Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, December 3, 1887
Mansion House, Dublin, Saturday .
Dear Toby,
The news from Ireland, not all of which finds its way into your daily papers, grows in excitement. The exploit of Mr. Douglas P-ne, M.P., of Lisfinny Castle, has taken root, and all the landed gentry among the Irish Members are fortifying themselves in their castles, and hanging themselves outside the front-door by ropes to deliver addresses to their constituents. The regular thing now is to hang out our M.P.'s on the outer wall. I do not see accounts of these proceedings in your London papers. I was, as you know, a Journalist before I was Lord Mayor; so, if you don't mind, I'll send you a few jottings. If there is anything due for lineage, please remit it anonymously to the Land League Fund From A Sympathiser.
Foremost in this band of heroic patriots is the châtelain of Butlerstown, Joseph G-ll-s B-gg-r, M.P., Butlerstown Castle, as everyone acquainted with Ireland knows, stands on the summit of a Danish rath, and was once the seat of an O'Toole. Now it is the den of Joseph G-ll-s. For some time he has been practising a flying leap from the eastern to the western turret, a distance of fifty feet over a yawning abyss, amid the cavernous depths of which the petulant plummet has played in vain. It is thrilling, whether at early dawn, or what time the darkening wing of Night begins to flap, to hear a shrill cry of Hear, hear! to see a well-known figure cleaving the astonished air, and to behold Joseph G-ll-s, erewhile upright on the eastern turret, prone on that which lifts its head nearer the setting sun. To be present on one of the occasions when Joey B. reads a Blue Book for three hours to a deputation shivering in the moat, is enough to convince the dullest Saxon of the hopelessness of enthralling a nation which has given birth to such as he. As Joseph himself says, quoting, with slight variation, my own immortal verse,—
Whether on the turret high,
Or in the moat not dry,
What matter if for Ireland dear we talk!
Various
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Volume 93
December 3, 1887.
AMEN!
A Real "Orleans" Plum.—The forged letters.
MR. PUNCH'S PARALLELS. No. 4.
BISHOP AND PORT.
ROBERT AT KILBURN.
"PRAVE 'ORTS."
SHOWS VIEWS.
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
Staff Appointments.—The Specials.
AN EYE FOR "ELECTIVE AFFINITIES."
LIGHTING THE DUBLIN BEACON.
HOW TO ESCAPE THE FOG.
LIGHTING THE DUBLIN BEACON.
A DOWN-Y PHILOSOPHER;
My Schooldays.
Choice of Calling.
I become a Naturalist.
The "Origin of Species."
My Way of Working.
My Favourite Authors.
My Nose.
My Portraits.
THE LARKS AND THE ROSES.
Latest French Cookery.—Spilling the Grévy.
HOW WE ADVERTISE NOW.
"SABLES."
THE PALACE OF (ADVERTISING) ART.
VOCES POPULI.
On the Platform.
In the Grand Circle.
Behind the Platform.
An Open Question.