Punch (93.1887)

25S

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[December 3, 1887.

AN EYE FOR 'ELECTIVE AFFINITIES."

Sir Edwin. "Hullo, Angy? Stew-pan? Apron? Tripe and Onions ? What on earth's up ! "

Tnc Lady Angelina. "Yes, Dearest! Sijjcb rw'vE become a Special Constable, I'm doing my little utmost to become
a Special Cook! I thought it might bind us still closer together!" Sir Edwin. "My own Love!! .'"

LIGHTING THE DUBLIN BEACON.

(A Ballad of the Brave Old Sort.)

" It was all for the Union

We left fair Albion's land.
It was all for the Union

We first saw Irish land,

My Boy[!

We first saw Irish land!

" All must he done that man can do.

Shall it be done in vain ?
My G-scii-n, to prove that untrue

We two have crossed the main,
My Boy!

We two have crossed the main ! "

He turned him round and right-ahout

All on the Irish shore.
Said he, " We '11 give P-rn-ll a shake,

And make the Rads to roar,
My Boy I

And make the Rads to roar! "

He was a stout and trusty carle.

Said he, " A flare we '11 raise,
And, spite the Leaguers' angry snarl,

We '11 make the Beacon blaze,
My Boy!

We '11 make the Beacon blaze!

" Who says our friends a handful are,

Our foes a serried host ?
Our Beacon, blazing like a star,

Shall check the blatant boast,
My Boy!

Shall check the blatant boast.

"Not all are to sedition sworn,

Or shackled by the League.
Cheer up! We'll laugh their hate to

And baffle their intrigue, [scorn,
My Boy!

And baffle their intrigue.

"Puff, G-sch-n, puff! Like Boreas
And I the logs will pile. [blow !

The Beacon, now a slender glow,
Shall blaze across the Isle,

My Boy!
Shall blaze across the Isle.

" Eh ? ' What ? The wood is damp, you
say ?

There comes more smoke than flame ?
Nay; pile, and poke, and puff away!
We '11 not give up the game,
My Boy I

We '11 not give up the game.

" If we should let this fire die out

All on the Irish shore,
To Unionism stern and stout

Adieu for evermore,

My Boy!

Adieu for evermore! "

The Two Canons and Bean-baggers.—
The Bean-baggers are likely to come badly off
with two such big guns against them as
Canons Liddon and McColl. ; Let the matter
be settled amicably by agreeing that whatever
it was they did. see was a " What-you-
ifcCoLL-it."

HOW TO ESCAPE THE E09.

Eogs P Nonsense! Fogs are always mist.
And the way to miss them is to go to the
Institute of Painters in Oil. That will oil
the wheels of life in this atrociously hibernal
weather, and make existence in a fog enjoy-
able. There, in the well-warmed, pleasantly-
lighted rooms, will you find countless pleasant
pictures—delightful sea-subjects, charming
landscapes, and amusing scenes, by accom-
plished painters, which will infuse a little
Summer into the dull, depressing, brumous,
filthy atmosphere of a weary London Win-
ter. If you cannot get away to Monte
Carlo, Mentone, Nice, or Rome, hasten at
once and take one of Sir John Linton's
excursion coupons, and personally conduct
yourself—if you don't conduct yourself as you
ought, you'll probably be turned out—round
the well-filled galleries in Piccadilly.

Sir Druhmond is ordered off to Teheran.
"Well, we're successful in keeping one
Wolff from our door," as Sir Gorst, O-y;;
observed to Grandolph. " Poor Wolff r!
sighed Grandolph. "I shall write a fable
on ' The Wolff and the Shah!'"

Sabdou and Sara.—Sara B. has made a
hit in what is reported to be a poor play
called La Tosca, by Sardou. But in conse-
quence of Sara's acting, it is in for a rua.
Che Sara sara, i.e. (free translation), " Who
has seen Sara once will see Sara again."