DOI issue:
December 30, 1882
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17753#0316
310
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[December SO, 1882,
A ROSE WITHOUT A THORN.
[Jicst about this Festive Season in full bloom.)
Know ye the flower that just now blows,
In the middle of Winter—the Christmas Rose ?
A plant, indeed, of the Crowsfoot kind,
Not really a Rose—but never mind.
It blooms out o’ doors in the garden bed,
Its petals are white with a tinct of red.
Though it lacketh perfume to regale the nose,
To the eyes right fair is the Christmas Rose.
A fiddlestick’s end for the frosts and snows ;
Sing hey, sing ho, for the Christmas Rose !
Your Christmas Rose is a lowly flower,
But a herb with a root of marvellous power,
Flelleborus nigei—the hellebore,
Which the leeches, both Latin and Greek, of yore,
In high repute as a remedy had,
Withal to physic the crazed and mad.
So lunatics, as the story goes,
They sent to the Isle of the Christmas Rose.
A fiddlestick’s end, &c.
No Colney Hatch was known to men,
No such institution as Hanwell, then.
No Bedlam had they, but, in Bedlam’s room,
Ye might say, the Anti-Bedlam bloom.
Were hellebore still held a herb of grace
That could heal the patients in such a place;
Would the Medical Faculty now suppose
They could mad folk mend with the Christmas Rose?
A fiddlestick’s end, &c.
Such virtue in sooth had hellebore,
That health of mind it would restore,
What a goodly New Year’s Gift ’twould be
To others, of course, than you and. me!
For to most of ourselves the fact is plain,
Great part of the world around’s insane.
And what a relief to Ireland’s woes
The Shamrock to twine with the Christmas Rose !
A fiddlestick’s end, &c.
The Market in the Market.
A BAD ENDING.
“Well, William, what’s become of Robert?’
“What, 'aven’t you ’eard, Sir?” “No! Not Defunct, I hope!1 I'
“That’s just exactly what he ’as done, Sir, and walked off with
HEALER? IHING HE COULD LAY HIS ’ANDS ON ! ”
At last the Duke of Bedford has shown a desire
to meet the public wants, and has practically offered
Covent Garden Market and a large block of adjacent
property to the Metropolitan Board of Works. A Board
so largely composed of builders and architects can surely
not resist this tempting offer ?
A PERRECT CURE.
By a species of good luck, for which I can never be sufficiently
thankful, I found myself seated at dinner, last week, by the side of
one of the most eminent Physicians of the day. He was courteous,
good-natured, full of fun and anecdote, knew all about Actors and
Actresses, to me always a matter of great and almost absorbing
interest, had attended Royalty, and some of the most eminent men
in Art, Science, and Literature. I was, of course, charmed and
delighted with his conversation, which never flagged, but passed
trom grave to gay, from lively to severe with the greatest facility.
Rut what surprised me to a degree that I can scarcely express, was
10 see the delightfully free and easy way in which he partook of
almost every dish that was contained in a most liberal and varied
menu. There was no_ declining all the luxuries of the table from
cowardly fear of indigestion, but rich sauces, stewed mushrooms,
Fate-de-foies-gras, Jrol-au-vent of Lobster, all were welcomed and
all, apparently, enjoyed. And as to wines, no nonsense about keep-
ing to one colour for him, but Punch, Sherry, Hock, Champagne,
and Port, were all partaken of, each in its turn, but all, I am bound
to say, in moderation.
As much astonished at what I saw as I was charmed with what I
heard, I ventured, with all that refined delicacy for which I have
been long rather remarkable, to gently insinuate that I should much
like to know to what he attributed his possession of such remarkably
-fme powers of digestion, when, without the slightest hesitation or
doubt, he revealed to me the most important and satisfactory infor-
mation that I have ever received in my long and varied career.
In order, said he, to live a life of peace and comfort and enjoy-
ment, perfect peace, thorough comfort, and supreme enjoyment,
without a thought of Physicians, or any such necessary nuisances,
and in a truly blessed state of ignorance of physiology or any such
twaddle, two things, and two things only, are necessary, and those
two things are, plenty of good hard work and plenty of good high
living. With these two in thorough combination every man would
lead a life of thorough enjoyment, and, barring accidents, go to his
rest at a ripe old age without a pang.
But, continued my Guide, Philosopher, and Friend, the misfortune
is, that the large majority of mankind addict themselves to one or
other of these equally necessary matters, but not to both; the con-
sequence is that those who work hard without living superbly wear
out their ill-used bodies, and live and die miserably ; while those
who live luxuriously and freely without working hard, live a life of
trial and suffering and gout, and their end is not peace.
I never listened to words of wisdom with more perfect faith, and
thanking my kind instructor for his admirable and timely lecture,
to his faith in which he continued to give me a practical example, 1
at once resolved to follow out his suggestions whenever that good
fortune which I have been so long anticipating shall at last arrive.
In the meantime I give the world the benefit of my kind Physician’s
priceless prescription. An Outsider.
A Real Christmas Pudding.—Take a ton of Strand mud—there
is plenty to spare—and mix it with two hundred weight of the
experimental stones which are laid about once a month at the Pall-
Mall end of Waterloo Place. Garnish it with a few rotten cabbage-
leaves from Mud-Salad Market, which have been wafted almost into
the inner yard of Marlborough House^and then serve it up at the
first Yestry dinner you can find. You can serve it according
to temper.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[December SO, 1882,
A ROSE WITHOUT A THORN.
