INSURING THE PREMISES. I'm a hard working man, on the old-fashioned plan, Of doing for home wife and bairns what I can, I'm not in the way to throw fireworks in play, But for neighbours on all sides I've them as is; I've some Manchester friends that this notion offends: Not insured, but insurers, it helps to their ends: Heavy premiums you pay, year on year slips away, While the money that should have warmed life's rainy day, And the more England pays, the more fires people raise, In short, none but donkeys-for that is their phrase- Now I've come to the season when grey hairs weigh reason, But practice to set against preaching 's no treason, And e'en Manchester's self, in nine streets out of ten is To defer it were crime in this terrible time, When my cool German neighbour spurns reason and rhyme, When every man over his neighbour's yard-wall Is preparing to fling squibs and rockets; When on gunpowder trains, laid in corners, you fall, Ere my house the fire enters, escapes, fire-preventers, I'll provide at all cost; none shall call money lost THE FACE AND THE FLOUR-DREDGE. WHEN, in broad daylight, a fellow's eyes happen to be in the vicinity of a young lady's face whereon the light falls, her cheek, in many places, will present to them the appearance of a certain asperity, occasioned by a white pulverulent substance extending over the skin. After a waltz with her, on an evening, he may find his coat-collar and sleeves whitened with a similar substance, of which he will too probably mistake the nature. Fellows, therefore, should know that this apparently cutaneous efflorescence is not of an exanthematous character. It does not arise from exfoliation of the cuticle of Beauty's cheek, and exhibits merely the semblance of a furfuraceous and desquamatory state of integument. So good an imitation, however, is it of that sort of thing, as to require the eye of a medical man to distinguish it from a morbid product. It is, however, on the contrary, a mere external application, for which there is no necessity and for whose use there is some difficulty in accounting. Vanity, one would think, could not possibly be the motive of a self-defacement which simulates dandriff. One can conceive why a girl wants her face to look like a peach, but what can induce her to give it a similitude to a mealy potato? Surely flour upon a fair face is matter out of place. It should whiten no man's lips. "ONE Small Head can carry all I know." Writer on halfpenny card. A PASTORAL TO MR. MACKONOCHIE & CO. From the Eastern (Central) Archimandrite PUNCH, greeting: Health, Happy New Year, and a Merry Christmas to you, Gentlemen, and Dear Brothers all. It wounds our paternal heart to see you, Brothers, Gentlemen, and Scholars sheltering yourselves under such paltry subterfuges as no men of honour, not ecclesiastics, would, in their ordinary dealings with one another, for one moment either adopt, defend, or tolerate. Gentlemen, be honest, fearless of consequences [when you are as sure as you can be that you are right] and be outspoken. Do not style yourselves, or allow yourselves to be styled "Fathers," that title having been long since dropped by the English Church, is, as genuine "wholly Romans will tell you, only properly applicable to what they call Religious. Gentlemen, Gentlemen, don't humbug yourselves and your congre gations. Your loving Archimandrite is for freedom of opinion everywhere, and outside the pale of the Thirty-Nine Articles you can think and do what you please, but you have no more locus standi aut genuflectendi in the English Protestant Church, as by Law (by Law, Gentlemen, observe) established, than have DRS. MANNING and NEWMAN, MR. SPURGEON, MR. BRADLAUGH, or any members of the Irvingite, Wesleyan, Shaker, Quaker, or Jumping Methodists' Connexion. And, Gentleman, you know this as well as your loving Archimandrite does. You are playing a game-a game dangerous to your own morality and that of your party-spirited followers, who almost believe in your infallibility. You do a great deal of practical good, and are hard workers, no doubt, among the poor; so also are the Plymouth Brethren, notably; but, brothers, they are not paid by the Established Church as you are, nor have they given their solemn assent to the Anglican formularies as you have. Ponder these words, and, if you cannot become wholly Roman or wholly Greek, set up for yourselves, but do not remain the ecclesiastical mermen