Punch (52.1867)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

189

May 11, 1867.]

JC

WHAT H. M. CIVIL SERVANTS HAVE TO ENDURE,

BESIDES THE RIDICULOUSLY LOW SALARIES.

Mr. Registrar. “ What’s the Number of your Deed, Sir ? ”

Attorney’s Cleric. “H-eight, H-ought H-eight, H-ought, Sevin, Sir!”
Mr. Registrar {faintly). “ Oh dear ! Oh dear !—(notes down the number)
—that will do.” [And is so upset that he takes a month’s holiday on the spot■

YE WORKING-MEN OE ENGLAND.

Ye Working-men of England,

Who know how humbug deals.

Whose sense detects its little game
In Brad laugh and in Beales—

To those who’d mould you bone and brain
As Potter’s clay, say no,

Nor keep, like the sheep,

The way your leaders go—

Where the spouter spouteth loud and long,

And the penny trumpets blow !

If wiser than your fathers,

Why worse than they behave ?

Why be the prey of every fool,

The dupes of every knave ?

Where Bright and gallant Gladstone fell,

Can Beales and Brad laugh go?

You must creep e’er you leap,

Let fools prate ever so:

Let the spouters spout both loud and long,

And the penny trumpets blow !

Britannia loves not humbug,

And big-talk holdeth cheap;

The chartered rights of Englishmen
Law gave and Law will keep.

By roots deep as our native oak’s
Secured those rights we know,

King nor nob, still less mob
Those rights can overthrow,—

Nor the spouters, spouting loud and long,

Nor the penny prints that crow !

Then hoist the flag of England,

Red caps and banners burn,

Till the spouters’ spouting wins no heed,

And common-sense return.

Then, Working-men of England,

Will Punch his trumpet blow,

To the fame of your name
When the Beales has ceased to blow—
When the fiery Bradlaugh ’s heard no more,
And the Beales has ceased to blow !

SOMETHING WITTY FROM THE CITY.

Why is Smithfield like Rome in the days of Cicero ?
Because it is threatened by a Cattle-line !

PEEPS AT PARIS.

PEEP THE SEVENTH.

I couldn’t write last week, in consequence of the tailors’ strike.
My new things had not come home, and my old ones, which were
sufficiently done up to require fresh doing up by the tailor, had not
been returned. I couldn’t walk about the Egsposissiong in my sack
dinnwee (that’s what our lively neighbours call a night-gown) so I was
obliged to lie in bed.

A friend who looked in to see how I was, casually observed that I
might have written in that situation, “ because,” he said pleasantly,
“ My dear Peeper, you can lie in bed as well as out of it.” If this
hadn’t been his fun, there would have been bloodshed.

I have been appointed one of the Jury. Erom information I’ve re-
ceived (since my clothes came home) I understand that my department
will be in the Potteries. I’m not quite clear what “ Potteries ” means.
However, I’ve ordered several works on Potteries, and the volume of the
Encyclopaedia Britannica in which Potter occurs. I am quite a French-
man now, in my new costume. I have also purchased a large collar, a
neglijay tie, and a tall hat. The tall hat I look upon as my first step
towards the study of chimney-potteries. Instead of a first step it
ought to be a crowning effort. These hats are specimens of real
High Art; they were introduced by the Freemasons of Paris. I don’t
mind telling you this, as we ’re all “ tiled ” here, there’s no doubt
about that.

Lumpyraw (I allude to Louey) said to a friend of mine the other day
(a friend of mine, observe, of course not myself—delicacy that, eh ?)—
well, Lumpyraw said, and I must remark that his lightest word con-
siderably illumines the present Luxemburg difficulty, he said quietly

-But an Aidykong has come round to tell me that what was said

the other morning was quite ongter noo.

While giving you the gossip of the day in Parry, I have quite

forgotten the object I had in view, namely, of assisting the numerous
English visitors. (A note has been sent to me from the authorities,
saying that I’m on the Jury for Surgical Instruments. I must get up
the subject and counterorder my Pottery works.)

In the afternoon the visitor, decorating himself with a bit of red
ribbon in the second button-hole of his best frock-coat, will saunter up
the Bvoaw dibhulloin (spelt Bois de Boulogne) and see the pretty equi-
pages and the swells riding and driving in this merry month of May.

Boulogne, as many people know, is on the sea, and is a favourite
residence for the English. I was going to give a long account of this
place, but I find that this isn’t the same Boulogne at all, consequently
I shall defer all my information on this subject until I can speak posi-
tively. Peeper the Great won’t deceive you, so don’t be afraid.

While perambulating Parry look in at the pallay dullarndoostree,
spelt, in spite of this pronunciation, Palais d’Industrie. Also saunter
through the Arcades and Parsages.

Palais de I’Industrie.—The Great Hospital for retired Chevaliers
d’Industrie: a most meritorious charity. Visit it by all means.

Arcades.—There are so many Arcades in Paris that the classic visitor
might be tempted to call it the Arcadia of Europe, if he was not re-
strained by his better nature. These Arcades are thoroughfares leading
to several somewheres, and not merely in at one end and out at the
other, as in the Lowther Arcade, or the Burlington, though of course
you can simplify your proceedings considerably by going nowhere.
But then why begin by going to Paris ?

I must leave off. A note has just come from the Commissioners
saying that I’m appointed on the jury for deciding upon the qualifi-
cations for admission of Fungi from the Hautes-Pyrenees. Must order
works on the subject, and counterorder the others.

Dictate of the Demonstrationists.—You must take the Rough
with the Smooth.