DOI Heft:
October 21, 1882
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17753#0193
LOST ILLUSIONS.
When Agatha. Goldmore first met him, it was at the Sea-
side. He work a White Flannel Shirt, and Knickerbockers
to match, and she thought he looked like a young Greek
God, fresh from Olympus !
She next met him in London. Good Heavens ! what a
shock ! He looked for all the world like a commonplace
young Clerk in some City Bank—which, oddly enough, is
JUST WHAT HE HAPPENS TO BE !
Moral.—Why not wear White Flannel Shirts and Knickerbockers every day, even in the City, and look like Olympian Gods (since it seems
they used to dress something like that), all the Year round ?
WELCOME !
Back ! Welcome, and bravo !
Most believed, and now all know,
That the same old dash, and go
Marked our men;
When it comes to battle’s shocks
And exchanging of hard knocks,
You are chips of our old blocks,
Now as then!
Our Old Guards at Waterloo
Had some heavier work to do,
Yet they did the same as you—
_What was wanted.
Praise from them you might have
got
For that twenty minutes hot
Ere poor Arabi’s scratch lot
Quick levanted.
A short innings, as you say,
But a good one, all the way,
And it wasn’t dandy play
Near the Nile.
Horse and man you had the laugh
Of quidnuncs too smart by half,
And too ready with the chaff
And the smile.
Not all holiday elation.
Yet within one short Vacation
You have rendered Queen and
nation
Service splendid.
Punch is pleased to lift his hand
In salute to the brave band,
And of what on Egypt’s sand
Horse and men did.
MORE WAGGERY.
We were delighted to see that a Museum had been opened by and
in connection with the employes of the South-Western Railway. A
glance at the Catalogue shows at once how important and interesting
this Exhibition must be.
No. 1. “ The Train that was Punctual."—An oil-painting repre-
senting one of those occurrences in the history of the S.-W. R.
which are so curious and strange as well to deserve the attention of
the Artist. Note the delirious joy on the faces of the passengers,
and the dazed look of the officials.
No. 37. “ We are Seventeen."—A water-colour. The painter has
slily parodied the words of the great Poet to give point to his
humorous design. The interior of a first-class railway carriage is
depicted, filled, as the picture’s title denotes, with seventeen pas-
sengers. It is impossible to describe this work in detail, but the
visitor should not fail to observe the young Lady into whose face a
bullet-headed ruffian is puffing tobacco-smoke. We think that a
race-day at Epsom, Goodwood, Ascot, Sandown, or Kempton is
hinted at by the capital group in the far corner, where four men are
playing cards over the body of an old clergyman. Can these men be
Welshers ? They look like it. By a happy inspiration which
amounts to genius, the Artist has thrown np in strong relief the
announcement, “ This compartment to hold eight passengers.”
No. 84. “ A Model of a Third-class Carriage."—Though only on
the scale of a quarter of an inch to a yard, so admirably is this model
executed that as one looks at it, one can feel the discomfort that
would attend a journey in the original; one can smell the close,
dusty, dirty odour that would accompany one on that journey; one
can conjure up the dawdling rate between stations, the long stop-
pages at stations, which would be an essential part and parcel of
that journey. This model deserves more than a passing look.
No. 111. “ Which Platform f"—This is a spirited little sketch.
A Gentleman, whose luggage is labelled “ Midhurst,” is putting the
question, “ Which platform F ” to a crowd of Guards and Inspectors
who, by the good-humoured puzzledom on their countenances, are
evidently unable to answer the conundrum. They give it up. The
agony on the questioner’s face is really comic ; while the chagrin on
the face of his wife, who fears missing the train, is equal to the
best work of any of our satirical Artists. A delicious confusion is
added to the tout ensemble by the delineation of porters carrying
various articles of luggage, all labelled “Midhurst,” to different
platforms.
No. 200. “ How Beautiful is Sleep ! ”—A tender, touching picture
representing a signalman in his box, enjoying that repose- which
fourteen hours’ incessant work has surely entitled him to.
No. 250.—Surely there is some mistake in the numbering here.
“ 250 ” in the Catalogue is set down as "A Meeting of the Directors
of the S.-W. P." “250” on the walls represents a drove of asses
eating thistles in a field. We trust that before our next visit this
mistake will be rectified.
