DOI issue:
February 18, 1882
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17752#0088
February 18, 1882.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
81
SONG AND SUPPER.
Betaveen PoxDular Concerts, as given at St. James’s Hall, and Con-
certs for the People as given at the Yictoria Hall, New Cut, and
Foresters’ Hall, Clerkenwell, the difference is as great as the cele-
brated one hetween a horse-chestnut and a chestnut horse._ There can
be no doubt as to which of the two kinds of entertainment is the chest-
nut horse. The excellent music performed on Saturdays andMondays,
•occasionally also onWednesdays, atthe so-called “ MondayPops,” is,
however, of the class known as chamber-music, and in that character
has the appropriate effect of sending some persons to sleep. It is
useless to deny it; for the sleeping ones may be seen and, when not
too numerous, counted. It is, above all, at the evening or after-
dinner coneerts, that the sad spectacle may be observed of worthy
men struggUng against the combined effects of too much gas, in-
sufficient ventilation, a full meal, and a string quartet. These i'eeble
amateurs, should try the Morning Concerts which, without being
less perfect as regards music, are, as regards temperature, much
cooler than the evening ones. To true music-lovers, however,
the playing of Madame Norwaxr-Yeruda, of Signor Piatti and their
a.ssociates, would be welcome at any hour of the day or night.
duartet music and the best kind of pianoforto music, however
“popular” it may be with a comparatively small portion of the
public, would worry and stupify “ the people ; ” and at the People’s
Concerts the programmes are made up of songs and ballads to which
the word “ popular,” used in its ordinary sense, might f^irly be
npplied. The popular character, however, of the Concerts for the
People may soon be destroyed if the aristocraey, and even Uoyalty, in-
terfere with them. Such interference is really taking place, foT Lady
Colin Campbell (a charming vocalist) has already sung twice at
the Foresters’ Hall, while the Yictoria Hall was honoured last
Thursday with the presence of the Prince and Princess of Wales.
At these concerts no intoxicating drinks are sold—a peculiarity
which, it is true, may also be observed at the Philharmonic, the
Monday Populars, and other concerts given at the West End. But
the Concerts for the People are addressed in particular to the fre-
quenters of Music Halls, who think no place of entertainment com-
plete without a bar—though what would a Music Hall be without a
few bars’ rest?—and who, like a certain benighted _ Californian
settler, would expect to find one even in a place of worship. Smoking
is allowed, and the temperance system has already found some
strong “ backers.” There ’s room for all.
If Mr. Sims Reeves had lived in the days of the Persian king who
ofiered a prize for a new pleasure, he might well have put in a claim
for the reward. He has at least invented a new kind of concert, to
which he might justly have given his own name, but which he pre-
fers to describe as “ National, Operatic, and Miscellaneous.” This
novel entertainment is made up of national ballads, operatic airs,
and songs of various kinds; and the tenor music included in the
programme covers so wide a range that no one but Sims Reeves
with his comprehensive grasp could possibly do justice to it. At
last week’s “National, Operatie,” &c., the national feature was
“ Tom Boiolmg,” and the operatic one a selection from Macfarren’s
Robin Hood. The manliness and pathos which Mr. Reeves infused
into his delivery of the English ballad were beyond praise; and
‘ 1 Tom Bowling ’ ’ was the success of the evening. The Robin Hood
performance was like a return to ancient times ; for the principal airs
were sung by the same artists who sang them upwards of twenty
years ago when the opera was first brought out. Mdme. Lemmens-
Sherrington was once more Maid Marian, Mr. Sims Reeves
Robin Hood, and Mr. Santley Friar Tuck. The Friar wanted a little
padding to look the part,_ but his voice was as full and round as ever.
The Philharmonic Society is frequently “chaffed” on account of
its age ; and it admits in its programmes that its years now number
three score and ten. Its Repertory, however, numbers scores
without limit; and it is about to be increased by the addition of
several new ones. It may be doubted whether the two-year old
Orehestral Concerts of Herr Richter, and the Orchestral Concerts
as yet unborn, but confidently expected this season, of Mr. Charles
Halle and Mr. Walter Macfarren, will be as full of life seventy
years hence as are the old Philharmonic Concerts in the present day!
