Blow up gaols, and drown policemen; rods, laws, and strait-waistcoats burke; And you'll make this dull world a bright one, of all play and no work! The English oak's a slow-growing tree-fit for pig-meat alone its THE TRAIN. All three silent; turtle-dove cooing; melancholy noise. I feel inclined to say a lot of things, but don't. Must select my subjects carefully, or else they'll both cry. Things I feel inclined to say, but don't-(keep 'em for another time). The noise made by the train fits any tune (hum one and try it -hum another. Can do this when with musical friend, but not now; keep it.) That we wriggle about a good deal in this train. Mem (to consider what I mean by this.) Whatever anyone else may mean, I find, on analysis, that my notion is, that the Country is different to Town, that it is green, that there are trees, that there are fields, that there are sheep and cows. That it is impossible to make out the name of a station from listening to the Porters. That we want a new Act requiring uniformity of pronunciation among Railway Porters. That it's a great mistake to allow stupendous advertisements in stations. Strangers might easily mistake "Panklibanon," or "Ozokerit," when in enormous letters on a large board, for the name of the place. Mem. Panklebanon wouldn't be a bad title; sounds eastern. "Cedars of Panklibanon," &c. Wonder what Panklibanon really is. One thing I do know, that it is not another name for Canterbury, where we are now halting, and I make this note. Mem. It is a pity, also, that Guards, Porters, and Officials generally differ as to the time the train is going to stop at an intermediate Station. One says, "Two minutes;" another, "Hardly a minute;" a third, "Four minutes;" a fourth, "Off directly." Our own confidential Guard assures me that I shall have plenty of time for a cup of tea or coffee and a bun, and he will show me the refreshmentroom. This results in his getting a glass of beer (from me), and in my ordering a cup of tea, and just getting it very hot, when I'm Ramsgate.-My Aunt likes to take watering-places at a disad vantage, as it were. She is the guest who comes too early, and witnesses the preparations. February is not the season for Ramsgate. Ramsgate is "to let." There is no one on the pier. There is no one on the sands. There is no one in the street. There is no one on the promenade. My Aunt has very nice lodgings. There's a piano in the diningdrawing-room, which I am glad to see. After all, we shall manage to be cheerful. Mem. With regard to My Health, go in for diet. Also for quiet. Diet and Quiet. Just the opportunity here. Opportunity also for reading, not writing (except occasional notes), but only reading. A little music in the evening will be cheerful. I ask my Aunt, after dinner, to sing. She will. Her collection of songs is of a deeply melancholy character. She commences with "The Forsaken," which makes DoDDRIDGE, who is in a corner knitting or doing something with a piece of green leather, a pattern, and a needle, snivel. On her finishing, I say, "Very pretty. What is it?" and I examine the copy. Will she sing again? Yes. She selects "My Heart is Sore"-which is very depressing. The burden of this is, that the singer (my Aunt) complains of having been slighted and neglected for another (some other lady), after having trusted herself to the gentleman apostrophised in the ballad as "Ah, cruel! couldst thou" something or other, which he not only apparently could, but would, and, for the matter of that, had done, and pretty effectually too. thinking about), and the Dove coos plaintively. I sleep next door After this, we three sit thoughtfully (I don't know what I'm to the Dove, and hate him. My Aunt now rises and examines her répertoire. She chooses another. It is "Blighted," which cheerful composition shuts up DODDRIDGE entirely, and sets my Aunt gulping with emotion. She breaks down. They are both crying. What am I to do? I don't can't find her pocket-handkerchief, so, it being a lovely evening and feel inclined to cry. I wish I did. I would willingly. My Aunt warm for this time of year, she goes out of the open window, and sobs on the steps leading into the garden. DODDRIDGE retires. I look at my watch. Nothing to do. No books. Forgot to buy papers. 