DOI Heft:
August 9, 1884
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17757#0080
72
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[August 9. 1884.
FATHER THAMES’S APPEAL.
quite understand position and supported Government with hesitation.
Better adjourn Debate. Certainly. Courtney had no objection
whatever, and at quarter past Five in the morning House adjourned,
being in precisely same position as when Debate commenced at One
o’Clock.
Courtney in high spirits. “That’s a lesson they’ll not forget
in a hurry,” he says. “ Wish Trevelyan been here to see it. But
may do permanent good. Talk about tact and management, what’s
wanted is Firmness.”
“But what about the Bill? You don’t seem to have got any
forrader.”
“ The Bill ? Ah!—well—no. Wasn’t thinking of the Bill.”
Business done.—-Hone.
Thursday.—Two important questions put to-night. One about
Conference, on which nothing to be said except that further adjourn-
ment taken place. Other put by Borlase :
“Has attention of Local Government Board,” he asked, “been
called to fearful smell in the Aye Lobby to-night ? ”
“ Haven’t heard a smell,” says Dilke. “ Perhaps Grand Cross
has. But Hon. Member will see that, if we must have such an un-
pleasantness in one of the Lobbies, it is better to have it in the Lobby
where the Ayes go than in that frequented by the Noes.” House
laughed.
“ Eh, what’s that ? ” asked Mr. Ramsay.
Dilke asked me, since he was busy, if I would take Ramsay out
and try and explain. Sat with him for half-an-hour, but in absence
of surgical appliances could do nothing.
Left early to attend dinner in Arlington Street. Most charming
affair. Markiss a host in himself. Little difficulty in settling seats.
Wouldn’t do to put Randolph too near Sir Stafford, or plant Wolff
next to the Noble Baron,or Gorst shoulder to shoulder with Ashmead-
Bartlett. But everything cleverly arranged, and not a single
scramble or bad word used. Lord Mayor, sang Grace, and Fred
Burnary beamed genially round as if he’d just swallowed an un-
usually fine box of Cockle’s Pills—-say 1874 brand. Banquet fur-
nished regardless of expense; every luxury of season and Gladstone
Claret in magnums. Only one toast, in spite of what newspapers
say:—
“ I give you, Randolph,” said the Markiss, “ as one of the fifes
and souls of the Party ! ”
Randolph much affected in replying. “Happiest day of life.
When baiting Sir Stafford in Commons, or when working against
the Markiss in the country, had always looked forward to
this epoch. A great deal had happened during the past five months.
There was one thing that rankled in his breast, disturbed his dreams
and caused him to neglect his food. He had once.in House of Commons
spoken disrespectfully of the Lord Mayor. He wished to withdraw
the expression, to apologise for it. He could only say that he had
done it with the best intentions, a feeling that had actuated him in
his relations with other Leaders of the Party, though at times it
might have appeared otherwise. The Lord Mayor, at least, would
understand him when he said, with Juvenal :—
“ ‘ Omnibus in terris, qua? sunt a Gadfbus usque
Auroram et Gangem, pauci dignoscere possunt
Vera bona, atque illis multum diversa, remota
Err oris nebula.'
Could only say happiest moment of his life; was well worth all the
trouble he had taken in browbeating his esteemed Leaders and setting
the Party by the ears. Encouraged by their kind favour, they might
rely upon him when necessary again to earn their favour.”
Lord Mayor sobbed audibly; everybody in tears save Ashmead-
Bartlett and the Noble Baron, who showed a disposition to cough
and shuffle their feet, hut were immediately brought to order by a
tremendous scowl from their friendly host.
Bitsiness done.—Stafford Northcote’s.
Friday.—The Noble Baron going about to-day with arm in sling.
Can swear he was all right yesterday before he went to Reconciliation
Retreat, 20, Arlington Street. This looks bad. Hope there wasn’t
a scrimmage after 1 left. All very well to talk about burying the
hatchet; but hard on the Noble Baron to select his left arm as place
of sepulture.
Business done.—Many speeches, and one or two Votes in Supply.
Saturday.—The Prime Minister, in his character of the Downy
One of Downing Street, announced that as England and France
wouldn’t play a duett together in the European Concert, the Con-
ference had collapsed.
