DOI Heft:
September 25, 1886
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17656#0151
September 25, 1886.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHAKIVAPJ.
145
'ARRY ON COMMERCIAL EDUCATION.
Dear Chablie,
iiii 1 '¥ do1wn on mJ luck and no error, dear boy. Got the sack!
All along of a dashed German Sossidge, whose nut I should jest like to crack,
i got a bit bosky one night with some pals who 'ad won on a race,
ine Boss tipped me the mitten next day, and young Tah-yah pops into my
place.
Pooty sort of nice thing for a Briton! It's wot I call heastly, old man.
Ihese ere Germans know three or four tongues, and can live on thin swipes and
cold scran;
They ain't got no more go than a hoyster, cares little for lotion and larks,
And so they sneaks into our slippers, the nasty mean tow-headed sharks!
I'ate all dashed forriners, Chaelle, I do s'elp me never, dear hoy.
lhey 'ave gabs as we carnt understand, and play games as we cannot enjoy,
Yet they swarms over 'ere like muskeeters, French, Germans, Hightalians, and
Dutch,
And they 're cuttin' us hout like Jemimer. By Jove, it Ya dollup too much!
And now there's this 'ere 'Owakd "Vincent perposing a pooty nice game,
Wants to heducate English Commercials, as though it was' 7ms was to blame.
Wy, I calls that a reglar cave in to the Yah-yah and Pollyyoo lot.
Kick 'em out, my dear boy, that's the lay, or Old England '11 soon go to pot.
University, Chaelie, for bagmen and shopmen and clerks and our sort ?
All my eye and a bandbox, my biffin. Life would be a proper fine sport
If we 'ad to learn two or three languidges, grammar, and sech tommy rot.
Turn 'ermits and book-sucking sneaks, and get two quid a week for the lot!
No, Charlie, that may suit the Germans, the pap-bloodedgruel-brained^mugs,
Who crawl into our shops and our horfices, jest like the moth into rugs,
And 'edge hout us chaps with more sperrit and less forrin lingo and fat,
But it's rather too good enough, Charlie, for fellers like hus, and that's flat.
"Wy, the Sossidge as collared my crib is a yaller-'aired mustard-chin'd chap,
Gig-lamps and a nose like a radish, grinds 'ard, never goes on the lap,
Reads Shakspeaee instead o'the Pink 'Un, and plays the pianner like steam;
But 'as no more ideer of a barney, dear boy, than a'Teddington bream.
And this ochre-nob'd juggins from Germany comes and jumps into my shoes,
Jest because I'm not dab at the Yah-yah, and 'appened to go on the booze.
Call that patriotic, my pippin ? Should kick all dashed forriners out!
Or else where's the good of the Tories, and wot is Lord Randolph about ?
I did think when the Rads was confiobhed, and that traitor, Old Collaes, was
dished,
That us Britons would look up a mossel, and do as we jolly well wished.
And now here's that dashed 'Owaed Yincent a-raising a doose of a fuss,
And instead of keel-hauling the furriner, putting the kibosh on hus !
"We 're out of it, Charlie, we English, we 're out of it, Charlie, all round.
Purtectiqn's our game, that's a moral, I'm Fairtrader down to the ground.
The furriner's mucking our market, and histing us out of our stools,
But we '11 give 'im what for even yet, if our Statesmen ain't thunderin' fools.
Fd tariff 'em, Charlie, I tell yer, I'd tariff 'em up to their chins,
Lop-sided Free Trade is all boko, and that's wy the Sossidges wins.
Jest keep their goods out of our markets, and keep their men out of our shops,
And then beef and beer for True Britons, and leave 'em the kickshaws and
slops!
We done very well, mate, without 'em, afore we'd Free Trade on the brain;
We done without them and. their lingo—and wy carnt we do it again ?
It we English ain't cocks o' the walk, if our course isn't go-as-you-please,
Wy we might jest as well chuck it up and turn Dutchmen, or Heathen Chinees.
~<rue aTi T??e& by forren cheap labour, cheap goods, and cheap living, dear boy,
lnough Jdon't call it " living " myself. Everythink as a chap can enjoy
loung Yah-yah, as nobbled my crib, turns his pink shovel-nose up, old man.
Me may live upon lager and langwidges, Charlie ; sech isn't my plan.
Oh, bust it, dear hoy, it's too bad! Here's yours truly slap down on 'is luck,
Lost a pot on Lord Mt/ttontlead's "moral," and now I 'ave got the clean chuck,
All along of a spree and a Sossidge. If Randolph can't alter this fun,
i- shall turn up the Primrose, I tell yer, and say as Old England's clean done.
