Mr. Punch's Cockney Humour by J. A. Hammerton (the best books to read .TXT) 📖
- Author: J. A. Hammerton
Book online «Mr. Punch's Cockney Humour by J. A. Hammerton (the best books to read .TXT) 📖». Author J. A. Hammerton
[Pg 63]
Euphemism.
Cab Tout (exasperated by the persistent attentions of constable). "Look 'ere, ole lightnin'-ketcher, w'ere the missin' word are yer shovin' us to?"
[Pg 65]
Coster (to acquaintance, who has been away for some months). "Wot are yer bin doin' all this time?"
(Bill Robbins who has been "doing time"). "Oh I 've bin wheelin' a bit, ole man—wheelin' a bit!"
[Pg 67]
He Thought He was Safe.
Irascible Old Gentleman. "Buy a comb! What the devil should I buy a comb for? You don't see any hair on my head, do you?"
Unlicensed Hawker. "Lor' bless yer, sir!—yer don't want no 'air on yer 'ead for a tooth-comb!!"
[Pg 69]
A QUESTION OF TASTE
Liz (to Emily). "Mind yer, it's all roight so fur as it goes. All I sez is, it wants a fevver or two, or a bit o' plush somewhares, to give it what I call stoyle!"
[Pg 70]
The Land of the 'Arry'uns.—'Am'stead 'eath.
When a vulgar husband drops his h's, a good wife drops her eyes.
THE SNOW CURE!!
Fiendish Little Boy (to elderly gentleman, who has come a cropper for the fourth time in a hundred yards). "'Ere I say, guv'nor, you're fair wallerin' in it this mornin'! H'anyone 'ud think as you'd bin hordered it by your medical man!!!"
[Pg 71]
OPEN TO DOUBT
Ostler (dubiously, to 'Arry, who is trying to mount on the wrong side). "Beg pard'n, sir, I suppose you're quite accustomed to 'osses, sir?"
[Pg 72]
NOTES BY A COCKNEY NATURALISTThere are various kinds of larks to be observed by Cockney naturalists, which are more or less, and rather less than more, indigenous to London. There is first of all the cage lark (Alauda Miserrima) which is chiefly found on grass-plats measuring about two inches square, and may be heard singing plaintively in many a back slum. Then there is the mud lark (Alauda Greenwichiensis), which is principally seen towards nightfall on the shores of the river, when the whitebait is in season. This little lark is a migratory bird, and flits from place to place in quest of anything worth picking up that may happen to be thrown to it. Finally, there is the street lark (Alauda Nocturna), which is known to most policemen in the neighbourhood of the Haymarket, and the like nocturnal haunts.
As a gratifying proof of our progressing civilisation, there has been of recent years a very marked decrease in the number of white mice, and[Pg 74] monkeys dressed as soldiers, exhibited by organ-grinders in the London streets. Trained dogs appear, however, decidedly more numerous, and performing canaries may be met with not infrequently in the squares of the West End. The naturalist should note, moreover, that the learned British pig (Porcus Sapiens Britannicus) which, within the memory of men who are still living, used commonly to infest the fairs near the metropolis, has recently well nigh completely disappeared and is believed by sundry naturalists to be utterly extinct.
The rum shrub (Shrubbus Curiosus) which, although deserving of close investigation has somehow escaped mention in the pages of Linnæus, is found in great profusion in the purlieus of Whitechapel, as well as other parts of London where dram-drinkers do congregate. It may be generally discovered in proximity to the Pot-tree (Arbor Pewteriferens), which may be readily recognised by its metallic fruit.
The common cat of the metropolis (Felis Catterwaulans) is remarkable, especially for the exceeding frequency and shrillness of its cries when it goes[Pg 76] upon the tiles, or proceeds to other spots of feline popular resort. Sleep becomes impossible within earshot of its yellings, and the injury they cause to property as well as human temper is immense. It has, indeed, been roughly estimated that thirty thousand water-jugs are annually sacrificed, within a circuit of not more than six miles from St. Paul's, by being hurled from bedroom windows with the aim to stop these squalling feline "Voices of the night."
