DOI Heft:
August 6, 1892
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17694#0063
August 6, 1892.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 57
A SATISFACTORY PATIENT.
Family Doctor. "Well, my little Man, and how are you this Morning?"
Young Hopeful. "Oh, Nursey says I'm ever so much Normaller to-day!"
Born-, 1811. Died, July 27, 1892.
Great fighter of lost causes, gone at last!
A meteoric course, by shade o'ercast
Long: ere its close, was thine. A star that slips
At brightest into shadow of eclipse,
Leaves watchers waiting for its flaming forth
In a renewed refulgence. "Wit and worth,
Satire and sense, courage and judgment keen,
Were thine. What flaw of weakness or of spleen,
What lack of patience or persistence, doomed
Thee to too early darkness ? Seldom bloomed
So sudden-swift a flower of fame as thine, _
When Bright and Gladstone led the serried line
Of.resolute reformers to the attack,
And dauntless Dizzy strove to bear them back.
Then rose "White-headed Bob," and foined and smote,
Setting his slashing steel against the throat
Of his old friends, and wrung from them applause.
The champion was valiant, though the cause
Was doomed to failure, and betrayal. Yes!
The subtle Chief thus aided in the press
By an ally so stalwart, turned and rent
The flag he fought for, and the valour spent
In its defence by thee, was wasted all.
Yet 'twas a sight when, back against the wall,
White-headed Bob would wield that flashing blade,
That Bright scarce parried, and that Gladstone stayed
Only with utmost effort.
Yes, 'twill live
In record, that fierce fight, and radiance give
Through Time's dense mist, when lesser stars grow dim,
And though the untimely ermine silenced him,
The clear and caustic critic, though no more,
That rhetoric, like the Greek's, now " fulmined o'er"
Democracy's low flats, but silent sank
In those dull precincts dedicate to Bank ;
Still its remembered echoes shall resound,
For he with honour, if not love, was crowned,
Whom those he served, and " slated," like to know,
Less as Lord Sherbrooke than as " Bobby Lowe."
LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.
Dear Mr. Punch. " The Yacht" Jersey.
You will see par mon adresse that I am encore une fois on
my travels! At present, in fact, the Channel Islands " claim me for
their own," as Lord Marmion says in Bclwer Litton. Pardonnez-
moi, if I occasionally lapse into French, for vraiment il y a such a
mixture of tongues that we might almost rename them the Babel
Islands—even my noted Parisian accent is scarcely understood.
C'est etonnant! and were it not for Eulalie, I should quelquefois
be in a fix agacant.
I told you in my last letter that I should be unable to brighten
Goodwood with the sunshine of my smile. But what is Goodwood
compared to racing at Jersey f Indeed, it was unfortunate for Good-
wood that the meetings clashed, and it should be avoided in future.
It has been blowing hard for some few days, and we had rather a
rough passage, and though the yacht was not a wreck, / was I am
afraid, in spite of the compliment paid me by Mr. Spoopendyke K.
Sidney, the well-known American Four Millionnaire, who said he
thought me "a real smart sailor!"—and he was very near the
truth, too, for the saltwater got in my eyes and they did smart; but
I resolutely declined to go " below," and hung on to " the shrouds."
I think they called them—a most unpleasantly suggestive name, when
you are dreading a watery grave every moment. However, we got
to our "moorings " at last (as Othello would call them), and having
chartered the inevitable " sharry-bang" started for the course.
_ By the way, en passant (I have not dropped into French for a long
time), what a strange thing it is, that the moment you land at one of
these islands you are immediately advised to proceed to another.