As to more heducation for Britons, that's bunkum, mere Radical bosh,
Uward Yincent did ought to know better ; I tell 'im his scheme will not wosh.
Inem Germans stand cram like their geese, but J've landed as much as I '11 carry,
ihree patters and two quid a week will not suit Yours disgustedly, Aret.
A Coeeection.—In our notice of The Theatre Magazine, two numbers ago,
entioned an interesting article in it signed "Chaeles Hebvey" as being
written by M. Heeve, the composer of some Operas Bouffes, who within; the
last twenty years has paid perfidious Albion the great compliment of becoming a
wn-ffh i n§lisnman. This was an error on our part, as the article in question
work ?? a genuine Englishman, whose reminiscences of foreign operatio
mstory are well wortji preserving.
VOI, ICI. o
EEOM THE GEOVES OE BLAENEY.
Me. Fitzgeeald Mollot, an earnest and indefatigable
author of very readable books, particularly interesting to
students of the History of the Drama, has written a new
work entitled Famous Plays, of which Messrs. Waed
and Downey are the publishers. By way of "puff pre-
liminary," the author, probably advised by the " downy "
member of the firm, has sent out a leaflet containing a
prefatial dedication of his book to "Henet Irving,
Esquire." He pays him the high compliment, not un-
merited, of saying that " since Gaeeick (why not David
Gaerick, Esquire) died, no player has studied more per-
sistently, or laboured more strenuously, to elevate the
Stage than you."
Admitting this, we are not unmindful of Maceeadt,
Phelps, and Chaeles Kean, Esquires.
He rightly eulogises Henet Ieving-, Esquire's, "in-
genious powers" and "liberal enterprise," and adds that
in consequence of his possession of these qualities, "the
greatest English poet of our day has been accepted as a
playwright." If Mr. Molloy means Lord Tennyson, and
not Mr. Wills, it is true"that his plays of The Cup and
Queen Mary were '' accepted " and acted. Henet Ieving,
Esquire, and Miss Ellen Teeet, with a magnificent scene,
made the success of the first; but nothing and nobody
could make a success of the latter. If these, with Becket,
the "idyllic" Falcon, and The Promise of May, which
was such a hopeless "frost," entitle the Laureate to be
" accepted as a playwright," then we strongly suspect that
Mr. Molloy, with true native humour, will be saying,
aside, in a stage-whisper, " Sure, I didn't say what sort
of a playwright! "
Further on he tells " Henet Ieving, Esquire " that his
scholarly conceptions and powerful representations "have
wrested weighed admiration from an unemotional age, and
wrung [it] from an unimaginative Nation." Mr. Molloy
is evidently poking his fun at us, and, it may be, at
'' Henry Ieving, Esquire;" for how on earth can a Nation
he " unimaginative" which imagines Lord Tenntson to
be a real good playwright!
"Your stage," says Mr. Mollot, "has become the
sanctuary of Art, your theatre the home of Culture."
" Oct! Blarney Molloy
"Was a broth of a Boy! "
who, if he does not deserve a niche in the Temple of
Fame, has at least merited a stall in the front row of
"The Home of Culture;" i.e., the Lyceum Theatre,
Wellington Street, Strand.
Mr. Punch cordially recognises the j ustice of the tribute
rendered to " Henet Ieving, Esquire," but at the same
time he cannot help wishing that Mr. Molloy had not
kissed the Blarney Stone to such excellent purpose before
writing this preface.
SOMETHING LIKE A TYRANT!
Scene—Interior of the Czae's bomb-proof Study, guarded
by a small army of Horse, Foot, and Artillery.
The Emperor of Russia and his most trusted Aide-
de-Camp discovered conversing in whispers.
Czar. So at my contemptuous nod the heroic Alex
andek of Battenberg has been ignominiously driven from
his Principality ?
Aide. Certainly, your Majesty.
Czar. And now to arrange a matter of far greater im
portance. Have you lined the railroad with armed troops ?
Aide. Yes, your Majesty.
Czar. Given them loaded rifles with fixed bayonets,
ready to fire upon anyone who comes within a thousand
yards of the road along which I have to travel ?
Aide. Yes, your Majesty.
. Czar. And have you got me three trains, so that by
frequent changes I may baffle the conspirators ?
Aide. Yes, your Majesty.
Czar. And are all the Stations carefully fortified, so
that a surprise is impossible ?
Aide. Yes, your Majesty.
Czar. And is the route flooded with police-spies, pre-
pared, at'the smallest sign of danger, to sound an alarm ?
Aide. Yes, your Majesty.
Czar. And are you quite sure that no one is looking ?
Aide. Yes, your Majesty.
