Punch (12.1847)

64

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Angelina. " Will my darling Edwin grant his Angelina a boon?"
Edwin. " Is ihfre anything on earth her Edwin would not do for his
5t ?—Name the boon, oh, dearest—name it !"

(©'(Co mull's ©tjecttons to tf)e Repeal of tfje ©rutin.

Nobody, a year or two ago, would have dreamed that O'Connell
would ever object to the Repeal of the Union. We now, however, are
strongly inclined to think that he will, as there is every prospect of a
speedy cessation of Rent ; in which case we confidently predict that
he will see no good in the continuance of the Repeal agitation. We
even anticipate that Mr. O'Connell will have the following objections
to Repeal:—

1. That circumstances alter cases, and that the Whigs are no longer
"base, bloody, and brutal," but, on the contrary, generous, pacific, and
considerate ; also, that the Sassenach have ceased to be tyrants and
oppressors, and instead of causing poor old Ireland to bleed, have bled
themselves, like perfect pelicans, for the benefit of the said poor old
Ireland.

2. That the principle of " Ireland for the Irish " must be given up ;
because it would involve that of "Ireland without the English," with-
out whom, experience has proved that Ireland is unable to get on at
all, at alL

3. That, upon mature consideration, it appears too true, that, if
Ireland, at a pinch, wanted a dirty fifteen millions, there is not a soul
on earth but John Boll of whom she could beg or borrow the small

trifle.

4. That the Union is now to be regarded in a new light entirely ;
namely, in that of a partnership, in which Ireland is the sleeping
partner, and England does the business and pays all the expenses,
which is a mighty ea.-y and comfortable arrangement.

5. That Repeal had better not be talked about any longer, because
the mention of it rakes up old scores ; particularly one with a certain
gtntleman, who, sume years ago, ventured to pledge his head that it
should be carried «ithin six months.

How Happy the Soldier 1'

Angelina. "Then, love, as we dine by ourselves to-morrow, let us, oh 1 ^D tne Chronicle there is a paragraph from a Correspondent, from
ut us have roast pork, with plenty of sage and onions!" I which we learn that the Duke's fifty lashes have been inflicted on a

man, named Blakeley, for deserting with half-a-sovereign. The
paragraph condnues .—

oni? iv a rniviinpn " ^ ^en m corjfmerDenl 'n Fort Pitt, Chatham, he put lime into his eyes, with the

UIN fc. liN a ll UlyUKbD, object of destroying them to such an extent as to render him unfit for service, and it waj

A dramatic newspaper talks of Mrs. Butltr's " priceless abilities.'; j for that crime that be was corPorally P^hed to-day."
As long as that lady asks £100 per night, we think they are likely to ' Military Glory must, in sootb, be a hideous hag, when a poor wretch
remain so. puts lime in his eyts, that he may not look at her.

The County-Member rose from dreams And all about, the scoff and shout, His brother members strove to cheer,

Of Peel and base defection :— ! The " Oh ! Ohs ! " crowing, braying. Their comfort seemed effrontery ;

" Art lost, or liv'st in Stanley's schemes, j Were changed to cheers, and "hears" and ears
My own, my loved Protection ? " For what old foes were saying :

The cause had suffered in the fiaht, The Sessions work like summer smiles.

Where Peel with Cobden joined and Bright; For Peel's and Russell's friendly files ;

But there was an impression But for the County Member

'Twould rise again this Session. 'Tis Londou-foggtd November !

Conservative and Whigling chiefs | He turneth left, he turneth right,

Of party wars a-weary, To Stanley, Bentinck, D'Izzy ;

Old feuds had patched, and ancient griefs But none could tell Protection's plight,
Exchanged for greetings cheery : if g0ne, game, blown, or busy :

Dr/ncombe g*ve Goulburn welcome warm, He asked the country party round,

Gladstone and Home walked arm in arm ; But ah ! no information found ;

And thro' serene St. Stephen's, And cursing them for noodles,

He saw, slow pulled up, year by year,

The stake he'd in the country :
" Gammon is gammon, Peel is Peel !
Gone private wealth and public weal!
E'en those are turning traitors
Who wear top-boots and gaiters !"

" Cheer up ! No wheaten deluge flows
From Pole, Russ, Turk, or Tartars ;
Nor England's Church, nor Cattle Shows,

To foreign bulls fall martyrs !"
" Oh, gammon ! gammon ! If they don't*
'Tis not. be sure, because they won't ;
From John o' Groat's to London

All by- gone odds were even*. Flung frantic into Boodle's '. i We must and will be undone 1