DOI Heft:
December 10, 1864
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16874#0241
December 10, 1864.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
235
THE SONG OE THE DRAINS.
Dear ! I thought the Thames business was over,
Do you mean there’s a question remains ?
They’ve one sewer, and they ’ll soon have another,
And don’t know what to do with the drains!
Why lor ! says an M.P., what stuff!
You’ve forgotten those fast special trains,
And the lunch both for blue and for buff
That they gave us down there in the drains.
May be so, says an unlucky liver
Down at Erith,—yet still he complains
You have poisoned us all on the river,
By the mess you have made with the drains.
Then the waste ! Oh, the scandal and shame !
Cries a farmer intent on his gains.
Why I’d make both my fortune and fame
With the stuff that you waste in the drains.
So Lord Robert he took up the case.
Though quite a, the end of his brains,
And he tried to put on a good face
About all they had done with the drains.
And his Lordship at once called a meeting
With many long-winded refrains,
And after much drinking and eating,
Asked, what’s to be done with the drains P
Then a noise and confusion arose,
He scarcely a hearing obtains.
For mudlarking contractors and those
Who all of them wanted the drains.
And the people of Edinburgh city
Cried, see all our trouble and pains :
’Tis a shame and a terrible pity
You don’t do as we do with the drains.
The contractors of Rugby cry, look;
Why we ’re quite independent of rains.
Let them dry up the river and brook.
We just water our land with the drains.
There’s Napier and Hope are so leary,
That, as sure as Her Majesty reigns,
They ’ll make of those quicksands so dreary
A Paradise all from the drains.
Then there’s ITighgate and Hampstead as well,
Where the owners of lands and terrains
Say, we don’t care a fig for the smell,
But we want the contents of the drains.
Then they write to the Times every day,
Squabbling over their filthy old mains !
Oh, good gracious ! do settle’t some way,
For we ’re all of us sick of the drains.
And by Neptune we swear that whoever
Cleans the water from Sheerness to Staines,
And sweetens our jolly old river,
YYe ’ll make him the King of the Drains.
A COVERED INSULT.
When the Emperor oe Austria addressed the Reichs-
rath he delivered his speech sitting, and with his hat on.
Take care, Francis Joseph ! Indulge in many more such
unmannerly arrogant pranks, and the day may come when
you may be left without as much as a covering to your
head, or perhaps even a head to cover. Perhaps it is
better, however, to take a charitable view of the matter,
and to suppose that there is a motive that offers some
palliating excuse for this bit of aristocratic impertinence.
It may be that the Emperor purposely wore his hat, to
avoid showing his extreme baldness as a reigning Sove-
reign ; or probably it was done for the purpose of hiding
the crack that there has notoriously been for some time
past in his Crown. _
Ministers of the Interior—with a Seat in the
Cabinet.—The Davenport Brothers.
NO RELIEF ON SUNDAY!
The North British Railway Company has terribly frightened Sir James Gar-
diner Baird, the Rev. Sir Henry Mon crieff, Rev. Mr. Manson, of Perth,
Rev. Mr. Graham, of Newhaven, Rev. Dr. Macfarlane, of Dalkeith, and a
multitude of Scotch Sabbatarians to whom those pastors minister thistles. They
resolved that they, “considering the Divine law of the Sabbath to be one of
the essential supports to vital and practical Christianity, feel it incumbent on them
to make every exertion for the maintenance of that law as it has hitherto been
understood by the Scottish people.” Accordingly, if an ox, or if one of themselves,
were to fall into a pit on a Sunday, they would doubtless forbid anybody to pull
him out.
Of course, these Scottish Sabbatarians will have been much edified by the fol-
lowing statement of “ A Medical Officer ” in the Times, who, after detailing some
facts illustrative of the parochial treatment of the poor in “ a large London Union,’’
says:—
“ 1 also came across last Sunday a most dreadful case of malignant fever, requiring wine, which.
I directed the people to fetch from the relieving officer. The reply was, he was not at home, and if
he had been, nothing would be given on Sunday.”
A poor creature is sinking for want of a drop of wine, but could not have it in
any case, because even if the relieving officer were at home, “nothing would be
-given on Sunday.” Is there any difference between sinking from malignant fever
and tumbling into a pit ? Some, perhaps, in the opinion of the people who thought
it wicked to heal on the Sabbath Day. None, of course, in that of those who
understand the Divine law of the Sabbath “ as it has hitherto been understood,”
if they are to be credited, “ by the Scottish people.” It seems that the guardians
of “ a large London Union” understand it in the same sense.^ Pious souls ! May
none of them ever feel the want of a drop of wine or a drop of—water 1
A New Freight. — The Parcels Delivery Company had recently a novelty
entrusted to their charge—a Lady wrapt up in her Baby.
The Name of the Publisher of Mr. Banting’s Portrait.—MXean.
A DAY AFTER THE SHOW.
Farmer. “Take us to the Cattle Show.”
Cabby (who does not care about the Job): “ It’s no use of me a taking you ; the
-last Day to receive was Satukday.”
