DOI issue:
Punch's Almanack for 1881
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17773#0008
PUNCH’S ALMANACK FOR 1881
December 13, 1880.
SPARKLERS.
{Being short dining-out Stories, carefully
selected by our Own Out - and- Out
Diner.)
The peculiar fancy the Duke of
Cambridge has for turning up
unexpectedly in odd places — a
fancy which he is never so fond
of indulging as during the height
of the dull season—led him, the
other morning, quite by chance,
into a capital bit of repartee.
Having determined suddenly to
see the sun rise from the top of
the Duke of York’s Column, he
found himself inside the cage that
crowns the monument, whiling
away the few hours that precede
the dawn naturally enough over a
little political and social gossip
with the custodian on duty. The
conversation happening to turn on
the Prince’s recent acceptance of
the presidency of the yachting
interest, the official, looking hard
at his august visitor, said, re-
spectfully, “Your Royal Highness
professes to like a canter in the
Row at this time of year. I
should have thought you would
have found a more agreeable Ryde
■opposite Spithead.” The Duke
■smiled, looked thoughtfully for a
few moments, and then pointing
rfco the milk-stall beneath, quietly
■replied, “You don’t understand,
my good man. What pleases me
best is to lounge here comfortably
in sight of Cows.” When this mot
got down to the Solent, the Com-
modore, who chanced to be on the
■spot, and is never slow in recog-
nising a really good thing when
he hears it, had every flag in the
place run up half-mast high for a
couple of days.
THE LAST RESOURCE.
Short-siglUed Customer. “ Hum: !—Then you don’t think you’ve any stronger than
THESE ? 2?2EY ’re HARDLY-”
[He had tried every pair in the shop. Loolt at the pile on the counter.
Short-tempered Optician. “ Pom my Word, Sir, then I don’t see what there is for
you but a Dogan’string—{emphatically)—Dog and String, Sir ! ”
MOORE MODERNISED.
“ The Plate that Once
through Fashion’s Halls.”
(Air :—“ The Harp that once through
Tara’s Halls.”)
The plate that once through
Fashion’s halls
iEsthetic rapture shed,
Now hangs upon the kitchen walls
Its ancient glory fled.
So pass the fads of former days.
So Fashion’s whim is o’er.
Old China that was once the craze
Now “ fetches ” fools no more.
No more State-chiefs and ladies
bright
The Crockery-mania takes;
Eesty Blue - China breaks, — no
fright
The tale of ruin wakes.
Thus Fashion plays queer tricks
with taste,
Not long Art-hobbies live :
For what their thousands Srnnphs
would waste
Not twopence now they’d give.
(.N.B.—The poet—teste Carlyle—
is also seer, and this poem is
prophetic.')
Thought for the First of
April.—The return of the Anni-
versary of All Fools may serve to
awaken the reflection that the
■worst of all our fellow-creatures’
follies are those which put our-
selves to inconvenience and ex-
pense.
Classic Jotting for July.—
Dog Days, why so called ? Cur,
why?
BO’SEN JAMES AND THE GREAT SEA-SARPINT.
Three hold Sailormen aR went a-sailin’
Out into the Northern Sea,
And they steered Nor'-West by three-quarters
West Till they came to
Norwegee.
They was three
bold men as
ever you’d see.
And these was
their Christian
names :
There was long-
leggedBiLLand
Curly Dick,
And the third
was Bo’sen
James
And they went to
catch the Great
Sea-Sarpint,
Which they wished
for to stop his
games.
Long - legged Bill was in the main-top a-
watchin’
For Sea-Sarpints, starn and grim,
When through the lee-scupper bold Curly Dick
peeped,
And he says, says he, “That’s him ! ”
Then quick down the rattlins the long-legged ’un
slid,—
Which pale as a shrimp was he,—
While Dick he rolled forrard into the Cuddy,
Where Bo’sen James happened to he,
For jAMEShe was what you’d call the ship’s Cook,
And he was a-makin’ the tea.
j Which his head’s as big as the Jolly-boat,
And his mouth’s as wide as the Thames,
And his mane’s as long as the best bower cable,
And his eyes like blazin’ flames—
And he’s cornin’ aboard right through the lee-
scupper ! ”
“ Belay there! ” says Bo’sen James.
Then says Curly Dick, says he, “ Bless my
peepers ! ”
(Which his words was not quite those,)
“ Here’s the Great Sea-Sarpint a-comin’ aboard,
With a wart upon his nose 1
Howsever, bold Bo’sen
he went down to
leeward,
While Curly Dick
shook with funk ;
And Long-legged Bill
he hid in the
Caboose,
A-yellin’ “We’ll all
be sunk ! ”
You might a’most
heard a marlin-
spike drop
As Bo’sen James he
looked out.
Then down through
the scupper his
head it went,
And there came a
tremenjous shout,
“ Sea-Sarpint he blowed, ye darned landlubbers !
| Who’s left this here mop hangin’ out ? ”
ONE OF BEN TROYATO’S.
Everyone who is anyone in the theatrical
world knows Mr. Dion Boucicault by sight.
Raven locks, jet moustache, and a beaming eye
like Lesbia, or, to be strictly accurate, he has the
advantage of Lesbia in possessing two beaming
eyes. Judge, then, the surprise of an acquaint-
ance of his coming across him suddenly, on the
stage of the Adelphi, with grey hair and white
moustache.
“ Heavens ! that can’t be Dion ! ” exclaimed
the visitor.
“Yes,” returned the eminent Dramatist and
Actor, “ it’s a lot of Dye on.”
In fact, he was just going on the stage in a
new character, and was “ made up.”
“ ‘ Made up ! ’ Like what ? ” Why—like this
story. [Exit.
