DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16515#0252
256
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
HKHIl DORLElt.
* The above legend is taken from a notice to correspondents, which appeared in
The Times of the 8th instant. By that it appears that a correspondent was riisap-
Herr Dobler, I wot—
'Tis strange, is it not ?—
Has lit their wicks with a pistol-shot.
out
Now hands and voices are sounding;
And the conjuror bows with aspect proud
And the ladies admire his placid phiz,
And say, " What a nice-looking man he is !
But there is one in that multitude
Who does not join in their plaudits rude.
Like iron his face,
Upon it no trace
Of mirth, or wonder, or low grimace.
His glaring eve does he ever fix
On yonder row of candlesticks,—
And Dobler the great may vainly try,
Some two hours afterwards, the hoofs of Jawbrahim's dromedary were
heard clattering over the paving stones of the court, and the king going
to the window, had the satisfaction of beholding that renowned chief of
the Syncreteeks pacing solemnly by the side of the animal which he led
by the bridle.
" May I never see his ugly nose again ! " cried Poof-Allee ; "the rascal's
unconscionable poem must have weighed twenty guineas at least."
At this moment, and looking rather frightened, in came Samboo. He
made a low salaam to his master and restored to him his private signet.
" How much did the old wretch's poem weigh ?': asked Poof-Allee.
" 0, him weighed a berry good deal," answered Samboo, still salaaming;
" but massa, treasurer had a plenty of money, and him paid him poet, and
sent him about him business."
" Did it weigh twenty guineas ? "
"0 berry much more—him poem in two columns."
'* Two columns ? two volumes you mean, you black antigrammarian.
''Well, two bolumns two columns, two columns two bolumns, him all For his birds may fly,
de same." And his cards float by,
'• How do you mean, ruffian ?" shrieked the monarch, when, with some But he cannot stir that glassy eye.
hesitation the negro handed him a paper, thus written :— Herr Dobler lends a rabbit in half,
"Sire,—I acknowledge to have received from your treasurer, Cashee Beg, And ear'' 'la'^ 's living,
the sum of two hundred and fifty-five billions four hundred and nineteen And kicking and thriving,
thousand nine hundred and six tomauns, two rupees, and sixpence, being But yonder grim stranger will not laugh,
the weight of my splendid epic poem, ' The Descent into Jericho,' recited Glaring still at the lights is he,
to your Majesty last night. And he lowly murmurs : " One, two, three.
" And lest, Sire, you should be astonished that such a sum should b
for a poem (for which, in fact, no money can pav), learn, that I had no And the people near him begin to shrink :
paper whatever to write (which would have rendered the bargain a much There is something rather queer, they chink ;
cheaper one to your Majesty), but that I was compelled, at much pains,
to engrave my epic upon two pillars which I found in the ruins of Perse-
polis, and which now lie in your august treasury.
" I have the honour to be, Sire,
" With the utmost respect,
" Your Majesty's most faithful Servant,
" Jawbrahim-Herawdee Syncreteek."
Fancy how poor Samboo Beg was bambooed that night ! how the
treasurer was fustigated, how all the clerks of the treasury were horsed
and swished !—
GENERAL ALARM.
Perhaps it's Herr Dbbler's familiar elf,
Perhaps it may be Old Nick himself.
Who is the stranger of mystic mien ?—■
Harsh sounds the stranger's voice, "Sixteen.
Bottles change,
Kerchiefs range,
Hung with lockets,
Into pockets.
Anything like the rage of Poof-Allee was never known since the days Dobler does such feats of wonder,
when Achilles Khan grew furious whilst laying siege to the town of Shah Plaudits sound like peals of thunder.
Priam. As for Jawbrahim-Herawdee, he returned safely among the
Syncreteeks, and spent his money in publishing several immortal works But that grave mysterious ONE,
which have rendered his name beloved and celebrated; and never after Plaudits,—laughter,—he has none,
that did Poof-Allee-Shah pretend to be a man of letters, or try to swindle What to him are magic tricks ?
poor literary gentlemen any more. Low he murmurs : " Thirty-six '"
This story is taken from the ancient Chronicles, written in the Armenian And some feel a chill,
language, and sung by the shepherds of the Caucasus as they drive down And grow rather ill ,
their flocks to water by the Red Sea. Praise be to Mahomet and the They cannot bear that look so still,
twelve Imaums ! ' And little bovs shy,
—------------——:-- And little girls cry,
For thev feel prettv sure that "Bogie" is by.
HERR DOBLER AND THE CANDLE-COUNTER. Who is the stranger that looks so straight?
a legend of st. james's*. the stku,se1' m™ls : " Flight "
But that eye has lost its chilly glare,
The curtain rises—the stage is dark,— I And a flash of joy is sparkling there ;
The folks are silent all—when, hark ! And that iron brow is at last unbent,
A pistol sounds, and they start with fright, And over those features plays mild content :
And the row of candles is all alight. While, list !—through the crowd a whisper ran,
" What joy has befallen the wondrous man?"
....... I ja Silence at last the stranger breaks,
1 ^^S**fek. And thus in accents soft he speaks :—
HrS " T.n.lip. and Gentlemen.—past a doubt
Ladies and Gentlemen,—past a doubt—
-LiIl'iIijj^ih 1 A*^g. I've found the august Herr Dobler out.
He tells us the candles he lights are two hundred —
And, Ladies' and Gentlemen,greatly you've wondered
But I stood alone,
1 was not to be done ;
I counted the candles one by one,
And I swear by all the saints in heaven.
The number of lights are but eighty-seven P
pointed at finding Dobler, of St. James's, light only eightv-seven candles with a pistol,
When he had proposed to light tWO hundred. London ; Bradbury S. Evans, rr,n-erS, u nltefriar.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
HKHIl DORLElt.