I was told at Guernsey that I must on no account miss seeing
" Sark," so I didn't—but was careful to observe it from a distance—
for really, in these days of eruptions one doesn't know what might
happen on such avolcanic-looking island!—and besides, I always carry
a pocket " iEtna " in my dressing-bag, so that I can have a flare-up
whenever I like. But let me see, where was I ? Oh, yes! sharry-
banging out to the races at Jersey. Well, really now, judging from
some of the lovely toilettes worn by the Jersey " Daughters of Eve "
(an old-established journalistic expression, and to my mind, most
idiotic and insulting—we are not all tempting !)—they are in front
of a good many of their Main-land sisters!—and the Hospitality—
(always a capital H, I believe)—shown by the 1st South Lancashire
Regiment is not to be beaten anywhere! The Lawn was well
patronised, and the enthusiasm was tremendous—seven events—all
over two miles, and two over hurdles, where one came down! What
more could you want—together with a glorious day, "and all the
fun for the Fair ! "
The great event of the day was "Her Majesty's Cup," for three
years' old and upwards—(one went downwards)—and it was won, for
the —th time in succession by Jersey Lily (I won't tell the exact
number of times, as it is rude to hint at a lady's age)—amid a scene
of excitement almost as big as the Eclipse at Sandown!—she was
"followed home "—(racing expression—patented)—by Lady West-
hill and Lady Steephill—so you see we were quite among the
haut-ton—though some of us had never heard of these aristocratic
thorough-breds before!
And so the Jersey Goodwood is once more over!—and we have again
from the springy turf of the Solent—(a most insecure footing)—caught
in the flush of the sunlight the gleaming white sails of the vessels on
the Goodwood Downs!—(this may sound, a little wrong—but I prefer
it to using a more stereotyped and matter-of-fact description).
As to the racing of next week—I have not the faintest idea where
it is, what it is, or why it is!—but such trifles do not disturb me,
and I will proceed to my usual prophetic utterance on the event of
the week! Yours devotedly, Lady Gay.
The Bank Holiday Stakes Selection.
In the sweet month of August no longer I choose,
By the river or seaside to tarry !
Preferring, in depths of the country to lose
All chance of encounter with " 'Arry ! "
"Minime!" — The other day the Speaker admitted that he
couldn't remember the Latin for "Yes." What a lot of time,
trouble, and money our own countrymen would be spared could they
only occasionally forget that there is such a word as "Yes" in
English! How many marriages, which have ended in misery, would
never have come off but for this mischievous monosyllable! But
to continue this is to be Hamletising, and to consider too curiously.
For the Speaker to own it, stamps him as the genuine article, a
Candid Peel.
A SATISFACTORY PATIENT.
Family Doctor. "Well, my little Man, and how are you this Morning?"
Young Hopeful. "Oh, Nursey says I'm ever so much Normaller to-day!"
Born-, 1811. Died, July 27, 1892.
Great fighter of lost causes, gone at last!
A meteoric course, by shade o'ercast
Long: ere its close, was thine. A star that slips
At brightest into shadow of eclipse,
Leaves watchers waiting for its flaming forth
In a renewed refulgence. "Wit and worth,
Satire and sense, courage and judgment keen,
Were thine. What flaw of weakness or of spleen,
What lack of patience or persistence, doomed
Thee to too early darkness ? Seldom bloomed
So sudden-swift a flower of fame as thine, _
When Bright and Gladstone led the serried line
Of.resolute reformers to the attack,
And dauntless Dizzy strove to bear them back.
Then rose "White-headed Bob," and foined and smote,
Setting his slashing steel against the throat
Of his old friends, and wrung from them applause.
The champion was valiant, though the cause
Was doomed to failure, and betrayal. Yes!
The subtle Chief thus aided in the press
By an ally so stalwart, turned and rent
The flag he fought for, and the valour spent
In its defence by thee, was wasted all.
Yet 'twas a sight when, back against the wall,
White-headed Bob would wield that flashing blade,
That Bright scarce parried, and that Gladstone stayed
Only with utmost effort.
Yes, 'twill live
In record, that fierce fight, and radiance give
Through Time's dense mist, when lesser stars grow dim,
And though the untimely ermine silenced him,
The clear and caustic critic, though no more,
That rhetoric, like the Greek's, now " fulmined o'er"
Democracy's low flats, but silent sank
In those dull precincts dedicate to Bank ;
Still its remembered echoes shall resound,
For he with honour, if not love, was crowned,
Whom those he served, and " slated," like to know,
Less as Lord Sherbrooke than as " Bobby Lowe."
LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.
Dear Mr. Punch. " The Yacht" Jersey.
