DOI issue:
August 14, 1880
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17764#0079
August 14, 1880.]
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHAEIVAJEU.
BEESWING.
The sixth great exhibition of the British Bee-Keepers’ Asso-
ciation was held on Tuesday, July 27, at the Royal Horticultural
Gardens, South Kensington.
Earl Spencer has been memorialised in favour of appointing
a Professor of Bee-culture, in connection with the Science and
Art Department, South Kensington.
How doth the little Busy Bee
Increase her little power,
And gather favour every day,
And. almost every hour !
How pleased she hears within her cell
That Apiculture thrives!
That honeycomb is selling well,
And Bees are having “ drives ” !
In Exhibition hive and tent
She would be sharer too,
So swarms to Kensington are sent
Their busy work to do.
And if Earl Spencer should reply,
“ The Bees shall have a Chair,”
To Kensington again she ’ll fly,
And humbly settle there.
Collision and Cause.
Now that the travelling season has commenced, the
chapter of accidents is open, and on its first page we read
that railway collisions are very commonly owing to the
fatal circumstance that some stationmaster, pointsman,
signalman, engineer, guard, or other official has lost his
head. This mischance will sometimes occur on the best
regulated railway, hut it is very commonly owing to a
system of shortsighted economy, under which a railway
servant gets over-worked, fatigued, and distracted to a
degree which, in respect of head, is virtually equivalent
to decapitation. Talk of danger from loose sleepers, what
sleeper can be more dangerous than a dozing signalman ?
Latest from Oxford.—The number of Colleges remains
the same, but there is one Haul less.
EXPERIMENTAL PHILOSOPHY.
Party (who had been to a Lecture on Astronomy, and a little Supper afterwards.)
“ Galileo’sh perf’ly eight—th’ Eaesh doesh move I ”
MUD-SALAD MAEKET.
Mud-Salad Market belongs to his Grace the Duke of Mudford.
It was once a tranquil Convent Garden, belonging first to the Abbot
of Westminster, and finally to the Dukes of Mudford. The pro-
perty having been let on building leases, it became a small square in
the centre of London, bounded on one side by Inigo Jones’s church,—
“The handsomest barn in England,”—on another side by a theatre,
and warmly supported on other sides by numerous minor taverns.
The hot-houses of the old Garden have become the pot-houses
of the modern Market. Mud-Salad Market, like its own vege-
tables, has now sprouted out in all directions. You may start
from Cabbage-leaf Corner, near the site of Temple Bar, on a market-
morning, and may go as far as Turnip-top Square in Bloomsbury, or
Cauliflower-place at Charing Cross, and it is all Mud-Salad Market.
Houses are barricaded with mountainous carts of green-stuff, cabs
lose themselves in vain attempts to drive through the maze of vege-
tables, the costermonger makes temporary gardens on the pathway,
while the roads are blocked with waggons, carts, donkey-trucks, and
porters staggering under the weight of huge baskets. Carrots, turnips,
vegetable-marrows, potatoes, lettuces, and onions are masters of the
situation. Vegetable refuse, ankle deep, carpets the pathway in
every direction, mixed with mud and rain-water, and trampled into
a"pulpy slimy muck by thousands of hob-nailed boots. Leases drop
in, old houses are pulled down, great spaces are cleared, new houses
of an approved stucco type are built, and no attempt is made to
increase the legitimate limits of Mud-Salad Market.
Is any rent paid for the occupation of the public highways ? Are
any rates exacted, by an obsequious Board of Guardians for the
practical annexation of property belonging to the ratepayers ? Is it
not a fact that in dealing with the rateable value of Mud-Salad
Market proper, and the Duke of Mudford’s own theatres (for he
owns two, including a concert-hall), Bumbledom shows every dispo-
sition to make things pleasant for the Dook r Why don’t the paro-
chial Guardians make things pleasant for his less distinguished
neighbours ? It is not too much to say that Mud-Salad Market is a
disgrace to London, a special disgrace to his Grace of Mudford, and
about the greatest nuisance ever permitted in a great City of
Nuisances.
Rather different this account of Mud-Salad Market from Leigh
Hunt’s description of a certain Covent Garden Market in his day,
when “ it was the most agreeable in the metropolis,” and when it
had been “raised” into “a convenient and elegant state by the
noble proprietor.” Let his Grace of Mudfobd take a leaf from that
Duke’s tree, and, if he can’t “raise” Mud-Salad Market, let him
“ raze ” it, and give us a new'one.
Grant, your Grace, a new broom to some one, let a clean sweep be
made of Mud-Salad Market, and your petitioners will never again
pray anything any more.
Chaff from the Haymarket.
Wedding March was fun,
Bridal Tour is slow,
Gilbert wrote the one,
’Tother Boucicault.
Dion, if ’tis yours,
You should feel remorse ;
For The Bridal Tour's
Not a tour deforce.
From Little Maiden Lane
;alkc
ib.
How’s that, Umpire ?
There is some talk of reviving the Fielding Club.. Wanted, a new
name for the Club. “The Fielding”’s done; try “The Innings.”
A war dance.
Colonel Polka. A new dance composed by M. HERvh, original!.,
intended for Private Parties.
