DOI Heft:
May 25, 1889
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17687#0257
248
PUNCH, ORilTHE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[May 25, 1889.
ODE TO FOUR O’CLOCK.
A Drydenish Dithyrambic of the Special Commission. In the form oj a Trio.
Vocalists—Sir J-m-s H-nn-n, Mr. J-st-e D-y, and Mr. J-st-e A. L. Sm-th.
[“ The Court adjourned at Four o’clock.”—Diurnal announcement.]
0 blessed Four o’clock!
Thine advent makes e’en Rhad-
manthus gay,
And CEacus (or D-y)
With Minos Sm-th seem half
inclined to play
At leap-frog, which might
shock
Wigged W-bst-e’s more than
Cancellarian dignity.
Our benison upon the sweet be-
nignity
Of him, the something slow hut
sure scythe-hearer!
Oh! if the wearer
Of horse-hair and of ermine
Might hut determine
The pace of Kronos daily round
the dial
Upon this dread interminable trial,
Old Edax Rerum
(Who is not hound to hear ’em,
These wrangling counsel and witnesses ramb-
_ „ , lin^>
Would have a pace less like a park-hack’s
ambling.
From harmony, from party-harmony
This never-ending bore began,
Where Justice underneath a heap
Of j arring questions lies.
And cannot heave her head.
We Three feel well-nigh dead.
Cold cynic questions, and quick hot replies
From R-d and R-ss-ll leap,
And scarce our power obey.
From harmony, from party-harmony,
This lengthy little game began,
From S-l-sb-ey’s and G-sch-n’s harmony,
And that of those Dissentients who ran
First from the follies of the Grand Old Man.
What passion cannot Eloquence raise and
quell ?
When R-ss-ll perorated well,
His listening “ brothers ” sat around,
And wonder on their faces fell
Whilst hanging on the silvery sound.
Less than an Oracle there scarce could dwell
In guise of that snuff-taking, legal swell,
Who spake so sweetly and so well.
What passion cannot Eloquence raise and
quell ?
But Counsel’s harsh clangor
Less certainly charms,
With shrill notes of anger,
And pride up in arms,
The double, double, double beat
Of the hammering fist.
Wake tired ill-temper ’tis hard to resist
When nailed many hours to our seat.
P-gg-tt led W-bst-e a wild-goose chase,
And nigh the Thunderer lost its place
Sequacious of that liar;
But lingering weeks of squabbling sadly tire,
Oh, why to Law was wind so lengthy given,
Making our triune judgment-seat appear—
Well—certainly not heaven ?
Grand Chorus.
Therefore We Three thankfully praise
The clock-hands as they move,
And for the hour of Four we raise
Our hands in thanks above.
Oh, dearest, most desired hour!
Thou bald-head who dost all devour,
Grateful we are when thou dost knock
Upon our tympanums with pleasant shock,
And bring us once again thrice welcome Four
o’clock!
MOST APPROPRIATE.
Nothing more natural than that the Lyric
Club should branch out into the Lyric Cricket
Club, a difficult combination of words to
pronounce five times rapidly. The chief
amusements at the Lyric commence about
midnight, and finish about 3 a.m., when the
hours are “small and early,” during which
time the (Lyrical Members are as lively as
Crickets chirruping on the hearth. It was
therefore almost unnecessary to add ‘ ‘ Cricket ”
to “ Lyric,” but why not drop “ Lyric ” alto-
gether? Let the Lyric Theatre enjoy the
title all to itself, and let the Lyric Members
call themselves “ The Cricket Club.’ Happy
Thought.—Excellent name for an Up-all
night Club, “ The Crickets.” Why on Hearth
hasn’t this been thought of before ? Perhaps
it has, and we didn’t know of it. Very likely,
The Coming County Councillors.
When lovely Woman’s made a C. C.,
And finds, too late, that Acts betray,
What is her tip ? To take it easy,
And—try again another day!
The L. G. Act, it seems, won’t qualify
“ Women ” to sit as (and on) “ men.”
But man-made law the Sex will mollify,
And won’t she “let us have it ” then !
Correspondence.
Sie,—I see the Bishops have been denoun-
cing gambling. Is it on this account that
the Bishop of Lincoln is had up before the
Archbishop, or only for some private specu-
lations ? I confess to being a little mixed,
and only want to know.
Yours, Max Muddlee.
Hymen Hymenh:e !—Last Thursday Miss
Hope Glenn married Mr. Heaed, and that
afternoon one handsome mezzo soprano,
although so justly popular at all recent con-
certs and musical festivals, was Heard for
the first time. Fortunate Heaed, not one of
the common herd.
Neae enough—eoe Hee.—The conversa-
tion turned on the First Napoleon. “I can’t
remember who his great Minister was,” ob-
served Mrs. Ram; “but I know it was a
name suggestive of fox-hunting. Ah! I
recollect—it was Tallyho ! ”
PARKS NOBISCUM.
Me. Punch is glad to see that, in the Daily Telegraph, “ E.L.” has
once more opened up the old subject of Park Improvement. Mr.
Punch has been harping on much the same string year after year.
