DOI Heft:
November 19, 1892
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17694#0239
234 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [November 19, 1892.
"SAFE BIND, SAEE FIND!"
P. C. John Bull loquitur :—
Keep them ? Right my Gallic friend !
'Tis my duty, sad but binding.
Free the Wolf—to what good end ?
Loose the Snake—what vantage finding ?
Faction flusters, Cant appeals
In the name of sham-humanity.
Right, not wrath, my bosom steels;
Softness here were sheer insanity.
TO A MODEL YOUNG LADY.
[It is reported that it is a common custom in
Paris, amongst ladies of position, to pay for their
dresses by wearing them in public, and letting it be
known from whom they obtained them.]
Mr dear, I like your pretty dress,
It suits your figure to a T.
I'm free to own that I confess,
It's just the kind of dress for me.
Yet will you kindly tell me, dear,
Not merely was the costume made for
Or rather of the dress you wore, [meant,
For though, maybe, no harm or hurt ia
Remember, dearest, I implore,
I ivonH be fond of an advertisement!
You've my warmest sym-
pathy, [Terror '
Victim of the new Red
My caged Ravachols to
free [of error.
Were the maddest kind
Prison walls and dungeon
wards [gaoler,
Love I not, I'm no born
But just Law which Free-
dom guards
Must ignore anarchic
railer?,
Blind offence of men half
mad
'Neath the goad of brute
oppression,
Blunderings of fierce fools
of fad,
Demoniacal possession
Of red rage at law unjust,
I can check with calm
compassion;
But must firmly crush to
dust
Murder—in the newest
fashion.
Dynamite as Freedom's
friend ?
'lis the foul fiend's
latest juggle.
We must fight it to the end,
Firm, unfaltering in this
struggle.
Mere "Political Offence,"
All this murder, mash-
ing, maiming ?
'Tis a pitiful pretence,
Honour - blinding, wis-
dom-shaming.
Indiscriminate, ruthless
raid!
Mad chance - medly of
_ disaster! [aid,
Sophistry, the fiend's sworn
Never better served its
master
Than in calling such hell-
birth [human,—
A new gospel, holy,
Blasting as with maniac
mirth
Blameless men, and
guiltless women!
A TEST OF TRUE GENTILITY.
"What's the new Lodger like, Mariarann ?"
"He's no Gentleman1 whatever he's like!"
"No Gentleman I What's he been and done?"
"Why, he see me a-carryin' up the Coals, an' he says, 'I'm afraid
that Scuttle's too heavy for you,' 'e says,—'pray let me carry it 1' 'e
says. An' 'e up and carries it isself, just like a Footman I"
Yourself alone—but is it clear
And certain that your dress is paid
for?
Mistake me not. I do not dread
That you '11 think fit to run away
And leave the bill unpaid. Instead,
I fear that you. will never pay,
Because no bill will ever come;
And since when you decide to
toddle
Abroad, you '11 go amidst a hum
Where to Place HiM.-Why ought the 0f praise for Madame'8 l™ely Model
future Poet-Laureate, whoever he may be, to Oh ! promise me that when I read
occupy rooms over or close to the stables at! My paper (as I often do),
Buckingham Palace ? Because he would j I shall not with remorseless speed
then be inspired by the Royal Mews. See endless pars in praise of you,
No ! The Dynamiter's creed—
Though hate swagger, though cant
snivel—
Fires no " patriotic" deed;
Base-born, all its ends are evil.
Let caged wolves and tigers free ?
What more wicked, what absurder ?
Amnesty to Anarchy
Means encouragement to Murder ?
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
" Days with Sir Roger de Coverlet/!'"
exclaimed the Baron, on seeing the charming
little book brought out at this season by
Messrs.Macmillan. "Delightful! Immortal!
Ever fresh! Welcome, with or without illus-
tration; some of Mr. Thom-
son's would not be missed.
