DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16516#0190
^ PUNCH, OR' THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
SOME BORROWED FUN.
We are not often guilty of plagiarism ,- but there is an article in
the last number of Colbunrs New Monthly Magazine and Humourist,
which it has been enriched with, we apprehend, in the latter capacity,
bo irresistibly droll, that we cannot refrain from transferring its more
requisite points to our own pages. The "New Monthly" mil, we
doubt not, overlook our delinquency ; we belonging to a community i house ; not, however, without first having a "a regular fight" with
her; and his father being I'fcely to disapprove of the connexion, he-
begins to think seriously of murdering him.
At this ingenuous acknowledgement,
" I was much horrified," says the writer ; " and had unconsciously
made some gestures indicative of this feeling." These, we suppose,
were an eversion of the lower eyelid, and a conclusive movement of
the extended fingers, the thumb being applied to the tip of the nose ;
perhaps, also, the hand was jerked over the left shoulder.
Through the treachery of Ormond, he is turned out of his father's
which a writer in it denominates the small fry of literature :—him
self, of course, being one of its Leviathans.
the old gentleman. Afterwards, Mr. Ormond taunts him in his mis-
fortunes ; and he bites Mr. Ormond's throat ; in return for which, that
person chastises him. Further, he suspects the said Ormond of undue
attentions to his wife. His worst suspicions are confirmed ; and he
encounters his wronger in the street, on which occasion he indulges
in behaviour most divertinglv eccentric.
" Would you believe it ? all I did, was to stand and grin at him—
make faces at him—upon my soul."
Fast stealing the money, he goes and buys a pistol, wherewith to as-
sassinate the seducer. He watches his opportunity ; but just as he is
about to draw the fatal trigger, it occurs to him that shooting is too
good a death for such a villain. He is at length happily enabled to
' murder his enemy in his own way. He has joined a gang of illicit
double stout• distillers, and Ormond consummates his injuries by destroying the
stock-in-trade of Messrs. Erris and Co.; Mr. E. looking on at a dis-
The paper in question is one of a series entitled " Reminiscences tance, and praying to the devil for revenge,
of a Medical Student." It is not, we believe, a production of the " Then, in the silent thoughts of my own heart, I prayed to the
editor's : but it is almost as funny as anything that he has ever done, j fiend, that I felt was there at the time, that he would glut me to the
It embraces a confession made by an individual who has been brought teeth with vengeance, though I should perish with the surfeit." (!)
into an hospital in the south of Ireland, with his body crushed to i His orison is heard. Mr. Ormond, in trying to catch Mr. Erris,
pieces, to the house surgeon ; and the patient's death concludes it,
like the pop of a squib. How such a subject can be treated with
jocosity may at first sight appear puzzling ; but there is a region
adjoining the sublime, on which the horrible as closely borders.
Who does not laugh at the atrocities of Punch ?—(we do not mean
our own jokes) : and is not even the innocent mirth of infancy excited
by the fate of " Humpty Dumpty ?"
This remarkably rich " confession" is the story of a Mr. Erris,
whose pecuniary prospects and domestic bliss have been blasted by a
rogue of the name of Ormond : and who revenges himself on the
author of his wrongs, by dragging him at a cart's tail. Mr. Erris
himself is in a sort of retributive pickle.
"I found his whole body," says the ' Medical Student,' " to be one
mass of injury, shattered with many fractures. His spine was so
much bruised that he had lost all power and sense in his body and
extremities. Not a muscle could he move save those of the head and
face, and he lay upon his back, every now and then giving his head a
sudden jerk accompanied by a twitching grin, half ludicrous, half
fearful, but at any rate singularly unnatural in its expression. The
bones of his lower limbs were completely smashed, and his haunches
had been crushed together."
This, we imagine, is what Jonathan would call "an immortal smash."
The sufferer must have looked like Pantaloon after Mr. T. Mathews
has shot him out of the cannon. Presently, with pantomimic fidelity
to nature and common sense, he is made so far to recover, as to relate
his history, which he thus jauntily commences.
" Well," said he, in a ruminating way, " I don't care if I do tell you
a thing or two for a change : ... so come near, and I will give you a | This beats " Quos ego" into smithereens. But apart of the invective
after having destroyed his property, has the misfortune to be caught
by him ; at least, by his associates, who bind him hand and foot, and
thrust him into a vault. The narrator proceeds :—
" Let me see him, cried I; let me be sure of him. Two of them
immediately jumped into the vault and pushed him up through the
trap. He struggled much to avoid the sharp edges of the stones.
As his head and chest appeared through the aperture, Quin rushed
to him and dashed his fist with his whole force into his face."
This must have spoiled his beauty a little, and probably favoured
the production of the under-mentioned phenomena, which his coun-
tenance exhibited on his beholding the injured Erris.
"As soon as he saw me standing before him, his face, which had
before been pale with fear, grew actually greenish-yellow in colour.
Presently a flow of blood gushed to his face, and tlie red mingling with
the yellow produced a lirid lurid hue, a satisfying indication of the
thoughts that were passing in his mind."
