DOI issue:
November 2, 1867
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16880#0189
178
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[November 2, 1867.
THE TABLES TURNED.
Nurse. “Did you Ring, Ma’am?”
Naughty Little Girl. “No; I Rang. Take Mamma away, please. She’s very Cross and Disagreeable.”
THE “MAN IN BRASS” AVENGED.
I told you what was biliu’ up, I know’d ’twould come to pass
When your sooicidal border put down the Mau in Brass—
I felt the Constitootion of the Corporation doomed.
On my ’awberk and my ’elmet when impious ’ands presoomed.
I said I was a symbol—you hanswered, “ That be blowed ! ”
Said we was institootions, me and the ’oss I rode.
You pooh-poohed your institootions, my vested rights and all,
And now see what it’s come to—the Lord Mayor’s Show’s to fall!
They got the small end of the wedge well in and under me,
And worked, alas, the Man in Brass out of the saddle tree.
You little thought that in my throat your own throats was cut then ;
If 1 was man, for all my brass, Lord Mayors is only men.
You put me down, like other things to our forefather’s dear :
Guv compensation, which I blush to say what ’tis a year :
Brass in the Common Council might be honoured as before,
But, the Man in Brass, its emblem, his place know’d him no more !
Now home the wedge they’re driving, into your marrow-bones.
Striking a blow agin you, that should rouse the City stones.
Revolution in the Council sets its pisn’d hoods abroach,
And runs a muck, Lord ’elp us ! at the Lord Mayor’s own state coach !
Had you thought of the old proverb, “Give a hinch they’ll take a
hell,”
The rude hand of Destruction on me bad never fell.
Nought’s sacred now. The Lord Mayor’s coach its dignity not
screens,
And the next state coach they strikes at—blow’d if ’twont be the
Queen's !
Maud’s Peril—of catching cold, if she accepts Mr. Sims Reeves’
invitation during these treacherous evenings.
A PROBE IN THE POORHOUSE
What a joke it seems to call a man a “Poor-Law Inspector,” when
he shuts his eyes to such a state of things as, according to the Lancet.
is prevailing in our workhouses! Surely, “Poor-Law Neglecter”
would be a far more fitting name for him. And what a mockery it
seems to say that any man is a “ Guardian ” of the poor, when he never
takes the trouble to guard them from such treatment as they meet with
in the Earnham workhouse, for example, where “ casuals ” are caged
nightly in a kind of biggish rabbit-hutch, and where inmates, when
allowed the luxury of washing, “ are obliged to dry themselves on the
sheets of their own beds ” !
Such black-Guardians deserve to smart under the Lancet, and we
rejoice to know that some of them are not so brutally thick-skinned,
but that they really have been made to wince beneath its probe. If
men appointed to be Guardians, thus shamefully neglect the work they
undertake to do, there should be started a Society for Prevention of
Cruelty to Paupers ; and the whole of its expenses should be borne by
the biack-Gnardians and the paid neglecters of the poor.
The Right Man in the Right Place.
The Master of the “ Rolls” acting as Judge in a case respecting the
Preservation of “ Commons.” We trust that a copy of his decisions
will be soon in the hands of every College servant.
St. Luke’s Asylum.—Japanese Tommy, a new name for Brown
Bread.
An Old Saw new Set.— What can’t be endured must be carica-
tured.
A “ Neat” Drink.—Spruce Beer.
Motto ?or the “ Open Church Society.”—Proh Pew-door i
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
[November 2, 1867.
THE TABLES TURNED.
Nurse. “Did you Ring, Ma’am?”
Naughty Little Girl. “No; I Rang. Take Mamma away, please. She’s very Cross and Disagreeable.”
THE “MAN IN BRASS” AVENGED.
I told you what was biliu’ up, I know’d ’twould come to pass
When your sooicidal border put down the Mau in Brass—
I felt the Constitootion of the Corporation doomed.
On my ’awberk and my ’elmet when impious ’ands presoomed.
I said I was a symbol—you hanswered, “ That be blowed ! ”
Said we was institootions, me and the ’oss I rode.
You pooh-poohed your institootions, my vested rights and all,
And now see what it’s come to—the Lord Mayor’s Show’s to fall!
They got the small end of the wedge well in and under me,
And worked, alas, the Man in Brass out of the saddle tree.
You little thought that in my throat your own throats was cut then ;
If 1 was man, for all my brass, Lord Mayors is only men.
You put me down, like other things to our forefather’s dear :
Guv compensation, which I blush to say what ’tis a year :
Brass in the Common Council might be honoured as before,
But, the Man in Brass, its emblem, his place know’d him no more !
Now home the wedge they’re driving, into your marrow-bones.
Striking a blow agin you, that should rouse the City stones.
Revolution in the Council sets its pisn’d hoods abroach,
And runs a muck, Lord ’elp us ! at the Lord Mayor’s own state coach !
Had you thought of the old proverb, “Give a hinch they’ll take a
hell,”
The rude hand of Destruction on me bad never fell.
Nought’s sacred now. The Lord Mayor’s coach its dignity not
screens,
And the next state coach they strikes at—blow’d if ’twont be the
Queen's !
Maud’s Peril—of catching cold, if she accepts Mr. Sims Reeves’
invitation during these treacherous evenings.
A PROBE IN THE POORHOUSE
What a joke it seems to call a man a “Poor-Law Inspector,” when
he shuts his eyes to such a state of things as, according to the Lancet.
is prevailing in our workhouses! Surely, “Poor-Law Neglecter”
would be a far more fitting name for him. And what a mockery it
seems to say that any man is a “ Guardian ” of the poor, when he never
takes the trouble to guard them from such treatment as they meet with
in the Earnham workhouse, for example, where “ casuals ” are caged
nightly in a kind of biggish rabbit-hutch, and where inmates, when
allowed the luxury of washing, “ are obliged to dry themselves on the
sheets of their own beds ” !
Such black-Guardians deserve to smart under the Lancet, and we
rejoice to know that some of them are not so brutally thick-skinned,
but that they really have been made to wince beneath its probe. If
men appointed to be Guardians, thus shamefully neglect the work they
undertake to do, there should be started a Society for Prevention of
Cruelty to Paupers ; and the whole of its expenses should be borne by
the biack-Gnardians and the paid neglecters of the poor.
The Right Man in the Right Place.
The Master of the “ Rolls” acting as Judge in a case respecting the
Preservation of “ Commons.” We trust that a copy of his decisions
will be soon in the hands of every College servant.
St. Luke’s Asylum.—Japanese Tommy, a new name for Brown
Bread.
An Old Saw new Set.— What can’t be endured must be carica-
tured.
A “ Neat” Drink.—Spruce Beer.
Motto ?or the “ Open Church Society.”—Proh Pew-door i