9:30. Too early for bed. I wonder if this sort of thing will go on every night. My Aunt says (returning from window), "I'm afraid you'll find it rather dull here." I reply, "Oh no, not at all. It's just what I want. It'll do me good." My Aunt hopes it will, and, taking her candlestick, goes to bed. Quarter to ten. Well, yes, I will go to bed. It's so calm and quiet here, I shall get a good night's rest. I might smoke outside. No, it's getting cold, and above all things my Health requires me to be very particular about the night air. Daren't smoke in the house. Perhaps it will do me good to give it up gradually. Am restless. Bother my Aunt's songs, they've made me quite sad. In the front of the house it is a calm night: at the back, where my bedroom is, it is a rough night. Peculiarity, perhaps of Ramsgate. I've heard that the climate is different on both cliffs, but that there should be scarcely a breath of wind in front of the house and a hurricane at the back-door is a meteorological phenomenon. I am awake at midnight: I am more awake at one a.m: I am hot and feverish at two. Window rattling, wind howling. I try several Male Dilettante, No. 1 (making a telescope of his hand). "WHAT LIKE SO MUCH IS THAT-ER-THAT- Ditto No. 3. "O YES-QUITE TOO LOVELY-THAT PARTICULAR KIND OF-ER-OF-ER "good things for sending you to sleep." I count up to a hundred, and am more wide awake than ever. I try a hundred backwards, and feel quite ready to dress (if they'd only call me now) and go out for a walk. About 2:30 I begin to wander in my mind, then for a short time I am wakeful, then drowsy. I am saying to myself "Now I'm going to sleep," when the Dove in next room commences cooing. I count his cooing. He coos seven times and stops. Thank goodness. He recommences as I am beginning to doze. I count ten coos. I strike a light and look at my watch. 3'30!! and My Health absolutely requires a great deal of sleep. The wind subsides. So does the Dove. I begin to wonder if. to arrange what I'll do to-morrow-I will let me see-) e-I'll-first Knock at door. Hot water. Ah, yes. 7:30, Sir. Quite so. All right. Feeble. To sleep again. Diary of Next Day. Aunt the embodiment of the soul of punctuality at breakfast. I have to apologise. Storm: new bed: Dove -no, on second thoughts, I won't say anything about the Dove. Delicate ground-it's a pet. Love me, love my Dove. It is trying work for the nerves, living with my Aunt. She starts at the least thing. If I come into the room at all quietly, she jumps up, exclaiming, "Ah! I do wish you would knock, or cough before you come in." I'm now always knocking and coughing. I knock first, look in, and then cough. This will become a habit, if I go on with it very long. Then, if I get tired of a book, and drop off to sleep, and the book falls, up jumps my Aunt and presses her hand to her heart, as if I'd shot her. She will have the coalscuttle outside the room, so that my carrying a scuttlefull to put on the fire is a feat not unlike BLONDIN'S walking on the tight-rope. It's most difficult to carry it without spilling a coal, specially while my Aunt is saying, "Do take care," and I know that the fall of one lump will make her give such a jump as will be fatal to my steadiness. [And so forth. If I come upon her suddenly at a turn of the stairs, she clutches the bannisters, she is so startled. I can't, as it were, accustom her to my appearance. I am the Skeleton popping out of the cupboard, the Ghost on the staircase, the Cuckoo in the clock, the Jack in the box, anything, in fact, sudden in its movement, and startlingthat is, as regards my Aunt. I propose, in a satirical mood (of which I afterwards repent, but I was worried) that I should be perpetually playing a trumpet, or have a bell round my neck like Charlie, the little dog. For me to come in by the window from the garden simply kills her. I never saw anybody so frightened in my life. I explain that I really did not know she was there. DODDRIDGE, calming her, says, "O, MASTER GEORGE, you ought to be more considerate." An Artist Out of Place. THE Morning Post announces that:- "It has been intimated to a well-known artist that it is contrary to rules that he should use the lobby of the House of Commons for the purpose of sketching Members." Nobody, one would think, could need to be informed that the lobby of the House of Commons is not a drawing-room, although a well-known artist appears to have been using it as a studio. FLIPPANCY. ANY lady who speaks slightingly of Ministers of religion is not a lady. We were much