you are at present. Wishing well to you, brother MACK, and all other Thirty-Nine Articled clerks, we remain Your loving Archimandrite, EVENINGS FROM HOME. PUNCH. AYMARKET THEATRE. Play, Elderly Habitué. No, or 4 Queen, something between MRS. SIDDONS as LADY MACBETH and Queen Anybody-you-like in one of the old Lyceum Extravaganzas. Club Man (altering his opinion again). O, it is an extravaganza. Lounger from "the Rag." There's not much fun in it. (Fawns.) [Club Man and Lounger begin to look upon the piece as a sort of theatrical firework with the bang taken out.] surly old man, MR. ROGERS, and a cheerful old man, MR. Braid, holding some official positions at Court only to be found in the Palaces of Extravaganza, talk a little; then a Prince and Princess talk a great deal. Club Man (with some uncertainty). It's-it's blank verse, isn't it? Lounger (listening). Yes, I think so; at least (giving BIS standard of judgment) it seems to be uncommonly flat. And (arrives at this conclusion after half an hour of Act I.) there are no puns. Indignant Amateur (of the pre-Raphaelite-microscopic-detail-and-recondite-humour school, overhearing the above remarks). Puns! bah! why, it's like an Arthurian poem. It's charming. So subtle. Such delicate touches. Charles (his Friend, who "dabbles" in studios. Simply). Yes. Nothing vulgar. Enter AZÉMA, a coquette. She has nothing to do with what there is of a plot. Azéma. I am not modest, though I seem to be, &c., &c. [Business, of showing her foot and ancle; she makes a few more broad remarks, an assignation and then retirés. Pit. Male Stalls. Bravo! Capital! [Some Ladies in Private Boxes smile knowingly on one another. High Art Amateur. Really charming. High Art Amateur (speaking to a Lady). Such an utter absence of anything like vulgarity. Lady (avoiding the point). Yes it's very nice. Very pretty indeed. Elderly Habitué (thoughtfully). I should think it would be better to Eh? Rather French, eh? Where she- [Chuckles. His Friend chuckles. They all then chuckle. They Pit (going out for refreshment). I like to see BUCKSTONE in something as makes you die o' laughing. When I comes out I like to have a good laugh. We've enough t' other way in reg'lar every-day work (refreshes himself). His Friend (exhibiting programme). But they print the argument in the bill. High Art Amateur (at the conclusion of the piece, to his friend CHARLES, Elderly Habitué. Hate who has ventured to observe that he had not been quite so much amused as arguments. Have enough he had expected). My dear fellow, this is a sort of thing over most of 'em at home. Don't people's heads. (CHARLES is flattered.) You don't want always to be want 'em at the theatre. on the broad grin. (CHARLES is more flattered than ever, and tries [Consoles himself with to look philosophic.) The stage has a higher aim than merely to the remembrance that excite spasmodic laughter by grinning through horse-collars. he is en garçon for the present, and surveys the house through his lorgnette. Young Lady (to Friends whom she has just met). EDWARD was here the other day, and he said we ought to see it, so I got Papa to come. [She says this as if apologising for being there. Papa. Yes (grumpily). I very seldom move out now, on account of the cold. (More cheerfully, after looking at programme) Ah! I'm glad to see BUCKSTONE's in this. [Laughs by anticipation. Several other people having discovered that BUCKSTONE is in it, also smile, The Fairy Comedy commences. Club Man (making a discovery). Why it's an extravaganza. (After a little time he alters his opinion). No, it isn't an extravaganza. [Feels that he has read poor CHARLES a severe lesson. CHARLES thinks that next time he goes to the play he'll choose a pleasant companion. At present he does not press his High Art Companion to stay, but remains himself, to thoroughly enjoy the genuine fun of" Uncle's Will," admirably played. House in roars. ROGERS in great force. Success generally. Will! The other-I don't know what it is-(yawns)-but think it Club Man and Lounger (going off arm-in-arm). Capital! the Uncle's [Exeunt, smoking. wanted music. Come along. Misleading. journey to the British Museum, to inquire about the NOT FORBIDDEN BY THE RUBRIC.One more bow for MR. MACHOEnter BUCKSTONE as a King in burlesque. MRS. CHIPPENDALE as a NOCHIE. He is required to bow to the decision of the Privy Council. FOOD FOR THE FEMALE MIND. DEAREST PUNCH, You know of course