You will see par mon adresse that I am encore une fois on
my travels! At present, in fact, the Channel Islands " claim me for
their own," as Lord Marmion says in Bclwer Litton. Pardonnez-
moi, if I occasionally lapse into French, for vraiment il y a such a
mixture of tongues that we might almost rename them the Babel
Islands—even my noted Parisian accent is scarcely understood.
C'est etonnant! and were it not for Eulalie, I should quelquefois
be in a fix agacant.
I told you in my last letter that I should be unable to brighten
Goodwood with the sunshine of my smile. But what is Goodwood
compared to racing at Jersey f Indeed, it was unfortunate for Good-
wood that the meetings clashed, and it should be avoided in future.
It has been blowing hard for some few days, and we had rather a
rough passage, and though the yacht was not a wreck, / was I am
afraid, in spite of the compliment paid me by Mr. Spoopendyke K.
Sidney, the well-known American Four Millionnaire, who said he
thought me "a real smart sailor!"—and he was very near the
truth, too, for the saltwater got in my eyes and they did smart; but
I resolutely declined to go " below," and hung on to " the shrouds."
I think they called them—a most unpleasantly suggestive name, when
you are dreading a watery grave every moment. However, we got
to our "moorings " at last (as Othello would call them), and having
chartered the inevitable " sharry-bang" started for the course.
_ By the way, en passant (I have not dropped into French for a long
time), what a strange thing it is, that the moment you land at one of
these islands you are immediately advised to proceed to another.
I was told at Guernsey that I must on no account miss seeing
" Sark," so I didn't—but was careful to observe it from a distance—
for really, in these days of eruptions one doesn't know what might
happen on such avolcanic-looking island!—and besides, I always carry
a pocket " iEtna " in my dressing-bag, so that I can have a flare-up
whenever I like. But let me see, where was I ? Oh, yes! sharry-
banging out to the races at Jersey. Well, really now, judging from
some of the lovely toilettes worn by the Jersey " Daughters of Eve "
(an old-established journalistic expression, and to my mind, most
idiotic and insulting—we are not all tempting !)—they are in front
of a good many of their Main-land sisters!—and the Hospitality—
(always a capital H, I believe)—shown by the 1st South Lancashire
Regiment is not to be beaten anywhere! The Lawn was well
patronised, and the enthusiasm was tremendous—seven events—all
over two miles, and two over hurdles, where one came down! What
more could you want—together with a glorious day, "and all the
fun for the Fair ! "
The great event of the day was "Her Majesty's Cup," for three
years' old and upwards—(one went downwards)—and it was won, for
the —th time in succession by Jersey Lily (I won't tell the exact
number of times, as it is rude to hint at a lady's age)—amid a scene
of excitement almost as big as the Eclipse at Sandown!—she was
"followed home "—(racing expression—patented)—by Lady West-
hill and Lady Steephill—so you see we were quite among the
haut-ton—though some of us had never heard of these aristocratic
thorough-breds before!
And so the Jersey Goodwood is once more over!—and we have again
from the springy turf of the Solent—(a most insecure footing)—caught
in the flush of the sunlight the gleaming white sails of the vessels on
the Goodwood Downs!—(this may sound, a little wrong—but I prefer
it to using a more stereotyped and matter-of-fact description).
As to the racing of next week—I have not the faintest idea where
it is, what it is, or why it is!—but such trifles do not disturb me,
and I will proceed to my usual prophetic utterance on the event of
the week! Yours devotedly, Lady Gay.
The Bank Holiday Stakes Selection.
In the sweet month of August no longer I choose,
By the river or seaside to tarry !
Preferring, in depths of the country to lose
All chance of encounter with " 'Arry ! "
"Minime!" — The other day the Speaker admitted that he
couldn't remember the Latin for "Yes." What a lot of time,
trouble, and money our own countrymen would be spared could they
only occasionally forget that there is such a word as "Yes" in
English! How many marriages, which have ended in misery, would
never have come off but for this mischievous monosyllable! But
to continue this is to be Hamletising, and to consider too curiously.
For the Speaker to own it, stamps him as the genuine article, a
Candid Peel.