DOI issue:
September 21, 1889
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17688#0143
138
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [September 21, 1889.
"CONFOUND THEIR POLITICS! ”
A SONG OUT OF SEASON.
John Bull sadly sings:—
“ Come out, ’tis now September! ”
So goes the good old glee.
Ah me! I can remember,
When it rang sweet to me.
But in this period shocking
Of strife and party din,
Such invitation’s mocking
To one “ kept in.”
The turnips and the stubbles,
The trout-streams and the moors,
Are there ; but here are troubles
Of strikes and spouting bores.,
Speech-padded morning papers,
Prolix and dull as lead,
Give a tired man the vapours,
Yet must be read.
To talk of the Aracation
Is just a bitter joke.
No change of occupation,
No lifting of the yoke,
Comes with the mellow Autumn ;
Quidnuncs are still on quest,
Toilings have not yet taught ’em
The joys of rest.
Time was when closed St. Stephen’s
Meant close of mouth and ear,
Now silence never leavens
The shindy of the year.
The platform spouter preaches,
The pulpit preachers spout;
’Tis speeches, speeches, speeches,
Year in, year out!
Wire-pullers fume and fluster,
Their tired but talky slaves
Obediently muster
When Nature scattering craves.
MONSIEUR, MADAME. ET EEBE.
At bye-elections boastful,
At Caucus-gatherings hot,
They ’ll spout my Morning Post full
Of rabid rot.
Gladstone's brought back from Paris
Some new Campaign to plan,
Random the Rads must harass,
Joe flout the Grand Old Man:
Harcourt with buttered thunder
Will rouse the Liberal rout.
Fierce fight’s ahead ! I wonder
What it’s about!
Oh, it would j ust be heaven
To pack my traps and greet
John Morley down in Devon,
Hard by the Watersmeet;
Give that recluse a hint on
Trout-flies and salmon-hooks,
Or learn from him, at Lynton,
Of men and books.
But even in my gun-room
The party ghosts appear,
For rest, and sport, and fun room
I cannot find e’en here.
Yes, yes, the moors look pleasant
This Autumn morn, no doubt; \
But hang it, Punch, at present,
1 can’t get out.
Something like a Resuscitation.—The
Revival of The Dead Heart. The sprightly
Tittle-tattler of theP. M. G. says of the Dead
Heart, ‘ ‘ The revolutionary dance should be
exciting.” Why ? Is the waltz exciting ?
Yet there is no more “ revolutionary dance”
than the waltz. How many revolutions a
minute are there in a waltz ?
Of th.e Turf Turfy,
Lord Lucre has a “ crack ” of splendid pace;
He runs it off its legs, just “to make hay,”
Then sells it. Scandal to the human race [Sir,
Is the inhuman racer!
HOLIDAY WISDOM.
The British Medical Journal wisely warns
the middle-aged tourist against over-exer-
tion in his autumn holiday. ‘ ‘ The annual
holiday,” it says, “is essentially adapted to
the tastes and habits of youth.” The “ hard-
worked man over forty,” with whom “the
digestive and circulatory functions are often
seriously at fault,” tries to fall—or rise—into
the spirit of adolescent holiday activity, and
naturally fails, or suffers for a partial success.
“ The middle-aged tourist must be chary of
undertaking tasks which involve physical
fatigue which could be undergone with ease
when he was younger.” Words of wisdom
these, though “ vanity glorious ” middle-age,
with proud memories of earlier prowess as
walker or climber, is unwilling to admit the
truth of them. Let the M. A. T. lay them to
heart. He is in “ the prime of life,”—of course
—let him keep in it, by not ambitiously trying
to hark back to the “early prime,” of youth,
elastic, wiry, well-winded, with digestion and
without “ stomach,”'—which after all is quite
another “prime.” To put it epigrammati-
cally, after a celebrated model:—
Middle-Aged Tourist (wistfully). Fain would
I climb, but that my “ wind” seems
small.
Medical Adviser (decisively). If thy heart’s
flabby, do not climb at all!
Note eor British Association omitted
by Mr. A. B. W. Kennedy, F.R.S., in his
Discourse at Newcastle.—Sometimes names
are in keeping with the fitness of things.
Take for instance, “Popp’s Compressed Air
System.” What more appropriate name for
the inventor of a “ compressed air system ”
than “ Popp ” ? Air is compressed in a vessel,
and then “ Popp goes the wessel,” which an-
cient ditty, if revived and adapted to the occa-
sion, mignt achieve a new Popp-ularity.
