Punch (34.1858)

2U PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [January 9, 1858.

DID YER WANT A GOOD WARM I NT DAWG, SIR?"

THE PRIESTS POMATUM.

" In consequence of the terrible earthquake in Naples, the blood o{
S. Januarius was brought out to stay further mischief. It melted iu
the sight of the people—indeed boiled."—Letter from Naples.

Earth heaves in fierce convulsion. Tower
And roof-tree crash with hideous shock ;

See, as is fit in such an hour,
The Priest comes forth to guard the flock

Between the dead and living stands,
As Aaron bade the plague to cease ;

What holds he up in holy hands ?
'Tis a glass pot of Crimson Grease,

Neatly the juggler plies his trade,

He liquefies the barber's balm,
And, as 'twere oil on billows laid,

Would grease the Earthquake into calm.

We read (his dupes must not) of swine
Who once rushed madly down a steep,

Plunged, demon-driven, amid the brine,
And perished, weltering, in the deep.

Surely ye took from those poor beasts
The Lard with which yon trick you do ;

But keep, yourselves, the omen, Priests :
Heaven grant it soon fulfilled for you.

A Capital Christmas Game.

To be played by any Young Sprig inside an Omnibus.

Get into an omnibus filled with ladies. Take your seat
quietly in the midst of them. After awhile, pull a piece of
mistletoe mysteriously out of your pocket. Smack your lips
as though unconsciously, and, waving the branch gallantly
to and fro, begin casting your eyes about in all directious,
as if you were perplexed as to whom your flattering choice
should fall upon. In a very few minutes the consternation
will be general, and the loud cries to the conductor to
" Stop !" all but unanimous*;

N.B. If the ladies in the omnibus are somewhat elderly,
the fun of the game is proportionately increased.

HOW TO SWEETEN THE SERPENTINE.

A Correspondent of the Times has moved a sensible amendment
to the proposal for substituting real salt-water for that fluid which,
resembling the green sea in colour only, at present fills the basin of
the Serpentine. He suggests that the foul stuff which now constitutes
the contents of that fashionable sewer, should be replaced by water
simply fresh, derived from an Artesian well, to be sunk at the Ser-
pentine's head. The expense of bringing sea-water up from Brighton
is mentioned by him as one principal objection to rendering the Ser-
pentine a salt-water lake instead of a cesspool. Could not chemical
science, however, accomplish the evasion of this difficulty by a combi-
nation of its resources with the scheme of an Artesian well ? We
know—that is, Faraday and ourselves know—pretty well, of what
salts, besides kitchen salt, the saline part of salt-water is composed.
Could not these various salts be placed in the basin of the Serpentine,
in proper proportions, and the Artesian well, or pump therewith con-
nected, be allowed to play upon them ? The solution might be drained
off and evaporated; in that case would not the salts do over again,
and so on, ad infinitum ?

Although it is certain that political revolutions cannot be made with
rose-water, there is very plausible reason for hoping that sanitary
revolutions may. Some of the nicest perfumes in the world, that is to
say, the world of fashion, are—we need not inform young ladies who
have not only attended chemical lectures, but also listened to them,
a? they attend sermons—made out of the very nastiest things, of which
pitch and tar are perhaps the least unpleasant. It does not, therefore,
appear very unreasonable to suppose the possibility of manufacturing
delicious scents dirt cheap. If the water m the Serpentine could be
imbued with some of these, a grateful fragrance might soon emanate
from its surface, regaling the chiselled noses of the aristocracy in due
season, and improving their generally aquiline character, instead of
reversing it, and snubbing those fine and delicate organs with disgust.
There can be little doubt that the apparently supercilious air of the
footmen, who stand behind the carriages which during the summer
months parade along the Serpentine's border, is in a great measure
owing to that elevation of the nostrils which is the natural consequence
of their offended sense, and simply organic indignation.

A great boon, however, would no doubt be conferred both upon the

superior classes who ride up and down by the Serpentine, and also on
the British Public who congregate there to inspect them, if mere fresh
water could anyhow be conveyed into that filthy lake, the cavity of
which may now, without injustice, be described as presenting the
appearance of a basin of green pea-soup. If this object only could be
accomplished, we should think that any philosophical propounder of a
plan for the replacement of the Serpentine slush by salt-water, would
quietly accept the advice to describe his invention to the Marines.

BATHER TOO BAD.

The British Clergy, with all their merits, are certainly the Coolest
Beggars when they beg for money for churches, schools, and the like.
Nothing daunts them. They call, write, send, and persevere to an
extent which, were the cause and the applicant any other than they are,
would certainly bring the mendicant under the unfavourable notice of
the police. But, unaccustomed as we are to be surprised at clerical
coolness, the following appeal amounts to a frigidity for which the
social thermometer gives no register.

It seems that, in a parish at Southampton, dedicated to St. James,
there is no church. So that very questionable means of raising money,
a Bazaar, is to be got up. And this is the ground—literally, indeed,
the ground —on which the ladies of England are requested to
contribute :—

" Those who rejoice in the safe restoration of friends from the troubles in India,
ought not surely to forget the necessitous of the Parish wliere their relatives first
land."

Well, we will not say anything about trading on wounded feelings,
and so forth; beggars get hardened on such points; but we should
like to know how far the plea can be pushed. If the parish in which
one's friends first land has such a claim, what must the boatmen have
who row them ashore ?—what the Jack-in-the-water ?—what the beadle
on the pier ?—what the flyman who drives them to the hotel ?—what
the waiter who opens the fly-door ?—what the cook who dresses their
first English meal?—what the chambermaid who makes their first
English bed ? In fact, where is such gratitude to stop ? O, my dear
parsons, you are clever fellows, but will you follow out all your own
arguments—eh ?