Punch (56.1869)

June 5, 1869.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

229

THE CONVALESCENT.

Ncio Curate [tenderly). “My good Man, what induced tou to Send fop.
me ? ”

Oldest Inhabitant. “What does he Say, Betty?”

Betty. “ ’Says what the Deuce did you Send foe. him, foe ! ! ”

THOSE ISTHMIAN GAMES !

Air—“ Those Evening Bells.”

Those Isthmian Games ! those Isthmian Games!
How one and. all admit their claims !

From snob to swell, from grave to gay.

From flats that bleed, to rooks that prey.

For them the shop-boy robs the till,

For them the plunger backs the bill;

For them touts watch, and tipsters lie,

And sweeps are lulled, and pigeons fly :

For them the road pours down its shoals ;

For them the rail its myriads rolls ;

Theirs is the carriage-crowded “ Hill,”

The nigger song, the chaff, the mill!

Theirs are the black-eyed gipsy’s tricks,

Aunt Sally’s three-a-penny sticks ;

The Dorling’s card, that, hoarsely cried.

Proclaims their names and. weights that ride.

The luncheon hampers, and the drain
Of Hamburg sherry and champagne ;

The popping of a million corks,

The flash of countless knives and forks.

The thrill that stirs a million hearts,

When, after false alarms and starts,

The cry “ They ’re off ! ” sweeps through the crowd.
Like lightning through a thunder-cloud !

The Stand, lit up with sudden sun
()f myriad faces, turned like one ;

The passing rush of hoofs, and hues,

Their shouts that win, their pangs that lose !

Three minutes’ madness in a day !

A headache, and a bill to pay !

A book, whose losers fail to show,

But on which you pay what you owe !

So ’t.was, ere I saw Herbies run:

So ’twill be, all my Derbies done !

There ’ll still be flats to own your claims,

Nor count your cost, dear Isthmian Games !

Good Name for a Scotch Policeman.—Macnab.

“ DE PAR LA REINE ! ”

“ Rfr Majesty spent her 50th birthday quietly at Balmoral. The Queen
marked the day by conferring the Order—(see poem).”— Court Circular.

Then “ God Save the Queen /” let us loyally whistle :

Prince L. got the Garter—Prince A. got the Thistle.

If you ask why this difference in ribbons should be.

Then know that Prince A. was already K.G.

All health to the Queen who is Over the Borders :

She always does well when she’s giving her Orders :

May Webster and Buckstone be honoured, some day,

With orders to fit up her Box at the Play.

A Good Riddance.

There was joyful news in the papers last week for wearied and
disgusted readers. One line brought them great relief, after months
of bribery, corruption, intimidation, guzzling, treating, tippling, fencing,
and various other old English sports and pastimes. It was simply

“the last of the election petitions.”

Blackburn, Willes, and Martin, who ought to be the best
judges of their own feelings, are understood to share in the general joy
1 at this most welcome announcement.

A Horrid Old Pig.

Old Bristles {inspecting through eye-glass Portrait of a Young Bride at
the Royal Academy Exhibition). Lovely Being! Nice picture ! Suppose
it cost a good, deal of money. Hrumnk ! Wonder how much anybody
would give for the likeness if he thought it wonld fade as soon as the
| original ?

PUNCH’S DERBY PROPHECY.

“ Nothing can do me good. I should be quite happy if anything could do mo
harm,” remarks a blase young aristocrat in one of Mr. Disraeli’s best novels. In
the same spirit Mr. Punch wishes that he could sometimes he wrong, instead of
being so invariably and inevitably right on all subjects in this distracted orb.
Somebody ostracised Aristides, being wearing of hearing him called the Just.
Punch the Just thinks of ostracising himself (only oysters are out of season), tired
j with incessant tributes to his wisdom. Spare your compliments, dear Universe, and
j let him be. His Derby Prophecy? Well, he prophesied, of course, that Pretender
\ would he first, Pero Gomez second, and the Drummer third. And, equally of course,
they were so declared to be by Mr. Clark. “Let him go—handsome is that hand-
! some does,” lie remarked of the latter horse—“ let him go, the rather that he can
' stay.” Of Pero he said, with playful jingle, “Pero may be at zero, yet be quick-
! silver still.” His prediction of Pretender was so plain that nobody could mistake for
j a moment—he blessed the horse, introduced him to Belinda, and then named him
winner with what is absurdly called an oatb, borrowed from Lady Strange. The
anecdote which he took from Mr. G. A. Sala “ seemed to have no connection with
the other sentences "—so wrote humble inquire!s. Why—you idiots—that was just
it. He inserted it, apropos of nothing, for those who had eyes to see. When
Mr. Punch not only names a horse, but names him, swearingly, ye must be dull

indeed to doubt his meaning. “ Pretender, and be-to you.” It might not be

civil, but it was concise, and clear. Happy are those who plucked the sweet nut
out of the rough shell. With what exquisite accuracy he described the finish of the
race (a splendid one, though the pace was slow) observe by comparing the accounts
of the scene, the rather that none of them agrees with anyof the others. Well,
your Prophet hopes you were all happy. It was a lovely day, and the P.rtxcess of ;
Wales was present, and Punch had told you how to bet. What more could you
want in the way of terrestrial happiness ? Now, his wearied lips he ’ll close, Leave,

O leave him to repose—until May 1ST0. Valete et plaudite.

Going to Extremes.—A Friend of ours is so humane that he
cannot even bear to dine upon Hung Beef.