There is a breezy, frank,
boyish air about the " Re-
miniscences " of our great
Baritone, Charles Sant-
ley, which is as a tonic—a
tonic sol-fa—to the reader
a-weary of the many Remi-
niscences of these latter
days. Santley, who seems
to have made his way by
stolid pluck, and without
very much luck, may be
considered as the musical
Mark Tapley, ready to look
always on the sunny side.
With a few rare excep-
tions, he appears to have
taken life very easily.
Muchly doth the Baron
like Mr. Hall Caine's story
of Captain Davy's Honey-
moon, only, short as it is,
with greater effect it might
have been shorter.
The Baron, being in a
reading humour, tried The
Veiled Hand, by Freder-
ick Wicks, a name awk-
ward for anyone unable
to manage his " r's."
What Fwedewickwicks'
idea of A Veiled Hand
is, the Baron has tried
to ascertain, but without
avail. Why not a Gloved
Hand ? Hands do not wear
veils, any more than our
old friends, the Hollow
Hearts, wear masks. Hands
take "vails," but " that is
another story." However,
The Veiled Hand induced
sleep, so the Baron extin-
guished both candles and
Wicks at the same time,
and slumbered.
I have also had time to
read An Exquisite Fool,
published by Osgood,
McIlvaine & Co., and
written by Nobody, No-
body's name being men-
tioned as being the author.
It begins well, but it is
an old, old tale—Blanche
Amory and the Chevalier, and so forth—and
as Sir Charles Coldstream observed, when
he looked down the crater of Mount Yesuvius,
" There's nothing in it."
Most interesting is a short paper on " The
Green Room of the Comedie Francaise," in
the English Illustrated Magazine for this
month, pleasantly written by Mr, Frederick
Hawkins,—Hawkins with an aspirate, not
" 'Enery 'Awkins" at present associated
with " A Chevalier " in London. Mr.
Hawkins tells many amusing anecdotes, and
gives a capital sketch of M. Rene Mole.
But the article would be damaged by ex-
tracts. Therefore, " Tolle, lege,,y says yours
and everybody's, very truly,
The Baron de Book-Worms.
"SAFE BIND, SAEE FIND!"
P. C. John Bull loquitur :—
Keep them ? Right my Gallic friend !
'Tis my duty, sad but binding.
Free the Wolf—to what good end ?
Loose the Snake—what vantage finding ?
Faction flusters, Cant appeals
In the name of sham-humanity.
Right, not wrath, my bosom steels;
Softness here were sheer insanity.
TO A MODEL YOUNG LADY.
[It is reported that it is a common custom in
Paris, amongst ladies of position, to pay for their
dresses by wearing them in public, and letting it be
known from whom they obtained them.]
Mr dear, I like your pretty dress,
It suits your figure to a T.
I'm free to own that I confess,
It's just the kind of dress for me.
Yet will you kindly tell me, dear,
Not merely was the costume made for
Or rather of the dress you wore, [meant,
For though, maybe, no harm or hurt ia
Remember, dearest, I implore,
I ivonH be fond of an advertisement!
You've my warmest sym-
pathy, [Terror '
Victim of the new Red
My caged Ravachols to
free [of error.
Were the maddest kind
Prison walls and dungeon
wards [gaoler,
Love I not, I'm no born
But just Law which Free-
dom guards
Must ignore anarchic
railer?,
Blind offence of men half
mad
'Neath the goad of brute
oppression,
Blunderings of fierce fools
of fad,
Demoniacal possession
Of red rage at law unjust,
I can check with calm
compassion;
But must firmly crush to
dust
Murder—in the newest
fashion.
Dynamite as Freedom's
friend ?
'lis the foul fiend's
latest juggle.
We must fight it to the end,
Firm, unfaltering in this
struggle.
Mere "Political Offence,"
All this murder, mash-
ing, maiming ?
'Tis a pitiful pretence,
Honour - blinding, wis-
dom-shaming.
Indiscriminate, ruthless
raid!
