Prophet of o'er-population, your ingenious calculation,Causeth discombobulation only in the anxious mindThat forecasts exhausted fuel, or the period when the duelWill have given their final gruel to French journalists; a kindOf cantankerous, rancorous spitfires, blusterous, braggart, boyish, blind,Who much mourning scarce would find.Prophet of o'er-population, when the centuries in rotationShall have filled our little planet till it tends to running o'er,Will this world, with souls o'erladen, be a Hades or an Aidenn?Will man, woman, boy and maiden, be less civilised, or more?That'sthe question, RAVENSTEIN! What boots a billion, less or more,If Man still is fool or boor?"Seek not to proticipate" isMrs. Gamp'swise maxim. Great isMankind's numbernow, but "take 'em as they come, and as they go,"Like the philosophicSairey; and though the sum total vary,Other things may vary likewise, things we dream not, much less know,Don't you think, my RAVENSTEIN, our state ten centuries hence or soWe may prudently—let go?
Prophet of o'er-population, your ingenious calculation,Causeth discombobulation only in the anxious mindThat forecasts exhausted fuel, or the period when the duelWill have given their final gruel to French journalists; a kindOf cantankerous, rancorous spitfires, blusterous, braggart, boyish, blind,Who much mourning scarce would find.
Prophet of o'er-population, your ingenious calculation,
Causeth discombobulation only in the anxious mind
That forecasts exhausted fuel, or the period when the duel
Will have given their final gruel to French journalists; a kind
Of cantankerous, rancorous spitfires, blusterous, braggart, boyish, blind,
Who much mourning scarce would find.
Prophet of o'er-population, when the centuries in rotationShall have filled our little planet till it tends to running o'er,Will this world, with souls o'erladen, be a Hades or an Aidenn?Will man, woman, boy and maiden, be less civilised, or more?That'sthe question, RAVENSTEIN! What boots a billion, less or more,If Man still is fool or boor?
Prophet of o'er-population, when the centuries in rotation
Shall have filled our little planet till it tends to running o'er,
Will this world, with souls o'erladen, be a Hades or an Aidenn?
Will man, woman, boy and maiden, be less civilised, or more?
That'sthe question, RAVENSTEIN! What boots a billion, less or more,
If Man still is fool or boor?
"Seek not to proticipate" isMrs. Gamp'swise maxim. Great isMankind's numbernow, but "take 'em as they come, and as they go,"Like the philosophicSairey; and though the sum total vary,Other things may vary likewise, things we dream not, much less know,Don't you think, my RAVENSTEIN, our state ten centuries hence or soWe may prudently—let go?
"Seek not to proticipate" isMrs. Gamp'swise maxim. Great is
Mankind's numbernow, but "take 'em as they come, and as they go,"
Like the philosophicSairey; and though the sum total vary,
Other things may vary likewise, things we dream not, much less know,
Don't you think, my RAVENSTEIN, our state ten centuries hence or so
We may prudently—let go?
THE QUICKSAND!
PREPARING FOR BLACK MONDAY.Paterfamilias(reading School Report). "AH, MY BOY, THIS ISN'T SO GOOD AS IT MIGHT BE. 'LATIN INDIFFERENT,' 'FRENCH POOR,' 'ARITHMETIC NOTHING'?"Tommy."AH, BUT LOOK DOWN THERE, PAPA. 'HEALTH EXCELLENT'!"
Paterfamilias(reading School Report). "AH, MY BOY, THIS ISN'T SO GOOD AS IT MIGHT BE. 'LATIN INDIFFERENT,' 'FRENCH POOR,' 'ARITHMETIC NOTHING'?"
Tommy."AH, BUT LOOK DOWN THERE, PAPA. 'HEALTH EXCELLENT'!"
[MR. ANDREW CARNEGIE, the Iron King and millionnaire of Pittsburg, has been addressing big audiences in Scotland. Amongst his remarks were the following:—"It is said that in America, although we have no aristocracy, we are cursed with a plutarchy. Let me tell you about that. A man who carries a million dollars on his back carries a load.... When I speak against the Royal Family I do not condescend to speak of the creatures who form the Royal Family—persons are so insignificant.... We laugh at your ideas in this petty little country having anything to say to the free and independent citizens who walk through Canada, Australia, and America. You know how to get rid of a Monarchy. Brazil has taught you."—&c., &c.]
[MR. ANDREW CARNEGIE, the Iron King and millionnaire of Pittsburg, has been addressing big audiences in Scotland. Amongst his remarks were the following:—"It is said that in America, although we have no aristocracy, we are cursed with a plutarchy. Let me tell you about that. A man who carries a million dollars on his back carries a load.... When I speak against the Royal Family I do not condescend to speak of the creatures who form the Royal Family—persons are so insignificant.... We laugh at your ideas in this petty little country having anything to say to the free and independent citizens who walk through Canada, Australia, and America. You know how to get rid of a Monarchy. Brazil has taught you."—&c., &c.]