A certain proof that oysters are amphibious may be noted in the fact that they always build their grottoes in the courts and the back streets of the metropolis where, in the month of August, with extravagant profusion, their shells are yearly cast.
The scarlet-coated lobster (Le Homard Militaire, Cuvier) has been frequently discovered on the shores of the Serpentine, or basking by the margin of the water in St. James's Park. This crustacean, when treated well, will drink like a fish, excepting that, unlike a fish, he does not confine himself to water for his drink. His shell (jacket) is of a bright red colour, which is not[Pg 78] produced, as in the lobster species generally, by the agency of the caloric in the act of being boiled. The scarlet-coated lobster leads, while in London, a very peaceful life, notwithstanding his presumed propensities for fighting.
If we may credit the statistics which, with no slight labour, have been recently collected, no fewer than five million and eleven blue-bottles are annually slaughtered in the butchers' shops of London, before depositing their ova in the primest joints of meat. The number of the smaller flies which, merely in the City, are every year destroyed for buzzing round the bald heads of irritable bank clerks, amounts, it has been calculated, to one million three hundred thousand and thirteen.
From Taplow.—First 'Arry. I'll tell you a good name for a riverside inn—"The Av-a-launch."
Second 'Arry. I'll tell you a better—"The 'Ave-a-lunch." Come along!
[Pg 73]
"Did yer order any ile round the corner?"
"What do you mean by ile? Do you mean oil?"
"Naw. Not ile, but ILE wot yer drinks!"
[Pg 75]
A Question of the Senses.
First County Councillor. "I'm told the acoustics of this hall leave much to be desired, Mr. Brown!"
Second C. C. (delicately sniffing). "Indeed, Sir Pompey? Can't say as I perceive anythink amiss, myself; and my nose is pretty sharp, too!"
[Pg 77]
Quick Work.
Guttersnipe. "Please muvver wants sixpence on this 'ere fryin' pan."
Pawnbroker. "Hallo! it's hot!"
Guttersnipe. "Yus, muvver's just cooked the sossidges, an' wants the money for the beer!"
[Pg 79]
We mustn't always judge by appearances.
"I say, Bill, you aren't got such a thing as the price of 'arf a pint about you, are yer? I'm so blooming dry!"
[Pg 80]
Philanthropic Coster' (who has been crying "Perry-wink-wink-wink!" till he's hoarse—and no buyers). "I wonder what the p'or unfort'nate creeters in these 'ere low neighb'r'oods do live on!!"
[Pg 81]
RUDE INQUIRY
Street Arabs. "Hoo curls yer 'air, gov'nour?"
[Pg 82]
Billingsgate Up-to-date.
'Enery. "'Ullo, Chawley? Wot's up? 'As yer motor broke down?"
Chawley (whose "moke" is a "bit below himself"). "Yuss, smashed me 'sparking plug.'"
[Pg 83]
First "Growler." "'Ulloah, William, where are yer takin' that little lot?"
Second "Growler." "Hararat! Don't yer see I'm navigatin' the Hark?"
[Pg 84]
'Arriet. "I will say this for Bill, 'e do look the gentleman!"
[Pg 85]
First Urchin. "Fifth o' November, sir! Only a copper, sir! Jist a penny, sir!"
Second Urchin. "Let 'im alone. Cawn't yer see 'e's one of the family!"
[Pg 86]
SONGS FOR THE NATION "Λαυς αρε α λυξυρυ σογγς εσσεντιαλΛαυς αρε α λυξυρυ σογγς εσσεντιαλ"'Arrystophanes.
