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In "Mr. Punch's Irish Humour in Picture and Story," a compilation of whimsical illustrations and humorous narratives, the book serves as a vibrant reflection of Victorian-era entertainment. The collection showcases the irreverent wit and satirical charm associated with the iconic Punch magazine, employing a combination of illustrations and text that encapsulates the cultural zeitgeist of Ireland during the late 19th century. Integrating visual storytelling with biting humor, this work delves into social and political commentary, cleverly employing caricature and parody as tools of critique while ensuring accessibility and engagement for the reader. The authors behind this anthology are a diverse group of social commentators and artists prominent during the peak of Punch's influence. Their collective experiences, shaped by the cultural tensions and shifts within Ireland and Britain, prompted a desire to explore and articulate the complexities of Irish life and humor. This venture not only reflects their artistic prowess but also reveals their keen insight into the national identity and societal interactions of the time, all while maintaining the playful spirit of humor that defines the Punch legacy. "Mr. Punch's Irish Humour in Picture and Story" is a must-read for anyone interested in the intersection of art, politics, and humor in Irish history. It offers a unique lens through which to view the social landscape of its era, making it an invaluable addition to the library of scholars and casual readers alike who seek to understand the richness of Irish cultural heritage.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
WITH 154 ILLUSTRATIONS
BY
CHARLES KEENE, PHIL MAY, GEORGE DU MAURIER, L. RAVEN-HILL, BERNARD PARTRIDGE, G. D. ARMOUR, E. T. REED, H. M. BROCK, TOM BROWNE, GUNNING KING, AND OTHERS
PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH
THE PROPRIETORS OF "PUNCH"
THE EDUCATIONAL BOOK CO. LTD.
The Punch Library of Humour
Twenty-five volumes, crown 8vo, 192 pages fully illustrated
(By way of Introduction)
No Punch artist has done more with Irish humour than Charles Keene. Well over a third of the Punch drawings on this subject are from his pencil. Most of the Punch artists have made good use of it, Phil May and Mr. Raven-Hill in particular.
Some of Mr. Punch's jokes against the Fenians, Home Rule, and Irish disloyalty have a bitterness that is quite unusual with him, but none of these are included in our pages, and he has at other times handled the same topics with his customary geniality and good-humoured satire. He makes the most of the Irishman's traditional weakness for "##bulls" whisky, fighting, and living with his pigs, but he gets an immense amount of variety out of these themes, and does not neglect to touch upon other typically Irish characteristics. If you have examples of the Irishman's blunderings, you have examples also of his ready wit and his amazing talent for blarney.
We have thus in the present volume a delightful collection of Irish wit and high spirits. The happy-go-lucky characteristic of Pat is especially prominent in many of the jokes, and interpreting Mr. Punch's attitude towards the Irishman as one of admiration for his many excellent qualities, instead of regarding him as the "but" for English jokes, too often the notion of comic writers, the editor has sought to represent Mr. Punch as the friend of Pat, sometimes his critic, but always his good humoured well-wisher, who laughs at him now and then, but as often with him.
The Irish Yolk.—In the name of the profit—eggs! Irish co-operators have already made giant strides in the production of milk and butter, and now the Irish Co-operative Agency has decided, so says the Cork Daily Herald, to "take up the egg trade." We hope the egg-traders won't be "taken up," too; if so, the trade would be arrested just when it was starting, and where would the profit be then? "It is stated that many Irish eggs now reach the English market dirty, stale, and unsorted," so that wholesale English egg-merchants have preferred to buy Austrian and French ones. Ireland not able to compete with the foreigner! Perish the thought! A little technical education judiciously applied will soon teach the Irish fowl not to lay "shop 'uns."
Tantalus.—Irish Waiter (to Commercial Gent, who had done a good stroke of business already). "Brikfast! Yessir. What'll ye have, yer honour—tay or coffee?"
Commercial Gent (hungry and jubilant). "Coffee and fried sole and mutton cutlet to follow!"
Waiter (satirically). "Annything ilse, surr?"
Commercial Gent. "Yes, stewed kidneys. Ah and a savoury omelette!"
