Punch: Punch (52.1867)

34 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [January 26, 1867.

“ Voyons done—e’est Vaffaire de ces deux beaux Seigneurs,
Votr’ Chmcelier du Tresor, et mon Empereur.

To les droits du beaux sexe, wliat are droits de Douane ?
So let each of us tackle her own gentleman.”

“Agreed ! ” quoth Britannia—“a Customs’ Reform
From my Dizzy I ’ll coax, or, if that won’t do, storm ! ”

UNWAVERING, OR, ’TIS SIXTY YEARS SINCE.

The above joke is Sir Walter Scott’s, by the way, and serves Mr.
Punch very well for a heading to half-a-dozen lines which, in departure
from his general custom, he proposes to insert in reference to a contem-
porary. The Examiner newspaper is completing its sixtieth year, and is
gracefully mindful of the fact. Mr. Punch wishes the Examiner many
happy returns of its birthday. That journal has stood manfully by the
famous motto from Deeoe, which it has worn on its shield for so many
years. Fearless, witty, and gentlemanly, not given to gushing, but
not ashamed of honest sympathy, scholarly but not pedantic, and
always in tone with the minds of thoughtful and refined readers, the
Examiner is distinguished even among the high class journalism of
London. Mr. Punch, who is also remarkable for all the above good
qualities, and many others, takes off his hat, and gives a cheer for the
birthday of the sparkling sexagenarian.

A FIRST-RATE GAME TO BE PLAYED BY ALL ENGLAKD.

In the first place you must take a new envelope, neither too large
nor too small. Then think of your greatest “ favourite.” Having, of
course, selected Mr. Punch, write his name and address in a legible
hand on the envelope. You must now take six postage stamps, and
having affixed one to the envelope, place the remaining five within the
directed cover. You must then write “ For the Distressed” in one
corner of the envelope, and put it carefully in the Post-office letter-box.

Mr. Punch will receive the communication in due course, and after-
wards forward it to the Bishop of London.

N.B. Everybody can play at this game, and the more the merrier.

MRS. BRITANNIA AND MADAME FRANCE LAY THEIR
HEADS TOGETHER.

Quoth stout old Britannia to brisk Madame France,

Who wooed her o’er sea with her best bienseance,

“ I’d step over with pleasure your great Show to view,

But there’s a vile barrier ’twixt me, Ma’am, and you;

’Tis what I call the Custom-house, you, Leo Douane,

That to keep us from visiting does what it can.

“ Now, I’ve no taste for smuggling ; in fact, I contend,
Smuggled goods always cost twice their worth in the end :

Then, what is there to smuggle, 1 ’d much like to know,

Now there’s free-trade between us, thank Cobden & Co ?

E’en your Paris to show me a thing I defy,

But at shillings for francs I in Loudon could buy.

“ But if I meant smuggling, my dear, entre nous,

’Taint portmanteau or bag I would choose for’t—would you?

If one does carry things one don’t want to declare,

As a sensible woman one don’t put ’em there.

There are means, ain’t there, dear, to stow goods on the sly.
Where e’en Custom-house searchers don’t venture to pry ?

“ But, really, to have one’s trunks tumbled about,

One’s dresses all rumpled and turned inside out.

One’s bonnets passed under an officer’s stares.

One’s things from the wash pawed and touzled by bears—

IC’s really more than a woman can stand,

Above all, not at Reason’s but Custom’s command.”

Quoth brisk Madame France with a shrug and a sigh,

“ C’est vrai, cliere Madame, as you say, so say I;

Cette sacree Douane ! mille excuses, if 1 swear,

It is so bad, almost, as I’affreux mal-de-mer.

U your mysteres de toilette to show you decline,

Eigurez-vous, Madame, what I feel for mine !