CARNEGIE, pray take notice, since I know that it would blisterThe thin skin of a democrat, I drop the title "Mr.,"You have talked a lot of bunkum, all mixed up with most terrific cant.But you truly said that "persons are so very insignificant;"And the author of a speech I read, part scum and partly dreggy,Is perhaps the least significant—that windbag named CARNEGIE.But your kindness most appals me, Sir; how really, truly gracious,For one whose home is in the States, free, great, and most capacious,To come to poor old England (where the laws but make the many fitTo lick a Royal person's boots), and all for England's benefit.To preach to us, and talk to us, to tell us how effete we are,How like a flock of silly sheep who merely baa and bleat we are.And how "this petty little land," which prates so much of loyalty,Is nothing but a laughing-stock to Pittsburg Iron-Royalty.How titles make a man a rake, a drunkard, and the rest of it,While plain (but wealthy) democrats in Pittsburg have the best of it.How, out in Pennsylvania, the millionnaires are panting(Though there's something always keeps them fat) for monetary banting.How free-born citizens complain, with many Yankee curses,Of fate which fills, in spite of them, their coffers and their purses.How, if the man be only poor, there's nothing that can stop a citIn Yankeeland, while here with us the case is just the opposite.How honest British working-men who fail to fill their larderShould sail for peace and plenty by the very next Cunarder.And how, in short, if Britishers want freedom gilt with millions,They can't do wrong to imitate the chivalrous Brazilians.Well, well, I know we have our faults, quite possibly a crowd of them,And sometimes we deceive ourselves by thinking we are proud of them;But we never can have merited thatyoushould set the law to us,And rail at us, and sneer at us, and preach to us, and "jaw" to us.We're much more tolerant than some; let those who hate the law goAnd spout sedition in the streets of anarchist Chicago;And, after that, I guarantee they'll never want to roam again,Until they get a first-class hearse to take their bodies home again.But stay, I've hit upon a plan: We'll, first of all, relieve youOf all your million dollars that so onerously grieve you;Then, if some loud, conceited fool wants taking down a peg, heShall spend an hour or so in talk with democrat CARNEGIE.For all men must admit 'twould be an act of mere insanityTo try to match this Pittsburger in bluster or in vanity.And oh, when next our Chancellor is anxious for a loan, Sir,He'll buy you in at our price, and he'll sell you at your own, Sir.And if you don't like English air, why, dash it, you may lump it,Or go and blow in other climes your most offensive trumpet!
CARNEGIE, pray take notice, since I know that it would blisterThe thin skin of a democrat, I drop the title "Mr.,"You have talked a lot of bunkum, all mixed up with most terrific cant.But you truly said that "persons are so very insignificant;"And the author of a speech I read, part scum and partly dreggy,Is perhaps the least significant—that windbag named CARNEGIE.But your kindness most appals me, Sir; how really, truly gracious,For one whose home is in the States, free, great, and most capacious,To come to poor old England (where the laws but make the many fitTo lick a Royal person's boots), and all for England's benefit.To preach to us, and talk to us, to tell us how effete we are,How like a flock of silly sheep who merely baa and bleat we are.And how "this petty little land," which prates so much of loyalty,Is nothing but a laughing-stock to Pittsburg Iron-Royalty.How titles make a man a rake, a drunkard, and the rest of it,While plain (but wealthy) democrats in Pittsburg have the best of it.How, out in Pennsylvania, the millionnaires are panting(Though there's something always keeps them fat) for monetary banting.How free-born citizens complain, with many Yankee curses,Of fate which fills, in spite of them, their coffers and their purses.How, if the man be only poor, there's nothing that can stop a citIn Yankeeland, while here with us the case is just the opposite.How honest British working-men who fail to fill their larderShould sail for peace and plenty by the very next Cunarder.And how, in short, if Britishers want freedom gilt with millions,They can't do wrong to imitate the chivalrous Brazilians.
CARNEGIE, pray take notice, since I know that it would blister
The thin skin of a democrat, I drop the title "Mr.,"
You have talked a lot of bunkum, all mixed up with most terrific cant.
But you truly said that "persons are so very insignificant;"
And the author of a speech I read, part scum and partly dreggy,
Is perhaps the least significant—that windbag named CARNEGIE.
But your kindness most appals me, Sir; how really, truly gracious,
For one whose home is in the States, free, great, and most capacious,
To come to poor old England (where the laws but make the many fit
To lick a Royal person's boots), and all for England's benefit.
To preach to us, and talk to us, to tell us how effete we are,
How like a flock of silly sheep who merely baa and bleat we are.