After this a “ Scene,” in which the principal parts were effectively
taken by Randolph, Northcote, Tim Healy, the Speaker, and the
Two O’Connors.
Business done.—The Conference’s.
Motto for French Fiction. {slightly altered from Tennyson).
Content to dwell in indecencies for ever.”
Dear Punch,
I am sure you’ve no wish to annoy,
But, oh ! when you dub me a “ Dirty Old Boy,”
And picture me—smartly—as something between
A scavenger “ tight ” and a Mudlark unclean,
It does hurt my feelings. Why, bless you, dear Punch,
Don’t you, don't you remember the Launch and the Lunch ?
The cool of the evening, say just about Cookham ?
The tankards of “ Cup,” and the throttles that took ’em ?
That “ cut off the breast,” and that Cut on-well, well!
Do you think it’s my fault that so foully I smell,
That so dirty I look, that so shallow I run ?
No, bless your old beak, Punch, I know it’s your fun.
A Dirty Old Boy ! Yes, that’s me, Sir, worse luck !
But the fault lies with them who befoul me with muck.
I would run silver clear from my source to my mouth,
Defiant of dirt, independent of drouth,
If they’d only allow me. But no, not a hit of it.
They foul, and you flout, and 1 don't see the wit of it.
There, there, I speak frankly. I know you of old:
You’ve bathed in my waters so limpid and cold,
You’ve spooned at sweet Marlow, you’ve boated at Henley
(The stream was a Halswelle, the sky was a Penley !)
How oft have I mirrored your jolly old front,
Glass-clear whilst at Pangbourne you fished from a Punt ?
I’ve listened whilst wit-sparks grew brighter and brighter,
And laughter rang loud o’er my stream from the “ Mitre.”
That green-shrouded window looks on to my flood,
Was the whiff then the whiff of malodorous mud ?
And if down at Purfleet your nose you would nip,
Sniff at the “ Trafalgar,” or snort at the “ Ship,”
You know that I suffered far more, Sir, than you
At the thought that my stream was a Stygian brew.
Be just, Sir, and own that the Dirty Old Boy
A true Thing of Beauty, for ever a joy,
Would be if they’d let him ; and come down like thunder
On fools who befoul, and officials who blunder.
Dear Punch, smash the duffers who make me a sewer!
You never did service more needed or truer.
Demolish the muck-men who herd on my brink,
And flush me with foulness, and spoil me with stink.
Some guardian give me not stupid or shabby.
Don’t care if it’s Dilke, do not mind if it’s Labby,
So long as he isn’t a goose, or a grubber
For shekels in dye-muck or India-rubber.
This do, and you ’ll earn my sincerest of thanks ;
And when the next time you set foot on my banks,
Or plunge in my waters, or fish in my flood,
If I shock you with stench or annoy you with mud,
You may say that not muckworms, or muddlers it shames,
But your faithful old favourite, Old Father Thames.
THE SALISBURY TALES.
A t,l England v. Hatfield (with two Professionals).—This remark-
able match will be played out in the British playing-fields in the course
of the Autumn. Hatfield has the assistance of the old-fashioned slow-
bowler, Richmond, and of the celebrated “ twisters ” of Cairns. The
All-England Team will be chosen impartially from the following
Clubs; viz., the Whig, Liberal, Radical, New Tory, Old Conserva-
tive, Popular, National. Patriotic, &c. The Crown and the Constitu-
tion wall officiate as Umpires. The Hatfield Captain is confident ;
but the odds on England (and the faces of the Hatfield backers)
grow longer every day ; and there are doubts if the 'Hatfield Eleven
will be complete at the last moment.
The ostrich hid his head in the sand,
All in the wilds so free,
And thought, as you know, he saw nobody, so
That nobody couldn’t see he !
Lord Salisbury sits on his tower alone,
All in the clouds so dim,
And thinks because he looks down upon we,
That we all looks up to him!
It is currently reported that when the Marquis of Salisbury
gets up in the morning, the Hatfield tenantry are expected to gather j
under his window to hear him crow.
There was a Minister of olden time,
Whose “ ego et rex mens ” was sublime;
But mounting Salisbury’s motto’s simpler yet—
’Tis merely this, “ Ego et egomet."
