Punch: Punch (21.1851)

A Hollow Trick.

A wicker-work Elephant has been purchased for
the purpose of exhibiting, in the Crystal Palace, some
beautiful gold trappings that have been sent over
from India. We advise an inspection of this wicker-
work Elephant before it is admitted into the precincts
of the Palace, or else a surprise may be successfully
carried out—or rather carried in—after the manner of
the wooden Horse of Troy.—Who knows that Colonel
Sibthorp—and Lord Brougham—may not be con-
cealed, each in a leg of the Elephant, to enable them to
emerge at night, and take a peep, unobserved, of the
wonders of the Exhibition ?

The Horrors op the Middle Passage.—Our Fat
Contributor, on a very hot day, going through the
Lowther Arcade.

LONDON WANDERER.

AM tired of the season, I am blase of its sweets ;
I am getting sick of London, and the turmoil of the streets ;
I have danced till T am dizzy, I have polk'd till I am lame ;
Each thing in the Crystal Palace I can almost tell by name;
I have feasted in the City, crammed with turtle to the throat.
Let me rush on board the steamer—let me take the Margate boat.
Wharf wards in a cab I hurry, and the driver puts me down,
Having earned his one-and-eightpence, having charged me half-a-crown.
I have gained the gallant vessel, and the deck I boldly pace ;
Eunnels in my ear are shrieking—blacks are flying in my face.
Now, the Skipper skips before me,—on the paddle-box he stands,
Making faces with his features, making signals with his hands :
Gallant tar, with bronzed complexion, hero of ten thousand trips,
In the little Greenwich steamers, and the larger Margate ships :
Gallant tar, that brought the Daisy safely over Chelsea Reach,
When the water at its lowest scarcely covered half the beach :
Gallant tar, that brought the Brilliant safe athwart of Woolwich Pier,
With the Meteor slap afore her, and the Blazer in the rear:
Gallant tar, that has presided daily at the festive meal,
Sliced the bacon, cut the cabbage, pass'd the salt, and carved the veal;
Help'd the lady sitting near him to a bit of under-done,
Seasoning the dainty morsel with the lightly utter'd pun :
Gallant tar, that, after dinner, 'twixt his finger and his thumb
Takes the old familiar penn'orth of the old Jamaica rum :
Gallant tar, that gaily paces both the fore and after decks,
Taking—for the fares—the money, giving—in exchange—the checks.
Onward, through the muddy waters, goes the vessel in her course,
Banging 'gainst o'erladen barges with a superhuman force.
Hark, the cry of "Now then, stupid!" hark, the shout of " Awkward uxjA ! "
Eollowing each fresh collision in the overcrowded Pool.
Limehouse we have left behind us ; Rotherhithe becomes a specK;
Greenwich seems to swim around us as we walk about the deck.
Objects now are growing little that were lately very big;
Tilbury is disappearing underneath the Captain's gig.
Soon the Nore we shall be passing—Youth itself at last may cloy ;
Looking out, we can't help asking, "Who would always be a buoy?"
Now the water 's getting rougher ; pale-faced people grimly glide
To the windward of the vessel, hanging helpless o'er the side.
Now the Captain comes before us—every inch a gallant tar;
On his head an old sou'-wester, in his mouth a cheap cigar •
Round his throat a woollen kerchief, with a grog-drop in his eye;
In his voice a tone of hoarseness as he bids the crew " stand by."
Through the water rides the vessel; merrily our course we urge,
As old Neptune seems to pledge us in a pot of foaming surge.
Past the Bay of Heme we hasten—leaving that all-tranquil coast,
Where the sinecure policeman fattens on his useless post;
Where the architect's invention saw in fancy streets and squares.
But his plans, alas! have ended in potatoes, corn, and tares.
We have left the Bay behind us • Margate now attracts the sight,
With its Jetty on the ocean, and its windmills on the height:
There the Camera Obscura in its well-known watch-box stands ;
Phillpotts, Crickett, Wood, and Preeble, with machines adorn the sands.
Who is he that now is standing on the Pier or Harbour's brink,
With a coat whose cuffs and collar dazzle with intensest pink ?
Can it be the local postman ?—No, a nobler stamp he bears;
'Tis the uniform of Windsor this marine official wears.
Can it be the Crown's Adviser, leaving Downing Street awhile,
Eor the baths, bazaars, and donkeys that abound in Thanet's Isle ?

Vol. 21.

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