And how "this petty little land," which prates so much of loyalty,
Is nothing but a laughing-stock to Pittsburg Iron-Royalty.
How titles make a man a rake, a drunkard, and the rest of it,
While plain (but wealthy) democrats in Pittsburg have the best of it.
How, out in Pennsylvania, the millionnaires are panting
(Though there's something always keeps them fat) for monetary banting.
How free-born citizens complain, with many Yankee curses,
Of fate which fills, in spite of them, their coffers and their purses.
How, if the man be only poor, there's nothing that can stop a cit
In Yankeeland, while here with us the case is just the opposite.
How honest British working-men who fail to fill their larder
Should sail for peace and plenty by the very next Cunarder.
And how, in short, if Britishers want freedom gilt with millions,
They can't do wrong to imitate the chivalrous Brazilians.
Well, well, I know we have our faults, quite possibly a crowd of them,And sometimes we deceive ourselves by thinking we are proud of them;But we never can have merited thatyoushould set the law to us,And rail at us, and sneer at us, and preach to us, and "jaw" to us.We're much more tolerant than some; let those who hate the law goAnd spout sedition in the streets of anarchist Chicago;And, after that, I guarantee they'll never want to roam again,Until they get a first-class hearse to take their bodies home again.
Well, well, I know we have our faults, quite possibly a crowd of them,
And sometimes we deceive ourselves by thinking we are proud of them;
But we never can have merited thatyoushould set the law to us,
And rail at us, and sneer at us, and preach to us, and "jaw" to us.
We're much more tolerant than some; let those who hate the law go
And spout sedition in the streets of anarchist Chicago;
And, after that, I guarantee they'll never want to roam again,
Until they get a first-class hearse to take their bodies home again.
But stay, I've hit upon a plan: We'll, first of all, relieve youOf all your million dollars that so onerously grieve you;Then, if some loud, conceited fool wants taking down a peg, heShall spend an hour or so in talk with democrat CARNEGIE.For all men must admit 'twould be an act of mere insanityTo try to match this Pittsburger in bluster or in vanity.And oh, when next our Chancellor is anxious for a loan, Sir,He'll buy you in at our price, and he'll sell you at your own, Sir.And if you don't like English air, why, dash it, you may lump it,Or go and blow in other climes your most offensive trumpet!
But stay, I've hit upon a plan: We'll, first of all, relieve you
Of all your million dollars that so onerously grieve you;
Then, if some loud, conceited fool wants taking down a peg, he
Shall spend an hour or so in talk with democrat CARNEGIE.
For all men must admit 'twould be an act of mere insanity
To try to match this Pittsburger in bluster or in vanity.
And oh, when next our Chancellor is anxious for a loan, Sir,
He'll buy you in at our price, and he'll sell you at your own, Sir.
And if you don't like English air, why, dash it, you may lump it,
Or go and blow in other climes your most offensive trumpet!
I atended on a Party larst week as went up the River (our nice little Stream, as the aughty Amerrycanes calls it) to Ship Lake, tho' why it's called so I coodn't at all make out, as there ain't no Ship nor no Lake to be seen there, ony a werry little Werry, and a werry littel River, and a werry littel Hiland; and it was prinsepally to see how the appy yung Gents who sumtimes lives on the same littel Hiland, in littel Tents, was a gitting on, as injuced all on us, me and all, to go there. It seems that for years parst quite a littel Collony of yung Gents as gets their living in the grand old Citty has been in the habit of spending their littel summer Hollydays there, but, somehows or other, as I coodn't quite understand, the master of the littel Hiland made up his mind for to sell it, and all the yung Gents was in dispair, and wundered where on airth they shood spend their Hollydays in future. But they needn't have been afeard—there was a grand old hinstitushun called "The Copperashun!" as had both their ears and both their eyes open when they heard about it. So when the time came for it to be sold, they jest quietly says to one of their principel Chairmen (who is sich a King of Good Fellers that they all calls him by that name, and he arnsers to it jest as if it was the werry name as was guv him by his Godfathers and his Godmothers, as I myself heard with my own ears), "Go and buy it!" So off he goes at wunce and buys it, and the kindly Copperashun Gents as I went with larst week, went to take possesshun on it acordingly, and to see if anythink coud be done to make the yung Campers-out ewen more cumferabel than they ewer was afore! Ah, that's what I calls trew Pattriotizm, and trew Libberality, if you likes, and that's what makes 'em so much respeckted.
Our Gents was all considrably surprized at the lots of Tents as was all a standing on Ship Lake Island; one on 'em, who was got up quite in a naughtical style, said as he was estonished to see so many on 'em pitched, but I think as he must ha' bin mistaken, for I didn t see not none on 'em pitched, tho' I dessay it might ha' been werry usefool in keeping out the rain on a remarkabel wet night.