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[August 9. 1884.
FATHER THAMES’S APPEAL.
quite understand position and supported Government with hesitation.
Better adjourn Debate. Certainly. Courtney had no objection
whatever, and at quarter past Five in the morning House adjourned,
being in precisely same position as when Debate commenced at One
o’Clock.
Courtney in high spirits. “That’s a lesson they’ll not forget
in a hurry,” he says. “ Wish Trevelyan been here to see it. But
may do permanent good. Talk about tact and management, what’s
wanted is Firmness.”
“But what about the Bill? You don’t seem to have got any
forrader.”
“ The Bill ? Ah!—well—no. Wasn’t thinking of the Bill.”
Business done.—-Hone.
Thursday.—Two important questions put to-night. One about
Conference, on which nothing to be said except that further adjourn-
ment taken place. Other put by Borlase :
“Has attention of Local Government Board,” he asked, “been
called to fearful smell in the Aye Lobby to-night ? ”
“ Haven’t heard a smell,” says Dilke. “ Perhaps Grand Cross
has. But Hon. Member will see that, if we must have such an un-
pleasantness in one of the Lobbies, it is better to have it in the Lobby
where the Ayes go than in that frequented by the Noes.” House
laughed.
“ Eh, what’s that ? ” asked Mr. Ramsay.
Dilke asked me, since he was busy, if I would take Ramsay out
and try and explain. Sat with him for half-an-hour, but in absence
of surgical appliances could do nothing.
Left early to attend dinner in Arlington Street. Most charming
affair. Markiss a host in himself. Little difficulty in settling seats.
Wouldn’t do to put Randolph too near Sir Stafford, or plant Wolff
next to the Noble Baron,or Gorst shoulder to shoulder with Ashmead-
Bartlett. But everything cleverly arranged, and not a single
scramble or bad word used. Lord Mayor, sang Grace, and Fred
Burnary beamed genially round as if he’d just swallowed an un-
usually fine box of Cockle’s Pills—-say 1874 brand. Banquet fur-
nished regardless of expense; every luxury of season and Gladstone
Claret in magnums. Only one toast, in spite of what newspapers
say:—
“ I give you, Randolph,” said the Markiss, “ as one of the fifes
and souls of the Party ! ”
Randolph much affected in replying. “Happiest day of life.
When baiting Sir Stafford in Commons, or when working against
the Markiss in the country, had always looked forward to
this epoch. A great deal had happened during the past five months.
There was one thing that rankled in his breast, disturbed his dreams
and caused him to neglect his food. He had once.in House of Commons
spoken disrespectfully of the Lord Mayor. He wished to withdraw
the expression, to apologise for it. He could only say that he had
done it with the best intentions, a feeling that had actuated him in
his relations with other Leaders of the Party, though at times it
might have appeared otherwise. The Lord Mayor, at least, would
understand him when he said, with Juvenal :—
“ ‘ Omnibus in terris, qua? sunt a Gadfbus usque
Auroram et Gangem, pauci dignoscere possunt
Vera bona, atque illis multum diversa, remota
Err oris nebula.'
Could only say happiest moment of his life; was well worth all the
trouble he had taken in browbeating his esteemed Leaders and setting
the Party by the ears. Encouraged by their kind favour, they might
rely upon him when necessary again to earn their favour.”
Lord Mayor sobbed audibly; everybody in tears save Ashmead-
Bartlett and the Noble Baron, who showed a disposition to cough
and shuffle their feet, hut were immediately brought to order by a
tremendous scowl from their friendly host.
Bitsiness done.—Stafford Northcote’s.
Friday.—The Noble Baron going about to-day with arm in sling.
Can swear he was all right yesterday before he went to Reconciliation
Retreat, 20, Arlington Street. This looks bad. Hope there wasn’t
a scrimmage after 1 left. All very well to talk about burying the
hatchet; but hard on the Noble Baron to select his left arm as place
of sepulture.
Business done.—Many speeches, and one or two Votes in Supply.
Saturday.—The Prime Minister, in his character of the Downy
One of Downing Street, announced that as England and France
wouldn’t play a duett together in the European Concert, the Con-
ference had collapsed.
