Punch (70.1876)

208 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVAKI. [Mat 20, 1876.

THE WIND AND THE WOOL.

'us an ill wind that blows
nobody good:
Snch a wind in tbe East for
the last month has stood. _
To no men, at least, can it

profit have blown,
Except Undertakers and

Doctors alone.
Long faces are pulled by the

pastoral swains
Whose fleecy live stock crop

the verdurous plains,
And the dales, and the downs,

o'er the spacious extent
Of the counties of Sussex and

Surrey and Kent.
Those sheep - farmers, ever

before till to-day,
Began their sheep-shearing

the first week of May,
But are forced to postpone
it a fortnight this year,
" Now the East wind has blown
.them a May so severe.

To the shorn lamb 'tis said
Heaven tempers the wind,
"When the hand of the shearer
has left it bare-skinned ;
But what swain in his senses that saying would trust,
When East winds like these in his eyes blow the dust P

Behold for a month, too, the local wool sales
Put off by the blast of those ill-blowing gales!
What matter if they, whilst the sheep-farmers weep,
A respite from shearing meanwhile blow the sheep ?

Not only have husbandmen cause to complain
Of the wind that blows ills to their herbage and grain,
To the sheep-farmer's farming it blows a dead stop;
For sheep-shearing deferred is a check to his crop.

March winds blew of old, and then came April showers,
And our sires used to say that they brought forth May flowers.
May it not be June blight that these May winds will bring,
Which have blown all this while in the teeth of the Spring ?

0 Clerk of the Weather, how long will it last,

This villanous, ill-blowing, easterly blast ?

Send a Zephyr to chase agriculturist's fears,

And let the wool-harvest be reaped with the shears ?

AT THE DEAWING-ROOM.

What a Papa says. Really, my dears, if you don't come down at
once we shall be late. The carriage has been here for a couple of
hours. John tells me that when he passed through the Park there
was a double row in the Mall. Surely you have had enough time
for your finishing touches.

What a Mamma says. Mind, dears, I don't like this at all—as a
rule. But really one does look so very well in Court Dress, Only a
soupgon of colour, you know. Amy, dear, some of it has got on to
your nose. Never mind, dear, I will wipe it off for you.

What an Eldest Son says. Dear me, how my Militia tunic has
shrunk since the last Training! The sword-belt, too, seems to be
smaller. Very strange—I can't make it out.

What an Eldest Daughter says. Yes, I like the contrast very
much indeed. So pretty—isn't it ?—cream-colour and rose-pink.
Satin, too, is so much better than silk.

What an Admiring Friend says. My dears, I think your dresses
simply quite too lovely. I could not let you go without giving you
a look in. Charming—charming! Perfectly sweet!

What a Younger Daughter says. I knew there wouldn't be room
for all of us in the carriage. Fred, my dear, don't you think you
could take a Hansom, and meet us there ? Papa, you really must
get up for a minute—your sword is tearing my train.

What a Rude Boy says. Oh! look 'ere, Bill. 'Ere's a carriage
full for yer ! Ain't they a stunning lot! Call Anna Maria and
Saerey Jane, and let's 'ave a good look at 'em! Now, then, for a
shove!

What a Policeman says. Come, now, you must move on. I can't
have you blocking up the pavement looking into the carriages.
Come, now, I say—just move on !

What a Bridegroom says. My darling, as I knew we should have
to wait a couple of hours at the very least in the carriage, I told
Mortimer to put up a pint of Champagne and some chicken sand-
wiches. Now do, darling—do let me tempt you. I am sure they
will do you good.

What a Bride says. Oh! but really it is so very dreadful!
Champagne in the morning ! Oh ! I don't think I ought to—really
I don't. Well, if you insist, dearest, I suppose I must. Are you
not my husband ? But you will be careful, dear, won't you, not to
spill any of the Champagne on my train ? And don't you think you
had better pull down the blind, dear ? The sun is shining so
brightly, and I think, dear, I can see the De Roshervilles in the
distance.

What the Father of a Family says. I tell you what it is, Jane.
It is simply disgraceful. You forget everything. You know the
last time we came to this—this—well, whatever you like to call it—
we were half starved, and here we are again without a single biscuit.
I have half a mind to leave you, and go off to the Club.

What the Mother of a Family says. You will do nothing of the
sort—you will stay here. You are always thinking of eating and
drinking. Surely, you could have ordered, something yourself. But
no ! I have to do everything—yes, absolutely everything. However,
it will be soon over. You may not have noticed it, but I am rapidly
sinking into my grave. Now that you have challenged me, you
shall hear what I think about you. You are heartless, unfeeling,
selfish. Nonsense ! leave the door-handle alone. Do stay, dear ! I
didn't mean what I said—I didn't, really. How am I to get the
carriage without you ? You really must stay. There now, I won't
say another word.

What an Elderly Page says. One of the cards is left here,
Madam : the other you will give to the Lord Chamberlain.

What a Lady of Quality says. I really must request you to be
more careful. Your arm is hurting my back.

What an Alderman says. I am very sorry, Ma'am, but it ain't
my fault. The pushing is something awful. Now, then, Lady GL,
keep 'old of me when they go into the next room.

What a Devoted Ilushand says. I am sure you will be tired to
death with this waiting'. I do so wish I could find you a chair.

What a Grateful Wife says. Never mind, dear. We shan't have
to wait more than half-an-hour longer. It will soon be over.

What a Gentleman-at-Arms says. You must get into single file,
please.

What a Great Court Dignitary says. The Duchess oe Dulbo-
rolgh, Lady Snooks, Presentation—Miss Snooks, Presentation-
Miss Angelina Snooks. Mrs. Brown, Mrs. Jones, Lady
Robinson.

What a Kind-Hearted Personage {in point of fact, Mr. Punch)
says. There, my dears, after weeks of preparation and hours of
waiting it is all over, and I hope you are satisfied, and not tired.

What John the Footman says to his Mistress {respectfully touch-
ing his hat). Yes, my Lady. {To Coachman, as he sivings up on the
box, anything but respectfully.) Shortest way 'ome—old 'ooman's
orders.

What the Coachman says. That's the best bit o' news I've 'eard
to-day.

What Everybody says. So tired ; but it is quite the proper thing
to do!

ELEVENTH COMMANDMENTS.

" Thou shalt not be found out" has turned the Decalogue into an
Undecalogue from time immemorial. Mr. Punch holds the opinion
that for each individual there is what may be called an Eleventh
Commandment, suited to his idiosyncrasy. Thus—

Thou shalt not reveal the secrets of the prison-house. (Mr. Cope,
R.A.)

Thou shalt not spread scandal and, retract it. (The Editor of the
World.)

Thou shalt not invite Publishers to meet Poets. (The Lord Mayor
of London.)

Thou shalt not make Creek heroines of white porcelain. (Mr.
Poynter.)

Thou shalt not smooth away sex, or turn womanhood to wax.
(Mb. Leighton.)

Thou shalt not flirt with detrimentals. (The Belle of the Season.)
Thou shalt not speak evil of dignities. (Mr. Lowte.)
Thou shalt not contrive more mysteries and surprises. (The
Premier.)

Thou shalt not condescend to be Imperial. (The Prince of
Wales.)

a mad month, my masters!

What mean these East winds, that so chill and parch ?
Merely that May has on us stolen a March.