By sum mistake on sumboddy's part, there wasn't not no yung Campers-out to receeve us, and so fears was hentertaned that they wood have to cum again shortly; but they are bold plucky gents, is the men of the Copperashun, and they one and all xpressed their reddiness to do it at the call of dooty. Besides, we had sich a reel Commodore a board as made us all quite reddy to brave the foaming waves again. Why, he guv out the word of command, whether it was to "Port the Helem," or to "Titen the mane braces," as if he had bin a Hadmiral at the werry least, and his galliant crew obeyed him without not no grumbling or ewen thretening to strike!
By one of them striking and remarkabel ocurrences as happens so offen, who shood we appen to find at Ship Lake, but one of the werry poplarest of the Court of Haldermen, and what shood he do but ask 'em all in to lunch at his splendid manshun, and what shood they all do but jump at the hoffer, and what does he do, for a lark, I serppose—if so be as a reel Poplar Alderman ewer does have sich a thing as a lark—and give 'em all sich a gloryous spread, as I owerheard one henergetick Deperty describe it, as hutterly deprived 'em all of the power of heating a bit of dinner till the werry next day, to which time they wisely put it off, and then thorowly injoyed it.
In course, I'm not allowed to menshun not no names on these conferdential ocasions, but I did hear "the Commodore" shout to "the King" sumthink about "Hansum is as Hansum does," but it was rayther too late in the heavening for me to be able to quite unnerstand his elusions.
I am 'appy to be able to report that we every one on us arrived in Town quite safe and quite happy, xcep sum of the pore hard-working crew who are left at Marlow till further orders. ROBERT.
MEETING OF THE B.A. FOR THE ADVANCEMENT OF SCIENCE. LEEDS TOWN-HALL.
FAIR PROPOSAL.Johnson(at window—having offered to tame a vicious Horse for his Friend). "NOW, TOM, JUST COLLAR HOLD OF HIS HEAD, AND I'LL PUT THE MUZZLE ON!"
Two examples of a correct sporting style have been already laid before the public. For convenience of reference they may be defined as the mixed-pugilistic and the insolent. There is, however, a third variety, the equine, in which everyone who aspires to wield the pen of a sporting reporter must necessarily be a proficient. It may be well to warn a beginner that he must not attempt this style until he has laid in a large stock of variegated metaphoric expressions. As a matter of fact one horse-race is very much like another in its main incidents, and the process of betting against or in favour of one horse resembles, more or less, the process of betting about any other. The point is, however, to impart to monotonous incidents a variety they do not possess; and to do this properly a luxuriant vocabulary is essential. For instance, in the course of a race, some horses tire, or, to put it less offensively, go less rapidly than others. The reporter will say of such a horse that he (1) "shot his bolt," or (2) "criedpeccavi," or (3) "cried a go," or (4) "compounded," or (5) "exhibited signals of distress," or (6) "fired minute guns," or (7) "fell back to mend his bellows," or (8) "seemed to pause for reflection."
Again, in recording the upward progress of horses in the betting market, it would be ridiculous to say of all of them merely that they became hot favourites. Vary, therefore, occasionally, by saying of one, for example, that "here was another case of one being eventually served up warm"; of another, that "plenty of the talent took 7 to 4 aboutMousetrap;" of a third, that "Paradoxhad the call at 4 to 1;" and of a fourth, that "a heap of money, and good money too, went onBackslide." After these preliminary instructions,Mr. Punchoffers his
Third Example.—Event to be described: A horse-race. Names of horses and jockeys, weights, &c., supplied.
Considerable delay took place.Little Benjymade a complete hole in his manners by bolting. Eventually, however, the flag tell to a capital start.Burglar Billon the right cut out the work1fromPaladin, who soon began to blow great guns, and after a quarter of a mile had been negotiated yielded his pride of place toCudlumswithThe P'licemanin attendance,Sobrietylying fourth, andD. T.close behind. Thus they raced to the bend, whereBurglar Billcriedpeccavi, andCudlumshaving shot her bolt,Sobrietywas left in front, only to be challenged byCropeared Sue, who had been coming through her horses with a wet sail. Bounding the bend SIMPSON called uponMrs. Bradyand literally took tea with her rivals,2whom he nailed to the counter one after another. The favourite compounded at the distance, andMrs. Bradyromped home the easiest of winners, four lengths ahead ofCropeared Sue; a bad third. The rest were whipped in byFlyaway, who once more failed to justify the appellation bestowed upon him.
Mr. Punchflatters himself that, upon the above model, the report of any race-meeting could be accurately constructed at home. In future, therefore, no reporter should go to the expense of leaving London for Epsom, Newmarket, Ascot, or Goodwood.
Footnote 1:(return)Note this sentence. It is essential.
Note this sentence. It is essential.
