Punch (12.1847)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

213

PREACHER PRISON AND SAINT SCHOOL.

That every stone has its sermon,
One Shakspeare ventured to tell us ;

But e'en bricks and mortar

(Could they find a reporter)
Might make some pulpit-orators jealous.

And, for two famous specimens

Of these brick-and-mortar preachers

Take School and Prison,

Who've lately arisen
As opposition teachers.

Preacher Prison, that frowns so gloomy
On poor society's errors,

Holds the kind of discourse

Whose heavenward force
Springs all from torments and terrors.

Besides that such means are simple,
Efficacious 'tis said you '11 find 'em -,

As in Ireland we know,

To make post-horses go,
They clap lighted wisps behind 'em.

If you 're bad, I '11 make you worser !

" That nouns must be, do, or suffer,
Into schoolboys schoolmasters hammer
You've been and done,
So now suffer each one

I preach stern truth : why scotch it ?

There's nothing like Law ;

Education—Pshaw !
Stuff l nonsense ! crazy crotchet !

"Crime listens but to my preaching,
And laughs at thy soft story ;

The more thou dost ply,

The fuller am I;
Tis remarked by Sir Petes Laurie."

" Nay, good Preacher Prison," answered
Saint School, with a gentle patience ;
" Thine ire is hot-
Here '8 enough, God wot,
For both our congregations.

" Thou art older than I, and richer ;
But just consider a minute,

(Ere thou ventur'st to boast,)

That thy chapel, thou know'st,
Had till late all the free-seats in it.

" Want and Ignorance were thy beadles,
(From a time no chronology can date,)

And their goal was thy steeple,

To which all stray young people
Were whipped in by parochial mandate.

"But no mite of aid, till lately,
Have I had from Bench or Beadle ;
Thou couldst bluster and swear
In thy big iron chair,
Whilst poor I must cringe or wheedle.

tt And before my face by thousands,
I saw young things, pale and wizen,

Pass stumbling along

The blind paths of wrong,
To sit under Preacher Prison.

" I was helpless and had no patron,
And they passed my door with laughter ;
And 1 sat dismayed,
And I wept and prayed,
Like thee to be followed after.

" But at last I am growing the fashion,
Despite the scoffers and sneerers ;
So look to your shop,
For I don't mean to stop
Till I've drained it of two-thirds your hearers.'

PUNCH'S PRIZE NOVELISTS.

CODLINGSBY.

Godfrey and Rafael passed from the street into the outer shop of
the old mansion in Holywell Street. It was a masquerade warehouse,
to all appearance. A dark-eyed damsel of the nation was standing at
the dark and grimy counter, strewed with old feathers, old yellow
boots, old stage mantles, painted masks, blind and yet gazing at you
with a look of sad death-like intelligence from the vacancy behind

So Prison says, " Hark ye, rascals !" tbe!r 80Cjietf-• .

(And what sermon can be terser ?) A med,cal student was tr™ one of the doublets of orangetawney

" Just behave as you should_ and 8uver> slashed with dirty light blue. He was going to amas-

You'd better be good ; querade that night. He thought Polly Pattens would admire him

in the dress—Polly Pattens, the fairest of maids-of-all-work—the-

Borough Venus, adored by half the youth of Guy's.

"You look like a Prince in it, Mr. Lint," pretty Rachael saicL.

coaxing him with her beady black eyes.

" It is the cheese," replied Mr. Lint ; " it ain't the dress that don't

That's good sense as well as grammar." 1 suit, my rose of Sharon ; it's the figure. Hullo, Rafael, is that j oil,

tj * c c v, i u .,, my lad of sealing-wax ? Come and intercede for me with this wild

But Saiut School hath a milder aspect, J „ , , ,. , , r.^ , < e - .„ > A

And preaches a gentler lesson : Sazelle > she sa)'8 1 cau 1 have lt under fifteen bob,for tbe ™?ht: And

Still making sweet, 1 i*'s t0° mucn : cuss me if it's not too much, unless you 11 take my

To the wayfarer's feet, little bill at two months, Rafael."

The road she would have them press on. " There's a sweet pretty brigand's dress you may have for half de

So, as on to stern Preacher Prison monisb," Rafael repded ; « there's a splendid clown for eight boo;

The young congregation journey tor Spanish dress, selp ma Moshesh, Mishter Lint, ve d ask a

Saint School stops the crowd, ' ' guinea of any but you. Here's a gentlemansh just come to look at it.

While Prison, aloud, Look ear, Mr. Brownsh, did you ever shee a nisher ting dan dat ? *

Invokes Jury, Judge, and Attorney. So saying, Rafael turned to Lord Codlingsby with the utmost

"Let them pass to me, old woman— 1 S^tJ, and displayed to him the garment about which the young

Medicus was haggling.

" Cheap at the money," Codlingsby replied ; "if you won't make
up your mind, 3ir, I should like to engage it myself." But the thought
that another should appear before Polly Pattens in that costume was
too much for Mr. Lint : he agreed to pay the fifteen shillings for the
garment. And Rafael, pocketing the money with perfect simplicity,
said " Dis vay, Mr. Brownsh ; dere's someting vill shoot you in the
nest shop."

Lord Codlingsby followed him, wondering.