DOI issue:
September 15, 1883
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17755#0135
September 15, 1883.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
123
I
as Mr. James Gairbner is engaged in in
his Letters and Papers of the Reign of
Henry the Eighth, as Preserved in the
Public Record Ofhce, it must not be
allowed the slightest influence. We now-
adays are waking up as to how History has
been manufactured ; but the public records
of facts, and the private and confidential
letters showing the secret motives, the in-
tendedproj ects, the intrigues and thepersonal
opinions of the men and women of the time,
these cannot lie, and we are all_ beginning
to resent having been deceived into giving
the genial, jovial, good-fellowship title of
“Bluff King Hal” to one of the most
unmitigated scoundrels that ever wore a
crown. Anne Boleyn we now learn from
her own mouth was just as bad, hat—and
there is much virtue in “but,” more than
ever was in Anne—she suffered for it by
losing her head, but Henry never once lost
his, for all his temper was diabolical.
Mr. Gairdner is just the Gairdner who
should be invited to dig in the Yatican
.grounds, which are now to be thrown open
to the accredited historians of all countries.
There no doubt, he, being a Gairdner who
calls a spade a spade, would give valuable
assistance in uprooting old and stupid
prejudices.
IN THE CHANNEL.
A REMINISCENCE OE THE GALES.
I knew it!—when I have to cross,
There always are tremendous gales,
The beastly boat will pitch and toss,
A wobbling motion never fails.
E’en as it lies beside the pier,
The steamer’s dancing up and down.
Ah me ! you never seemed so dear,
East-fading lights of Hover town.
“ A little fresh,” that’s what they call
A storm when awful waves we ship;
And then the Captain comes to bawl,
He hopes I’m well wrapped up this trip.
Hi! Steward! Never leave me, then
You ’ll earn a really noble fee.
Oh, good Sir Edward Watkin, when
Shall we be carried under sea !
A YEILED COMPLIMENT.
We are arriving at a fatal era of “ Onlies.”
We have Our Only General, Our Only
Admiral, Our Only Ride, Our Only States-
man, Our Only Actor, Our Only Composer,
and therefore it says the greatest things for
the present state of English Literature, that,
in consequence of there being such a plethora
of “Eminent Hands,” as Thackeray called
them, in the Literary World, and such an
embarras des richesses among novelists, it
should be found absolutely necessary, in
order to avoid "hurting susceptibilities” and
creating envies, jealousies, and all uncha-
ritablenesses, to obtain the services of a
distinguished American Man of Letters to
unveil a bust of Fielding, and to expatiate
on his life and works to Fielding’s
countrymen.
Some years ago we should have had
either Dickens, who was a careful student
of Fielding, or Thackeray, for the cere-
mony, but the latter would probably have
declined the honour, adapting Antony’s lines
to the occasion,—“I am no orator as
Dickens is,” and might have added that
he had already sufficiently unveiled not the
bust, but the man himself. “ I cannot
offer or hope to make a hero of Harry
Fielding,” writes Thackeray ; ‘ ‘ why hide
bis faults, why conceal his weaknesses in a
‘ DRIVING 2 ”
Brigson. “ There \s a Degree of Comfort and Repose about the Modern System
that ;s ”—(smacks his lips)—“ ve’y ’njoyable ! ”
cloud of periphrases F Why not show him as he is ? ” we hoar Thackeray saying while
giving directions to the Sculptor for the bust; ‘ ‘ not robed in a marble toga, and draped
and polished in an heroic attitude, but with inked ruffles and claret-stains on his tarnished
laced-coat, and on his manly face the marks of good-fellowship, of illness, of kindness, of
care, and wine.”
That is unveiling if you like, and, for ourselves, we should have been content to have left
it at that,"unless we had called in Mr. Sala, the Author of those capital papers on William
Hogarth, who would not have been a whit behind Mr. Russell Lowell in “ orating,” and
who would probably have replied to the invitation with the concluding lines of Thackeray’s
Essay: “Such a brave and gentle heart, such an intrepid and courageous spirit, I love to
recognise in the manly, the English Harry Fielding.”