It is evident that the nation is yearning for singable songs in the 'Arry dialect. The late lamented Artemus Ward would probably have said, "Let her yearn"; but a stern sense of duty impels me to try and meet the need, created by the Daily Chronicle. I have a comforting impression that all that is necessary to insure correctness is to "chinge" as many "a"s as possible into "i"s. By this means I secure the "local colouring," which, by the way, has undergone a complete change since Dickens spelt Weller "with a wee, my lord." A catchword, à propos of nothing, is always useful, so I have duly provided it.
'ARRY THE OPTIMIST I.Oh! you should see
My gal and me
(Mariar is 'er nime),
When we go daown
To Brighton taown
To 'ave a gorjus time.[Pg 88]
She wears sich feathers in 'er 'at,
She's beautiful and guy,
But it ain't all beer and skittles—flat
And 'ere's the reason why:
Refrine—
She 'urries me, she worries me,
To ketch the bloomin' trine;
She 'ustles me, she bustles me,
She grumbles 'arf the time:
It's "'Arry do," and "'Arry don't,"
Which "'Arry" will, or "'Arry" won't
(It goes against the grine),
But—
(Triumphantly.)
We 'as a 'appy 'ollidy,
We gets there all the sime.
—'Urry up, 'Arry.
II.And when we reach
The Brighton beach
It's sure to pour with rine
A pub is not
A 'appy spot
For us to set and drine
Yet there we set and tike our beer
And while awy the dy,
Though we don't 'ave words, no bloomin' fear
Mariar 'as 'er sy.
Refrine—
'Er langwidge is for sangwidges,
She's sorry that she cime;[Pg 90]
The weather's wrong, 'er feather's wrong,
I 'as to tike the blime.
It's "'Arry" 'ere, and "'Arry" there,
And "'Arry, you're a bloomin' bear,"
And "'Arry, it's a shime"—
(Spoken.)—Which is 'ard on a feller! And then we 'as
to ketch the bloomin' trine again, and she do talk, but
never mind—
(Brightly.)
We've 'ad a 'appy 'ollidy,
We gits 'ome all the sime.
—'Urry up, 'Arry!
Cockney Sport Extraordinary.Well-known sporting character, residing at Putney, being unable to reach the moors this season, and having lost his gun, has lately amused himself by bringing down several brace of grouse by means of the Brompton omnibus.
At the Zoo. (A Fact).—'Arriet (looking at the Java sparrows). Wot's them? Sparrerkeets?
'Arry. Sparrerkeets be 'anged—them's live 'umming birds.
[Pg 87]
Common Objects of the Sea Shore.
First seaside saddle polisher. "Wot cheer, 'Arry? 'Ow are yer gettin' on?"
'Arry. "First-rate, old pal. Only this—beggar always—bumps—at the wrong—time!"
[Pg 89]
Under Correction.
Fare. "Hans Mansions."
Cabby. "Queen Hanne's Mansions, I suppose you mean, miss?"
[Pg 91]
"Penny 'addick."
"Finen?"
"No; thick 'un!"
[Pg 92]
First Frenchman. "Ah, mon cher ami!"
Second Frenchman. "Ah, c'est mon cher Alphonse!"
British Workman. "Bloomin' Germans!"
[Pg 93]
Clerk of Booking-Office. "There is no first class by this train, sir."
'Arry. "Then wot are we going ter do, Bill?"
[Pg 94]
"Fader's gettin' better. 'E's beginnin' ter swear again!"
[Pg 95]
Vendor of Pirated Songs. "Er y'are, lidy! ''Oly City', 'Bu'ful Star,' 'Hi cawn't think why Hi lubs yer, but Hi do!'"
[Pg 96]
'ARRY ON HIS 'OLIDAYBeing an epistle from that notorious and ubiquitous person, luxuriating for the time in rural parts, to his chum Charlie, confined in town.
Wha' cheer, my dear Charlie? 'Ow are yer? I promised I'd drop yer a line.
I'm out on the trot for a fortnit; and ain't it golumpshusly fine?
Bin dooing
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