Punch (53.1867)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

195

November 16, 1867.]

the constantly increasing number of the Fellows, they
cannot expect will offer themselves ; and any compulsory
measures—“ the ballot,” for instance, as for the militia—I {
am certain Ministers and the Bishops will never permit. My
hand shakes so much with agitation that I can write no
more, except to subscribe myself (and I am not ashamed
to own it),

an Aunt (Single) or Thirty Years’ Standing.

P.S. Don’t you think that Aunts by marriage ought (if
the horrid deed must be perpetrated), to be used first, and
then Great Aunts ?

PP.S. Can you tell me whether there is any animal
whose ordinary diet is Uncles P

A WORD FROM THE WHITEBAIT.

“ What's in a name ! That which we call a Whitebait
By any other name would eat as nice. ”

Shakspcare slightly altered.

That the Ship and the Trafalgar
Are built up on the fry of us ;

That down go Hart and Qoartermaine
If the public should fight shy of us ;

That Thames’ most pois’nous odours
Are neutralised by whiff of us ;

Fish dinners voted fishy,

An’t were not for the sniff of us ;

That even Cabinet secrets
Are freely talked before us :

And massacres of innocents
Wash’d down with cold punch o’er us ;

That we ’re adored, a croquer,

By swells and pretty sinners :

That the chief grace at meat is
Our work, in Company dinners;

In short, that we ’re delicious.

Is generally admitted,

When with batter, bread and butter,

Cayenne and lemons fitted.

Uncle. “Well, Joe, how did you like Paris?”

Travelled, Nephew. “ Oh, Uncle, we lived ‘ ong Prawncf,’ I can tell you ! ”
Unde (astonished). “ Lived on Prawns ! ? (Nephew repeats his assertion.)

Then all I can say is, I’m glad I wasn’t o’ the Party. What’s Butcher’s
Meat so Dear, then ? ”

[As Joe said, “ What’s the good of talking Frendito such an Ignorant Old
Buffer as he V'

When thus all ranks and classes
Our merits are agreed on,—

When we ’re pronounced the thing in fish
For epicures to feed on—

Why fret, you ask, o’er species,

Or question raise of genus;

If we ’re young sprats or herrings.

Or what’s the odds between us P

A PITIABLE CASE.

Dear Mr. Punch,

I want to pay a visit to the Zoological Gardens (I highly disapprove of
the flippancy of the young people of the present day in calling that agreeable
resort “the Zoo”), to see the Walrus. But I am prevented going, although
several of my nephews (my sister Amelia’s sons) have offered to attend me, and
all my nieces (my sister Arabella’s daughters) are anxious to accompany me,
because I am told that an Aunt-eater has been added to the Menagerie. 1 have
such confidence in the arrangements made by the Society for the safe keeping
of the animals exhibited, that I might, perhaps, overcome my fear of personal risk
from an accidental encounter with this formidable creature, and enter the Gardens
under a strong escort of my blood relations; but 1 cannot so far forget what
is due to the memory of the many excellent women—related to those near and
dear to them as I am related to Amelia’s and Arabella’s children—who must
have fallen victims to the strange appetite of this voracious animal and others of its
species, as to set my foot within the precincts of the Gardens while it remains one
of its denizens. And, indeed, I may as well mention that I shall not think it
respectful if any of Amelia’s or Arabella’s children, to gratify a morbid curiosity,
inspect a collection which has received such an unnatural addition. This expression
of my feelings on a most painful subject will perhaps have some little weight with
those for whom it is intended, when I add that a disregard of my wishes might
influence the testamentary dispositions I am about to make in their favour.

One word more. I shudder and require the stimulus of smelling salts when
I think of the particular sort of sustenance that must be found for this—this
Aunt-eater! Perhaps, like the great snakes, it only requires to be fed occasion-
ally—once a quarter, or so ; but even four Aunts a year—the thought is too awful,

I now require a little weak brandy-and-water, especially when I reflect that my
poor fellow-Aunts must be shut up alive with the monster, if it has these serpentine
propensities. And how will the Council obtain the necessary supplies ? Yolun- j
teers, great as the love for natural history appears to be amongst us, as shown by

You fancy that such questions
To Whitebait should not matter,

Born ’twixt Gravesend and Battersea,

Their graves’ end, seas of batter.

But fishes have their feelings,

There are ranks in Neptune’s borders.

And we won’t stoop to be mated
With the fishy lower orders.

Over our silver bodies*

Though Pisciculturists quarrel,

Which of them e’er stood by us.

Except dear old Ned Yarrell ?

God bless him, as he loved us.

In plain batter or cayenned,

In his History of fishes
He used us, like a friend.

As Clupea alba owned us,

A family ’mong fish :

So in his plate baptised us,

So blessed us in his dish.

And still as Clupea alba,

We mean to float and fry,

And to low sprats and herrings
Relationship deny !

* See the recent controversy in the Foil Moll Gazette betwoe
Messrs. Francis Lord and Lawson.