DOI Heft:
February 16, 1884
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17756#0091
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [February 16, issl
EFFUSIVENESS.
“ Oh ! how do you do, my dear Mr. Brown ?”
“My name is Jones ; but I’m pretty well, thanks !”
“ So glad ! And how is that lovely Child of yours—Tommy ?”
“ Its name is Tottie ; but she’s pretty well, thanks ! ”
“So very glad! And that sweet little Dog, TowzerV'
“Its name is Jack; but it’s pretty well, thanks ! ”
“ WELLINGTON (OUT OF) PLACE.”
Scene—Hyde Park Corner. Time—Midnight. Present
—Statue of the Duke of Wellington and Mr. Punch.
Statue {peremptorily). Sorry to disturb you. Night-
air will do you great deal of harm. Better go home !
Mr. Punch {coming forward). Beg pardon, your Grace, I
but are you speaking to me ?
Statue {surprised). Dear me, no. Thought you were
Duke of Buccleuch, who admires me so much that he
stays all day long gazing up at me ! Says I am so beau-
tiful ! Stuff and nonsense !
Mr. Punch. Glad to have an opportunity of speaking to ;
you, your Grace. How do you like the idea of moving ?
Statue {resignedly). Oh, anything for a quiet life.
Only wish they’d make up their minds, though. First,
I was to go to front garden of Apsley House, then to back
yard of Horse Guards, then into melting-pot. Thought
the last the best idea.
Mr. Punch. Oh, they wouldn’t hear of that! It seems
that your horse is exactly like the picture in Lord Pen-
rhyn’s possession—like the steed you rode at Waterloo.
Statue {angrily). Nonsense ! I never rode such a beast
in all my life ! Look at his ridiculous way of stretching
out his head ! Well, what are they going to do with me ?
Mr. Punch. Send you to Aldershot. You will be
quite at home there among the soldiers. It was the
Prince of Waxes’s notion, your Grace.
Statue. Good boy ! I liked his Royal Highness as a ;
lad. But what are they going to put here instead of me ?
Mr. Punch. There have been a good many suggestions,
your Grace. Shouldn’t be surprised if they ultimately
put up a mediaeval pump or a gothic lamp-post. The
present idea is to have another shot at you. Only this
time you are to be “ idealised.”
Statue {indignantly). I am accustomed to standing fire,
but don’t want to be “too-too’d.” Idealised! Rubbish!
Mr. Punch. Oh, they would only soften down your
features—like I do, your Grace, to people in my Cartoons.
Statue {severely)). No levity, Sir ! I should.”like to see
the man who would dare to touch my nose !
Mr. Punch. That feature, no doubt, would be re-
I speeted.
Statue {dryly). It used to be, Sir—by my enemies!
And now farewell, Sir. {To himself.) Aldershot is not
a bad notion. I always ffked the country. In the
Autumn and Winter I shall see the Army manoeuvring.
In the Summer, no doubt, my eyes will rest upon fields
ripe with corn. And in the Spring—hem!—what shall
I do in the Spring F
Mr. Punch {ansicering the question to himself). Scare
I the Crows ! [ Curtain.
AN EDITORIAL ECSTASY.
[Sung in Court at the conclusion of Howard v. Harris, Feb. 6, 1884.)
“ The Judge at once directed the jury to find in favour of Mr. Harris;
4nd aspiring Authors cannot too clearly understand that they send MSS. to
Managers or Editors entirely at their own risk.”—Fall Mall Gazette.
Rejoice with me, ye Editors, and let your voices ring,
And Managers of Theatres, O jump for joy and sing !
Long life to Justice Williams, I beg yon ’ll drink with me,
And health and wealth and happiness, and great prosperitee.
He ruled—and all our gratitude undoubtedly he earned—
Pejected Contributions need never be returned 1
0 great unacted Shermans ! 0 embryo Shakspeares !
Unmellow Melodramatists and mild Sensationeers !
0 authors of dark tragedies, 0 writers of burlesque,
And comedy contrivers—0 keep copies in your desk !
