Punch (47.1864)

August 20, 1864.1

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARTVARI.

77

SEVERITY OF THE SCOTCH SUNDAY.

E learn from the In-
vergorden Times, that
the other Saturday
evening. Her Majes-
ty’s Ship Salamis,
carrying the Com-
missioners on Fish-
eries and their for-
tunes, having arrived
at Invergordon

“ Those in command
applied here to get on
board supplies of pro-
visions, on Sunday; but
our merchants, much as
they value the orders to
supply Her Majesty’s
ships, and painful as it
would be for them to
see our gallant defenders
starve, respectfully de-
clined to execute the
orders sooner than two
o clock on the Monday
morning.”

Her Majesty
might, in the exercise
of her royal preroga-
tive, confer a merited
distinction on the
Sabbatarians of Ln-
vergordon. She might command that the name of the port at which
her ships were refused the supply of necessaries on a Sunday should be
changed to Inverscribe, or Inverpharisee. But then the Scribes and
Pharisees did understand the difference between the seventh day and
the first, and, whilst observing their Sabbath to excess, really observed
the Sabbath. The obstinate perversity of the Scotch mind on this point
may be regarded as typified in the national emblem, the thistle, taken
to signify the mental food of Scotchmen. Invergordon, for the future,
had better be called Inverdonkie.

CROQUET.

XIX.

Now, ’tis Miss Emmy’s turn; she strikes the Blue,

The first Hoop gains, but misses number two.

Quoth timid Blue, “ I am not playing well.”

While Green defines her failure as “ a sell.”

“ Ho ! ” from the farthest corner comes a shout
Whence Croqued Robinson would fain get out;

Then as the stricken rock by Old Thor’s sledge
Raced with the wind, so now from edge to edge
Elies the Red ball; too strong the stroke for good, ,

The Red stops just eight feet past where it should
By Green, to whom some time since it occurred
To be by Yellow Croqued, Hoop the third
Must now be gained: yet stay, Green can’t go through,

He can but “ place himself,” and voild tout.

The fifth Hoop, unmolested, Yellow seeks

Through that, then through the sixth and last she sneaks,

The last, I mean, before the turning peg

At which she aims, when Red is heard to beg

That she ’ll be cautious ; some folks who would serve one

With good advice, oft manage to unnerve one.

Brunette, “ I know that I shan’t do it,” cried ;

Then Yellow makes, in cricket phrase, “ a Wide.”

Emmy pretends, the cunning little soul,

With her dark foe’s misfortune to condole,

Wnile quietly the second Hoop she makes,

And on her backward road her partner takes,

Whom she, with much more certainty than haste,

Now Croquets, through the third, from where he’s placed;
Then following to the same propitious spot.

Makes the fourth Hoop for both, a wondrous shot!

In Blue-green breast see dying hope revive.

Her place Blue takes for gaining number five.

And first she ’ll, passive, serve her partner’s need;

Miss Emmy’s play’s been very good, indeed.

And passing through the sixth, his skill is such
That he the Turn-peg manages to touch.

To hit the post again, then help his mate.

His plan: the Yellow makes him hesitate:

He strikes the post, returning, then one look
At Yellow settles him ; ’twill suit his book
To Croquet her to Jericho, let’s say;

And Jones was right, it was the game to plav.

So first he Roquets Yellow, and then whips
His foot atop of Green, and then—he slips !

His stroke is lost, and, such is fortune’s whim.

She, whom he came to Croquet, Croquets him.

THE LAST STROKE.

Much as I have described goes on the game:

The play of course is never twice the same.

When you, forestalling victory, shall march
’Neath the last Hoop as your triumphal arch,

Think not the work for honest hands is over,

Eor till you hit the post you are A Rover; ”

Which means, that you, though bound in turn to strike,
May Croquet anyone just when you like.

Your mission is your slow-coach friends to seek,

And like a true knight-errant help the weak.

When to the post the winning-ball you send
Where it began, your Croquet-Life will end:

With gentle blow thus terminates the game,

And goes the mortal player whence he came.

To’ards the marquee then let your steps be bent;

Let your Caprera be the Ladies’ tent;

With laurel-wreath the victor must be crowned,

You’re sure to find some laurels on the ground;

Though how to weave a wreath is not so plain,

I never yet could make a daisy-chain.

L’ENVOI.

A great deal more I might have said, indeed
Have written volumes that “ who run may read ; ”
Volumes ! if on this subject I’d penn’d one,

Whoe’er should read, would very quickly run.

Say, reader, have you ever tried to guess
The weekly problems of the Game of Chess,

Which, with a ground-plan of a board, my eye
Have oft attracted ? Aren’t they monstrous dry P
And so I found, (I thank Chess for the hint,)

That Croquet’s not a bit less dry—in print.

“ Red Croquets Blue, hits Yellow, moves to three,”

It puzzles you ? ’Egad, it’s puzzled me.

Lie there my Croquet-pen. The mallet I
Henceforth will wield. A few words, then, good bye:
We ’re told that Squeers, the Schoolmaster of York,

Had a queer mode of setting boys to work;

Take the word “ winder,” when a boy had seen it,

And spelt it, Squeers then sent him off to clean it.
Reader, spell Croquet. Good. In one word say it:
That’s good again. Now then, you go and play it.

WHY AND BECAUSE.

Dear Mr. Punch,

The paragraphists say,

“ It is gratifying to observe the unanimous testimony of the Judges during the
present assizes, that crime was never so low in Ireland as it is now.”

Crime is always low, in fact vulgar, whether committed in Ireland, or
elsewhere, and I do not understand the Irish Judges. If they mean
rare, why can’t they say so ? And if they do mean rare, I am rejoiced
to hear of its rarity, and scorn to hint that the population of Ireland
was never so scanty as it is now. Why do black sheep eat so much
less than white ones ? Because the black are much the fewer.

Yours, cynically,

A Malignant Saxon.

Reciprocal Conscience-Money.

X.Y.Z. acknowledges the receipt of £200 from the Chancellor or
the Exchequer for Legacy Duty, which had been paid twice over to
the Inland Revenue Office.

xx.

Still the Third Hoop invites the fretting Red,

He nearly reaches it: his Iuck has fled.

Green runs to Blue, who Roqued, Croqued, flies
Through the fifth Hoop, then near it soon Green lies.

when the comet is visible.

(Orally communicated by our own Astronomer with a severe Cold.)

Id Badame Tussaud’s Wagswork, there’s a boving figure of the
Cobbett.