Footnote 2:(return)At first sight it would appear more natural that SIMPSON (presumably a jockey) having called uponMrs. Brady, should take tea withherrather than with her rivals. But a sporting style involves us in puzzles.
At first sight it would appear more natural that SIMPSON (presumably a jockey) having called uponMrs. Brady, should take tea withherrather than with her rivals. But a sporting style involves us in puzzles.
"This is the centenary of the tall hat."—Daily News.
"This is the centenary of the tall hat."—Daily News.
Centenarian.
A hundred years of hideousness,Constricted brows, and strain, and stress!And still, despite humanity's groan,The torturing, "tall-hat" holds its own!What proof more sure and melancholyOf the dire depths of mortal folly?Mad was the hatter who inventedThe demon "topper," and dementedThe race that, spite of pain and jeers,Has borne it—for One Hundred Years!
A hundred years of hideousness,Constricted brows, and strain, and stress!And still, despite humanity's groan,The torturing, "tall-hat" holds its own!What proof more sure and melancholyOf the dire depths of mortal folly?Mad was the hatter who inventedThe demon "topper," and dementedThe race that, spite of pain and jeers,Has borne it—for One Hundred Years!
A hundred years of hideousness,
Constricted brows, and strain, and stress!
And still, despite humanity's groan,
The torturing, "tall-hat" holds its own!
What proof more sure and melancholy
Of the dire depths of mortal folly?
Mad was the hatter who invented
The demon "topper," and demented
The race that, spite of pain and jeers,
Has borne it—for One Hundred Years!
Hamlet at the Vegetarian Congress.
Yea, from the table of my dining-room,I'll take away all tasty joints andentrées.All sorts of meat, all forms of animal dietThat the carnivorous cook hath gathered there:And, by commandment, will entirely liveWithin the bounds of vegetable food,Unmixed with savoury matters. Yes, by heaven!O most pernicious Meat!O Mutton, beef, and pork, digestion-spoiling!My tables, my tables! Meat? I'll put it down;For men may dine, and dine, and do no killing,At least I'm sure it may be so—on lentils.So,gourmand, there you are! Now to mymenu;It is, "All Vegetables and no Meat!"I have sworn't!
Yea, from the table of my dining-room,I'll take away all tasty joints andentrées.All sorts of meat, all forms of animal dietThat the carnivorous cook hath gathered there:And, by commandment, will entirely liveWithin the bounds of vegetable food,Unmixed with savoury matters. Yes, by heaven!O most pernicious Meat!O Mutton, beef, and pork, digestion-spoiling!My tables, my tables! Meat? I'll put it down;For men may dine, and dine, and do no killing,At least I'm sure it may be so—on lentils.So,gourmand, there you are! Now to mymenu;It is, "All Vegetables and no Meat!"I have sworn't!
Yea, from the table of my dining-room,
I'll take away all tasty joints andentrées.
All sorts of meat, all forms of animal diet
That the carnivorous cook hath gathered there:
And, by commandment, will entirely live
Within the bounds of vegetable food,
Unmixed with savoury matters. Yes, by heaven!
O most pernicious Meat!
O Mutton, beef, and pork, digestion-spoiling!
My tables, my tables! Meat? I'll put it down;
For men may dine, and dine, and do no killing,
At least I'm sure it may be so—on lentils.
So,gourmand, there you are! Now to mymenu;
It is, "All Vegetables and no Meat!"
I have sworn't!
One of our Representatives called a few days since upon Mr. BROWN, senior member of the well-known firm of Messrs. BROWN, JONES, AND ROBINSON. The Eminent General Dealer was seated "in his counting-house," as the nursery-song hath it, "counting out his money."
"Come in, come in!" said Mr. BROWN, cordially, as he somewhat hurriedly looked up the coin in a safe out of our reach. "I am delighted to see you."
"Glad to hear it," we replied, rather drily. "We want to put a few questions to you, in the interest of the public."
"As many as you please. I am, as you know, a man of business; still, the resources of our establishment are so vast, that my place can be supplied without inconvenience to our thousands, I may say millions of customers. And now, Sir, what can I do for you?"
"Well, Mr. BROWN, speaking in the name of civilisation, I would wish to ask you if you have much sale for SMASHUP's Concentrated Essence of Cucumbers (registered), in the larger bottles?"
"Yes, Sir, we have; although the smaller sizes are, possibly, a trifle more popular."
"What do you think of COTTONBACK's Fleur de Lyons Putney Satin?"
"A most admirable material for home wear, although we do not recommend it for use at a party, a ball, or a reception. For festive occasions we do a very large trade in GIGGLEWATER's Superfine Velvet South AmericanMoiré Antiqueas advertised."
"Indeed! Perhaps, you can mention a few more articles that in your judgment you believe it will interest our readers to learn about."