Why not kiosques for light refresh-
ment ? No necessity for Mr. Plunket,
or Geoege Ranges, or Mr. Rosebeey,
if the L. C. C. has got anything to do
with it, to personally superintend the
sale of apples, oranges, ginger-beer,
cakes and ices. Why not a superior
restaurant for cold lunches ? We don’t
want to take the trees and shrubs from
the Bois de Boulogne, having got some
very fine ones of our own, but we
might take a few leaves out of the
French book. And, beyond this, why
not consider Equestrians as well as Pe-
destrians, and give a ride across the
Park, and another through the beau-
tiful shady avenues of Kensington
Gardens? Was there ever such a
monotonous squirrel-in-the-cage arrangement as “Rotten Row” and
its contributories now ? And what is there for Equestrians in Re-
gent’s Park ? A wretched strip not worth mentioning. As to the
“ ride’’—Heaven save the mark!—in Birdcage Walk,—a “ride” in
a “ Walk ” may he considered a concession,—instead of being a delight-
ful avenue for a canter, it is occupied by loafing roughs, small chil-
dren, and mischievous gamins de Zondres, who make riding dan-
gerous to man, beast, and child. Are there no park-keepers or police
to keep this place in order, and prevent its being a lounge for
obstructive loafers and a playground for little imps who are a terror
to those who (do or don’t) ride well.
Mr. Punch addresses himself respectfully to “ Mr.” Rosebeey (if
necessary) to the courteous and common-sensible Mr. Plunket, and
to the gallant Ranges Geoege, and begs E. L. and the Daily
Telegraph to go on and hammer, hammer, hammer away in season
and out of season, but especially now when it’s in season.
REGINA AD ETONAM.
Caeissime Domine Punchius,—Regina nostra venit hie alteram
diem Saturdiem ultimam deponere lapidem corneram novarum sedi-
ficarum scholasticarum, quid ilia sua Majestas Graciosa fecit digni-
tate multa, et nos omnes omnibus nostris cordibus illam cheeravimus.
Visus grandis situs atque bonus, et magna dies Etonensibus. Cum
cantat Yiegllius, puto, “ Incedit Regina.” Sic ilia fecit. Nullum
plus nunc in praesenti, sed mitte mihi unum quid pro quod scripsi.
Hurridus sum ad catchere postam.
Yester veritahiliter, “ Puee Ascanius.”
Ghabt.es Dickens’s Readings.—The son of Dickens is shining
brightly. His pathetic tone is good, but his evident appreciation of
his father’s humour is irresistible with an audience which prefers
laughing to crying. It ought to he a successful series.
PUNCH, ORilTHE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[May 25, 1889.
ODE TO FOUR O’CLOCK.
A Drydenish Dithyrambic of the Special Commission. In the form oj a Trio.
Vocalists—Sir J-m-s H-nn-n, Mr. J-st-e D-y, and Mr. J-st-e A. L. Sm-th.
[“ The Court adjourned at Four o’clock.”—Diurnal announcement.]
0 blessed Four o’clock!
Thine advent makes e’en Rhad-
manthus gay,
And CEacus (or D-y)
With Minos Sm-th seem half
inclined to play
At leap-frog, which might
shock
Wigged W-bst-e’s more than
Cancellarian dignity.
Our benison upon the sweet be-
nignity
Of him, the something slow hut
sure scythe-hearer!
Oh! if the wearer
Of horse-hair and of ermine
Might hut determine
The pace of Kronos daily round
the dial
Upon this dread interminable trial,
Old Edax Rerum
(Who is not hound to hear ’em,
These wrangling counsel and witnesses ramb-
_ „ , lin^>
Would have a pace less like a park-hack’s
ambling.
From harmony, from party-harmony
This never-ending bore began,
Where Justice underneath a heap
Of j arring questions lies.
And cannot heave her head.
We Three feel well-nigh dead.
Cold cynic questions, and quick hot replies
From R-d and R-ss-ll leap,
And scarce our power obey.
From harmony, from party-harmony,
This lengthy little game began,
From S-l-sb-ey’s and G-sch-n’s harmony,
And that of those Dissentients who ran
First from the follies of the Grand Old Man.
What passion cannot Eloquence raise and
quell ?
When R-ss-ll perorated well,
His listening “ brothers ” sat around,
And wonder on their faces fell
Whilst hanging on the silvery sound.
Less than an Oracle there scarce could dwell
In guise of that snuff-taking, legal swell,
Who spake so sweetly and so well.
What passion cannot Eloquence raise and
quell ?
But Counsel’s harsh clangor
Less certainly charms,
With shrill notes of anger,
And pride up in arms,
The double, double, double beat
Of the hammering fist.
Wake tired ill-temper ’tis hard to resist
When nailed many hours to our seat.
P-gg-tt led W-bst-e a wild-goose chase,
And nigh the Thunderer lost its place
Sequacious of that liar;
But lingering weeks of squabbling sadly tire,
Oh, why to Law was wind so lengthy given,
Making our triune judgment-seat appear—
Well—certainly not heaven ?
Grand Chorus.