Nothing new at the opening concert, unless the first appearance in
public of the newly-formed Philharmonic Choir canbe so considered.
The symphony was Beethoven’s No. 9, otherwise the Coral; thus
named. because there is so much written—and probably, therefore, so
much read—about it.
My Song is ended. Now for Supper.
“ THE DUMB DOGS' DOOM.”
“ * * * * on going to kennel the men found the animals [The Westerr.
Foxhounds] afflicted with dumb madness. The veterinary surgeons called in
j pronounced the disease so virulent in form that they ordered the whole pack
j to be destroyed.”—Evening Paper.
As to the Weather and the Crops, the Farmers own the Weather
Has lately all that could be wished for the Crops been altogether ;
But fogs which never hurt the fields oppress the respiration,
And cause catarrh, with cough and bark of bronchial irritation ;
Bow, wow, wow!
Cough, cough, continually—Bow, wow, wow
The genuine canine utterance has stood, meanwhile, suspended,
In a case which, fully stated, might perhaps be comprehended,
But, considered as an incident of late and loeal history,
Remains, to be accounted for, a marvel and a mystery.
Bow, wow, wow!
What could have choked the chorus—Bow, wow, wow ?
The Western Foxhounds—name to none in all the kingdom yielding —
’ Squire Western of eternal fame, immortalised by Fielding—
On Saturday appointed were to hunt—as man disposes—
Ne’er fox to scent that Saturday did those dogs set their noses—
Bow, wow, wow!
No more, never, never—Bow, wow, wow!
The huntsmen to the kennel came with usual joy and gladness,
When lo ! they found the animals all affected with dumb madness
Within a night, the whole struck dumb, at once and altogether.
What could the cause have been if not the damp and foggy weather ?
Bow, wow, wow!
Ah, no, they never answered—Bow, wow, wow !
The Yets with virulent rabies pronounced the pack infected,
And ordered its destruction, done as shortly as directed:
Of course^ if there exists the slightest doubt about dogs’ sanity,
The benefit of the doubt mankind must always give humanity.
Bow, wow, wow!
Die dogs unable to cry Bow, wow, wow !
Yet should we always—could we lift the scientific curtain—
Find mute with mad convertible in kennels quite for certain ?
Had not the Western Foxhounds that were put to euthanasia,
But a simultaneous seizure of tbe new disease, Aphasia ?
Bow, wow, wow!
No saying—e’en so much as Bow, wow, wow !
A Missing Paragraph in a Certain Speech.
“ Being very much pained at the frequent outrages on unoffend-
ing animals in Ireland, and not being quite certain what branch of
my Government, if any, is capable of stopping these outrages, I
wrote to Lord Neverdare, as President of the Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, and had a most polite note from
his Lordship regretting his inability to cure the evil.”
The Reason Why.—The Statue of good Q,ueen Anne, at St. Paul’s,
who turns her face to the public, and. her back to the church, has
been mutilated by a madman. On inquiry,_ it was found that he
was formerly an inmate of the Stone Lunatic Asylum. It is said
that he was so irritated at this being the only ungrammatical Statue
in London; because whereas any other Statue is “A Statue,” this
is always “ Anne's Statue.”
Tlie Coming Race.
(Hanlan v. Boyd, on the Tyne, 2>rd April next.)
Stout Robert Watson is Boyd up with hope
That with the great Canadian he can cope.
Smart Hanlan, with a twinkle in his glance,
Swears he of Tyne has not a Tyne-y chance.
Now, Gentlemen and Sportsmen, put your pots on!
May you not forfeit what’s on Robert Watson !
Good News for the Pigeons.
At a pigeon-shooting match the other day in the neighbourhood of
Sheffield, one of the shooters, irritated at the conduct of another
shooter, belaboured him with his gun in a serious manner, while the
pigeons looked on delighted. It is true they were only common
people, but every little helps.
Lines by Mrs. Cimabue Brown.
“ Sixty Boston students recently appeared at Mr. Oscar Wilde’s lecture,
attired in wliite waistcoats and knee-breeches, and wearing sunflowers in their
button-holes.’ ’—American Paper.
Shame on those Boston students, who dare our Bard to mock,
And turn our Lustrous Lily into a Laughing Stock !