Here a slight mistake, however, is made ; and an opportunity for a
good joke lost. Red and yellow make orange ; a cast of countenance
which would by no means have commended its possessor to the
mercy of wild Irishmen. But now for a capital passage.
"I stood and glared at him with all the luxury of triumphant
animosity, then going close to him—"
We should like to see a portrait of Mr. Erris as he appeared when
glaring at his victim. Next comes, perhaps, the finest instance of
the aposiopesis comical that we ever had the pleasure of laughing at :—
" Now ! I cried, now you "—(Here the narrator came out with a
torrent of imprecations altogether unsuitable for any pages).
report that will bang e'er a one in your writing-book
One is here reminded of the equivoque, " Lord Lovat walked and
talked half an hour after his head was cut off." Patients with serious com-
pound fractures are usually brought to an hospital in a state of col-
lapse. But the above case is a comic one.
He goes on to describe himself as " having been a wild young slip
of a lad," the son of a distiller, always drunk, and having, indeed, " no
recollection of perfect sobriety." His father was " a strictly moral
person." How his son must have preyed on his spirits ! He falls in
love with his father's house-maid, who was possessed of beauty which
rarely adorns the kitchen. It " was that of a Circe, tempting to evil :
there was something mystic, unholy in it." He "resolves on her
ruin;" but he has met with more than his match. "Alas!" he
exclaims, " it was like a wolf resolving on the destruction of a con-
strictor serpent." He might have said—like a Yankee trying to grin
down a rattle-snake ; though perhaps he would therefore scarcely
have altered the simile for the funnier. He is "the ruined party."
Mo robs liia papa's desk for her benefit, and (!) to please her, turns
< Catholic : not, as afterwards appears, that she is particularly anxious
1 or his soul's welfare. " A whispered sentence, a smile and a kiss over-
i urued all the arguments of Calvin, Knox, and Zuingle." He marries
is preserved ; the language is tolerably strong
"Now whose hands are you in? Whose turn is it now ? Hew
have you served me? Hearken, now, you black-hearted Judas-
think over what you have done to me, and reflect that witJi help from
the devil, I will take the full equivalent of it out of your body i
Before another suu rises, you will be murdered."
more 1 kile than welcome.
Mad wag ! Mr. Ormond is very near escaping, and his attempt so
to do gives occasion to the following comic incident.
" On darting across the vault to where the aperture gaped, we
found within it the body of our prisoner. His head was outside the
wall, and his shoulders'had stuck fast in the outer opening. With
a wild shout of joy we caught hold of his heel, and drew him
gradually in."
SOME BORROWED FUN.
We are not often guilty of plagiarism ,- but there is an article in
the last number of Colbunrs New Monthly Magazine and Humourist,
which it has been enriched with, we apprehend, in the latter capacity,
bo irresistibly droll, that we cannot refrain from transferring its more
requisite points to our own pages. The "New Monthly" mil, we
doubt not, overlook our delinquency ; we belonging to a community i house ; not, however, without first having a "a regular fight" with
her; and his father being I'fcely to disapprove of the connexion, he-
begins to think seriously of murdering him.
At this ingenuous acknowledgement,
" I was much horrified," says the writer ; " and had unconsciously
made some gestures indicative of this feeling." These, we suppose,
were an eversion of the lower eyelid, and a conclusive movement of
the extended fingers, the thumb being applied to the tip of the nose ;
perhaps, also, the hand was jerked over the left shoulder.
Through the treachery of Ormond, he is turned out of his father's
which a writer in it denominates the small fry of literature :—him
self, of course, being one of its Leviathans.
the old gentleman. Afterwards, Mr. Ormond taunts him in his mis-
fortunes ; and he bites Mr. Ormond's throat ; in return for which, that
person chastises him. Further, he suspects the said Ormond of undue
attentions to his wife. His worst suspicions are confirmed ; and he
encounters his wronger in the street, on which occasion he indulges
in behaviour most divertinglv eccentric.
" Would you believe it ? all I did, was to stand and grin at him—
make faces at him—upon my soul."
Fast stealing the money, he goes and buys a pistol, wherewith to as-
sassinate the seducer. He watches his opportunity ; but just as he is
about to draw the fatal trigger, it occurs to him that shooting is too
good a death for such a villain. He is at length happily enabled to
' murder his enemy in his own way. He has joined a gang of illicit
double stout• distillers, and Ormond consummates his injuries by destroying the
stock-in-trade of Messrs. Erris and Co.; Mr. E. looking on at a dis-
The paper in question is one of a series entitled " Reminiscences tance, and praying to the devil for revenge,
of a Medical Student." It is not, we believe, a production of the " Then, in the silent thoughts of my own heart, I prayed to the
editor's : but it is almost as funny as anything that he has ever done, j fiend, that I felt was there at the time, that he would glut me to the
It embraces a confession made by an individual who has been brought teeth with vengeance, though I should perish with the surfeit." (!)
into an hospital in the south of Ireland, with his body crushed to i His orison is heard. Mr. Ormond, in trying to catch Mr. Erris,
pieces, to the house surgeon ; and the patient's death concludes it,
like the pop of a squib. How such a subject can be treated with
jocosity may at first sight appear puzzling ; but there is a region
adjoining the sublime, on which the horrible as closely borders.
