Punch (42.1862)

June 28, 1862.

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

253

INGENIOUSLY PUT!

Now Master Bobbie is going to be a good boy, and watch baby, while T go and Hash great, big,
fierce, Mr. Soldier not to run away with Master Bobbie.”

WHO IS TO BE CORONER?

We really almost wonder that some Erench friend has not put it forth as his conviction
that suicide is greatly on the increase in triste London, basing his opinion on the fact that we
are going to appoint an extra coroner. What was the tvork of one man is now deemed enough
for two, and Middlesex is divided into West and Central districts. Further, our French
friend might write home to his newspaper, that by reason of the number of suicides committed,
the post of coroner is as lucrative as that of Milor Mayor, as is proved by the anxiety we
show to get appointed to it. No less than three candidates have offered for each office ; and
to show that applicants are not mere needy placehunters, our Erench friend might point
out that for the Central District two of the three candidates are a lawyer and a doctor.

Now, Mr. Punch being a Briton, of course is a free man; and there comes to him the
question for whom is he to vote ? is the doctor or the lawyer the fitter to be coroner ? Both
are doubtless men of substance, and of some weight in the world: by which of the two feel
you any preference to be sate upon ? it might perhaps be argued that the duty of a coroner
is to ascertain the causes of a death; and though the law’s delay may send men prematurely
to the grave, the healing art is generally viewed as the more deadly. Somehow doctors have
the reputation—quite improperly of course—of having sometimes helped to shorten a patient’s
life, and so it seems but right that a doctor here and there should officiate as coroner, since no
men axe more likely to know the cause of death than doctors. So Mr. Punch, as a free man,

Eresents his vote to Dr. Lankester, who is a man of weight, and at the same time records
is hope that it will never be the duty of the doctor to have to sit on him. Having thus
voted, Mr. Punch may very safely prophesy that the doctor will come in, and so he will
conclude by classically saying, Finis Coroner-at Opus.

SHOCKING NEWS FROM IRELAND.

On Wednesday last week we received a tremendous shock from the electric telegraph connect-
ing London with Dublin, in the shape of the subjoined announcement, which caught our eye

“ A true bill has been found against Punch for sending a threatening letter."

The spasm, into which we were thrown by this most inconsiderately abrupt intimation, our
legs being under table at the time, jerked them up with such violence that they kicked it over
altogether, independently of our volition, flinging all our papers about our study and spilling
our ink. As soon, however, as our convulsion had subsided, we tried back in the Irish news,
and there discovered that the Mr. Punch of the startling telegram above quoted was a
certain John Punch charged with sending a threatening letter to Mr. Hamilton Langley,
a road contractor. Our composure returned. But why had it been interrupted? Were
we not quite secure in the certainty that Punch had not been sending anybody a threatening
letter? Yes; but the telegram relative to Punch as arraigned of that offence came from
Dublin, and who was to know what might not have been done by an Irish grand jury ?

People in sending telegrams which may seriously affect other people, should mind how they
mention other people’s names. Our own will be vilified very much as it is, in being wilfully

confounded with that of this Hibernian Punch,
whom justice has overtaken. The question
everywhere will be, Have you heard about Punch?
and the reply will be, What ? and the wag’s
answer to that of course will be, “He has got
four years’ penal servitude.”

THE Q.C. AND THE OMNIBUSES.

A Ballad of Modern Brompton.*

Sing the praise of Slade, Sir Frederick,
Slade, Sir Frederick, Q.C.

Who bravely came and called for justice
On offending ’busmen three.

Just because the Domes at Brompton
All the world has come to see,

’Busmen think to fleece the public,

And to swindle Slade Q.C.

So one morning without notice
They raise their fares all suddenlee,
Hoping so to catch the public,

And Sir Frederick Slade, Q.C.

Beacham, John, a ’bus conductor,

’Fore Mr. Arnold charged was he
For having cheated of a penny
This here galliant Q. C.

Beacham, John, had taken fourpence,
Threepence being his right fee,

And in answer to remonstrance,

He had laughed at Slade, Q.C.

Said the Beak, “ Bus fares are painted
Just where nobody can see;

But for this wise regulation
Blame the Government, not me.

“Beacham, John, must pay eight shillings.
Or for ten days quodded be ;

This perhaps will stop his grinning
At Sir Frederick Slade, Q.C.”

Thomas Salter, ’bus conductor,

Summoned on like charge was he;

Out of three pence he had swindled
This here brave and bold Q.C.

“ Once we used to go to Wandsworth”—
(This was Thomas Salter’s plea)

“ So, for taking coves to Brompton
I charges ’em the Wandsworth fee.”

“ Oh indeed ! ” says Mr. Arnold,

“This here dodge won’t do for me,

Pay eight bob or go to prison.

And thank Sir Frederick Slade, Q.C.

“ A sovereign too I fine your master ”

(This was summons number three),

“ Because of fares no proper table
Painted in his ’bus has he.”

So come all you British public,

Swindling tricks who hate to see.

Come and tnank good Mr. Arnold
And applaud his wise decree.

But even more than Mr. Arnold,

Though so wise and good is he.

Come and join your Punch in thanking
Brave Sir Frederick Slade, Q.C.

Bravely he has fought your battle,

Bravely fought and won has he.

And in the cause of public justice
Gone to court without a fee.

* See Westminster Police Report, Times, June 18.

Gladstone and Shakspeare.

Mr. Gladstone was caught the other day in
a shower of rain, and a sudden gust of wind blew
his umbrella inside out; upon which, in reproach-
ful accents, he murmured, “ I tax not you, you
Elements! ”