After this a “ Scene,” in which the principal parts were effectively
taken by Randolph, Northcote, Tim Healy, the Speaker, and the
Two O’Connors.
Business done.—The Conference’s.
Motto for French Fiction. {slightly altered from Tennyson).
Content to dwell in indecencies for ever.”
Dear Punch,
I am sure you’ve no wish to annoy,
But, oh ! when you dub me a “ Dirty Old Boy,”
And picture me—smartly—as something between
A scavenger “ tight ” and a Mudlark unclean,
It does hurt my feelings. Why, bless you, dear Punch,
Don’t you, don't you remember the Launch and the Lunch ?
The cool of the evening, say just about Cookham ?
The tankards of “ Cup,” and the throttles that took ’em ?
That “ cut off the breast,” and that Cut on-well, well!
Do you think it’s my fault that so foully I smell,
That so dirty I look, that so shallow I run ?
No, bless your old beak, Punch, I know it’s your fun.
A Dirty Old Boy ! Yes, that’s me, Sir, worse luck !
But the fault lies with them who befoul me with muck.
I would run silver clear from my source to my mouth,
Defiant of dirt, independent of drouth,
If they’d only allow me. But no, not a hit of it.
They foul, and you flout, and 1 don't see the wit of it.
There, there, I speak frankly. I know you of old:
You’ve bathed in my waters so limpid and cold,
You’ve spooned at sweet Marlow, you’ve boated at Henley
(The stream was a Halswelle, the sky was a Penley !)
How oft have I mirrored your jolly old front,
Glass-clear whilst at Pangbourne you fished from a Punt ?
I’ve listened whilst wit-sparks grew brighter and brighter,
And laughter rang loud o’er my stream from the “ Mitre.”
That green-shrouded window looks on to my flood,
Was the whiff then the whiff of malodorous mud ?
And if down at Purfleet your nose you would nip,
Sniff at the “ Trafalgar,” or snort at the “ Ship,”
You know that I suffered far more, Sir, than you
At the thought that my stream was a Stygian brew.
Be just, Sir, and own that the Dirty Old Boy
A true Thing of Beauty, for ever a joy,
Would be if they’d let him ; and come down like thunder
On fools who befoul, and officials who blunder.
Dear Punch, smash the duffers who make me a sewer!
You never did service more needed or truer.
Demolish the muck-men who herd on my brink,
And flush me with foulness, and spoil me with stink.
Some guardian give me not stupid or shabby.
Don’t care if it’s Dilke, do not mind if it’s Labby,
So long as he isn’t a goose, or a grubber
For shekels in dye-muck or India-rubber.
This do, and you ’ll earn my sincerest of thanks ;
And when the next time you set foot on my banks,
Or plunge in my waters, or fish in my flood,
If I shock you with stench or annoy you with mud,
You may say that not muckworms, or muddlers it shames,
But your faithful old favourite, Old Father Thames.
THE SALISBURY TALES.
A t,l England v. Hatfield (with two Professionals).—This remark-
able match will be played out in the British playing-fields in the course
of the Autumn. Hatfield has the assistance of the old-fashioned slow-
bowler, Richmond, and of the celebrated “ twisters ” of Cairns. The
All-England Team will be chosen impartially from the following
Clubs; viz., the Whig, Liberal, Radical, New Tory, Old Conserva-
tive, Popular, National. Patriotic, &c. The Crown and the Constitu-
tion wall officiate as Umpires. The Hatfield Captain is confident ;
but the odds on England (and the faces of the Hatfield backers)
grow longer every day ; and there are doubts if the 'Hatfield Eleven
will be complete at the last moment.
The ostrich hid his head in the sand,
All in the wilds so free,
And thought, as you know, he saw nobody, so
That nobody couldn’t see he !
Lord Salisbury sits on his tower alone,
All in the clouds so dim,
And thinks because he looks down upon we,
That we all looks up to him!
It is currently reported that when the Marquis of Salisbury
gets up in the morning, the Hatfield tenantry are expected to gather j
under his window to hear him crow.
There was a Minister of olden time,
Whose “ ego et rex mens ” was sublime;
But mounting Salisbury’s motto’s simpler yet—
’Tis merely this, “ Ego et egomet."