When Agatha. Goldmore first met him, it was at the Sea-
side. He work a White Flannel Shirt, and Knickerbockers
to match, and she thought he looked like a young Greek
God, fresh from Olympus !
She next met him in London. Good Heavens ! what a
shock ! He looked for all the world like a commonplace
young Clerk in some City Bank—which, oddly enough, is
JUST WHAT HE HAPPENS TO BE !
Moral.—Why not wear White Flannel Shirts and Knickerbockers every day, even in the City, and look like Olympian Gods (since it seems
they used to dress something like that), all the Year round ?
WELCOME !
Back ! Welcome, and bravo !
Most believed, and now all know,
That the same old dash, and go
Marked our men;
When it comes to battle’s shocks
And exchanging of hard knocks,
You are chips of our old blocks,
Now as then!
Our Old Guards at Waterloo
Had some heavier work to do,
Yet they did the same as you—
_What was wanted.
Praise from them you might have
got
For that twenty minutes hot
Ere poor Arabi’s scratch lot
Quick levanted.
A short innings, as you say,
But a good one, all the way,
And it wasn’t dandy play
Near the Nile.
Horse and man you had the laugh
Of quidnuncs too smart by half,
And too ready with the chaff
And the smile.
Not all holiday elation.
Yet within one short Vacation
You have rendered Queen and
nation
Service splendid.
Punch is pleased to lift his hand
In salute to the brave band,
And of what on Egypt’s sand
Horse and men did.
MORE WAGGERY.
We were delighted to see that a Museum had been opened by and
in connection with the employes of the South-Western Railway. A
glance at the Catalogue shows at once how important and interesting
this Exhibition must be.
No. 1. “ The Train that was Punctual."—An oil-painting repre-
senting one of those occurrences in the history of the S.-W. R.
which are so curious and strange as well to deserve the attention of
the Artist. Note the delirious joy on the faces of the passengers,
and the dazed look of the officials.
No. 37. “ We are Seventeen."—A water-colour. The painter has
slily parodied the words of the great Poet to give point to his
humorous design. The interior of a first-class railway carriage is
depicted, filled, as the picture’s title denotes, with seventeen pas-
sengers. It is impossible to describe this work in detail, but the
visitor should not fail to observe the young Lady into whose face a
bullet-headed ruffian is puffing tobacco-smoke. We think that a
race-day at Epsom, Goodwood, Ascot, Sandown, or Kempton is
hinted at by the capital group in the far corner, where four men are
playing cards over the body of an old clergyman. Can these men be
Welshers ? They look like it. By a happy inspiration which
amounts to genius, the Artist has thrown np in strong relief the
announcement, “ This compartment to hold eight passengers.”
No. 84. “ A Model of a Third-class Carriage."—Though only on
the scale of a quarter of an inch to a yard, so admirably is this model
executed that as one looks at it, one can feel the discomfort that
would attend a journey in the original; one can smell the close,
dusty, dirty odour that would accompany one on that journey; one
can conjure up the dawdling rate between stations, the long stop-
pages at stations, which would be an essential part and parcel of
that journey. This model deserves more than a passing look.
No. 111. “ Which Platform f"—This is a spirited little sketch.
A Gentleman, whose luggage is labelled “ Midhurst,” is putting the
question, “ Which platform F ” to a crowd of Guards and Inspectors
who, by the good-humoured puzzledom on their countenances, are
evidently unable to answer the conundrum. They give it up. The
agony on the questioner’s face is really comic ; while the chagrin on
the face of his wife, who fears missing the train, is equal to the
best work of any of our satirical Artists. A delicious confusion is
added to the tout ensemble by the delineation of porters carrying
various articles of luggage, all labelled “Midhurst,” to different
platforms.
No. 200. “ How Beautiful is Sleep ! ”—A tender, touching picture
representing a signalman in his box, enjoying that repose- which
fourteen hours’ incessant work has surely entitled him to.
No. 250.—Surely there is some mistake in the numbering here.
“ 250 ” in the Catalogue is set down as "A Meeting of the Directors
of the S.-W. P." “250” on the walls represents a drove of asses
eating thistles in a field. We trust that before our next visit this
mistake will be rectified.