displeased with MISS SHALLOW (the Justice's daughter), the other evening, Referring to the Purchas decision, which pronounces the white dress to be the only legitimate garb of the Clergy, the misguided young person said that she should henceforth always call the Parsons the Surplice Population. AN A B C FOR YOUTHFUL ANGLICANS. A is an Alb, which, to souls unenlightened, A surplice might seem with its fulness all tightened. B's a Biretta, which Anglicans wear To hide their defects both of head and of hair. C is a Chasuble, hung on a peg, And useful to hide like defects in the leg. D's a Dalmatic, for festival use, Embroidered all o'er by an Anglican goose. E is an Eagle, which serves as a desk In part mediæval, in part arabesque. F is a Frontal, which gracefully fell O'er the altar, affronting the people as well. G is a Gradual, for gradual intrusion Of offices Roman for England's delusion. H is a Humeral, thrown o'er the shoulder, Of humorous appearance to worldly beholder. I is an Introit, by Anglican Quorum Sung out as they march from the Sanctum Sanctorum. J is a Janitor, placed at the door, Instead of the Beadle, who watched there before. K is the Calendar, which, as they say, In the Ordo Romanus is spelt with a K. L is a laud, which they're constantly yawning In tones most pathetic, both evening and morning. M is the Mass they 're so bent on repeating, That their service might almost be called a "Mass-meeting," N is a Neophyte, young, uninquiring, Who sings in the Choir with devotion untiring. O is an Orfray, a piece of embroidery Worked o'er the Vestments to make them more tawdry. P is a Pectoral (not Lozenge, but Vest), Made, not to relieve, but to burden the Chest. Q is a Quidnune, who having deserted The English Church, is by the Angles converted. R is the Rubric, now no longer needed; By the New Directorium quite superseded. S is the Stole, whose true form they're revealing; Tis the Thurible, whose very smell Incenses the people, and makes them rebel. U is the obsolete Use of (old) Sarum, Brought out for their converts, for Rome to prepare 'em. TO A CORRESPONDENT. "A YOUNG Matron" writes to ask us to recommend her a good Manual of Domestio Medicine. We know of no better book than SOUTHEY'S Doctor. V is the Vow they imprudently make Both wedlock and goods of the world to forsake. W 's the Wedding of Anglican Curate, Which so grieved the faithful they scarce could endure it. X is the dreadful XANTIPPE, his spouse, Who made him soon mourn the neglect of his vows. Y is the Yeoman who now never enters His old Parish Church, and has joined the Dissenters. Z is the Zone, or the girdle, which tied Into one splendid bundle these vestments of pride. A HUE AND CRY. THAT very useful body, the London School Board, continues its weekly meetings and debates. On the last occasion, a Committee having reported on the Candidates for the office of Solicitor (the appointment of Beadle is not yet given away), a complaint was made that those selected were all of one complexion." This sounds unreasonable, for it must be obvious even to the meanest capacity that respectable solicitors, such as we are certain gentlemen offering their legal services to the Board could not fail to be, would all be of one complexion-fair. Again we read that "the Committee did not consider the religious opinions or colour' of any candidates," and this time rejoiced to think that the Members were so liberal, so unsectarian in their views, as not even to look with disfavour on a candidate, although in personal appearance he might be tinted, or, possibly, deep black. Dean of Ripon and Mr. Purchas. Dean Close. I'd not stay in such a Church as You would make it, MR. PURCHAS. Mr. Purchas. Nor would I, dear DOCTOR CLOSE, Were our Church what you suppose. A WELCOME VISITOR. "I COULD a tail unfold." Could you? Then lose not a moment, but go instantly to MR. DARWIN. He will be delighted to see you. COLLEGE FOR COBBLERS AT OXFORD.-All Soles. Instead of a College it will be an Awl. No. 1552.* PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [APRIL 8, 1871. STICKING UP FOR AN ABSENT FRIEND. Miss Frumpington (who has dropped in for a chat about last night's ball). "AND CAN IT BE TRUE, CLARA, THAT CAPTAIN JINKS ACTUALLY SO FAR FORGOT HIMSELF AS TO TRY AND KISS YOU IN THE CONSERVATORY AFTER SUPPER ?" Clara. "HE DID, INDEED, MISS FRUMPINGTON. VULGAR LITTLE WRETCH !" Miss Frumpington. "YOU SURPRISE ME! TO ME CAPTAIN JINKS HAS ALWAYS BEHAVED LIKE SUCH A PERFECT GENTLEMAN !" À PROPOS OF THE ROYAL ALBERT HALL, AND ITS OPENING, MARCH 28, 1871. WHAT is there not easy to laugh at, If the taste of the joke and the tap If the past's as much theme for our scorning If the present, o'er-sea, reads no warning- If the tastes of crown'd heads be a trifle, On their realm's lot that weighs not a feather; go Harm not Princes and People together: Had Queen's consorts but one road to Their sole guide-post the beef-eater's halbert; Were their Science and Art all a showIt's easy to laugh at PRINCE ALBERT. If with small means to work out great ends; Into steps to convert blocks of stumbling; And by brain-power and pluck turn to friends The foes whose first aim was your humbling; If with beauty JOHN BULL to imbue, Till his clumsy hands own Art's control, Be things any fellow can do It's easy to laugh at KING COLE. Were Art-teaching so easy a matter, The wine of laughter, a growth of the same grape as the "sparkling Catawba," which our American cousins declare superior to Champagne. Were Esthetics but vague German chatter; Were there no need of teaching our toilers; Were nobly-proportioned halls common, Out on COLONEL SCOTT, R.E., to call; Had it rival for space, sound, and light'Twould be easy to laugh at the Hall. Were Englishmen's loyalty dead, And their Queen and Princesses no more It's easy to scoff the Beef-eaters, Were Court-pageants but mumm'ries outworn, ASSOCIATION FOR THE RELIEF OF PARIS.-A French Army. CASE OF CENSUS-CONSCIENCE. Conscientious Head of Family (an old Lady, giving the paper, on Monday, to the Enumerator). "HERE IS THE PAPER, MR. ACCUMULATOR, BUT I WANT PARTICU LAR TO SAY SOMETHING FOR THE INFORMATION OF HER MAJESTY, BLESS HER HEART, LIKEWISE HER FAMILY! WHICH YOU SEE IT SAYS 'SLEPT OR ABODE'AND I WOULDN'T DECEIVE HER MAJESTY AND HER GOVERNMENT ON NO ACCOUNT, AND THE FACT IS, THAT I DIDN'T SLEEP A WINK ALL THE BLESSED NIGHT BY REASON OF A TOOTH, WHICH I HOPE YOU'LL EXPLAIN TO THE QUEEN, AND SAY I COULDN'T HAVE IT TOOK OUT ON SATURDAY, AS MY DENTIST IS OF THE JEWISH PERSUASION, WHICH I DON'T BLAME HIM FOR, QUITE THE REVERSE, BUT I AM GOING TO HIM TO-DAY TO HAVE IT EXTRICATED, AND SO PLEASE TO SAY THAT I ONLY ABIDED,' &c., &c., &c., &c. · THE BATTLE OF THE BLUES. My two blues, you 're true blues, to that I'll take my oath of you: I don't know which to praise the most, and so say, Bravo, both of you!" 'Tis well with JOHN BULL, in his need while the old boy can find him That school is a good public school where such pluck is inculcate, Eight even backs that rise and fall with a steam-engine swing, 'Twas with these, along the towing path, exultant Cambridge saw VOL. LX.-1871. away; But let Oxford try her fastest, still Cambridge is as fast: With LESLIE's bow at GOLDIE's stern the winning flag they've past! Never a pluckier race was run since first old Father Thames Saw the Dark Blue and the Light Blue dare trial of their fames; Ne'er winner won by harder fight the honours of the day, Ne'er loser, of all honours but these, bore more away. They may sneer their sneer at athletes-at athletes and athletics; May preach how youngsters should be all saps, sages, and asc tics; But muscle goes to manhood still, and muscular Christi A BLANK TO THE BETTING RING. OUR friend "ARGUS," on Monday last week, announced in the Post that: "As this is Passion week there will be no racing." The owners of studs and members of the Jockey Club, belonging for the most part to the Nobility and Gentry, are of course more or less conversant with the higher Clergy. You, who know what Passion week means, can therefore understand how it is that no racing takes place therein. But that must be a mystery to the generality of Sporting-men. Splitting the Difference. SPEAKING of the attendance of the company of Divines and Scholars, now engaged on a very important work of Revision, at the meetings they have lately been holding, the newspapers inform us that "the number of those present varied between 20 and 21." There is but one inference to be drawn from this statement, namely, that the exact number of those present must have been 20. CANDLISH ECONOMY. THE Member for Sunderland, MR. CANDLISH, declares that the Naval Estimates are excessive. Hech, Sirs, as the Honourable Gentleman's friends over the Border would say, this CANDLISH bodie is just a Saveall. No. 1553. |