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F. C. (Francis Cowley) Burnand
Francis Cowley Burnand was a prominent English playwright and humorist, best known for his long association with the satirical magazine *Punch*, where he served as editor from 1880 to 1906. He wrote numerous plays and operas, including the successful burlesque "The Latest Edition of the White Cat" and the comic opera "The Chieftain" in collaboration with Arthur Sullivan. Burnand's work is noted for its wit and comedic brilliance, significantly influencing Victorian theatre and humor.
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Chorus of Female Spectators. We shall see better here than what we did last Droring-Room. Law, 'ow it did come down, too, pouring the 'ole day. I was that sorry for the poor 'orses!... Oh, that one was nice, Marire! Did you see 'er train?—all flame-coloured satting—lovely! Ain't them flowers beautiful? Oh, Liza, 'ere's a pore skinny-lookin' thing coming...
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"GOOD OLD GRACE!" (Doggerel on "The Doctor," by an "Old Duffer.") "Dr. Grace, who seemed to forget his lameness, played with great vigour and dash, and his cuts and drives possessed all their old brilliancy."—The Times, on the exciting finish in the Cricket Match between the M.C.C. and the Australians, June 3, 1890. One hundred and eleven runs, and eighty-five minutes...
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Fleacatcher.—Yes, the trout in the river Itching (this is the only correct spelling) are red, and, before they are boiled, raw. The best method of catching them is to tickle them. When you have hooked an Itching trout, you first scratch him, and then cook him. Novice.—We only knew one man who could make a decent rod, and he died twenty years ago. Remember the old adage so dear to Izaak, Qui parcit...
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Of the many varieties of keeper, I propose, at present, to consider only the average sort of keeper, who looks after a shooting, comprising partridges, pheasants, hares, and rabbits, in an English county. Now it is to be observed that your ordinary keeper is not a conversational animal. He has, as a rule, too much to do to waste time in unnecessary talk. To begin with, he has to control his staff, the...
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At intervals of a few years the torpor of London Society is stirred by the carefully disseminated intelligence that a new planet has begun to twinkle in the firmament of fashion, and the telescopes of all those who are in search of novelty are immediately directed to the spot. Partially dropping metaphor, it may be stated that a hitherto unknown lady emerges, like the planet, from a cloud under which,...
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MR. PUNCH'S DICTIONARY OF PHRASES.Journalistic."The Prisoner, who was fashionably attired, and of genteel appearance;" i.e., An ill-got-up swell-mobsman. "A powerful-looking fellow;" i.e., An awful ruffian. "A rumour has reached us"—(in the well-nigh impenetrable recesses wherein, as journalists, we habitually conceal ourselves). "Nothing fresh has transpired;"...
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The Chief Secretary's Musical Performance, with Accompaniment.—Mr. John Morley arrived last Friday at Kingston. He went to Bray. He was "accompanied" by the Under Secretary. Surely the Leader of the Opposition, now at Belfast, won't lose such a chance as this item of news offers. The "Water-Carnival."—Good idea! But a very large proportion of those whom the show attracts...
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APRIL 12, 1890. My Dear Mr. Punch,—As the representative of Justice in this country, I appeal to you. And when I write this, you must not imagine that I claim, in my own person, to represent Justice—no, Sir, I only to some extent suggest the Law—a very different matter. But, Sir, as suggesting the Law, I apply to you for redress on behalf of hundreds, nay, thousands, of members of a very noble...
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THE MAN WHO WOULD. II.—THE MAN WHO WOULD PLAY GOLF. Bulger was no cricketer, no tennis-player, no sportsman, in fact. But his Doctor recommended exercise and fresh air. "And I'm thinking, Sir," he added, "that you cannot do better than just take yourself down to St. Andrews, and put yourself under Tom Morris." "Is he a great Scotch physician?" asked Bulger; "I...
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SOME NOTES AT STARMOUTH. 3 p.m.—Arrive at Starmouth—the retired Watering-place at which I propose to write the Nautical Drama that is to render me famous and wealthy. Leave luggage at Station, and go in search of lodgings. Hotel out of the question—table d'hôte quite fatal to inspiration. On the Esplanade, noting likely places with critical eye. Perhaps I am a little fastidious. What I...
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