That Mr. Lowell has scored sufficiently off his own hat and had his innings, is probably
the reason why he was called upon to take his turn at Fielding. It is part of the game,
But, as wo have already said, that an American Author should have been selected for this
function, is the greatest compliment that could have been paid to the crowd of Eminent
Hands representing English Literature at the present time.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
123
I
as Mr. James Gairbner is engaged in in
his Letters and Papers of the Reign of
Henry the Eighth, as Preserved in the
Public Record Ofhce, it must not be
allowed the slightest influence. We now-
adays are waking up as to how History has
been manufactured ; but the public records
of facts, and the private and confidential
letters showing the secret motives, the in-
tendedproj ects, the intrigues and thepersonal
opinions of the men and women of the time,
these cannot lie, and we are all_ beginning
to resent having been deceived into giving
the genial, jovial, good-fellowship title of
“Bluff King Hal” to one of the most
unmitigated scoundrels that ever wore a
crown. Anne Boleyn we now learn from
her own mouth was just as bad, hat—and
there is much virtue in “but,” more than
ever was in Anne—she suffered for it by
losing her head, but Henry never once lost
his, for all his temper was diabolical.
Mr. Gairdner is just the Gairdner who
should be invited to dig in the Yatican
.grounds, which are now to be thrown open
to the accredited historians of all countries.
There no doubt, he, being a Gairdner who
calls a spade a spade, would give valuable
assistance in uprooting old and stupid
prejudices.
IN THE CHANNEL.
A REMINISCENCE OE THE GALES.
I knew it!—when I have to cross,
There always are tremendous gales,
The beastly boat will pitch and toss,
A wobbling motion never fails.
E’en as it lies beside the pier,
The steamer’s dancing up and down.
Ah me ! you never seemed so dear,
East-fading lights of Hover town.
“ A little fresh,” that’s what they call
A storm when awful waves we ship;
And then the Captain comes to bawl,
He hopes I’m well wrapped up this trip.
Hi! Steward! Never leave me, then
You ’ll earn a really noble fee.
Oh, good Sir Edward Watkin, when
Shall we be carried under sea !
A YEILED COMPLIMENT.
We are arriving at a fatal era of “ Onlies.”
We have Our Only General, Our Only
Admiral, Our Only Ride, Our Only States-
man, Our Only Actor, Our Only Composer,
and therefore it says the greatest things for
the present state of English Literature, that,
in consequence of there being such a plethora
of “Eminent Hands,” as Thackeray called
them, in the Literary World, and such an
embarras des richesses among novelists, it
should be found absolutely necessary, in
order to avoid "hurting susceptibilities” and
creating envies, jealousies, and all uncha-
ritablenesses, to obtain the services of a
distinguished American Man of Letters to
unveil a bust of Fielding, and to expatiate
on his life and works to Fielding’s
countrymen.
Some years ago we should have had
either Dickens, who was a careful student
of Fielding, or Thackeray, for the cere-
mony, but the latter would probably have
declined the honour, adapting Antony’s lines
to the occasion,—“I am no orator as
Dickens is,” and might have added that
he had already sufficiently unveiled not the
bust, but the man himself. “ I cannot
offer or hope to make a hero of Harry
Fielding,” writes Thackeray ; ‘ ‘ why hide
bis faults, why conceal his weaknesses in a
‘ DRIVING 2 ”
Brigson. “ There \s a Degree of Comfort and Repose about the Modern System
that ;s ”—(smacks his lips)—“ ve’y ’njoyable ! ”
cloud of periphrases F Why not show him as he is ? ” we hoar Thackeray saying while
giving directions to the Sculptor for the bust; ‘ ‘ not robed in a marble toga, and draped
and polished in an heroic attitude, but with inked ruffles and claret-stains on his tarnished
laced-coat, and on his manly face the marks of good-fellowship, of illness, of kindness, of
care, and wine.”
That is unveiling if you like, and, for ourselves, we should have been content to have left
it at that,"unless we had called in Mr. Sala, the Author of those capital papers on William
Hogarth, who would not have been a whit behind Mr. Russell Lowell in “ orating,” and
who would probably have replied to the invitation with the concluding lines of Thackeray’s
Essay: “Such a brave and gentle heart, such an intrepid and courageous spirit, I love to
recognise in the manly, the English Harry Fielding.”
That Mr. Lowell has scored sufficiently off his own hat and had his innings, is probably
the reason why he was called upon to take his turn at Fielding. It is part of the game,
But, as wo have already said, that an American Author should have been selected for this
function, is the greatest compliment that could have been paid to the crowd of Eminent
Hands representing English Literature at the present time.