"Pardon me, but don't you put that sentence a trifle clumsily?"
Our Representative smiled and blushed. Then he admitted that Mr. BROWN might be right.
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the Senior Partner, in great glee. "You see I have my head screwed on the right way! But to answer you. GOTEMON's Patent Alligator's Skin Braces are attracting much attention just now, so is WIPE's Castle 2 Imperial William Champagne, which finds (I may observe confidentially) a ready sale at thirty-two shillings the dozen. Then there are AKE's Electric Tooth-brushes, and CRAX's Stained-glass Solid Mahogany Brass-mounted Elizabethan Mantel-boards. Then, of course, I must not forget BOLTER's Washhandstands and BOUNDER's Anti-agony Aromatic Pills."
"And all these articles sell largely?"
"Very largely, indeed. And so they should; for they are well worth the money they cost."
"Indeed they are, or I should not find them in your establishment."
"You are very good. And now,à proposof your journal, will you permit me to pay a return compliment?"
"Certainly," we replied. "You have noticed an improvement in our columns?"
"Unquestionably I have," returned Mr. BROWN, emphatically. "I have observed that of late you have given much interesting matter in the body of your paper that heretofore used to be reserved for the pages exclusively devoted to advertisements. I congratulate you!"
And with a courteous wave of his hand and a bow of dismissal, the Eminent Pillar of Commerce delicately intimated to us that our interview was at an end.
DEAR CHARLIE,—Your faviour to 'and in doo course, as the quill-drivers say;Likeways also the newspaper cuttins enclosed. You're on Rummikey's lay.Awful good on yer, CHARLIE, old chummy, to take so much trouble for me;But do keep on yer 'air, dear old pal;Iam still right end uppards, yer see.You are needled along of some parties,—er course you ain't fly to their names,—As has bin himitating Yours Truly. Way-oh! It's the oldest o' games,Himitation is, CHARLIE. It makes one think DARWIN was right, anyhow,And that most on us did come from monkeys, which some ain't so fur from 'em now.You start a smart game, or a paying one—something as knocks 'em, dear boy,No matter, mate, whether it's mustard, or rhymes, or a sixpenny toy;They'll be arter you, nick over nozzle, the smuggers of notions and nips,For the mugs is as 'ungry for wrinkles as broken-down bookies for tips.Look at DICKENS, dear boy, and Lord TENNYSON—ain't they bin copied all round?Wy, I'm told some as liked ALFRED's verses at fust, is now sick of the sound;All along o' the parrots, my pippin. Ah, that's jest the wust o' sech fakes!People puke at the shams till they think the originals ain't no great shakes.'Tain't fair, CHARLIE, not by a jugful, but anger's all fiddle-de-dee;They may copy my style till all's blue, but they won't discombobulate me.Names and metres is anyone's props; but of one thing they don't get the 'ang;They ain't fly to good patter, old pal, they ain't copped the straight griffin on slang.'Tisn't grammar and spellin' makes patter, nor yet snips and snaps of snide talk.You may cut a moke out o' pitch-pine, mate, and paint it, but can't make it walk.You may chuck a whole Slang Dixionary by chunks in a stodge-pot of chat,But if 'tisn'talive, 'tain't chin-music, but kibosh, and corpsey at that.Kerrectness be jolly well jiggered! Street slang isn't Science, dear pal,And it don't need no "glossery" tips to hinterpret my chat to my gal.I take wot comes 'andy permiskus, wotever runs sliok and fits in,And when smugs makes me out a "philolergist,"—snuffers! it do make me grin!Still there's fitness, dear boy, and unfitness, and some of these jossers, jest now,Who himitate 'ARRY's few letters with weekly slapdabs of bow-wow,'Ave about as much "fit" in their "slang" as a slop-tailor's six-and-six bags.No, Yours Truly writes only to you, and don't spreadhisselfout in the Mags.Mister P.prints my letters, occasional, once in a while like, dear boy;For patter's like love-letters, CHARLIE, too long and too frequent, they cloy.I agree there withSamivel Veller. My echoes I've no wish to stop,But I'd jest like to say 'tisn'tmeas is slopping' all over the shop.It do give me the ditherums, CHARLIE, it makes me feel quite quisby snitch,To see the fair rush for a feller as soon as he's found a good pitch.Jest like anglers, old man, on the river; if one on 'em spots a prime swim,And is landing 'em proper, you bet arf the others'll crowd abouthim.But there's law for the rodsters, I'm told, CHARLIE; so many foot left and right;And you'll see the punts spotted at distance, like squodrons of troops at a fight.But in Trade, Art, and Littery lines, CHARLIE, 'anged if there's any fair play,And the "cullerable himitation" is jest the disgrace of the day.Sech scoots scurryfunging around on the gay old galoot, to go snacksIn the profits of other folks' notions, have put you, old pal, in a wax.Never mind their shenanigan, CHARLIE; it don't do much hurt, anyhow;I was needled a trifle at fust, but I'm pooty scroodnoodleous now.I'm all right and a arf, mate, I am, and ain't going' to rough up, no fear!Becos two or three second-hand 'ARRIES is tipping the public stale beer.The old tap'll turn on now and then, not too often, and as for the rest,The B.P. has a taste for sound tipple, and knows when it's served with the best.If mine don't 'old its own on its merits, then way-oh! for someone's as does!All cop and no blue ain't my motter; that's all tommy-rot and buz-wuz.The pace of a yot must depend on her lines and the canvas she'll carry;If rivals can crowd on more sail, wy they're welcome to overhaul 'ARRY.