* The above legend is taken from a notice to correspondents, which appeared in
The Times of the 8th instant. By that it appears that a correspondent was riisap-
Herr Dobler, I wot—
'Tis strange, is it not ?—
Has lit their wicks with a pistol-shot.
out
Now hands and voices are sounding;
And the conjuror bows with aspect proud
And the ladies admire his placid phiz,
And say, " What a nice-looking man he is !
But there is one in that multitude
Who does not join in their plaudits rude.
Like iron his face,
Upon it no trace
Of mirth, or wonder, or low grimace.
His glaring eve does he ever fix
On yonder row of candlesticks,—
And Dobler the great may vainly try,
Some two hours afterwards, the hoofs of Jawbrahim's dromedary were
heard clattering over the paving stones of the court, and the king going
to the window, had the satisfaction of beholding that renowned chief of
the Syncreteeks pacing solemnly by the side of the animal which he led
by the bridle.
" May I never see his ugly nose again ! " cried Poof-Allee ; "the rascal's
unconscionable poem must have weighed twenty guineas at least."
At this moment, and looking rather frightened, in came Samboo. He
made a low salaam to his master and restored to him his private signet.
" How much did the old wretch's poem weigh ?': asked Poof-Allee.
" 0, him weighed a berry good deal," answered Samboo, still salaaming;
" but massa, treasurer had a plenty of money, and him paid him poet, and
sent him about him business."
" Did it weigh twenty guineas ? "
"0 berry much more—him poem in two columns."
'* Two columns ? two volumes you mean, you black antigrammarian.
''Well, two bolumns two columns, two columns two bolumns, him all For his birds may fly,
de same." And his cards float by,
'• How do you mean, ruffian ?" shrieked the monarch, when, with some But he cannot stir that glassy eye.
hesitation the negro handed him a paper, thus written :— Herr Dobler lends a rabbit in half,
"Sire,—I acknowledge to have received from your treasurer, Cashee Beg, And ear'' 'la'^ 's living,
the sum of two hundred and fifty-five billions four hundred and nineteen And kicking and thriving,
thousand nine hundred and six tomauns, two rupees, and sixpence, being But yonder grim stranger will not laugh,
the weight of my splendid epic poem, ' The Descent into Jericho,' recited Glaring still at the lights is he,
to your Majesty last night. And he lowly murmurs : " One, two, three.
" And lest, Sire, you should be astonished that such a sum should b
for a poem (for which, in fact, no money can pav), learn, that I had no And the people near him begin to shrink :
paper whatever to write (which would have rendered the bargain a much There is something rather queer, they chink ;
cheaper one to your Majesty), but that I was compelled, at much pains,
to engrave my epic upon two pillars which I found in the ruins of Perse-
polis, and which now lie in your august treasury.
" I have the honour to be, Sire,
" With the utmost respect,
" Your Majesty's most faithful Servant,
" Jawbrahim-Herawdee Syncreteek."
Fancy how poor Samboo Beg was bambooed that night ! how the
treasurer was fustigated, how all the clerks of the treasury were horsed
and swished !—
GENERAL ALARM.
Perhaps it's Herr Dbbler's familiar elf,
Perhaps it may be Old Nick himself.
Who is the stranger of mystic mien ?—■
Harsh sounds the stranger's voice, "Sixteen.
Bottles change,
Kerchiefs range,
Hung with lockets,
Into pockets.
Anything like the rage of Poof-Allee was never known since the days Dobler does such feats of wonder,
when Achilles Khan grew furious whilst laying siege to the town of Shah Plaudits sound like peals of thunder.
Priam. As for Jawbrahim-Herawdee, he returned safely among the
Syncreteeks, and spent his money in publishing several immortal works But that grave mysterious ONE,
which have rendered his name beloved and celebrated; and never after Plaudits,—laughter,—he has none,
that did Poof-Allee-Shah pretend to be a man of letters, or try to swindle What to him are magic tricks ?
poor literary gentlemen any more. Low he murmurs : " Thirty-six '"
This story is taken from the ancient Chronicles, written in the Armenian And some feel a chill,
language, and sung by the shepherds of the Caucasus as they drive down And grow rather ill ,
their flocks to water by the Red Sea. Praise be to Mahomet and the They cannot bear that look so still,
twelve Imaums ! ' And little bovs shy,
—------------——:-- And little girls cry,
For thev feel prettv sure that "Bogie" is by.
HERR DOBLER AND THE CANDLE-COUNTER. Who is the stranger that looks so straight?
a legend of st. james's*. the stku,se1' m™ls : " Flight "
But that eye has lost its chilly glare,
The curtain rises—the stage is dark,— I And a flash of joy is sparkling there ;
The folks are silent all—when, hark ! And that iron brow is at last unbent,
A pistol sounds, and they start with fright, And over those features plays mild content :
And the row of candles is all alight. While, list !—through the crowd a whisper ran,
" What joy has befallen the wondrous man?"
....... I ja Silence at last the stranger breaks,
1 ^^S**fek. And thus in accents soft he speaks :—
HrS " T.n.lip. and Gentlemen.—past a doubt
Ladies and Gentlemen,—past a doubt—
-LiIl'iIijj^ih 1 A*^g. I've found the august Herr Dobler out.
He tells us the candles he lights are two hundred —
And, Ladies' and Gentlemen,greatly you've wondered
But I stood alone,
1 was not to be done ;
I counted the candles one by one,
And I swear by all the saints in heaven.
The number of lights are but eighty-seven P
pointed at finding Dobler, of St. James's, light only eightv-seven candles with a pistol,
When he had proposed to light tWO hundred. London ; Bradbury S. Evans, rr,n-erS, u nltefriar.