Mad chance - medly of
_ disaster! [aid,
Sophistry, the fiend's sworn
Never better served its
master
Than in calling such hell-
birth [human,—
A new gospel, holy,
Blasting as with maniac
mirth
Blameless men, and
guiltless women!
A TEST OF TRUE GENTILITY.
"What's the new Lodger like, Mariarann ?"
"He's no Gentleman1 whatever he's like!"
"No Gentleman I What's he been and done?"
"Why, he see me a-carryin' up the Coals, an' he says, 'I'm afraid
that Scuttle's too heavy for you,' 'e says,—'pray let me carry it 1' 'e
says. An' 'e up and carries it isself, just like a Footman I"
Yourself alone—but is it clear
And certain that your dress is paid
for?
Mistake me not. I do not dread
That you '11 think fit to run away
And leave the bill unpaid. Instead,
I fear that you. will never pay,
Because no bill will ever come;
And since when you decide to
toddle
Abroad, you '11 go amidst a hum
Where to Place HiM.-Why ought the 0f praise for Madame'8 l™ely Model
future Poet-Laureate, whoever he may be, to Oh ! promise me that when I read
occupy rooms over or close to the stables at! My paper (as I often do),
Buckingham Palace ? Because he would j I shall not with remorseless speed
then be inspired by the Royal Mews. See endless pars in praise of you,
No ! The Dynamiter's creed—
Though hate swagger, though cant
snivel—
Fires no " patriotic" deed;
Base-born, all its ends are evil.
Let caged wolves and tigers free ?
What more wicked, what absurder ?
Amnesty to Anarchy
Means encouragement to Murder ?
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
" Days with Sir Roger de Coverlet/!'"
exclaimed the Baron, on seeing the charming
little book brought out at this season by
Messrs.Macmillan. "Delightful! Immortal!
Ever fresh! Welcome, with or without illus-
tration; some of Mr. Thom-
son's would not be missed.
There is a breezy, frank,
boyish air about the " Re-
miniscences " of our great
Baritone, Charles Sant-
ley, which is as a tonic—a
tonic sol-fa—to the reader
a-weary of the many Remi-
niscences of these latter
days. Santley, who seems
to have made his way by
stolid pluck, and without
very much luck, may be
considered as the musical
Mark Tapley, ready to look
always on the sunny side.
With a few rare excep-
tions, he appears to have
taken life very easily.
Muchly doth the Baron
like Mr. Hall Caine's story
of Captain Davy's Honey-
moon, only, short as it is,
with greater effect it might
have been shorter.
The Baron, being in a
reading humour, tried The
Veiled Hand, by Freder-
ick Wicks, a name awk-
ward for anyone unable
to manage his " r's."
What Fwedewickwicks'
idea of A Veiled Hand
is, the Baron has tried
to ascertain, but without
avail. Why not a Gloved
Hand ? Hands do not wear
veils, any more than our
old friends, the Hollow
Hearts, wear masks. Hands
take "vails," but " that is
another story." However,
The Veiled Hand induced
sleep, so the Baron extin-
guished both candles and
Wicks at the same time,
and slumbered.
I have also had time to
read An Exquisite Fool,
published by Osgood,
McIlvaine & Co., and
written by Nobody, No-
body's name being men-
tioned as being the author.
It begins well, but it is
an old, old tale—Blanche
Amory and the Chevalier, and so forth—and
as Sir Charles Coldstream observed, when
he looked down the crater of Mount Yesuvius,
" There's nothing in it."
Most interesting is a short paper on " The
Green Room of the Comedie Francaise," in
the English Illustrated Magazine for this
month, pleasantly written by Mr, Frederick
Hawkins,—Hawkins with an aspirate, not
" 'Enery 'Awkins" at present associated
with " A Chevalier " in London. Mr.
Hawkins tells many amusing anecdotes, and
gives a capital sketch of M. Rene Mole.
But the article would be damaged by ex-
tracts. Therefore, " Tolle, lege,,y says yours
and everybody's, very truly,
The Baron de Book-Worms.