The barber's chair; and, The hedgehog letters

Name: The barber's chair; and, The hedgehog letters
Author: Jerrold, Douglas William

Jerrold, Douglas William

English literature -- 19th century; English wit and humor

wickedness to stand upon! If the statue could feel at all, wouldn’t it
put up its hands, and hide its face, although it was made of the best
of bronze? But Mr Stephenson will look kindly and sweetly about him; he
will know that he has carried comfort, and knowledge, and happiness to
the doors of millions!--that, that he has brought men together, that
they might know and love one another. This is something like having a
statue! I’m sure of it--when George the Fourth is made to hear the news
(for kings are so very long before the truth comes to ’em), he’d like
to gallop off to the first melter’s and go at once into the nothing
that men think him.

And besides all this, the railways have got a king! When you hear of a
king in England, I know your old thoughts go down to Westminster Abbey,
and you think of nothing but bishops and peers, and all that sort of
thing, kissing the king’s cheeks, and the holy oil put upon the royal
head, that the crown, I suppose, may sit the more comfortably upon it;
but this is another sort of king, Mr King Hudson the First. I have read
somewhere at a bookstall, that Napoleon was crowned with the Iron Crown
of Italy. Well, King Hudson has been crowned with the Iron Crown of
England!--a crown melted out of pig-iron, and made in a railway furnace.

I’ve somewhere seen the picture of the River Nile, that with the
lifting of his finger made the river flow over barren land, and leave
there all sorts of blessings. Well, King Hudson is of this sort; he
has made the molten iron flow over all sorts of places, and so bring
forth good fruits wherever it went.--So no more, from your affectionate
grandson,

  JUNIPER HEDGEHOG.




LETTER XXIII.--_To Mrs Hedgehog, New York._


DEAR GRANDMOTHER,--Of course you must have heard of the potato blight.
There are some subjects that women don’t want newspapers to teach ’em
about, and “potatoes is one.” I can’t tell how your red Yorks and
Kidneys may be in your part of the world: with us, they’re things to
weep over. But, of course, your potatoes are all right: you’ve done
nothing to bring down rot upon ’em from heaven. But it’s very different
with us, grandmother. Our potato blight was got up by her Majesty’s
Ministers, and--would you think it?--consented to by her blessed
Majesty! It is now as plain as light that the great Maynooth has done
it all! One William Ferrie--who writes in a hair shirt, with a girdle
of tenpenny nails next his skin--has let out the terrible secret in the
_Witness_, an Edinburgh paper (Nov. 8). He groans as follows:--

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Opening the text

The barber's chair; and, The hedgehog lettersJerrold, Douglas William

General

The barber's chair; and, The hedgehog letters

Jerrold, Douglas William

English literature -- 19th century; English wit and humor

wickedness to stand upon! If the statue could feel at all, wouldn’t it
put up its hands, and hide its face, although it was made of the best
of bronze? But Mr Stephenson will look kindly and sweetly about him; he
will know that he has carried comfort, and knowledge, and happiness to
the doors of millions!--that, that he has brought men together, that
they might know and love one another. This is something like having a
statue! I’m sure of it--when George the Fourth is made to hear the news
(for kings are so very long before the truth comes to ’em), he’d like
to gallop off to the first melter’s and go at once into the nothing
that men think him.

And besides all this, the railways have got a king! When you hear of a
king in England, I know your old thoughts go down to Westminster Abbey,
and you think of nothing but bishops and peers, and all that sort of
thing, kissing the king’s cheeks, and the holy oil put upon the royal
head, that the crown, I suppose, may sit the more comfortably upon it;
but this is another sort of king, Mr King Hudson the First. I have read
somewhere at a bookstall, that Napoleon was crowned with the Iron Crown
of Italy. Well, King Hudson has been crowned with the Iron Crown of
England!--a crown melted out of pig-iron, and made in a railway furnace.

I’ve somewhere seen the picture of the River Nile, that with the
lifting of his finger made the river flow over barren land, and leave
there all sorts of blessings. Well, King Hudson is of this sort; he
has made the molten iron flow over all sorts of places, and so bring
forth good fruits wherever it went.--So no more, from your affectionate
grandson,

  JUNIPER HEDGEHOG.




LETTER XXIII.--_To Mrs Hedgehog, New York._


DEAR GRANDMOTHER,--Of course you must have heard of the potato blight.
There are some subjects that women don’t want newspapers to teach ’em
about, and “potatoes is one.” I can’t tell how your red Yorks and
Kidneys may be in your part of the world: with us, they’re things to
weep over. But, of course, your potatoes are all right: you’ve done
nothing to bring down rot upon ’em from heaven. But it’s very different
with us, grandmother. Our potato blight was got up by her Majesty’s
Ministers, and--would you think it?--consented to by her blessed
Majesty! It is now as plain as light that the great Maynooth has done
it all! One William Ferrie--who writes in a hair shirt, with a girdle
of tenpenny nails next his skin--has let out the terrible secret in the
_Witness_, an Edinburgh paper (Nov. 8). He groans as follows:--

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

The barber's chair; and, The hedgehog letters

The barber's chair; and, The hedgehog letters

No reviews yet