Czar. Then I thinkil may venture to travel from one
town in my dominions to another. [Foes so.
145
'ARRY ON COMMERCIAL EDUCATION.
Dear Chablie,
iiii 1 '¥ do1wn on mJ luck and no error, dear boy. Got the sack!
All along of a dashed German Sossidge, whose nut I should jest like to crack,
i got a bit bosky one night with some pals who 'ad won on a race,
ine Boss tipped me the mitten next day, and young Tah-yah pops into my
place.
Pooty sort of nice thing for a Briton! It's wot I call heastly, old man.
Ihese ere Germans know three or four tongues, and can live on thin swipes and
cold scran;
They ain't got no more go than a hoyster, cares little for lotion and larks,
And so they sneaks into our slippers, the nasty mean tow-headed sharks!
I'ate all dashed forriners, Chaelle, I do s'elp me never, dear hoy.
lhey 'ave gabs as we carnt understand, and play games as we cannot enjoy,
Yet they swarms over 'ere like muskeeters, French, Germans, Hightalians, and
Dutch,
And they 're cuttin' us hout like Jemimer. By Jove, it Ya dollup too much!
And now there's this 'ere 'Owakd "Vincent perposing a pooty nice game,
Wants to heducate English Commercials, as though it was' 7ms was to blame.
Wy, I calls that a reglar cave in to the Yah-yah and Pollyyoo lot.
Kick 'em out, my dear boy, that's the lay, or Old England '11 soon go to pot.
University, Chaelie, for bagmen and shopmen and clerks and our sort ?
All my eye and a bandbox, my biffin. Life would be a proper fine sport
If we 'ad to learn two or three languidges, grammar, and sech tommy rot.
Turn 'ermits and book-sucking sneaks, and get two quid a week for the lot!
No, Charlie, that may suit the Germans, the pap-bloodedgruel-brained^mugs,
Who crawl into our shops and our horfices, jest like the moth into rugs,
And 'edge hout us chaps with more sperrit and less forrin lingo and fat,
But it's rather too good enough, Charlie, for fellers like hus, and that's flat.
"Wy, the Sossidge as collared my crib is a yaller-'aired mustard-chin'd chap,
Gig-lamps and a nose like a radish, grinds 'ard, never goes on the lap,
Reads Shakspeaee instead o'the Pink 'Un, and plays the pianner like steam;
But 'as no more ideer of a barney, dear boy, than a'Teddington bream.
And this ochre-nob'd juggins from Germany comes and jumps into my shoes,
Jest because I'm not dab at the Yah-yah, and 'appened to go on the booze.
Call that patriotic, my pippin ? Should kick all dashed forriners out!
Or else where's the good of the Tories, and wot is Lord Randolph about ?
I did think when the Rads was confiobhed, and that traitor, Old Collaes, was
dished,
That us Britons would look up a mossel, and do as we jolly well wished.
And now here's that dashed 'Owaed Yincent a-raising a doose of a fuss,
And instead of keel-hauling the furriner, putting the kibosh on hus !
"We 're out of it, Charlie, we English, we 're out of it, Charlie, all round.
Purtectiqn's our game, that's a moral, I'm Fairtrader down to the ground.
The furriner's mucking our market, and histing us out of our stools,
But we '11 give 'im what for even yet, if our Statesmen ain't thunderin' fools.
Fd tariff 'em, Charlie, I tell yer, I'd tariff 'em up to their chins,
Lop-sided Free Trade is all boko, and that's wy the Sossidges wins.
Jest keep their goods out of our markets, and keep their men out of our shops,
And then beef and beer for True Britons, and leave 'em the kickshaws and
slops!
We done very well, mate, without 'em, afore we'd Free Trade on the brain;
We done without them and. their lingo—and wy carnt we do it again ?
It we English ain't cocks o' the walk, if our course isn't go-as-you-please,
Wy we might jest as well chuck it up and turn Dutchmen, or Heathen Chinees.
~<rue aTi T??e& by forren cheap labour, cheap goods, and cheap living, dear boy,
lnough Jdon't call it " living " myself. Everythink as a chap can enjoy
loung Yah-yah, as nobbled my crib, turns his pink shovel-nose up, old man.
Me may live upon lager and langwidges, Charlie ; sech isn't my plan.
Oh, bust it, dear hoy, it's too bad! Here's yours truly slap down on 'is luck,
Lost a pot on Lord Mt/ttontlead's "moral," and now I 'ave got the clean chuck,
All along of a spree and a Sossidge. If Randolph can't alter this fun,
i- shall turn up the Primrose, I tell yer, and say as Old England's clean done.
As to more heducation for Britons, that's bunkum, mere Radical bosh,
Uward Yincent did ought to know better ; I tell 'im his scheme will not wosh.