DEAR CHARLIE,—Your faviour to 'and in doo course, as the quill-drivers say;Likeways also the newspaper cuttins enclosed. You're on Rummikey's lay.Awful good on yer, CHARLIE, old chummy, to take so much trouble for me;But do keep on yer 'air, dear old pal;Iam still right end uppards, yer see.
DEAR CHARLIE,—Your faviour to 'and in doo course, as the quill-drivers say;
Likeways also the newspaper cuttins enclosed. You're on Rummikey's lay.
Awful good on yer, CHARLIE, old chummy, to take so much trouble for me;
But do keep on yer 'air, dear old pal;Iam still right end uppards, yer see.
You are needled along of some parties,—er course you ain't fly to their names,—As has bin himitating Yours Truly. Way-oh! It's the oldest o' games,Himitation is, CHARLIE. It makes one think DARWIN was right, anyhow,And that most on us did come from monkeys, which some ain't so fur from 'em now.
You are needled along of some parties,—er course you ain't fly to their names,—
As has bin himitating Yours Truly. Way-oh! It's the oldest o' games,
Himitation is, CHARLIE. It makes one think DARWIN was right, anyhow,
And that most on us did come from monkeys, which some ain't so fur from 'em now.
You start a smart game, or a paying one—something as knocks 'em, dear boy,No matter, mate, whether it's mustard, or rhymes, or a sixpenny toy;They'll be arter you, nick over nozzle, the smuggers of notions and nips,For the mugs is as 'ungry for wrinkles as broken-down bookies for tips.
You start a smart game, or a paying one—something as knocks 'em, dear boy,
No matter, mate, whether it's mustard, or rhymes, or a sixpenny toy;
They'll be arter you, nick over nozzle, the smuggers of notions and nips,
For the mugs is as 'ungry for wrinkles as broken-down bookies for tips.
Look at DICKENS, dear boy, and Lord TENNYSON—ain't they bin copied all round?Wy, I'm told some as liked ALFRED's verses at fust, is now sick of the sound;All along o' the parrots, my pippin. Ah, that's jest the wust o' sech fakes!People puke at the shams till they think the originals ain't no great shakes.
Look at DICKENS, dear boy, and Lord TENNYSON—ain't they bin copied all round?
Wy, I'm told some as liked ALFRED's verses at fust, is now sick of the sound;
All along o' the parrots, my pippin. Ah, that's jest the wust o' sech fakes!
People puke at the shams till they think the originals ain't no great shakes.
'Tain't fair, CHARLIE, not by a jugful, but anger's all fiddle-de-dee;They may copy my style till all's blue, but they won't discombobulate me.Names and metres is anyone's props; but of one thing they don't get the 'ang;They ain't fly to good patter, old pal, they ain't copped the straight griffin on slang.
'Tain't fair, CHARLIE, not by a jugful, but anger's all fiddle-de-dee;
They may copy my style till all's blue, but they won't discombobulate me.
Names and metres is anyone's props; but of one thing they don't get the 'ang;
They ain't fly to good patter, old pal, they ain't copped the straight griffin on slang.
'Tisn't grammar and spellin' makes patter, nor yet snips and snaps of snide talk.You may cut a moke out o' pitch-pine, mate, and paint it, but can't make it walk.You may chuck a whole Slang Dixionary by chunks in a stodge-pot of chat,But if 'tisn'talive, 'tain't chin-music, but kibosh, and corpsey at that.
'Tisn't grammar and spellin' makes patter, nor yet snips and snaps of snide talk.
You may cut a moke out o' pitch-pine, mate, and paint it, but can't make it walk.
You may chuck a whole Slang Dixionary by chunks in a stodge-pot of chat,
But if 'tisn'talive, 'tain't chin-music, but kibosh, and corpsey at that.
Kerrectness be jolly well jiggered! Street slang isn't Science, dear pal,And it don't need no "glossery" tips to hinterpret my chat to my gal.I take wot comes 'andy permiskus, wotever runs sliok and fits in,And when smugs makes me out a "philolergist,"—snuffers! it do make me grin!