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [September 21, 1889.
"CONFOUND THEIR POLITICS! ”
A SONG OUT OF SEASON.
John Bull sadly sings:—
“ Come out, ’tis now September! ”
So goes the good old glee.
Ah me! I can remember,
When it rang sweet to me.
But in this period shocking
Of strife and party din,
Such invitation’s mocking
To one “ kept in.”
The turnips and the stubbles,
The trout-streams and the moors,
Are there ; but here are troubles
Of strikes and spouting bores.,
Speech-padded morning papers,
Prolix and dull as lead,
Give a tired man the vapours,
Yet must be read.
To talk of the Aracation
Is just a bitter joke.
No change of occupation,
No lifting of the yoke,
Comes with the mellow Autumn ;
Quidnuncs are still on quest,
Toilings have not yet taught ’em
The joys of rest.
Time was when closed St. Stephen’s
Meant close of mouth and ear,
Now silence never leavens
The shindy of the year.
The platform spouter preaches,
The pulpit preachers spout;
’Tis speeches, speeches, speeches,
Year in, year out!
Wire-pullers fume and fluster,
Their tired but talky slaves
Obediently muster
When Nature scattering craves.
MONSIEUR, MADAME. ET EEBE.
At bye-elections boastful,
At Caucus-gatherings hot,
They ’ll spout my Morning Post full
Of rabid rot.
Gladstone's brought back from Paris
Some new Campaign to plan,
Random the Rads must harass,
Joe flout the Grand Old Man:
Harcourt with buttered thunder
Will rouse the Liberal rout.
Fierce fight’s ahead ! I wonder
What it’s about!
Oh, it would j ust be heaven
To pack my traps and greet
John Morley down in Devon,
Hard by the Watersmeet;
Give that recluse a hint on
Trout-flies and salmon-hooks,
Or learn from him, at Lynton,
Of men and books.
But even in my gun-room
The party ghosts appear,
For rest, and sport, and fun room
I cannot find e’en here.
Yes, yes, the moors look pleasant
This Autumn morn, no doubt; \
But hang it, Punch, at present,
1 can’t get out.
Something like a Resuscitation.—The
Revival of The Dead Heart. The sprightly
Tittle-tattler of theP. M. G. says of the Dead
Heart, ‘ ‘ The revolutionary dance should be
exciting.” Why ? Is the waltz exciting ?
Yet there is no more “ revolutionary dance”
than the waltz. How many revolutions a
minute are there in a waltz ?
Of th.e Turf Turfy,
Lord Lucre has a “ crack ” of splendid pace;
He runs it off its legs, just “to make hay,”
Then sells it. Scandal to the human race [Sir,
Is the inhuman racer!
HOLIDAY WISDOM.
The British Medical Journal wisely warns
the middle-aged tourist against over-exer-
tion in his autumn holiday. ‘ ‘ The annual
holiday,” it says, “is essentially adapted to
the tastes and habits of youth.” The “ hard-
worked man over forty,” with whom “the
digestive and circulatory functions are often
seriously at fault,” tries to fall—or rise—into
the spirit of adolescent holiday activity, and
naturally fails, or suffers for a partial success.
“ The middle-aged tourist must be chary of
undertaking tasks which involve physical
fatigue which could be undergone with ease
when he was younger.” Words of wisdom
these, though “ vanity glorious ” middle-age,
with proud memories of earlier prowess as
walker or climber, is unwilling to admit the
truth of them. Let the M. A. T. lay them to
heart. He is in “ the prime of life,”—of course
—let him keep in it, by not ambitiously trying
to hark back to the “early prime,” of youth,
elastic, wiry, well-winded, with digestion and
without “ stomach,”'—which after all is quite
another “prime.” To put it epigrammati-
cally, after a celebrated model:—
Middle-Aged Tourist (wistfully). Fain would
I climb, but that my “ wind” seems
small.
Medical Adviser (decisively). If thy heart’s
flabby, do not climb at all!
Note eor British Association omitted
by Mr. A. B. W. Kennedy, F.R.S., in his
Discourse at Newcastle.—Sometimes names
are in keeping with the fitness of things.
Take for instance, “Popp’s Compressed Air
System.” What more appropriate name for
the inventor of a “ compressed air system ”
than “ Popp ” ? Air is compressed in a vessel,
and then “ Popp goes the wessel,” which an-
cient ditty, if revived and adapted to the occa-
sion, mignt achieve a new Popp-ularity.