[Jicst about this Festive Season in full bloom.)
Know ye the flower that just now blows,
In the middle of Winter—the Christmas Rose ?
A plant, indeed, of the Crowsfoot kind,
Not really a Rose—but never mind.
It blooms out o’ doors in the garden bed,
Its petals are white with a tinct of red.
Though it lacketh perfume to regale the nose,
To the eyes right fair is the Christmas Rose.
A fiddlestick’s end for the frosts and snows ;
Sing hey, sing ho, for the Christmas Rose !
Your Christmas Rose is a lowly flower,
But a herb with a root of marvellous power,
Flelleborus nigei—the hellebore,
Which the leeches, both Latin and Greek, of yore,
In high repute as a remedy had,
Withal to physic the crazed and mad.
So lunatics, as the story goes,
They sent to the Isle of the Christmas Rose.
A fiddlestick’s end, &c.
No Colney Hatch was known to men,
No such institution as Hanwell, then.
No Bedlam had they, but, in Bedlam’s room,
Ye might say, the Anti-Bedlam bloom.
Were hellebore still held a herb of grace
That could heal the patients in such a place;
Would the Medical Faculty now suppose
They could mad folk mend with the Christmas Rose?
A fiddlestick’s end, &c.
Such virtue in sooth had hellebore,
That health of mind it would restore,
What a goodly New Year’s Gift ’twould be
To others, of course, than you and. me!
For to most of ourselves the fact is plain,
Great part of the world around’s insane.
And what a relief to Ireland’s woes
The Shamrock to twine with the Christmas Rose !
A fiddlestick’s end, &c.
The Market in the Market.
A BAD ENDING.
“Well, William, what’s become of Robert?’
“What, 'aven’t you ’eard, Sir?” “No! Not Defunct, I hope!1 I'
“That’s just exactly what he ’as done, Sir, and walked off with
HEALER? IHING HE COULD LAY HIS ’ANDS ON ! ”
At last the Duke of Bedford has shown a desire
to meet the public wants, and has practically offered
Covent Garden Market and a large block of adjacent
property to the Metropolitan Board of Works. A Board
so largely composed of builders and architects can surely
not resist this tempting offer ?
A PERRECT CURE.
By a species of good luck, for which I can never be sufficiently
thankful, I found myself seated at dinner, last week, by the side of
one of the most eminent Physicians of the day. He was courteous,
good-natured, full of fun and anecdote, knew all about Actors and
Actresses, to me always a matter of great and almost absorbing
interest, had attended Royalty, and some of the most eminent men
in Art, Science, and Literature. I was, of course, charmed and
delighted with his conversation, which never flagged, but passed
trom grave to gay, from lively to severe with the greatest facility.
Rut what surprised me to a degree that I can scarcely express, was
10 see the delightfully free and easy way in which he partook of
almost every dish that was contained in a most liberal and varied
menu. There was no_ declining all the luxuries of the table from
cowardly fear of indigestion, but rich sauces, stewed mushrooms,
Fate-de-foies-gras, Jrol-au-vent of Lobster, all were welcomed and
all, apparently, enjoyed. And as to wines, no nonsense about keep-
ing to one colour for him, but Punch, Sherry, Hock, Champagne,
and Port, were all partaken of, each in its turn, but all, I am bound
to say, in moderation.
As much astonished at what I saw as I was charmed with what I
heard, I ventured, with all that refined delicacy for which I have
been long rather remarkable, to gently insinuate that I should much
like to know to what he attributed his possession of such remarkably
-fme powers of digestion, when, without the slightest hesitation or
doubt, he revealed to me the most important and satisfactory infor-
mation that I have ever received in my long and varied career.
In order, said he, to live a life of peace and comfort and enjoy-
ment, perfect peace, thorough comfort, and supreme enjoyment,
without a thought of Physicians, or any such necessary nuisances,
and in a truly blessed state of ignorance of physiology or any such
twaddle, two things, and two things only, are necessary, and those
two things are, plenty of good hard work and plenty of good high
living. With these two in thorough combination every man would
lead a life of thorough enjoyment, and, barring accidents, go to his
rest at a ripe old age without a pang.
But, continued my Guide, Philosopher, and Friend, the misfortune
is, that the large majority of mankind addict themselves to one or
other of these equally necessary matters, but not to both; the con-
sequence is that those who work hard without living superbly wear
out their ill-used bodies, and live and die miserably ; while those
who live luxuriously and freely without working hard, live a life of
trial and suffering and gout, and their end is not peace.
I never listened to words of wisdom with more perfect faith, and
thanking my kind instructor for his admirable and timely lecture,
to his faith in which he continued to give me a practical example, 1
at once resolved to follow out his suggestions whenever that good
fortune which I have been so long anticipating shall at last arrive.
In the meantime I give the world the benefit of my kind Physician’s
priceless prescription. An Outsider.
A Real Christmas Pudding.—Take a ton of Strand mud—there
is plenty to spare—and mix it with two hundred weight of the
experimental stones which are laid about once a month at the Pall-
Mall end of Waterloo Place. Garnish it with a few rotten cabbage-
leaves from Mud-Salad Market, which have been wafted almost into
the inner yard of Marlborough House^and then serve it up at the
first Yestry dinner you can find. You can serve it according
to temper.