Buying for the Rise.—Investing in an Alpen-Stoek.
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHAEIVAJEU.
BEESWING.
The sixth great exhibition of the British Bee-Keepers’ Asso-
ciation was held on Tuesday, July 27, at the Royal Horticultural
Gardens, South Kensington.
Earl Spencer has been memorialised in favour of appointing
a Professor of Bee-culture, in connection with the Science and
Art Department, South Kensington.
How doth the little Busy Bee
Increase her little power,
And gather favour every day,
And. almost every hour !
How pleased she hears within her cell
That Apiculture thrives!
That honeycomb is selling well,
And Bees are having “ drives ” !
In Exhibition hive and tent
She would be sharer too,
So swarms to Kensington are sent
Their busy work to do.
And if Earl Spencer should reply,
“ The Bees shall have a Chair,”
To Kensington again she ’ll fly,
And humbly settle there.
Collision and Cause.
Now that the travelling season has commenced, the
chapter of accidents is open, and on its first page we read
that railway collisions are very commonly owing to the
fatal circumstance that some stationmaster, pointsman,
signalman, engineer, guard, or other official has lost his
head. This mischance will sometimes occur on the best
regulated railway, hut it is very commonly owing to a
system of shortsighted economy, under which a railway
servant gets over-worked, fatigued, and distracted to a
degree which, in respect of head, is virtually equivalent
to decapitation. Talk of danger from loose sleepers, what
sleeper can be more dangerous than a dozing signalman ?
Latest from Oxford.—The number of Colleges remains
the same, but there is one Haul less.
EXPERIMENTAL PHILOSOPHY.
Party (who had been to a Lecture on Astronomy, and a little Supper afterwards.)
“ Galileo’sh perf’ly eight—th’ Eaesh doesh move I ”
MUD-SALAD MAEKET.
Mud-Salad Market belongs to his Grace the Duke of Mudford.
It was once a tranquil Convent Garden, belonging first to the Abbot
of Westminster, and finally to the Dukes of Mudford. The pro-
perty having been let on building leases, it became a small square in
the centre of London, bounded on one side by Inigo Jones’s church,—
“The handsomest barn in England,”—on another side by a theatre,
and warmly supported on other sides by numerous minor taverns.
The hot-houses of the old Garden have become the pot-houses
of the modern Market. Mud-Salad Market, like its own vege-
tables, has now sprouted out in all directions. You may start
from Cabbage-leaf Corner, near the site of Temple Bar, on a market-
morning, and may go as far as Turnip-top Square in Bloomsbury, or
Cauliflower-place at Charing Cross, and it is all Mud-Salad Market.
Houses are barricaded with mountainous carts of green-stuff, cabs
lose themselves in vain attempts to drive through the maze of vege-
tables, the costermonger makes temporary gardens on the pathway,
while the roads are blocked with waggons, carts, donkey-trucks, and
porters staggering under the weight of huge baskets. Carrots, turnips,
vegetable-marrows, potatoes, lettuces, and onions are masters of the
situation. Vegetable refuse, ankle deep, carpets the pathway in
every direction, mixed with mud and rain-water, and trampled into
a"pulpy slimy muck by thousands of hob-nailed boots. Leases drop
in, old houses are pulled down, great spaces are cleared, new houses
of an approved stucco type are built, and no attempt is made to
increase the legitimate limits of Mud-Salad Market.
Is any rent paid for the occupation of the public highways ? Are
any rates exacted, by an obsequious Board of Guardians for the
practical annexation of property belonging to the ratepayers ? Is it
not a fact that in dealing with the rateable value of Mud-Salad
Market proper, and the Duke of Mudford’s own theatres (for he
owns two, including a concert-hall), Bumbledom shows every dispo-
sition to make things pleasant for the Dook r Why don’t the paro-
chial Guardians make things pleasant for his less distinguished
neighbours ? It is not too much to say that Mud-Salad Market is a
disgrace to London, a special disgrace to his Grace of Mudford, and
about the greatest nuisance ever permitted in a great City of
Nuisances.
Rather different this account of Mud-Salad Market from Leigh
Hunt’s description of a certain Covent Garden Market in his day,
when “ it was the most agreeable in the metropolis,” and when it
had been “raised” into “a convenient and elegant state by the
noble proprietor.” Let his Grace of Mudfobd take a leaf from that
Duke’s tree, and, if he can’t “raise” Mud-Salad Market, let him
“ raze ” it, and give us a new'one.
Grant, your Grace, a new broom to some one, let a clean sweep be
made of Mud-Salad Market, and your petitioners will never again
pray anything any more.
Chaff from the Haymarket.
Wedding March was fun,
Bridal Tour is slow,
Gilbert wrote the one,
’Tother Boucicault.
Dion, if ’tis yours,
You should feel remorse ;
For The Bridal Tour's
Not a tour deforce.
From Little Maiden Lane
;alkc
ib.
How’s that, Umpire ?
There is some talk of reviving the Fielding Club.. Wanted, a new
name for the Club. “The Fielding”’s done; try “The Innings.”
A war dance.
Colonel Polka. A new dance composed by M. HERvh, original!.,
intended for Private Parties.
Buying for the Rise.—Investing in an Alpen-Stoek.