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
81
SONG AND SUPPER.
Betaveen PoxDular Concerts, as given at St. James’s Hall, and Con-
certs for the People as given at the Yictoria Hall, New Cut, and
Foresters’ Hall, Clerkenwell, the difference is as great as the cele-
brated one hetween a horse-chestnut and a chestnut horse._ There can
be no doubt as to which of the two kinds of entertainment is the chest-
nut horse. The excellent music performed on Saturdays andMondays,
•occasionally also onWednesdays, atthe so-called “ MondayPops,” is,
however, of the class known as chamber-music, and in that character
has the appropriate effect of sending some persons to sleep. It is
useless to deny it; for the sleeping ones may be seen and, when not
too numerous, counted. It is, above all, at the evening or after-
dinner coneerts, that the sad spectacle may be observed of worthy
men struggUng against the combined effects of too much gas, in-
sufficient ventilation, a full meal, and a string quartet. These i'eeble
amateurs, should try the Morning Concerts which, without being
less perfect as regards music, are, as regards temperature, much
cooler than the evening ones. To true music-lovers, however,
the playing of Madame Norwaxr-Yeruda, of Signor Piatti and their
a.ssociates, would be welcome at any hour of the day or night.
duartet music and the best kind of pianoforto music, however
“popular” it may be with a comparatively small portion of the
public, would worry and stupify “ the people ; ” and at the People’s
Concerts the programmes are made up of songs and ballads to which
the word “ popular,” used in its ordinary sense, might f^irly be
npplied. The popular character, however, of the Concerts for the
People may soon be destroyed if the aristocraey, and even Uoyalty, in-
terfere with them. Such interference is really taking place, foT Lady
Colin Campbell (a charming vocalist) has already sung twice at
the Foresters’ Hall, while the Yictoria Hall was honoured last
Thursday with the presence of the Prince and Princess of Wales.
At these concerts no intoxicating drinks are sold—a peculiarity
which, it is true, may also be observed at the Philharmonic, the
Monday Populars, and other concerts given at the West End. But
the Concerts for the People are addressed in particular to the fre-
quenters of Music Halls, who think no place of entertainment com-
plete without a bar—though what would a Music Hall be without a
few bars’ rest?—and who, like a certain benighted _ Californian
settler, would expect to find one even in a place of worship. Smoking
is allowed, and the temperance system has already found some
strong “ backers.” There ’s room for all.
If Mr. Sims Reeves had lived in the days of the Persian king who
ofiered a prize for a new pleasure, he might well have put in a claim
for the reward. He has at least invented a new kind of concert, to
which he might justly have given his own name, but which he pre-
fers to describe as “ National, Operatic, and Miscellaneous.” This
novel entertainment is made up of national ballads, operatic airs,
and songs of various kinds; and the tenor music included in the
programme covers so wide a range that no one but Sims Reeves
with his comprehensive grasp could possibly do justice to it. At
last week’s “National, Operatie,” &c., the national feature was
“ Tom Boiolmg,” and the operatic one a selection from Macfarren’s
Robin Hood. The manliness and pathos which Mr. Reeves infused
into his delivery of the English ballad were beyond praise; and
‘ 1 Tom Bowling ’ ’ was the success of the evening. The Robin Hood
performance was like a return to ancient times ; for the principal airs
were sung by the same artists who sang them upwards of twenty
years ago when the opera was first brought out. Mdme. Lemmens-
Sherrington was once more Maid Marian, Mr. Sims Reeves
Robin Hood, and Mr. Santley Friar Tuck. The Friar wanted a little
padding to look the part,_ but his voice was as full and round as ever.
The Philharmonic Society is frequently “chaffed” on account of
its age ; and it admits in its programmes that its years now number
three score and ten. Its Repertory, however, numbers scores
without limit; and it is about to be increased by the addition of
several new ones. It may be doubted whether the two-year old
Orehestral Concerts of Herr Richter, and the Orchestral Concerts
as yet unborn, but confidently expected this season, of Mr. Charles
Halle and Mr. Walter Macfarren, will be as full of life seventy
years hence as are the old Philharmonic Concerts in the present day!
