranged on a white card with a deep black margin.
Hastily assuming this disguise I strongly resembled “commis-
sioners ” of a really respectable character. And now the joke com-
menced. My friend the prophet sent me plenty of customers. I
assisted to put the public “on” the King of Scotland for the Clifton -
ville Plate, Grace for the Preston Handicap, Chutney for the Kemp
Town Plate, and Marc Antony for the Welter Handicap. Those
who were present know that none of these “ noble quadruped ’orses ”
(as my prophet called them) “ was able to win.” The King, in spite
of a good thumping from Cannon (rather suggestive of Blackheath
riding on a Sunday) failed to get up to the Judge’s Chair at the
finish. Grace's colours (straw and sky-blue sleeves) were prettier
than her performances. Rossiter had it all his own way on Ligu-
rian, and as for Marc Antony, he was as much out of the race as
Cleopatra. But now I considered that the joke was growing a little
stale—the more especially as I learned from my customers that the
Prophet had given Cannie Chiel (the horse that subsequently
came in first) as his selection for the Steward’s Cup. I retired during
the running of this race, hastily resumed my ordinary costume, and.
quietly and unostentatiously returned to Brighton. Not a soul
saw me go! In conclusion, 1 may say that I spent the day, on the
whole, in rational, innocent, and not altogether unprofitable amuse-
ment.
I will merely add, that the remainder of the “ Snssex Fortnight ”
was passed at Lewes, and I am hard at woik upon the entries
for the Autumn Handicaps. The Old Stagers have had a good week
of it at Canterbury, though they missed the Old Stagerest Stager of
’em all, myself— The Colonel.
Musical Information.
Dr. Arthur Sullivan, it is said, had chosen Jonathan as the
subject of his forthcoming Oratorio at Leeds; but he changed his
mind probably after visiting America, on the ground that some of
his friends out there might object to it as too personal.
Con. for Backers of the Favourite. — How many “bad
seconds ” go to a mauvais quart d’heure ?
Yol. 79.
3