Rumember, budding dramatists who emulate the Bard,
How hard it was for Harris to he harassed by Howard !
And know, though all your manuscripts be lost, or torn, or burned,
Pejected Contributions need never be returned !
0 senders of the antique joke and worn-out epigram,
And twaddling essay-weavers, mild boilers-down of Lamb !
And prolix Poets void of rhyme or reason in your song—
Oh, recollect though life is short your art is very long!
Remember though your intellect by Editors be spurned,
Pejected Contributions need never be returned !
Though fretfully you agitate and objurgate and bore,
And indite abusive letters and send them by the score ;
’Tis vain to talk of damages and splutter o’er the page,
Or to shake your fist in anger and gnash your teeth in rage.
Though you threaten countless actions—we view you unconcerned—
Pejected Contributions need never be returned !
Quite Two Two,
Did anyone notice the number of our last issue (Feh. 9th) F
“ 2222.” Four twos ! Has anyone the four-two-tude to investigate
this apparently four-two-itous circumstance ? We dare not at pre-
sent explain the mystic meaning of the aggregation of Delightful
Doubles. But our Trumpeter is not dead yet. Too-too-too-too.'
When Mrs. Ramsbothaai read this in the Times last Saturday— _
“Mr. Bradlaugh.—Mr. Bradlaugh will present himself in the House
of Commons on Monday and claim to take the oath, 'ihe usual hostile
motion will be made by Sir S. Northcote, and whips have been issued for
the occasion.”
■—she exclaimed, “Well! much as I dislike the man’s principles,
still, I hate cruelty. I wonder if they ’re hunting-whips.”
A Suggestion.—Why not transport the Park Club en masse to
Monte Carlo ? There the gambles of the members would not be
interrupted by police baccarat-catcbers.
Worth Rnoaving.—On Monday, the 4tli inst., the annual Dinner
of the Farmers’ Alliance was held at the Holborn Restaurant. The
toast of “ Hawarden Preserves, or Gladstone Jam ” was not given.
EFFUSIVENESS.
“ Oh ! how do you do, my dear Mr. Brown ?”
“My name is Jones ; but I’m pretty well, thanks !”
“ So glad ! And how is that lovely Child of yours—Tommy ?”
“ Its name is Tottie ; but she’s pretty well, thanks ! ”
“So very glad! And that sweet little Dog, TowzerV'
“Its name is Jack; but it’s pretty well, thanks ! ”
“ WELLINGTON (OUT OF) PLACE.”
Scene—Hyde Park Corner. Time—Midnight. Present
—Statue of the Duke of Wellington and Mr. Punch.
Statue {peremptorily). Sorry to disturb you. Night-
air will do you great deal of harm. Better go home !
Mr. Punch {coming forward). Beg pardon, your Grace, I
but are you speaking to me ?
Statue {surprised). Dear me, no. Thought you were
Duke of Buccleuch, who admires me so much that he
stays all day long gazing up at me ! Says I am so beau-
tiful ! Stuff and nonsense !
Mr. Punch. Glad to have an opportunity of speaking to ;
you, your Grace. How do you like the idea of moving ?
Statue {resignedly). Oh, anything for a quiet life.
Only wish they’d make up their minds, though. First,
I was to go to front garden of Apsley House, then to back
yard of Horse Guards, then into melting-pot. Thought
the last the best idea.
Mr. Punch. Oh, they wouldn’t hear of that! It seems
that your horse is exactly like the picture in Lord Pen-
rhyn’s possession—like the steed you rode at Waterloo.
Statue {angrily). Nonsense ! I never rode such a beast
in all my life ! Look at his ridiculous way of stretching
out his head ! Well, what are they going to do with me ?
Mr. Punch. Send you to Aldershot. You will be
quite at home there among the soldiers. It was the
Prince of Waxes’s notion, your Grace.
Statue. Good boy ! I liked his Royal Highness as a ;
lad. But what are they going to put here instead of me ?
