Punch (49.1865)

November 4, 1865.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

”.75

for granted, left much to be desired. The superficial had attempted to
throw ridicule on all sanatory questions by saying, “How are you
yesterday? How was you to-day? and How ain’t you to-morrow?”
{Hear, hear, and a sob.) He would now come to the subject of healths
in general. There were several kinds of health. Your good health, my
good health, his good health, or simply your, my, his health. Another
sort was that plentiful health, on which doctors had hitherto been
silent, he alluded to “ Here’s your good health and plenty of 'em?'
(Cheers) He would not detain them any longer, but would sing,
“ Here’s a health to all good lasses.” (Name! name!) The gallant
and learned gentleman resumed his seat amidst much cheering, aud
a fresh supply of whiskey punch was brought in.

After a few speeches, some more whiskey punch, and a profound
silence, an energetic Member of the Town Council rose. He said that
“ he must ’polgish for rishin’ after ev’one spokesh. (Here he bowed
gracefully over the table, and recovered himself with some difficulty.) He

wash all ri’; though didn’tfeel qui—qui’sho Aunt,(he meant fluent) shusal
(probably, ‘ as usual ’ ) ; he liked Shoshyance shelf (translated ‘ Social
Science himself’), and’d do all shport ’t. (‘ Hearear,' and 4 Queshun.’)
Who wash that shaid that? gem’n? Wash that gem’n? Heshshin-
shult ?»e-not shinshult’d shim, no—poshe toast—worthy host—meant
worthy toast of a host (here he put his hand to his forehead, and after
laughing gently, rcsmned); in poshing host of a toast, he had a toast to
posh, a host of a toast ”—here, in bowing to some one opposite he fell
across the table, and every one eyed him contentedly, and gave no
signs of moving: he was allowed to remain there.

A proposal was then made by the Chairman that this meeting do
adjourn, and every one who was able to leave his chair, seized the
opportunity.

Subsequently, on a motion ot the landlord’s, at whose house the
meeting had taken place, everybody was carried to bed nem. con. Thus
ended the first Universal Social Science Congress at Wiggles wade.

HOT WATER IN PAST AGES.

ord Russell is pit-!
eously entreated by
Mr. Bright’s organ
to invent a new Re-
form Bill. His Lordship
is reminded that on a j
certain 11th of April
he cried because he had
to abandon a Bill of his
own. He is told there
were doubts as to the
character of this hy-
draulic demonstration,
but that most persons
believed it to be sin-
cere. The Star implies
that we shall now know
whether it was sincere
or not. If Lord Rus-
sell makes a new Bill,
he was in earnest when
he wept. If he does !
not, he was merely act-
ing. With a passing;
compliment to the i
gentlemanly grace of |
such a reference, Mr.
Punch would observe
that he fails to see the i
logic of the proposed !
inference. A dozen
years makes much dif-j
erence in our sensa-
tions. At four, we cry,
very sincerely, for the
moon. At sixteen,
we scorn the moon, but cry sincerely (but privately) because
cousin Loo prefers cousin Edmund. At twenty-eight, we cry (very
privately, or only after much Champagne) because Rigdumfunnidos
has lost the Derby, and all our bets. Thenceforth we don’t cry
at all until our favourite daughter bolts with poor Brown instead
of rich Jones, and these are very sincere tears. Poor Brown has
brains, and becomes a well-to-do Yicar, and we again begin crying
sincerely when he turns Dissenter. Finally, we cry over nothing less
important than the new actress’s sobs in Mrs. Haller. We have been
in thorough earnest at each outbreak, but each has its proper date, and
we are not to be told that we are actors, because having cried over
Cousin Loo at sixteen, we don’t care twopence for Cousin Loo at |
twenty-eight. The Star's logic is of a piece with Dr. Johnson’s :—

“ If the man who turnips cries,

Cries not when his father dies,

’Tis a proof that he had rather
Have a turnip than his father.”

Lord Russell was very sorry to abandon that Bill. He is now
twelve years older, and may have other objects at heart. At all events
we protest against the Water-test.

A Rule for Railway Travelling.

“ Will you allow me, Sir, to offer you a cigar?” “Thank you, but
I never smoke.” “ Have you any objection to my lighting one. Sir F”
“ Oh! no, none in the least.” This plan is infallible with the most
Puritanical-looking fellow traveller. Never think of putting the
second question first. The production of the cigar, and the generous
Mfer, are sure to disarm all crusty objections. Try it.

THE LAUREATE TO HIS PRINCESS.

(OE BONNY.)

O Royal Maiden, to declare

Thy graces in one word ’tis hard;

To call thee, sable Princess, fair,

Were worthy of an Irish bard.

Yet Bonny’s darkness is more bright
Than many a bonny English rose :

Thou wouldst not, wert thou e’er so white.
Appear more fair to Poet Close.

Why hast thou sought old England’s shore ?

To fill the coffers of thy mind
With wealth of scientific lore,

And literary gold, combined.

With poesy, among the rest;

What wilt thou find, of all that flows
From any British pen, the best ?

The verse on sale by Poet Close.

True, Tennyson’s a decent hand,

And Robert Browning too, no doubt,

As far as those can understand
Who cannot always make him out.

One Laureate England may admire;

Another all the wide world knows :

The Poet Laureate to thy Sire,

The King op Bonny, Poet Close.

And could he know that thou hadst come,

And not a tuneful welcome sing ?

Ah no, unless entirely dumb.

Child of his patron, Bonny’s King;

This votive offering at thy feet,

With hat in hand, he humbly throws;

0 may it approbation meet,

And win reward for Poet Close !

A Bishop’s money is a sight
Which many sigh in vain to see.

I’ve had that vision of delight,

Too rarely though, vouchsafed to me.

To Bishop Percy, of Carlisle,

A Bard this recognition owes ;

He once laid down, in handsome style,

A sovereign for the Poet Close.

The second Person in the Realm,

His Grace, of Canterbury’s See,

Who guides the Church of England’s helm,
Has purchased many books of me.

He pays me for them like a man,

Down on the nail he pays me—those
Will find that still the wisest plan,

Who order books of Poet Close.

Yes, the Archbishop, like a man,

A gentleman, good man and true,

Pays me, and so a lady can
Accept my books, and pay me too.

1 ’ll trumpet Beauty’s noble Queen,

Largess on genius who bestows.

I call her ugly, base, and mean,

Who buys no soDgs of Poet Close.

How x® Learn to Love your Enemies.—Play at Croquet.