Thing not generally imagined. — That
Rowland’s Macassar Oil is the best dressing for
salad.
December 13, 1880.
SPARKLERS.
{Being short dining-out Stories, carefully
selected by our Own Out - and- Out
Diner.)
The peculiar fancy the Duke of
Cambridge has for turning up
unexpectedly in odd places — a
fancy which he is never so fond
of indulging as during the height
of the dull season—led him, the
other morning, quite by chance,
into a capital bit of repartee.
Having determined suddenly to
see the sun rise from the top of
the Duke of York’s Column, he
found himself inside the cage that
crowns the monument, whiling
away the few hours that precede
the dawn naturally enough over a
little political and social gossip
with the custodian on duty. The
conversation happening to turn on
the Prince’s recent acceptance of
the presidency of the yachting
interest, the official, looking hard
at his august visitor, said, re-
spectfully, “Your Royal Highness
professes to like a canter in the
Row at this time of year. I
should have thought you would
have found a more agreeable Ryde
■opposite Spithead.” The Duke
■smiled, looked thoughtfully for a
few moments, and then pointing
rfco the milk-stall beneath, quietly
■replied, “You don’t understand,
my good man. What pleases me
best is to lounge here comfortably
in sight of Cows.” When this mot
got down to the Solent, the Com-
modore, who chanced to be on the
■spot, and is never slow in recog-
nising a really good thing when
he hears it, had every flag in the
place run up half-mast high for a
couple of days.
THE LAST RESOURCE.
Short-siglUed Customer. “ Hum: !—Then you don’t think you’ve any stronger than
THESE ? 2?2EY ’re HARDLY-”
[He had tried every pair in the shop. Loolt at the pile on the counter.
Short-tempered Optician. “ Pom my Word, Sir, then I don’t see what there is for
you but a Dogan’string—{emphatically)—Dog and String, Sir ! ”
MOORE MODERNISED.
“ The Plate that Once
through Fashion’s Halls.”
(Air :—“ The Harp that once through
Tara’s Halls.”)
The plate that once through
Fashion’s halls
iEsthetic rapture shed,
Now hangs upon the kitchen walls
Its ancient glory fled.
So pass the fads of former days.
So Fashion’s whim is o’er.
Old China that was once the craze
Now “ fetches ” fools no more.
No more State-chiefs and ladies
bright
The Crockery-mania takes;
Eesty Blue - China breaks, — no
fright
The tale of ruin wakes.
Thus Fashion plays queer tricks
with taste,
Not long Art-hobbies live :
For what their thousands Srnnphs
would waste
Not twopence now they’d give.
(.N.B.—The poet—teste Carlyle—
is also seer, and this poem is
prophetic.')
Thought for the First of
April.—The return of the Anni-
versary of All Fools may serve to
awaken the reflection that the
■worst of all our fellow-creatures’
follies are those which put our-
selves to inconvenience and ex-
pense.
Classic Jotting for July.—
Dog Days, why so called ? Cur,
why?
BO’SEN JAMES AND THE GREAT SEA-SARPINT.
Three hold Sailormen aR went a-sailin’
Out into the Northern Sea,
And they steered Nor'-West by three-quarters
West Till they came to
Norwegee.
They was three
bold men as
ever you’d see.
And these was
their Christian
names :
There was long-
leggedBiLLand
Curly Dick,
And the third
was Bo’sen
James
And they went to
catch the Great
Sea-Sarpint,
Which they wished
for to stop his
games.
Long - legged Bill was in the main-top a-
watchin’
For Sea-Sarpints, starn and grim,
When through the lee-scupper bold Curly Dick
peeped,
And he says, says he, “That’s him ! ”
Then quick down the rattlins the long-legged ’un
slid,—
Which pale as a shrimp was he,—
While Dick he rolled forrard into the Cuddy,
Where Bo’sen James happened to he,
For jAMEShe was what you’d call the ship’s Cook,
And he was a-makin’ the tea.
j Which his head’s as big as the Jolly-boat,
And his mouth’s as wide as the Thames,
And his mane’s as long as the best bower cable,
And his eyes like blazin’ flames—
And he’s cornin’ aboard right through the lee-
scupper ! ”
“ Belay there! ” says Bo’sen James.
Then says Curly Dick, says he, “ Bless my
peepers ! ”
(Which his words was not quite those,)
“ Here’s the Great Sea-Sarpint a-comin’ aboard,
With a wart upon his nose 1
Howsever, bold Bo’sen
he went down to
leeward,
While Curly Dick
shook with funk ;
And Long-legged Bill
he hid in the
Caboose,
A-yellin’ “We’ll all
be sunk ! ”
You might a’most
heard a marlin-
spike drop
As Bo’sen James he
looked out.
Then down through
the scupper his
head it went,
And there came a
tremenjous shout,
“ Sea-Sarpint he blowed, ye darned landlubbers !
| Who’s left this here mop hangin’ out ? ”
ONE OF BEN TROYATO’S.
Everyone who is anyone in the theatrical
world knows Mr. Dion Boucicault by sight.
Raven locks, jet moustache, and a beaming eye
like Lesbia, or, to be strictly accurate, he has the
advantage of Lesbia in possessing two beaming
eyes. Judge, then, the surprise of an acquaint-
ance of his coming across him suddenly, on the
stage of the Adelphi, with grey hair and white
moustache.
“ Heavens ! that can’t be Dion ! ” exclaimed
the visitor.
“Yes,” returned the eminent Dramatist and
Actor, “ it’s a lot of Dye on.”
In fact, he was just going on the stage in a
new character, and was “ made up.”
“ ‘ Made up ! ’ Like what ? ” Why—like this
story. [Exit.
Thing not generally imagined. — That
Rowland’s Macassar Oil is the best dressing for
salad.