Inem Germans stand cram like their geese, but J've landed as much as I '11 carry,
ihree patters and two quid a week will not suit Yours disgustedly, Aret.
A Coeeection.—In our notice of The Theatre Magazine, two numbers ago,
entioned an interesting article in it signed "Chaeles Hebvey" as being
written by M. Heeve, the composer of some Operas Bouffes, who within; the
last twenty years has paid perfidious Albion the great compliment of becoming a
wn-ffh i n§lisnman. This was an error on our part, as the article in question
work ?? a genuine Englishman, whose reminiscences of foreign operatio
mstory are well wortji preserving.
VOI, ICI. o
EEOM THE GEOVES OE BLAENEY.
Me. Fitzgeeald Mollot, an earnest and indefatigable
author of very readable books, particularly interesting to
students of the History of the Drama, has written a new
work entitled Famous Plays, of which Messrs. Waed
and Downey are the publishers. By way of "puff pre-
liminary," the author, probably advised by the " downy "
member of the firm, has sent out a leaflet containing a
prefatial dedication of his book to "Henet Irving,
Esquire." He pays him the high compliment, not un-
merited, of saying that " since Gaeeick (why not David
Gaerick, Esquire) died, no player has studied more per-
sistently, or laboured more strenuously, to elevate the
Stage than you."
Admitting this, we are not unmindful of Maceeadt,
Phelps, and Chaeles Kean, Esquires.
He rightly eulogises Henet Ieving-, Esquire's, "in-
genious powers" and "liberal enterprise," and adds that
in consequence of his possession of these qualities, "the
greatest English poet of our day has been accepted as a
playwright." If Mr. Molloy means Lord Tennyson, and
not Mr. Wills, it is true"that his plays of The Cup and
Queen Mary were '' accepted " and acted. Henet Ieving,
Esquire, and Miss Ellen Teeet, with a magnificent scene,
made the success of the first; but nothing and nobody
could make a success of the latter. If these, with Becket,
the "idyllic" Falcon, and The Promise of May, which
was such a hopeless "frost," entitle the Laureate to be
" accepted as a playwright," then we strongly suspect that
Mr. Molloy, with true native humour, will be saying,
aside, in a stage-whisper, " Sure, I didn't say what sort
of a playwright! "
Further on he tells " Henet Ieving, Esquire " that his
scholarly conceptions and powerful representations "have
wrested weighed admiration from an unemotional age, and
wrung [it] from an unimaginative Nation." Mr. Molloy
is evidently poking his fun at us, and, it may be, at
'' Henry Ieving, Esquire;" for how on earth can a Nation
he " unimaginative" which imagines Lord Tenntson to
be a real good playwright!
"Your stage," says Mr. Mollot, "has become the
sanctuary of Art, your theatre the home of Culture."
" Oct! Blarney Molloy
"Was a broth of a Boy! "
who, if he does not deserve a niche in the Temple of
Fame, has at least merited a stall in the front row of
"The Home of Culture;" i.e., the Lyceum Theatre,
Wellington Street, Strand.
Mr. Punch cordially recognises the j ustice of the tribute
rendered to " Henet Ieving, Esquire," but at the same
time he cannot help wishing that Mr. Molloy had not
kissed the Blarney Stone to such excellent purpose before
writing this preface.
SOMETHING LIKE A TYRANT!
Scene—Interior of the Czae's bomb-proof Study, guarded
by a small army of Horse, Foot, and Artillery.
The Emperor of Russia and his most trusted Aide-
de-Camp discovered conversing in whispers.
Czar. So at my contemptuous nod the heroic Alex
andek of Battenberg has been ignominiously driven from
his Principality ?
Aide. Certainly, your Majesty.
Czar. And now to arrange a matter of far greater im
portance. Have you lined the railroad with armed troops ?
Aide. Yes, your Majesty.
Czar. Given them loaded rifles with fixed bayonets,
ready to fire upon anyone who comes within a thousand
yards of the road along which I have to travel ?
Aide. Yes, your Majesty.
. Czar. And have you got me three trains, so that by
frequent changes I may baffle the conspirators ?
Aide. Yes, your Majesty.
Czar. And are all the Stations carefully fortified, so
that a surprise is impossible ?
Aide. Yes, your Majesty.
Czar. And is the route flooded with police-spies, pre-
pared, at'the smallest sign of danger, to sound an alarm ?
Aide. Yes, your Majesty.
Czar. And are you quite sure that no one is looking ?
Aide. Yes, your Majesty.
Czar. Then I thinkil may venture to travel from one
town in my dominions to another. [Foes so.