Punch, or the London Charivari | Page 3

(like Miltonian angels on the marl) In league-long loops upon the
billowy brine. Beshrew thee, old familiar ocean Bogey, Thou spectral
spook of many Silly Seasons, Beshrew thee, and avaunt! Which being
put In post-Shakspearian vernacular, means Confound, you, and Get
out!!! The monstrous worm Wriggling its corkscrew periwinkly twists
Of trunk and tail alternate, winked huge goggles Derisively and gurgled.
"Me get out, The Science-vouched, and Literature-upheld, And
Reason-rehabilitated butt Of many years of misdirected mockery? You
ask omniscient HUXLEY, cocksure oracle On all from protoplasm to
Home Rule, From Scripture to Sea Serpents; go consult Belligerent,
brave, beloved BILLY RUSSELL! Verisimilitude incarnate, I Scorn
your vain sceptic mirth! Besides, behold The portent riding me, as
Thetis rode The lolloping, wolloping sea-horse of old! Is it less likely
that I should remain Than she return?" Then, horror-thrilled, I gazed At
her, the Abominable, the Ogreish Thing; The soul-revolting,
sense-degrading She, Who swayed and sickened, scourged and
scarified The unwilling slaves of fashion and discomfort A quarter of a
century since! She sat, A spectral, scraggy, beet-nosed, ankle-less,
Obtrusive-panted, splay-foot, slattern-shape, Of grim Medusa-faced

Immodesty, Caged cumbrously in a stiff, swaying, swollen,
Shin-scarifying, hose-revealing frame Of wide-meshed metal, like a
monster mousetrap-- Hideous, indecent, awkward! Oh, I knew her--
This loathly revenant, revisiting The glimpses of the moon. She
shamed my sight, And blocked my way, and marred my young men's
art, Twenty years syne and more. 'Twas CRINOLINA, The
long-abiding, happily banished horror We hoped to see no more. Shall
she return To vex our souls, unsex our wives and daughters, And spoil
our pictures as she did of old? Forbid it, womanhood and modesty!
And if they won't, let manhood and sound sense Arise in wrath and
warn the horror off, Ere she effect a lodgment on the limbs Of pretty
girls, or clothe our matron's shapes With shame as with a garment. "Get
thee gone!" Cries Punch, and shakes his gingham in her face. "The
Silly Season's Nemesis we may stand, But thou, the loathlier Bogey?
Garn away! (As 'LIZA said to amorous 'ARRY 'AWKINS) Avaunt,
skedaddle, slope, absquatulate, Go, gruesome ghoul--go quickly--and
for ever!!!"
* * * * *
MRS. R.'S nephew read out an announcement to the effect that Messrs.
MACMILLAN were about to publish Lord CARNARVON'S
"Prometheus Bound." "Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. R.'s excellent aunt.
"That's very vague. Doesn't it say how it's to be bound?--whether in
calf or vellum?"
* * * * *
[Illustration: "AN INTERNATIONAL EPISODE."
Hostess. "ER--ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE--ER--MR.
CORNELIUS P. VAN DUNK, FROM CHICAGO--MR. KEMBLE
MACREADY KEAN, THE GREAT TRAGEDIAN, AND
MANAGER OF THE PARTHENON."
Mr. Van Dunk. "MR. KEMBLE MACREADY KEAN! SIR, YOUR
NAME'S VERY FAMILIAR TO ME, AND I'M PROUD TO KNOW
YOU!--AND I SHALL TAKE AN EARLY OPPORTUNITY OF

ASKING YOU FOR SOME ORDERS FOR YOUR THEATRE!"]
* * * * *
LAPSUS LINGUÆ.
["There is scarcely one of us who does not violate some rule of English
grammar in every sentence which he speaks."--Daily News.]
Never we dreamt of this horrible blundering! Up to the present, we
cheerfully spoke Quite unaware of our errors, nor wondering How
many rules in each sentence we broke.
Now we can scarcely pronounce the admission that Grammar and
parsing we freely neglect, Scarcely can dare to make humble petition
that Someone or other will cure this defect!
Often we err in the use of each particle, Seldom observe where our
adverbs belong, Wholly misplace the indefinite article, In our
subjunctives go hopelessly wrong!
What can we do? Will the Daily News qualify As an instructor in
matters like these? How can we quickest successfully mollify Those
whom our errors must sadly displease?
Scarce can we venture the veriest platitude, May not its grammar be
shamefully weak? You, Mr. Punch, can rely on our gratitude, If you
will tell us--how ought we to speak?
* * * * *
A DARK SAYING.--Had HILDA DAWSON--who, as reported in the
D. T. one day last week, was haled before Sir PETER EDLIN--been a
character in some play of SHAKSPEARE'S, to whom the Bard had
given these words to utter--"And this is what you call trial by Jury!
Why they are not fit to try shoemakers!" what voluminous suggestions
and explanations of the meaning of this phrase would not the learned
Commentators have written! What emendations, alterations, or

amendments of the text would not have been proposed! Perhaps, some
hundreds of years hence, this dark saying of HILDA DAWSON'S will
engage the close attention of some among the then existing learned
body of Antiquaries.
* * * * *
"SOUNDS RATHER LIKE IT."--In France the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs has gone to the DEVELLE.
* * * * *
THE HAYMARKET HYPATIA.
That I never could struggle through CHARLES KINGSLEY'S novel
Hypatia, is, as far as