Punch (45.1863)

September 12. 1863.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

ill

3rd Farmer. Well; here we be a zingun O be joyful for our harvest,
and r,o think what, sort o crops they be rippen of ha Poland and
Amerikey?

4th Farmer. Neighbour, I says we ought to zing 0 be thankful.
Shouldn’t us ?

Punch. Most certainly. But what’s mere singing? You know who
it was that sheared the pig.

4th Farmer. Ees I knows he (grinning). As much as I wants to
know on un.

Punch. Well; the pig sung out loud enough; but yielded very little
wool. Served the shearer right. But what do you think of pigs
crammed with barley meal, that can only grunt their gratitude and
squeak for more ?

Farmers. Umpk, umph, umph!

Punch. Well, as you say, what can you expect from a hog but a
grunt ?

4th Farmer. There is a difference, mind ye, ’tween hogs and Christians.

Punch. Just so. What do you call Thanksgiving ?

4th Fanner. Geeun thanks.

Punch (mimicking him). Geeun thanks, mate ? ’Castn’t gee moor
nor a bare thankee? Naw, mun, when the time comes, thee fork out,
and zee if thee castn’t help veed the hungry up there in Lancashire.

Farmers. Zo we ool. Hear hear. Hear Partner Punch! Dang’ee,
zo we ool. (They sing.

Here’s a health to our measter, the founder of our feast.

He as don’t drink enough’s a fool, as drinks too much, a beast.
Let’s hope to keep a harvest home as good another year,

’Tain’t every day we kills a pig and drinks sitch good strong beer.

Punch. After that, gentlemen, I ’ll give you “ The British Consti-
tution,” and call on you every one to repeat the toast after me.

Farmers. Brish Cosh-sh-sh-nsh-tooshn!

(Drunk with all the honours. Scene closes.

SHADOWS OF THE WEEK.

MRS. CADDY ON THE COALSCUTTLE.

he great attraction,
since Messrs. Grant
and Speke have
undertaken the ma-
nagement, seems to
be the River Nile,
which for several
nights has been
crowded to overflow-
ing.

At Frankfort there
have been several
Imperial Dinners
with one Ordinary
Diet, so that the bill
of delicate fare seems
to have been the
result of a vivid ima-
gination.

Accounts from
Brighton, Ramsgate,
Margate, and Scar-
borough, announce
that the Sea-gulls
are very numerous
this year, and Lod-
ging-house keepers
are therefore pro-
spering. The good
folks from London
are, they say, coming
down handsomely.

Our beloved young
Prince aas been pa-
tronising Highland
sports, specially Scotch dancing, or Hop Scotch as it is called in the
North. General ICnollys is reported to have said that H.R.H.’s
proceedings have been conducted on the principle that “ Youth must
have its Fling,” and, that Fling, a Hielaud one. By the way, the
General has been recently entrusted with the Command of the English
Language.

Boulogne is very full. The Hotel-keepers are engaged in the tailor-
like occupation of “ taking in ” and “ letting out; ” the former operation
applying to the customers, the latter to the beds, wh ch are now pro-
duced on purpose to be let out.

One of the clerks at Doctors’ Commons has become a Poet. On the
occasion of any great wedding he presents the Bride with a copy of the
Marriage Lines. Talking of this reminds us that medical men, instead
of patronising Wimbledon and Clapham Commons, might find some
eligible and healthy sites for their houses upon the above mentioned
Doctors’ Commons. One of the white-aproned touters in this locality,
a very arch dog, while eyeing the statue of Queen Anne in St. Paul’s
Churchyard, made the following conundrum : “ Why was this Good
Queen previous to making a declaration of her love for Prince Geohge,
like a rule in English Grammar ? ” One of his fellow toms, who had
heard it before, readily answered, “Because she was Anne before
a-vowal.” The quick witted gentleman was immediately presented
with a pewter badge, which he wears to this day. He is now known
as the Badger, and, in this character, has been drawn by several artistic
and funny dogs.

The old custom of paying a Quarter’s Rent and Taxes on Michaelmas
Day still holds good in some parts of England; in many places,
however, it has fallen into disuse.

The order that nobody is to look at the Queen, has caused everybody
to open their eyes.


Well to be sure, although I don’t pin nare a raossel of reliance
On prophets, now-a-days that is , philosifers and men of science,

Which, as for Zadkiel Tao Tsze, so or ft I’ve found him a deceiver.

In what the Almanacks foretells I ain’t the least of a believer.

And though I must confess I ain’t got no more faith in Dr. Cctmking,
And don’t believe his prophecies no truer than Colenso’s summing.
Still what Sir William Armstrong says I looks on as a word in
season,

And raly think it may be true, because for why, it stands to reason.

And all the more when I reflex the Armstrong gun is his inwention,

It makes me valley what lie says as somethink worthy of attention,

And this I says, that seein how his guu purtects the British nation,
Sitch a great gun for President befits the same Association.

Now we shall soon have burnt out all our coals, declares this knowin
feller,

And goodness knows how fast they goes experience shows if in the
cellar.

And if so be as coals don’t grow, and mines in depth and breadth is
bounded,

In course our stock must be used up at last, and we shall be con-
founded.

What with the gash burnt all night long, and constant steam on land
and ocean,

Works, forges, factories, mills, and looms, I may say in perpectchial
motion,

And, what I can’t abear the thought, because it rouse my hindig-
nation.

The tons and tons that goes away to foreigners by exportation!

And then there is another cause that puts me most beside my senses, _
Because ’tis what comes home one feels one’s self in housekeepin
expenses,

Them servant gals, the sluts, unless you’re always arter ’em a lookin,
Ah, drat ’em! none but them as knows would credit what they wastes
in cookin’.

Ah, there, if coals will last my time!—but now their end is drawin
nigher,

What I’m afeard on is they’ll rise, and then go on a gettin higher :
How I should like to lay about this headlong world a good broom
handle!

We ’re burnin out too fast by half, and faster, both our coal and candle.

Latest from the Spirit World.

We have received a message from Mr. Home, the celebrated Medium,
to the effect, that much disturbance has been created in the Spirit
World, by Charon having resigned his office as ferryman. The startling
fact was notified to Mr. Home by the spirit of Aristophanes, who
rapped out the following sentence, short, but full of meaning: “ Charon
has cut his Styx.” _

OUR POOR WOODEN WALLS.

It appears that the guu and mortar-boat fleet, created at so much
expense during the Russian war, is all rotten. It consists ol mortar-
boats no stronger than the contents of a hod, and gun-boats much of
the same consistence as mortar.

Sea-side Note.—The desire for bathing is a very wishy-washy
sentiment.