Punch: Punch (69.1875)

November 13, 1875.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

197

PUNCH TO THE LORD MAYORS GREETING!

alve, my Loed Matoe ! In con-
vivial session,
Punch has seen pass your annual

procession;
The City Marshal, on the worst
of nags,

Leading the City guilds, whose gorgeous flags
Have made the ancient street of Fleet alive,
And caused a joke or two at Eighty-Five,
Whose wit, no great ones, howe'er gorgeous, spares—
Sultans or Shahs, Khedives, Czars, or Mayors.

The gaudy pageant has passed Temple Bar:
Punch stirs his fire and lights a fresh cigar,
And ponders over London. How it grows,
This City flushed with luxuries, vexed with woes !
Is it to he a town, for many a day,
" Where wealth accumulates and men decay " ?
Epicure Mammon in Ben Jonson's time
Had scarcely reached our gorgeous heights sublime :
Now he rides rampant, and his splendid dinners
Have magnetising force for saints and sinners.
Who can resist the haunch, the hot-house pine,
The perfect menu, the long-cellared wine ?
The company befits the bill of fare:
You meet Wit, Beauty, Rank, and Fashion there.
A prima donna comes, no singer sweeter:
And Mammon's Rector is right glad to meet her.

And all the while, inmany a London hovel,
What myriads of the dangerous classes grovel!
No hope in this world of less load of care,
No knowledge of a happier world elsewhere.
Philosophy, with scientific lens,
Looks on the inmates,of those dreary dens,
Finds that the poor existed long ago,
And smirking says, " It always must be so."

Now, Lobd Matoe Cotton, there's a chance for you;
Tour race has always been both brave and true.
Tour ancient motto,* which in verse won't scan,
Announces you a proper type of man.
The life of fashion, the disdain of fear,
Brought to the front that haughty Cavalier,
Wellington's friend, the daring Combeemeee.
Another Cotton, Admiral complete,
In Tagus river seized a Russian fleet.
Earlier, Sib Robeet, in rare learning dipt,
Collected many a priceless manuscript,
And, with a princely scholar's generous will,
Gave to the people fruit of wealth and skill.

* " In utraiue fortuna paratus."—Motto ofA Cotton.

Noblesse oblige ! The claims of such a race
Will make you bolder in your civic place:
Besides you are a poet. Yery odd:
Punch knew it not till he referred to Dod.*
Put poetry in practice, dear Loed Matoe : •
Already you have somewhat cleared the air—
See Punch's last Cartoon in every street—
Drawing the line 'twixt honest man and cheat.
Go on as bravely as you have begun,
And when your year of civic power is done,
Punch will give London's and all England's thanks
To him whose shield bears the three Cotton hanks,
And, hail the falcon in your ancient crest,
The City's scourer of a vermin-pest.

* " Has written poems."—Dod, p. 190.

EDUCATION AND CRIME.

Me. Punch, Sie,

Although the necessity of living, combined with impa-
tience of industry, has compelled me to pursue illicit courses, I am
enabled, by having had the advantage of instruction, to read the
Times, and you. Your contemporary, the other day, published a
report, more interesting than agreeable, to me at least, on the
" Employment of Convicts." , It contains the following particularly
unpleasant suggestion:—

" The chaplain of Pentonville Prison suggests that there should be assigned
to convicts what he calls the unsavoury occupation of diverting sewage from
your rivers, and utilising it for manure."

Diverting sewage, indeed! A high diversion, no doubt, for the
Reverend gentleman, situated to the windward of a member of his
flock engaged in it, to contemplate. An occupation truly unsavoury,
and equally laborious. I cannot but admire the ingenuity of this
aggravation—not to say refinement—of punishment. There is,
however, another service imposed upon gentlemen in seclusion, of
which, regarded as a penal infliction, the annoyance is really refined.
In some of the principal Government Prisons, besides hammocks
made for the Royal Navy and mail-bags for the Post-Offiee—

" Clothes are made by convicts for the Police."

The pain of being thus obliged unwillingly to work is enhanced
by a sting of studied acuteness craftily envenomed, mental, and
nicely calculated to hurt the feelings. To what toil could a convict
be doomed, more bitter than the task of making clothes for the
Police ? Only one, Mr. Punch, that—under sentence for robbery
with violence—of having to manufacture cats-o'-nine-tails.

It is with mingled feelings of approval and apprehension that I
transcribe a passage of a nature slightly personal:—

"It may surprise many to learn from this year's report of the Chaplain of
Dartmoor Prison, that ninety-five of the prisoners have, since their confine-
ment there, studied and made considerable progress in the French, German,
Italian, Spanish, and Latin languages. The Chaplain of Portland Prison
states that some of the educated prisoners are among the most difficult to deal
with, for their superiority in some respects to the general class leads them
to resent the application to themselves of some of the prison rules ; and it has
been found to check the tendency to a morose, sullen, and insubordinate spirit
if a little ambition to revive former studies can be created, or if a man can be
induced to employ himself after the labours of the day are over, in enlarging
his knowledge by the pursuit of some particular subject."

In the too probable event of my getting into trouble, I trust I
may experience the kindly discipline of Dartmoor, where penal
servitude appears to consist very much in literary occupation.
Should my place, of detention be Portland, the difficulty of dealing
with me will, I am sure, be much simplified by treating me in the
considerate manner suggested by the Chaplain of that Institution,
making the " labours of the day" as light as possible, and never
subjecting me to the cruel indignity of being utilised as a tailor to
the Police, slavery which I should feel to be infinitely more disgusting
even than employment in the " diversion " of sewage.

With every apology for trespassing on your valuable space, I
remain,

Your habitual Reader,

Jim the Penman.

Swag Lane, Faker Street, Feast of S. Guy.

Not Quite the Cheese.

{Re Jenkins v. Cook, Arches Court.)

M)? 5l\oyoi let Deacons be,

A Bishop no impostor ;
And yet upon the Bench we see

AlyAoDO-cros—double G:-— e.