Punch: Punch (76.1879)

18 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARIk [January 18, 1879.

A FASHIONABLE COMPLAINT.

Mamma. "Papa dear, the Children have been asked to the Willoughby Robinsons' on the Eleventh, the Howard
Jones's on the Fifteenth, and the Talbot Brownes' on the Twenty-first. They'll be dreadfully disappointed if you
don't let them go ! May I write and accept, dear Papa?''

Dear Papa {savagely). "Oh, just as you please! But, as Juvenile Parties should always be taken in time, you had
better write to Dr. Squills too, and tell him to call on the Twelfth, Sixteenth, and Twenty-second.''

"When Hunger bites, and Cold,
This ill-timed talk withhold
Of Nemesis on Error's heels still nigh.

Help every heart and hand !

The future of the land,
Duty, and Christian love, all make appeal,

"Work, brotherly good-will,

These hungry mouths to fill,
And organise the power to help and heal.

Millions should be as one

"When fighting must be done
Against a common foe, and one is here

To tax our best defence,

Ere he be driven hence
By help of all who hold our England dear!

Factions and'f euds bid cease,

Let parties hold their peace,
While work grows soanter, and distress grows more;

Join hands and purses round,

In strong alliance bound.
To thrust the "Wolf of "Want from England's door !

A Card.

Mh.";Punch ^presents his compliments to Mr. Woolrych and
begs to congratulate him on the courageous common sense of his
decision that a tradesman selling an adulterated article to a public
analyst does so "to the prejudice of the purchaser." Mr. Punch
hopes and trusts that the Superior Courts, if the question is
brought before them, will decide it with as much common sense as
Mr. woolrych.

" THE WOLF AT THE DOOR."

No time for festal chaunt!

A monster grim and gaunt
Ramps at the threshold of Britannia's home,

Where she, with straining hands,

The savage thing withstands,
Fiercer than wolves that Tartar snow-wastes roam.

Not Hercules, whose might

Faced strong Death's self in fight,
And pale Alkestis from his clutches rent,

More strenuously strove,

The children of her love
To keep from harm, though weary, faint, forespent.

Will her great strength avail ?

Or must the effort fail ?
The lank-loined beast has crossed her path before.

But little heedeth she,

"Whose only thought must be
This day to keep the terror from her door.

That is the hour's one task.

What boots it now to ask
Whose fault has loosed the wehr-wolf yet again ?

She '11 talk of that anon,

When the dread beast is gone,
With baffled jaws, thrust back to its foul den.

There's sorrow in the air,
That soon may be despair;
Ask not what heads have erred, while needs so cry!