Nothing new at the opening concert, unless the first appearance in
public of the newly-formed Philharmonic Choir canbe so considered.
The symphony was Beethoven’s No. 9, otherwise the Coral; thus
named. because there is so much written—and probably, therefore, so
much read—about it.
My Song is ended. Now for Supper.
“ THE DUMB DOGS' DOOM.”
“ * * * * on going to kennel the men found the animals [The Westerr.
Foxhounds] afflicted with dumb madness. The veterinary surgeons called in
j pronounced the disease so virulent in form that they ordered the whole pack
j to be destroyed.”—Evening Paper.
As to the Weather and the Crops, the Farmers own the Weather
Has lately all that could be wished for the Crops been altogether ;
But fogs which never hurt the fields oppress the respiration,
And cause catarrh, with cough and bark of bronchial irritation ;
Bow, wow, wow!
Cough, cough, continually—Bow, wow, wow
The genuine canine utterance has stood, meanwhile, suspended,
In a case which, fully stated, might perhaps be comprehended,
But, considered as an incident of late and loeal history,
Remains, to be accounted for, a marvel and a mystery.
Bow, wow, wow!
What could have choked the chorus—Bow, wow, wow ?
The Western Foxhounds—name to none in all the kingdom yielding —
’ Squire Western of eternal fame, immortalised by Fielding—
On Saturday appointed were to hunt—as man disposes—
Ne’er fox to scent that Saturday did those dogs set their noses—
Bow, wow, wow!
No more, never, never—Bow, wow, wow!
The huntsmen to the kennel came with usual joy and gladness,
When lo ! they found the animals all affected with dumb madness
Within a night, the whole struck dumb, at once and altogether.
What could the cause have been if not the damp and foggy weather ?
Bow, wow, wow!
Ah, no, they never answered—Bow, wow, wow !
The Yets with virulent rabies pronounced the pack infected,
And ordered its destruction, done as shortly as directed:
Of course^ if there exists the slightest doubt about dogs’ sanity,
The benefit of the doubt mankind must always give humanity.
Bow, wow, wow!
Die dogs unable to cry Bow, wow, wow !
Yet should we always—could we lift the scientific curtain—
Find mute with mad convertible in kennels quite for certain ?
Had not the Western Foxhounds that were put to euthanasia,
But a simultaneous seizure of tbe new disease, Aphasia ?
Bow, wow, wow!
No saying—e’en so much as Bow, wow, wow !
A Missing Paragraph in a Certain Speech.
“ Being very much pained at the frequent outrages on unoffend-
ing animals in Ireland, and not being quite certain what branch of
my Government, if any, is capable of stopping these outrages, I
wrote to Lord Neverdare, as President of the Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, and had a most polite note from
his Lordship regretting his inability to cure the evil.”
The Reason Why.—The Statue of good Q,ueen Anne, at St. Paul’s,
who turns her face to the public, and. her back to the church, has
been mutilated by a madman. On inquiry,_ it was found that he
was formerly an inmate of the Stone Lunatic Asylum. It is said
that he was so irritated at this being the only ungrammatical Statue
in London; because whereas any other Statue is “A Statue,” this
is always “ Anne's Statue.”
Tlie Coming Race.
(Hanlan v. Boyd, on the Tyne, 2>rd April next.)
Stout Robert Watson is Boyd up with hope
That with the great Canadian he can cope.
Smart Hanlan, with a twinkle in his glance,
Swears he of Tyne has not a Tyne-y chance.
Now, Gentlemen and Sportsmen, put your pots on!
May you not forfeit what’s on Robert Watson !
Good News for the Pigeons.
At a pigeon-shooting match the other day in the neighbourhood of
Sheffield, one of the shooters, irritated at the conduct of another
shooter, belaboured him with his gun in a serious manner, while the
pigeons looked on delighted. It is true they were only common
people, but every little helps.
Lines by Mrs. Cimabue Brown.
“ Sixty Boston students recently appeared at Mr. Oscar Wilde’s lecture,
attired in wliite waistcoats and knee-breeches, and wearing sunflowers in their
button-holes.’ ’—American Paper.
Shame on those Boston students, who dare our Bard to mock,
And turn our Lustrous Lily into a Laughing Stock !