Mr. Punch. There have been a good many suggestions,
your Grace. Shouldn’t be surprised if they ultimately
put up a mediaeval pump or a gothic lamp-post. The
present idea is to have another shot at you. Only this
time you are to be “ idealised.”
Statue {indignantly). I am accustomed to standing fire,
but don’t want to be “too-too’d.” Idealised! Rubbish!
Mr. Punch. Oh, they would only soften down your
features—like I do, your Grace, to people in my Cartoons.
Statue {severely)). No levity, Sir ! I should.”like to see
the man who would dare to touch my nose !
Mr. Punch. That feature, no doubt, would be re-
I speeted.
Statue {dryly). It used to be, Sir—by my enemies!
And now farewell, Sir. {To himself.) Aldershot is not
a bad notion. I always ffked the country. In the
Autumn and Winter I shall see the Army manoeuvring.
In the Summer, no doubt, my eyes will rest upon fields
ripe with corn. And in the Spring—hem!—what shall
I do in the Spring F
Mr. Punch {ansicering the question to himself). Scare
I the Crows ! [ Curtain.
AN EDITORIAL ECSTASY.
[Sung in Court at the conclusion of Howard v. Harris, Feb. 6, 1884.)
“ The Judge at once directed the jury to find in favour of Mr. Harris;
4nd aspiring Authors cannot too clearly understand that they send MSS. to
Managers or Editors entirely at their own risk.”—Fall Mall Gazette.
Rejoice with me, ye Editors, and let your voices ring,
And Managers of Theatres, O jump for joy and sing !
Long life to Justice Williams, I beg yon ’ll drink with me,
And health and wealth and happiness, and great prosperitee.
He ruled—and all our gratitude undoubtedly he earned—
Pejected Contributions need never be returned 1
0 great unacted Shermans ! 0 embryo Shakspeares !
Unmellow Melodramatists and mild Sensationeers !
0 authors of dark tragedies, 0 writers of burlesque,
And comedy contrivers—0 keep copies in your desk !
Rumember, budding dramatists who emulate the Bard,
How hard it was for Harris to he harassed by Howard !
And know, though all your manuscripts be lost, or torn, or burned,
Pejected Contributions need never be returned !
0 senders of the antique joke and worn-out epigram,
And twaddling essay-weavers, mild boilers-down of Lamb !
And prolix Poets void of rhyme or reason in your song—
Oh, recollect though life is short your art is very long!
Remember though your intellect by Editors be spurned,
Pejected Contributions need never be returned !
Though fretfully you agitate and objurgate and bore,
And indite abusive letters and send them by the score ;
’Tis vain to talk of damages and splutter o’er the page,
Or to shake your fist in anger and gnash your teeth in rage.
Though you threaten countless actions—we view you unconcerned—
Pejected Contributions need never be returned !
Quite Two Two,
Did anyone notice the number of our last issue (Feh. 9th) F
“ 2222.” Four twos ! Has anyone the four-two-tude to investigate
this apparently four-two-itous circumstance ? We dare not at pre-
sent explain the mystic meaning of the aggregation of Delightful
Doubles. But our Trumpeter is not dead yet. Too-too-too-too.'
When Mrs. Ramsbothaai read this in the Times last Saturday— _
“Mr. Bradlaugh.—Mr. Bradlaugh will present himself in the House
of Commons on Monday and claim to take the oath, 'ihe usual hostile
motion will be made by Sir S. Northcote, and whips have been issued for
the occasion.”
■—she exclaimed, “Well! much as I dislike the man’s principles,
still, I hate cruelty. I wonder if they ’re hunting-whips.”
A Suggestion.—Why not transport the Park Club en masse to
Monte Carlo ? There the gambles of the members would not be
interrupted by police baccarat-catcbers.
Worth Rnoaving.—On Monday, the 4tli inst., the annual Dinner
of the Farmers’ Alliance was held at the Holborn Restaurant. The
toast of “ Hawarden Preserves, or Gladstone Jam ” was not given.