62

[August 16, 1862.

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

A FRIENDLY INTERFERENCE.

Obliging Frenchman to Obadiab. “ Pardonnez-moi, Mo’sieu/ It has arrived to

your Collar to stick him up. ”

A ROTHSCHILD IN THE PRIZE RING.

To live like a fighting cock is an expression not yet obsolete: but when one
wishes to describe a luxurious existence, assuredly ere long the best comparison
will be to say that Mr. So-and-so is living like a prize-fighter. What con-
tinents of venison and what oceans of champagne may be afforded for the diet of a
pugilistic champion, may be seen by this announcement in the Sporting Life:—

“Tom Sayers's 200 Men and Horses’ Farewell for a Time to his True British Soil.—
Tom Sayers’s company and horses are engaged, together with the veteran agent, to visit Australia.
The great English boxer and his troupe, consisting of 160 men, sixty horses, and two elephants, go
to Australia. The ship Alexandria, 1,500 tons burden, will convey the mighty hero and suite to
the land of novelty September 6, 1862, at the termination of the Exhibition. Mr. Sayers is
engaged at the sum of £85,000 for twelve months, exclusive of the voyage each way in the ship
Alexandria. Therefore, under these circumstances, he will for a time bid farewell to the land he
loves, wishing to return with the laurels of a far distant soil emblazoned on his breast, which
will add to the comfort of his declining years, surrounded by the affluence he so richly deserves,
as one who has upheld to the letter the honour and bravery of his dear native land.”

rive and eighty thousand pounds is no bad sum to pocket for a single year’s
engagement, and we heartily congratulate, the worthy Mu. Sayers on the prospect of
good living which appears to be before him. Even if he Lave not saved a penny
out of all the money he has pocketed by sparring and by starring in “ the provinces,”
he may now look forward to returning from Australia with ample means for his
indulgence in every kind of luxury, from the costliest of claret to the tiniest of
terriers, and the gorgeousest of garments that ever have been sported by a swell of
the Prize Ring. We only trust that Me. Sayers will abstain from living “not
wisely but too well: ” for people blest with sudden affluence have been known to
get the gout, and whatever be his skill in the art of self-defence, Me. Sayers should
icmember that in most cases the gout is an awkward sort of customer, and when it
gives a knock-down blow no science can avail against it.

t( But while we congratulate him upon his good fortune, we really think the
“mighty hero” might have managed to announce it with more modesty of
language than he has cared to use. We don’t so much object to his parading to the
world nis tremendous amor pat-rice, or to his bragging of the affluence which (in
bis opinion) he “ so richly deserves,” and which he anticipates will certainly surround
him when he returns to settle in his dear native land. But inasmuch as Mr. Sayers
is merely hired to show himself and his horses in Australia, and as he is to go in
quite a peaceful way, without the least idea of being called upon to fight, we don’t

exactly see what laurels he can win there, and we are
therefore slightly puzzled to know why such things should
be “emblazoned on his breast.” If the possession of some
laurels of Antipodean growth would really “add to the
comfort of iiis declining years,” we should advise Me.
Sayees to challenge the Antipodean champion (if there be
one), or at any rate to hunt up some one who will fight
him, so that he may come home with another triumph
added to those he has already gained. Unless he does
so, his laurels, if we ever chance to see them, will be of
very little value in our eyes : indeed we shall be tempted to
regard them as mere greens, to which the term of “ cab-
bage ” might appear not inappropriate.

AN UNEAIR QUESTION.

To any man this question put,

If you would touch him near,

And tempt his irritable foot:

How much have you a-year?

If self-control restrain his ire,

His thumb he will apply
Unto his nose, and you desire
To catechise his eye.

There’s nothing that a Briton true
More hates than to confess.

Required or ordered so to do,

Or driven by duress.

’Tis this that makes him Priest and Pope,
So cordially detest.

Because they want to search and grope
The depths within his breast.

No power on Earth can force John Bull
His conscience to expose,

But rather he his sins would tell,

Than his affairs disclose,

His income would you ascertain,

Its sum why he should show
Good cause indeed you must explain
That he may let you know.

Then if you want him to declare
His annual revenue.

Taxation’s load that it may share
In measure just and due;

You may expect, with many a sigh,

With many a grunt and groan,

With growl and grin and faces wry
The truth at last will own.

But if your tax, like Schedule D,

Be partial and unjust,

Then may you calculate that he
Will tell you—what he must.

And you, if more you’d have him say,

With thumbscrews and with racks
Must wring it out, to make him pay
Unequal Income-Tax.

Then wonder you that his returns
Thereto should be so small ?

His cheek with shame, suppose you, burns ?

He blushes not at all.

Would you the full amount extract
Of his precarious pelf ?

Then ask him not for ground of i'act
Whereon to cheat himself.

The Danger of Joking with One’s Wife.

Me. Dove, seeing on a Masonic Lodge’s emblazoned
charter, the well-known motto, “ Audi, Viai, Tacef recom-
mended it hopefully to his wife for her future adoption,
but the dear creature did not see it; on the contrary, in
a loud and voluble strain that lasted for at least half an
hour, she proceeded to call upon Me. Dove to translate
those dark insidious words; and furthermore she insisted,
in a tone of authority that seemed to inspire more fear
than respect, upon being instantly informed as to what
was Me. Dove’s little meaning in expressing a hope that
she should adopt any gibberish like that as her ownf
Up to the hour of our going to press, the dispute was still
pending.