Punch (19.1850)

PUNCH. OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

115

PUNCH'S ROYAL PROGRESSES.

THE PROGRESS TO THE NORTH.

Being a letter from Bill Jones, Stoker, North Western Line, to Jem
Brile, Ex-fireman, Eastern Counties Line, on strike.

Dear Jem—This comes Loping you've blowed off your quarrel
With your guv'nors, whereby, d 'ye see, hangs a moral;
You, perhaps, might a' stoked for your Queen, if you'd not
Been and gone, Jem, and struck when yer iron was hot.
'Owsumever 'faint no use a-rippin' old plates;
So 1 gets up my steam, goes ahead, and relates
What I 'eared with my ears, what I seen with my eyes,
Of the Queen and Prince Albert, and fam'ly likewise,
And also the sweet, wich last Toosday as were,
Set off for the North, all from Euston Skevare ;
Mc'Connel the engine to drive had the honour,
And I was chose out, Jem, for fireman upon her.
My eyes ! wam't I proud, as I 'andled my poker ?
If that train didn't go—'taint no fault o' the stoker !
Eor I felt myself almost too big for my station,
' o think I was stokin' the 'ead of the nation !
Well, at last to the Euston, the Queen she corned down,
But bless you, she hadn't no robes, and no crown—
But looked like any lady you'd see in the street,
Wich the Prince was the same, and the rest of the sweet;
But Lord, Jem, that Marchioness Douro's a beuty,
(Wich Princesses and Princes to nuss it's her dooty,)
And sez I to myself—" Bless your sweet face," sez 1, " ma'am,
If I goes off the line with you, blow me sky high, ma'am ? "
So with that, when the young Prince of Wales and his brothers
And sisters was settled 'long-side of each others,
Off we goes ! Queen and Prince they bows out of the winders,
And, Lord, didn't «£<?just astonish the cinders.
Though I say it that should'nt, there ne'er was a hingine
Behaved herself better—the pace it was swingein';
Soon we sighted the Wolverton Station, and in it
We stopped her, just under the hour, by a minute.
There they'd lunch—wich we broke through the Wolverton rule,
And actilly took time for the soup to get cool!
Wich, as all will admit as has stopped there to dine,
Was the loyalest thing could be clone on the line.
Well—we started again, and was bihV a pace,
When, what should I see, just outside o' the place,
But the boys and the girls out o' Wolverton School,
Drawed up by the line, Jem, as straight as a rule;
I thought I'd ha' snivelled to see, 'mongst the rest on 'em,
My little Maria as neat as the best on 'em. _
I don't think the Queen got a werry good sight on 'em,
Nor they one o' her—but still, Jem, it wer right on 'em:
'Twas the same all along o' the line, dash my buttins !
A top o' the bridges, and over the cuttins,
Each side of embankments, and round about stations,
It was people in heaps—ah a'waitin with patience,
And hooram' like mad, as we slapped past in style—
Eor we did it all through, Jem, a minute a mile,
Wich ain't a bad pace, if you take in the stopping ;
Wich so sure as we stopped down them Lord Mares was droppin
With then- maces and swords, and their big corporations,
All a fizzin and blowin off congratylations.
Once, I thought I'd a' laffed till I busted my biler—
We'd pulled up permiscus to water and ile her,
WThen down comes a Mare and a train of them aldermen
(I don't think I ever see fatter or balder men)
Well, just then I wistled, and turned on the steam—

You ought to a' seen 'em, so broad in the beam,_
How they scuttled and panted alongside the train,
A trvin to shove their address through the pane.
The short-windeder on 'em, they soon dropped behind,
But the Mare he kept on till he run isself blind,

His address in the winder a tryin to thrust—

He '11 be a long time gettin' over that bust!

But Mares and such like ain't no good in our day,

It's Directors that now has it all their own way ;

It's them meets the Queen both at startin and stoppin',

With refreshments upon her keeps always a poppin',

Has the honour to hand the young Princesses down,

And the Prince, wich they tell me is hair to the crown—

In short, wen you cipher it up you '11 agree

That the rail is the one thing Her Majesty see.

Ony look at Newcastle, now—vere vas the town ?

From the High Level Bridge on the Tyne she looked down—

She never saw nothin' of coal-pits and stuff,

But she did see the station—and that was enuff.

As a stoker—you see, Jem—1 'm natraUy proud,

We ort for to 'old up our heads in the crowd;

Eor railways, depend on't, is wonderful things,

And they don't care a fig if it's Queens or it's Kings

That they tosses from England's one end to the other,

In their long iron arms, with a scream and a smother;

And I could'nt but think though I be's but a stoker,

With the Queen in the carriage, and me at the poker,

How with royalty goin' at this sort o' pace,

Old loyalty must, somehow, show a new face;

When Her Majesty's carriage, though fit up in style,

Goes by just the same road as the penny-a-mile—

We live in queer times—" go a-head " folks all scream,

And the one thing we seems for to vally is steam;

Which is all werry well, if the rails be well laid,

And the stoker and engineman up to their trade ;

But let a train loose with steam up, you '11 agree,

That the faster the pace it's the worser for we !

Sometimes, Jem, I think with our stirrin' and strivin'

We thinks too much of pace, and too little of drivin'.

Howsumever, yen '11 say that's no ways here nor there,

And no more it ain't, Jem—I'm quite well aware—

But such was my thoughts, as across the High Level,

'Mid the roar of a fight, and the glee of a revel,

We steamed, and shut off at Newcastle-on-Tyne,

Erom wich we took on by the North British line, ■■

And reached Edinburgh safe, after no end of speeches,

And was welcomed by folks, some of wich 'ad no breeches—

But no matter: Her Majesty's not broke no bones,

Wereby for the same she may thank Yours, Bill Jones.

Rupture between England and France.

We regret to announce a rupture between England and Erance,
which occurred last week, by the Submarine Telegraph suddenly break-
ing. All friendly communications between the two countries were
instantly suspended, and though it was evident that there was a " screw
loose " somewhere, it was only after a deal of fishing and sounding,
that it was discovered that the rupture was owing to the softness of one
of the " leaden conductors." This is not the first time that a " leaden
conductor " has, by his softness, created a distance between the two
countries, and plunged them head over heels in difficulties. The mis-
chief, however, was soon patched up and communications from Dover
to Calais have been since forwarded by the same line of communication
as before. We only wish that all ruptures between England and France
were as easily mended!

The President's Hornpipe.

Louis Napoleon has outdone the doings of the renowned Baron
Nathan. The Baron—it is matter of undying history—dances through
a hornpipe in a circle of eggs, and though blindfolded, never touches
one of them. Louis Napoleon has danced through his progress
seeing no further before him than the Baron; and though he has
shuffled through at least fifty speeches, he has never touched the woid
—Republic.