Punch (55.1868)

80

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[August 22, 1868.

PATER PUNCH’S BEACH-M USINGS.

’Tis the season of sea, when from business set free,
Britons crowd for their sniff of the briny ;

To Neptune’s embraces entrust their nude graces,
And come out of them shivering and shiny.

When the lodging-house shark preys from dawning to dark,
And the shark’s victim, married or single,

Of his cash “ducks and drakes” as submissively makes,

As he makes of flat stones from the shingle.

JUSTICE TO THE GRAND ST.
MARTIN.

There is good sense and justice in a
paragraph wrhich we beheld the other evening
in the Glowworm. Somebody wrote to it,
alleging that the Post-Office did not deliver
his letters regularly; and the luminous
journal intimates, in reply, first, that it
does not believe him, and, secondly, that if
his letters miscarry, it is most. likely his
own fault. Mr. Punch is so terribly, yet so
justly, severe upon all public departments
that "fad in their duty, that he deems it
right to say that he endorses both the
Glowworm’s 'answers to its correspondent.
The Post-Office does its business better than
any establishment for which we pay. Of
course, if you choose to direct your letters in

a villanous hand, and to give them to your servant to post, who, not wanting to wet her feet, gives them to the butcher’s boy when he calls, who,
not being at the moment en route for a post-office, carries them in his pocket until he can entrust them to a butcherly young friend, who puts
them into his tray and finally jerks them down an area, the probabilities of their being delivered are somewhat reduced. But direct your
letter in a legible hand, with no fewer and no more words than are needful, and post it yourself, in a mild but determined manner, and, Glad-
stone’s head to Rearden’s, your missive arrives safely. Mr. Punch’s complaint of the Post-Office is, that it delivers much too regularly, and
much too often, correspondence which is simply waste paper; but that is not the Duke of Montrose’s fault, but Mr. Punch’s misfortune.

SPOTS IN THE SUN.

OBSERVED BY MEANS OF AN EXQUISITE 17 FEET

CELEBRATED MUNICH WORKS.

6§-INCH

REFRACTOR FROM THE

’Tis the time when small children find
rapture bewild’ring,

. Beechen spades and tin buckets in plying.
And the sand of the beach over all in their
reach

In their infantine joyaunce send flying:
Tuck up small skirts and blouses to pile
their sand-houses,

Then follow their elders’ example,

In cutting a way for the sea to make play

With the walls they have toiled hard to
trample.

As Punch watches the joys ot the small girls
and boys

With a sage’s and parent’s indulgence,
While he blows the blue cloud well-earned
leisure enjoys

In this August’s extra-effulgence,

He tninks to himself, how man’s mirrored
in elf!

Though in one respect best the child’s
state is,—

That the game on which Elders are wasting
their pelf,

Here Youngsters are playing at, gratis !

See that dark-eyed young rogue with a
marked Hebrew brogue

Defending yon sand-piled erection,

’Gainst assailants who bring each his Glai>
stone to fling

Through the wall the Jew trusts for
protection.

’Tis an emblem of Dizzy, and Gladstone,
one busy

In breaching the other’s sand-castle,
While the agents their steady residuum get
ready,

And at candidates’ cost hold free wassail.

Just as sure, — mused old P., — as the
wash of the sea,

That Hebrew’s sand-wall will devour,

Will the tide of opinion assert its dominion

O’er the sand - house called Ireland’s
Church-tower.

What yon grey pile on land is to this pile
of sand,

On which so high perched that Jew lad is.
That, if truth must be told, in strength,
health, breadth, and hold,

Is John Bull’s Church established, to
Paddy’s.

(“ We know that the whole of the Sun’s surface is in a state of continual agitation,
break out, vary in form, &c.”—Gornhilt Magazine for August.)

The spots