Kerrectness be jolly well jiggered! Street slang isn't Science, dear pal,
And it don't need no "glossery" tips to hinterpret my chat to my gal.
I take wot comes 'andy permiskus, wotever runs sliok and fits in,
And when smugs makes me out a "philolergist,"—snuffers! it do make me grin!
Still there's fitness, dear boy, and unfitness, and some of these jossers, jest now,Who himitate 'ARRY's few letters with weekly slapdabs of bow-wow,'Ave about as much "fit" in their "slang" as a slop-tailor's six-and-six bags.No, Yours Truly writes only to you, and don't spreadhisselfout in the Mags.
Still there's fitness, dear boy, and unfitness, and some of these jossers, jest now,
Who himitate 'ARRY's few letters with weekly slapdabs of bow-wow,
'Ave about as much "fit" in their "slang" as a slop-tailor's six-and-six bags.
No, Yours Truly writes only to you, and don't spreadhisselfout in the Mags.
Mister P.prints my letters, occasional, once in a while like, dear boy;For patter's like love-letters, CHARLIE, too long and too frequent, they cloy.I agree there withSamivel Veller. My echoes I've no wish to stop,But I'd jest like to say 'tisn'tmeas is slopping' all over the shop.
Mister P.prints my letters, occasional, once in a while like, dear boy;
For patter's like love-letters, CHARLIE, too long and too frequent, they cloy.
I agree there withSamivel Veller. My echoes I've no wish to stop,
But I'd jest like to say 'tisn'tmeas is slopping' all over the shop.
It do give me the ditherums, CHARLIE, it makes me feel quite quisby snitch,To see the fair rush for a feller as soon as he's found a good pitch.Jest like anglers, old man, on the river; if one on 'em spots a prime swim,And is landing 'em proper, you bet arf the others'll crowd abouthim.
It do give me the ditherums, CHARLIE, it makes me feel quite quisby snitch,
To see the fair rush for a feller as soon as he's found a good pitch.
Jest like anglers, old man, on the river; if one on 'em spots a prime swim,
And is landing 'em proper, you bet arf the others'll crowd abouthim.
But there's law for the rodsters, I'm told, CHARLIE; so many foot left and right;And you'll see the punts spotted at distance, like squodrons of troops at a fight.But in Trade, Art, and Littery lines, CHARLIE, 'anged if there's any fair play,And the "cullerable himitation" is jest the disgrace of the day.
But there's law for the rodsters, I'm told, CHARLIE; so many foot left and right;
And you'll see the punts spotted at distance, like squodrons of troops at a fight.
But in Trade, Art, and Littery lines, CHARLIE, 'anged if there's any fair play,
And the "cullerable himitation" is jest the disgrace of the day.
Sech scoots scurryfunging around on the gay old galoot, to go snacksIn the profits of other folks' notions, have put you, old pal, in a wax.Never mind their shenanigan, CHARLIE; it don't do much hurt, anyhow;I was needled a trifle at fust, but I'm pooty scroodnoodleous now.
Sech scoots scurryfunging around on the gay old galoot, to go snacks
In the profits of other folks' notions, have put you, old pal, in a wax.
Never mind their shenanigan, CHARLIE; it don't do much hurt, anyhow;
I was needled a trifle at fust, but I'm pooty scroodnoodleous now.
I'm all right and a arf, mate, I am, and ain't going' to rough up, no fear!Becos two or three second-hand 'ARRIES is tipping the public stale beer.The old tap'll turn on now and then, not too often, and as for the rest,The B.P. has a taste for sound tipple, and knows when it's served with the best.
I'm all right and a arf, mate, I am, and ain't going' to rough up, no fear!
Becos two or three second-hand 'ARRIES is tipping the public stale beer.
The old tap'll turn on now and then, not too often, and as for the rest,
The B.P. has a taste for sound tipple, and knows when it's served with the best.
If mine don't 'old its own on its merits, then way-oh! for someone's as does!All cop and no blue ain't my motter; that's all tommy-rot and buz-wuz.The pace of a yot must depend on her lines and the canvas she'll carry;If rivals can crowd on more sail, wy they're welcome to overhaul 'ARRY.
If mine don't 'old its own on its merits, then way-oh! for someone's as does!
All cop and no blue ain't my motter; that's all tommy-rot and buz-wuz.
The pace of a yot must depend on her lines and the canvas she'll carry;
If rivals can crowd on more sail, wy they're welcome to overhaul 'ARRY.
NOTICE.—Rejected Communications or Contributions, whether MS., Printed Matter, Drawings, or Pictures of any description, will in no case be returned, not even when accompanied by a Stamped and Addressed Envelope, Cover, or Wrapper. To this rule there will be no exception.