Waiter. "Yessir. Annything——"
Commercial Gent. "No, that will do——"
Waiter (with calm contempt). "And do ye expict to foind the loikes o' them things here? Sure, ye'll get what yez always got—bacon an' iggs!"
From an Irish Reporter in a Troubled District.—"The police patrolled the street all night, but for all that there was no disturbance."
Mr. MacSimius. "Well, Oi don't profess to be a particularly cultivated man meself; but at laste me progenitors were all educated in the hoigher branches!"
Dear Mr. Punch,—I perceive that there is a movement on foot, initiated by the patriot Doogan, M.P., for teaching the Irish language to the youthful Redmonds and Healeys of the Emerald Isle. I am sorry that the Government has not acquiesced in the motion. I, myself, would bring in a measure compelling all Hibernian Members of Parliament to denounce (they never speak) in their native tongue. Just fancy the rapture with which they would inveigh in a language incapable of comprehension by a single Sassenach! And what a mighty relief to the other legislators! If necessary, the Speaker might be provided with an Anglo-Irish dictionary, or possibly a new post (open to Nationalists only) might be created, viz., Interpreter for Ireland.
Trusting that my suggestion may be supported by you,
I am, yours obediently,
Lindley Murray Walker
The College, Torkington-on-the-Marsh.
Usher (the Court having been much annoyed by the shuffling of feet). "Will ye hould yer tongues up there with yer feet in the gallery!"
Irish Landlord (to his agent, who has been to London as a witness). "And did ye mix much in society, Murphy?"
Mr. Pat Murphy. "Mix is it? Faix I did that, every night of the whole time, and they said they'd niver tasted anything like it!"
"Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Murphy? You look all broken up!" "Well, yer 'anner, I wint to wan iv thim 'shtop-the-war' meetings lasht noight!"
Every goose thinks his wife a duck.
No news in a newspaper isn't good news.
Manners make the gentleman, and the want of them drives him elsewhere for his shooting.
A miss is as good as a mile of old women.
Too many cooks spoil the broth of a boy.
It's foolish to spoil one's dinner for a ha'porth of tarts.
There are as fine bulls in Ireland as ever came out of it.
Necessity has no law, but an uncommon number of lawyers.
Better to look like a great fool, than to be the great fool you look.
A soft answer may turn away wrath, but in a Chancery suit, a soft answer is only likely to turn the scales against you.
One fortune is remarkably good until you have had another one told you.
Don't halloa until you have got your head safe out of the wood, particularly at Donnybrook Fair.
Lady (looking at new cob). "How does he go, Patrick?"
Irish Groom. "The very best, m'lady! Sure it's only now and then he touches the ground in odd spots."
Men of straw don't make the best bricks.
It's a narrow bed that has no turning.
When money is sent flying out of the window it's poverty that comes in at the door.
The pig that pleases to live must live to please.
One man may steal a hedge, whereas another daren't even as much as look at a horse.
Short rents make long friends—and it holds good equally with your landlord and your clothes.
The mug of a fool is known by there being nothing in it.
You may put the carte before the horse, but you can't make him eat.
Money makes the gentleman, the want of it the blackguard.
When wise men fall out, then rogues come by what is not their own.
A Bitter Bad Fruit.—A patriotic Irishman, expatiating eloquently upon the Lodge disturbances that were so repeatedly taking place in his country, exclaimed wildly: "By Jove, sir, you may call the Orange the Apple of Discord of Ireland."
Irate Station-master. "What the divil are ye waitin' for?"
Engine-driver. "Can't ye see the signals is against me?"
Station-master. "Is it the signals? Sure now, ye're gettin' mighty particular!"
Paddy. "Where will I catch the express for Dublin?"
Station-master. "Ye'll catch it all over ye if ye don't get off the line mighty quick!"
A Regular Turk.—Adjutant. "Well, sergeant, how's your prisoner getting on?" Sergeant of the Guard. "Bedad, sor, he's the vi'lentest blaggyard I iver had to do wid! We're all in tirror iv our loives! Shure we're obliged to feed him wid fixed bay'nits!"