Who does not laugh at the atrocities of Punch ?—(we do not mean
our own jokes) : and is not even the innocent mirth of infancy excited
by the fate of " Humpty Dumpty ?"
This remarkably rich " confession" is the story of a Mr. Erris,
whose pecuniary prospects and domestic bliss have been blasted by a
rogue of the name of Ormond : and who revenges himself on the
author of his wrongs, by dragging him at a cart's tail. Mr. Erris
himself is in a sort of retributive pickle.
"I found his whole body," says the ' Medical Student,' " to be one
mass of injury, shattered with many fractures. His spine was so
much bruised that he had lost all power and sense in his body and
extremities. Not a muscle could he move save those of the head and
face, and he lay upon his back, every now and then giving his head a
sudden jerk accompanied by a twitching grin, half ludicrous, half
fearful, but at any rate singularly unnatural in its expression. The
bones of his lower limbs were completely smashed, and his haunches
had been crushed together."
This, we imagine, is what Jonathan would call "an immortal smash."
The sufferer must have looked like Pantaloon after Mr. T. Mathews
has shot him out of the cannon. Presently, with pantomimic fidelity
to nature and common sense, he is made so far to recover, as to relate
his history, which he thus jauntily commences.
" Well," said he, in a ruminating way, " I don't care if I do tell you
a thing or two for a change : ... so come near, and I will give you a | This beats " Quos ego" into smithereens. But apart of the invective
after having destroyed his property, has the misfortune to be caught
by him ; at least, by his associates, who bind him hand and foot, and
thrust him into a vault. The narrator proceeds :—
" Let me see him, cried I; let me be sure of him. Two of them
immediately jumped into the vault and pushed him up through the
trap. He struggled much to avoid the sharp edges of the stones.
As his head and chest appeared through the aperture, Quin rushed
to him and dashed his fist with his whole force into his face."
This must have spoiled his beauty a little, and probably favoured
the production of the under-mentioned phenomena, which his coun-
tenance exhibited on his beholding the injured Erris.
"As soon as he saw me standing before him, his face, which had
before been pale with fear, grew actually greenish-yellow in colour.
Presently a flow of blood gushed to his face, and tlie red mingling with
the yellow produced a lirid lurid hue, a satisfying indication of the
thoughts that were passing in his mind."
Here a slight mistake, however, is made ; and an opportunity for a
good joke lost. Red and yellow make orange ; a cast of countenance
which would by no means have commended its possessor to the
mercy of wild Irishmen. But now for a capital passage.
"I stood and glared at him with all the luxury of triumphant
animosity, then going close to him—"
We should like to see a portrait of Mr. Erris as he appeared when
glaring at his victim. Next comes, perhaps, the finest instance of
the aposiopesis comical that we ever had the pleasure of laughing at :—
" Now ! I cried, now you "—(Here the narrator came out with a
torrent of imprecations altogether unsuitable for any pages).
report that will bang e'er a one in your writing-book
One is here reminded of the equivoque, " Lord Lovat walked and
talked half an hour after his head was cut off." Patients with serious com-
pound fractures are usually brought to an hospital in a state of col-
lapse. But the above case is a comic one.
He goes on to describe himself as " having been a wild young slip
of a lad," the son of a distiller, always drunk, and having, indeed, " no
recollection of perfect sobriety." His father was " a strictly moral
person." How his son must have preyed on his spirits ! He falls in
love with his father's house-maid, who was possessed of beauty which
rarely adorns the kitchen. It " was that of a Circe, tempting to evil :
there was something mystic, unholy in it." He "resolves on her
ruin;" but he has met with more than his match. "Alas!" he
exclaims, " it was like a wolf resolving on the destruction of a con-
strictor serpent." He might have said—like a Yankee trying to grin
down a rattle-snake ; though perhaps he would therefore scarcely
have altered the simile for the funnier. He is "the ruined party."
Mo robs liia papa's desk for her benefit, and (!) to please her, turns
< Catholic : not, as afterwards appears, that she is particularly anxious
1 or his soul's welfare. " A whispered sentence, a smile and a kiss over-
i urued all the arguments of Calvin, Knox, and Zuingle." He marries
is preserved ; the language is tolerably strong
"Now whose hands are you in? Whose turn is it now ? Hew
have you served me? Hearken, now, you black-hearted Judas-
think over what you have done to me, and reflect that witJi help from
the devil, I will take the full equivalent of it out of your body i
Before another suu rises, you will be murdered."
more 1 kile than welcome.
Mad wag ! Mr. Ormond is very near escaping, and his attempt so
to do gives occasion to the following comic incident.
" On darting across the vault to where the aperture gaped, we
found within it the body of our prisoner. His head was outside the
wall, and his shoulders'had stuck fast in the outer opening. With
a wild shout of joy we caught hold of his heel, and drew him
gradually in."