Punch: Punch (70.1876)

April 8, 1876.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVAEL

137

guid and jet sparkling ; clear olive complexions, suggestive of the
most luscious Devonshire cream; rosy cheeks, and dark reddish-
black hair. How happy they looked as they gaily passed the cham-
pagne ! And why did they look so happy ? Because the man they
loved, the man any one of them would have willingly taken for a
husband, was with them. A gay young bishop was the lucky fellow.
" It was too bad of you, my Lord, to ask Mamma to get out while
we ascended that last hill, and then to leave her behind! I am
sure we shall never find her again! "—I heard one of the fair
creatures say to the young ecclesiastic. The Bishop's cheery laugh
was heard for yards round, and once more he began to amuse them.
Well, and why should not a Bishop put on a false nose if Beauty
smiles ? I envied them their beauty, and him his luck, and
passed on.

An open window. I nodded right and left, for this was a tableau
of celebrities. There was an eminent Comedian, talking to a not
less eminent Statesman; and the Editor of a Newspaper was ex-
plaining to a great General the theory of war; a celebrated Dissent-
ing Minister (who had come to see his University win) was smiling
at the sallies of wit of a famous writer of opera-bouffe books.
And what a background of loveliness ! I had to shade my eyes
with my hand as I noticed that the female portion of the Chorus at
the Opera had apparently come to see the Race en masse. Later in
the day, I found that the celebrities of the day had, so to speak,
thawed, and were gaily dancing quadrilles with their fair com-
panions. Ah ! beauty and genius ! It is good to be wise, but better
ill to be young and lovely!

And the crowd. Officers in the Guards, in State uniform, rub-
bing shoulders with Barristers, who had run out of Chancery Lane
just to see the Race ; Conjurors ; Brass-bands; Punch Shows ; Circus
Processions (greatly impeding, by the way, circulation on the towing-
path) ; and hearses. Here was a Bridegroom who had, on the way
home from church, taken his blushing Bride to see "the finish;"
there a Company of Mourners, who had stayed awhile to hail the
victory of the Winning Blue. Oh! it was a grand sight! Once
seen, never forgotten—and, never forgotten, always described!

The River.

It is not every wiseacre who can say whether the River is smooth
or rough. Sometimes there may be waves that look to the short-
sighted like ripples. Then why describe the state of the River on
the ever-memorable 8th of April ? To the learned it would be an
insult, to the unlearned it would be an injury ! So the state of the
River shall not be described.

Plenty of boats, barges, steam-launches, and outriggers! Here
was an elderly man in a tub, pulling as if for dear life, and yet
smiling with a glee scarcely befitting his grey hairs. Who was he ?
By the respectful manner in which the River-Police saluted him,
evidently some one of consequence. Was he the Lord Chief Jus-
tice, or Cardinal Manning, or Mr. Gladstone ? AYho can say, on
a day like this ? and so he passes on. The steamers soon give him
their wash, and the tub disappears.

And now it is time for the Race. The bunting either flies gaily
in the crisp sunshine, or hangs heavily in the wet. There is a shout
—and a mighty one. " They are off! " It has been said before, and
it will be said again.

The Race.

The boats left Putney together. One of the Blues was on the
Middlesex side, the other hugged Surrey. And so they started,
pulling a stroke which had eight oars to give it the necessary
impetus.

The Water-Works were neared and passed; the Gravel Pits
followed the same fate. Off Chiswick it was anybody's race! "Go
it, Oxford!" "Cambridge wins!" were the rival cries as the
two boats steadily pursued their way. Every sinew cracked, every
muscle was stretched to the utmost.

And oh! what a shout there was at Hammersmith as the rival
crews came in sight! And how the people cheered at Barnes and
Mortlake ! Hark to the gun ! 'Tis over. The expectant enthusiasm
of the year is concentrated into the madness of a thrilling quart
d'heure ! Oh, it was a noble race nobly won. Both victors and
vanquished deserved well of their respective "Varsities," (as the
Universities are called by members of the less important Colleges at
Oxford and Cambridge), and no one was surprised at

The Result.

The Oxford and Cambridge Boat-Race of 1876 was won on Satur-
day, April 8th, by the Light Dark Blue. The time (as taken by
Benson's chronometer) was about twenty minutes—a minute or so
more or less either way.

; And thus it will be seen that (as usual) the best men were the
victors! Long may it be so ; and long may we be there to see it,
and to tell the tale!

Sentiment to accompany the Toast op '' The Queen and the
Royal Family."—" Though absent, ever dear! "

THE IRISH £4-H0TJSEH0LDER TO JOHN BRIGHT.

" The value of the house is not of so much importance as you fancy. Every
man who is admitted under household franchise is the head of a family ; he
has his wife and his children, with all those calls to industry and fair conduct
in life which those have who lire in better houses, and you may therefore
throw out of view the bricks and roof by which he and his family are shel-
tered."—Mr. Bright on the Irish Borough Franchise Bill.

More power t'ye, John Bright, 'tis yourself that is right

Whin you say, wid the hoighth of urbanity,
'Tis not morthar and bricks, and a man's bits o' sticks,

Fix his pull in the scale av humanity.
Boys in the Green Isle may be out-an'-out loy'l,

And show clargy and ould blood a steady phiz,
Though they don't kneel for mass in the light o' plate-glass,

And reside in a humble mud-edifice.

Cowld Protestant folk on poor Pat crack their joke-
But don't think that thim Saxons so glib are right;

A'bould pisant in frize is a man in your eyes,
Though he's not fed nor lodged like a Sybarite.

If each other we bate while for Home-Rule we wait,
Still we're cute boys, both pisants and artisans,

And just see won't we'fight for your broad-brim, John Bright—
'Tis the kind sowl that turns Pats to partisans.

Palace Green never heard thruer manlier word*

Than yours, though you 're Saxon and stranger ;
There's a heart in poor Pat, and 'tis you gits at that,

When you prache that fair-play is no danger.
And if Pat's voice could rache up as high as yon Bache,

'Twould tell Saxons to alther their attitude ;
On'y give us fair-play, and you '11 find, some foine day,

There's Celts can batef Saxons for gratitude.

* " It remains true—although all the officials in the world think it worth
their while to call it in question—that justice done by the Government and
Parliament to any portion of the population, be it the most remote, or be it
the most abject, is never lost; it is compensated to the power which gives it,
be that power Monarch or Parliament, by greater affection and more firm
allegiance to the law, and by the growth of all those qualities and virtues by
which a great and durable nation is distinguished."—Mr. Bright's Speech
on Irish Borough Franchise.

f Punch never doubted it—but query the sort of " bating."

The Little (too) Busy Bee,

The Rev. Mr. D'Orsey writes to the papers defending his spell-
ing, or mis-spelling, of "peas." Mr. D'Orsey still contends for
"pease." It would, perhaps, be as well if, on the occasion of the
next etymological encounter at St. James's Hall, he would urge
something with effect in favour of " Peace."

Punch to B. D.

Ip Seventy-Six be dispensatrix
Of the title Itnperatrix, _
Is not the title like to stick, Sir,
Of " Benjamin, Imperatrickster " *