that PROFESSOR HUXLEY is delivering a series of lectures at South Kensington for the instruction of women in science and art, it is so kind of him, isn't it? One of these lectures on the subject of "Physiography," was published in a newspaper, out of which I clip what follows: "The Thames carries down to the sea not less than 14,000,000 cubic feet of solid material, either dissolved or as mud, every year; at the present rate of denudation the whole basin would be washed down to the sea level in 1,000,000 years, and the surface of Britain would everywhere be washed down to a plain level with the sea in less than 5,000,000 years." How awfully old the world will get, if it lasts long enough! And what a terrible age it is of even now! Everyone who is not a very great Stupe must be able to understand as much as that from the end of PROFESSOR HUXLEY'S lecture:: "As to the length of time which it may have taken to scoop out the basin of the Thames, PROFESSOR HUXLEY suggested that some idea might be gathered from the fact, that two thousand years would not probably have made more than three inches of difference on the general elevation of the surface." Of course so clever a man as PROFESSOR HUXLEY must know all about the Thames basin and the "Physiography" of its contents, and there can be no doubt that, by looking into it, and examining them, he is able to make some calculation, as above, of the age of the Earth. Now, therefore, poets and other writers, will have to leave off applying to the Earth a word they are very fond of. It will not do for them to call it Mother Earth'any more, because although Mother may be proper enough, meaning old, yet in that sense it makes out the Earth to be an old Woman. Now, no woman, young or old, ever tells her age; but the age of the Earth, up to some millions of years at least, has been told by the Earth itself to PROFESSOR HUXLEY. How sad to think that in 5,000,000 years' time Britain will everywhere be washed down to a plain level with the sea! It will be a very plain level indeed. In 5,000,000 years one can well imagine Britain INVITATIO A LATERE. MACKONOCHIE, MACKONOCHIE,' And all you Ritualists that be, No more be tossed abroad at sea, But come to me, sons, come to me! Then you shall lift what you desire So high that it can go no higher; And do the kneeling you desire, That all beholders may admire. You claim to dogmatise, and why? Boast you Infallibility? Infallible alone am I So now between us there's a lie. If Reason is to be controlled, It must be by prescription old. WHO WOULD WISH TO READ THEM? IMITATION has been termed the truest form of flattery; but we doubt if many authors would feel themselves much flattered, if their literary successes were found to be succeeded, at the hands of other writers, by imitative sequels such, for instance, as the following: Sweet as a Nut: a Sensation Story, written for the readers of Bitter is the Rind. The Mouser's Mission, a stirring Tale of Feline life: for the amusement of those who have been pleased by The Cat's Pilgrimage. Pots and Proprieties: a handbook for the table; published as a pendant to Cups and Customs. Echoes of the Future: an imaginative poem, founded on the novel Beyond these Voices. Purchased for a Song: a Sequel to the Story of Bought with a Price. Meandering 'mid Malachites: a book of foreign Travels, by a student and admirer of Zig-zagging among Dolomites. Printed and Published to Amuse: a companion Story to follow Bound to Please. Born with a Blessing: a Novel to be read after Baptised with a Curse. How much alcoholic liquor did the party of tourists who went zigzagging amongst the Dolomites usually take at a sitting to make them zigzag? What kind of liquor was it; beer, wine, spirits, of what sorts, or a mixture of liquors of all sorts? Truly their tour, a zigzag tour, must have resembled the tour of "Drunken BARNABY. Did no accidents come of zigzagging in such dangerous places as the mazes of the Dolomites ? Perhaps the voyagers en zigzag" exemplified the adage, according to which such travellers are celestially cared for. Let us hope their number included no ladies; for the condition wherein people go zigzag, bad enough in a man, is unpardonable in a and then have had occasion to ask the way, and then perhaps the Wandering amongst the Dolomites, zigzag, they must now simple mountaineers of whom they inquired, sometimes answered, straight as you can go." woman. |