Punch (99.1890)

306 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVAHI. [December '27, 1890.

CHRISTMAS EVE AT THE MOATED GRANGE.

Emily {in the midst of Aunt Marianna's blood-curdling Ghost Story). " Hush 1 Listen i There's a Doob banging somewhere down-
stairs i—and yet the servants have gone to bed. george, do just bun down and see what it can be ! "

[George wishes himself back at Charterhouse.

KEEP THE POT A-BOILING!

(A Seasonable Suggestion.)

Christiias come? once more,

Well-beloved Old Father I
Though the season's hoar,

Warm his welcome—rather!
Parties come and go,

True to him our heart is,
With his beard of snow.

Best of (Christmas) Parties !
Say the day is chill,

Say the weather's windy,
He brings warm good-will,

Not heart-freezing shindy.
" Union ! " is his cry,—

Hearts and hands and voices.
Confraternity

His kind soul rejoices.
When the youngsters slide

On the frozen river.
As they glow and glide,

Do they shrink or shiver ?
Nay; nor dread nor doubt

Their brisk sport is spoiling,
Gleefully they shout,

"Keep the Pot a-boiling ! "

Keep it ? Ay, by Jove!

We are on our mettle.
'Tis a game we love

More than Pot and Kettle.
Poorish sport that same,

Angry mutual blackening.
Here's a merrier game. [ing-?

Pull up there ! Who's slacken-
Not the leader, Punch !

On he goes, amazing,

To the rest his hunch

Like a beacon blazing.
Not Old Father X !

How the Ancient goes it!
'Tis a sight to vex

Malice, and he knows it;
Not young Master Bull 1

At the game he's handy,
Nor has much the pull

Of his pal, young Sandy ;
Not that dark-eyed girl

With her cloak a-flying,
She can swing and swirl

With the boys. She's trying
Everything she knows.

As for Master Paddy,
Whoop there! Down he goes!

Bumped a bit, poor laddy !
What then ? At this game

Who would be a stopper
Just because he came

Now and then a oropper ?
Up and on onoe more,

Chance by courage foiling!
Hark the jovial roar 1

" Keep the Pot a-boiling!,"

Father Christmas, hail 1

Sure 'tis flagrant folly
Now to rave and rail.

Truce—beneath your holly!
Darkest England waits

Care Co-operative;
Mood that most elates

Is to-day—the dative]!

You we need not doubt,

You 're no " Grecian " giver.
Many " cold without,"

Foodless, hopeless, shiver;
Many a poor man's pot,

Even at your season,
With no pudding hot

Bubbles. Is't not treason

Unto more than kings

To waste time in lighting
Whilst such crooked things

Stand in need of righting ?
In the name of those

Starving, suffering, toiling,
Let our quarrels close—

" Keep the Pot a-boiling! "

FIGHTING THE FOG.

(A Seasonable Hint )

Sib,—I have read several letters in the papers complaining of the
fog, and asking not only how one is to protect the system from its
injurious effects, but also soliciting information as to how one is to
safeguard oneself against street accident, if obliged to quit the
premises during its prevalence. The first is simple enough. Get a
complete divers suit, put it on, and let an attendant follow you
with a pumping apparatus, for the purpose of supplying you with
the fumes of hydro-bi-carbon (Dafpy's solution) in a state of sus-
pension. This will considerably assist the breathing. To avoid
street accident, wear an electric (Swann) light, five hundred candle
power, on the top of your hat, round the brim of which, in cise of
accident, you have arranged a dozen lighted night-lights. Strap a
Duplex Reflector on to your back, and fasten a Hansom cab-lamp
on to each knee. Let a couple of boys, bearing flaming links, and
beating dinner-gongs, clear the way for you, while you yourself
shout "Here comes the Bogie Man!" or any other appropriate
ditty, through a fog-horn, which you carry in one hand, while you
spring a policeman's ancient rattle vigorously with the other. You
will, if thus provided, get along oapitally. Be careful at crossings,
for your sudden appearance might possibly frighten an omnibus
horse or two, and cause trouble.

I haven't tried all this yet myself, but a friend of mine at Colney
Hatch assures me he has, and found it a great success. As I think,
therefore, it may prove a boon to your numerous readers, I place it
at your disposal with nraoh pleasure, and have the honour to be, Sir,
Your obedient servant, A Cautious Caed.