[Of course the Farmer will have nothing to do with such a Blackguard.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
235
THE SONG OE THE DRAINS.
Dear ! I thought the Thames business was over,
Do you mean there’s a question remains ?
They’ve one sewer, and they ’ll soon have another,
And don’t know what to do with the drains!
Why lor ! says an M.P., what stuff!
You’ve forgotten those fast special trains,
And the lunch both for blue and for buff
That they gave us down there in the drains.
May be so, says an unlucky liver
Down at Erith,—yet still he complains
You have poisoned us all on the river,
By the mess you have made with the drains.
Then the waste ! Oh, the scandal and shame !
Cries a farmer intent on his gains.
Why I’d make both my fortune and fame
With the stuff that you waste in the drains.
So Lord Robert he took up the case.
Though quite a, the end of his brains,
And he tried to put on a good face
About all they had done with the drains.
And his Lordship at once called a meeting
With many long-winded refrains,
And after much drinking and eating,
Asked, what’s to be done with the drains P
Then a noise and confusion arose,
He scarcely a hearing obtains.
For mudlarking contractors and those
Who all of them wanted the drains.
And the people of Edinburgh city
Cried, see all our trouble and pains :
’Tis a shame and a terrible pity
You don’t do as we do with the drains.
The contractors of Rugby cry, look;
Why we ’re quite independent of rains.
Let them dry up the river and brook.
We just water our land with the drains.
There’s Napier and Hope are so leary,
That, as sure as Her Majesty reigns,
They ’ll make of those quicksands so dreary
A Paradise all from the drains.
Then there’s ITighgate and Hampstead as well,
Where the owners of lands and terrains
Say, we don’t care a fig for the smell,
But we want the contents of the drains.
Then they write to the Times every day,
Squabbling over their filthy old mains !
Oh, good gracious ! do settle’t some way,
For we ’re all of us sick of the drains.
And by Neptune we swear that whoever
Cleans the water from Sheerness to Staines,
And sweetens our jolly old river,
YYe ’ll make him the King of the Drains.
A COVERED INSULT.
When the Emperor oe Austria addressed the Reichs-
rath he delivered his speech sitting, and with his hat on.
Take care, Francis Joseph ! Indulge in many more such
unmannerly arrogant pranks, and the day may come when
you may be left without as much as a covering to your
head, or perhaps even a head to cover. Perhaps it is
better, however, to take a charitable view of the matter,
and to suppose that there is a motive that offers some
palliating excuse for this bit of aristocratic impertinence.
It may be that the Emperor purposely wore his hat, to
avoid showing his extreme baldness as a reigning Sove-
reign ; or probably it was done for the purpose of hiding
the crack that there has notoriously been for some time
past in his Crown. _
Ministers of the Interior—with a Seat in the
Cabinet.—The Davenport Brothers.
NO RELIEF ON SUNDAY!
The North British Railway Company has terribly frightened Sir James Gar-
diner Baird, the Rev. Sir Henry Mon crieff, Rev. Mr. Manson, of Perth,
Rev. Mr. Graham, of Newhaven, Rev. Dr. Macfarlane, of Dalkeith, and a
multitude of Scotch Sabbatarians to whom those pastors minister thistles. They
resolved that they, “considering the Divine law of the Sabbath to be one of
the essential supports to vital and practical Christianity, feel it incumbent on them
to make every exertion for the maintenance of that law as it has hitherto been
understood by the Scottish people.” Accordingly, if an ox, or if one of themselves,
were to fall into a pit on a Sunday, they would doubtless forbid anybody to pull
him out.
Of course, these Scottish Sabbatarians will have been much edified by the fol-
lowing statement of “ A Medical Officer ” in the Times, who, after detailing some
facts illustrative of the parochial treatment of the poor in “ a large London Union,’’
says:—
“ 1 also came across last Sunday a most dreadful case of malignant fever, requiring wine, which.
I directed the people to fetch from the relieving officer. The reply was, he was not at home, and if
he had been, nothing would be given on Sunday.”
A poor creature is sinking for want of a drop of wine, but could not have it in
any case, because even if the relieving officer were at home, “nothing would be
-given on Sunday.” Is there any difference between sinking from malignant fever
and tumbling into a pit ? Some, perhaps, in the opinion of the people who thought
it wicked to heal on the Sabbath Day. None, of course, in that of those who
understand the Divine law of the Sabbath “ as it has hitherto been understood,”
if they are to be credited, “ by the Scottish people.” It seems that the guardians
of “ a large London Union” understand it in the same sense.^ Pious souls ! May
none of them ever feel the want of a drop of wine or a drop of—water 1
A New Freight. — The Parcels Delivery Company had recently a novelty
entrusted to their charge—a Lady wrapt up in her Baby.
The Name of the Publisher of Mr. Banting’s Portrait.—MXean.
A DAY AFTER THE SHOW.
Farmer. “Take us to the Cattle Show.”
Cabby (who does not care about the Job): “ It’s no use of me a taking you ; the
-last Day to receive was Satukday.”
[Of course the Farmer will have nothing to do with such a Blackguard.