Therefore We Three thankfully praise
The clock-hands as they move,
And for the hour of Four we raise
Our hands in thanks above.
Oh, dearest, most desired hour!
Thou bald-head who dost all devour,
Grateful we are when thou dost knock
Upon our tympanums with pleasant shock,
And bring us once again thrice welcome Four
o’clock!
MOST APPROPRIATE.
Nothing more natural than that the Lyric
Club should branch out into the Lyric Cricket
Club, a difficult combination of words to
pronounce five times rapidly. The chief
amusements at the Lyric commence about
midnight, and finish about 3 a.m., when the
hours are “small and early,” during which
time the (Lyrical Members are as lively as
Crickets chirruping on the hearth. It was
therefore almost unnecessary to add ‘ ‘ Cricket ”
to “ Lyric,” but why not drop “ Lyric ” alto-
gether? Let the Lyric Theatre enjoy the
title all to itself, and let the Lyric Members
call themselves “ The Cricket Club.’ Happy
Thought.—Excellent name for an Up-all
night Club, “ The Crickets.” Why on Hearth
hasn’t this been thought of before ? Perhaps
it has, and we didn’t know of it. Very likely,
The Coming County Councillors.
When lovely Woman’s made a C. C.,
And finds, too late, that Acts betray,
What is her tip ? To take it easy,
And—try again another day!
The L. G. Act, it seems, won’t qualify
“ Women ” to sit as (and on) “ men.”
But man-made law the Sex will mollify,
And won’t she “let us have it ” then !
Correspondence.
Sie,—I see the Bishops have been denoun-
cing gambling. Is it on this account that
the Bishop of Lincoln is had up before the
Archbishop, or only for some private specu-
lations ? I confess to being a little mixed,
and only want to know.
Yours, Max Muddlee.
Hymen Hymenh:e !—Last Thursday Miss
Hope Glenn married Mr. Heaed, and that
afternoon one handsome mezzo soprano,
although so justly popular at all recent con-
certs and musical festivals, was Heard for
the first time. Fortunate Heaed, not one of
the common herd.
Neae enough—eoe Hee.—The conversa-
tion turned on the First Napoleon. “I can’t
remember who his great Minister was,” ob-
served Mrs. Ram; “but I know it was a
name suggestive of fox-hunting. Ah! I
recollect—it was Tallyho ! ”
PARKS NOBISCUM.
Me. Punch is glad to see that, in the Daily Telegraph, “ E.L.” has
once more opened up the old subject of Park Improvement. Mr.
Punch has been harping on much the same string year after year.
Why not kiosques for light refresh-
ment ? No necessity for Mr. Plunket,
or Geoege Ranges, or Mr. Rosebeey,
if the L. C. C. has got anything to do
with it, to personally superintend the
sale of apples, oranges, ginger-beer,
cakes and ices. Why not a superior
restaurant for cold lunches ? We don’t
want to take the trees and shrubs from
the Bois de Boulogne, having got some
very fine ones of our own, but we
might take a few leaves out of the
French book. And, beyond this, why
not consider Equestrians as well as Pe-
destrians, and give a ride across the
Park, and another through the beau-
tiful shady avenues of Kensington
Gardens? Was there ever such a
monotonous squirrel-in-the-cage arrangement as “Rotten Row” and
its contributories now ? And what is there for Equestrians in Re-
gent’s Park ? A wretched strip not worth mentioning. As to the
“ ride’’—Heaven save the mark!—in Birdcage Walk,—a “ride” in
a “ Walk ” may he considered a concession,—instead of being a delight-
ful avenue for a canter, it is occupied by loafing roughs, small chil-
dren, and mischievous gamins de Zondres, who make riding dan-
gerous to man, beast, and child. Are there no park-keepers or police
to keep this place in order, and prevent its being a lounge for
obstructive loafers and a playground for little imps who are a terror
to those who (do or don’t) ride well.
Mr. Punch addresses himself respectfully to “ Mr.” Rosebeey (if
necessary) to the courteous and common-sensible Mr. Plunket, and
to the gallant Ranges Geoege, and begs E. L. and the Daily
Telegraph to go on and hammer, hammer, hammer away in season
and out of season, but especially now when it’s in season.
REGINA AD ETONAM.
Caeissime Domine Punchius,—Regina nostra venit hie alteram
diem Saturdiem ultimam deponere lapidem corneram novarum sedi-
ficarum scholasticarum, quid ilia sua Majestas Graciosa fecit digni-
tate multa, et nos omnes omnibus nostris cordibus illam cheeravimus.
Visus grandis situs atque bonus, et magna dies Etonensibus. Cum
cantat Yiegllius, puto, “ Incedit Regina.” Sic ilia fecit. Nullum
plus nunc in praesenti, sed mitte mihi unum quid pro quod scripsi.
Hurridus sum ad catchere postam.
Yester veritahiliter, “ Puee Ascanius.”
Ghabt.es Dickens’s Readings.—The son of Dickens is shining
brightly. His pathetic tone is good, but his evident appreciation of
his father’s humour is irresistible with an audience which prefers
laughing to crying. It ought to he a successful series.