Punch (71.1876)

December 30, 1876.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 283

TARPEIA OVER AGAIN.

Punch protesteth.

friends, forbear your
Christmas hands

festive offerings
filled;

Though Punch, I'm mortal, and can

he

Even with kindness killed.

Oysters, geese, turkeys, game of sorts,

In furred and feathered dress ;
Cosaques and Christmas cards and
books,

Christmas is Turkey time, we know,

In bulletins, on boards,
And now insidious Russia shows

Her Cosaques' daring hordes.

Be't Smith's or Cabman's wit that
arms

These bright-clad troops of fun,

And numbers numberless ! With toys and trinkets, games, cos-

tumes,

They come, they come, in endless
stream

On my devoted head,
That scarce o'er Christmas boxes peers,

O'er-cosaqued, carded, fed!

"Wiseman of Paglesham, with thee

I thought not to pick quarrels.
But wherefore, Grey-beard, tempt'st
thou me

With Oreen-beards, packed in
barrels ?

Green-beards so sweet, so delicate,
So clean and plump of cheer,

Not Natives to my mind so good,
Though they may be more dear.

Pictures, and noise in one!

And then what books for boys and girls,
The groaning Press supplies !

What happy and unhappy thoughts
For catching cash and eyes!

Enough! Forbear! Hold hard! In
vain,

The gifts rain, pelt, and pour;
Like poor Tarpeia I am swamped.
In the too liberal shower !

" Give not to him that has too much—"

A happy thought! I cry—
" Turn the full flowing stream on those

Whose Christmas-tanks are dry ! "

SINGULAR RAILWAY ACCIDENT.

[Specially reported by our own Penny-a-Liner.)

An accident of rather an unusual character occurred at Euston Station on
Monday morning last, on the instant of departure of the nine o'clock express.
The train was actually in motion, and, indeed, had well-nigh left the platform,
when suddenly the signal-cord was violently pulled, and a bare head was seen
protruded from a first-class carriage window, whence, by several of the
bystanders, loud screams were heard proceeding, such as seemed to be the

shrieks of anguish or despair. On the stoppage of the
train, the cause of the disturbance was speedily ex-
plained. It appeared that an old gentleman, who was
travelling to Scotland with his wife and his two daugh-
ters, in order to spend Christmas, very wisely, away
from his own home, had, by accident, omitted to pur-
chase Punch'1 s Almanack to amuse them on the journey.
In the excitement which attended the discovery of his
neglect, the worthy traveller proceeded to signal the
disaster, forgetting that he easily could make the
wished-for purchase at any of the bookstalls at which
the train would stop.

A REMONSTRANCE.

Me. Punch,

Ok, why should I -call you anythink but what
I've been accustomed to, which it is old Punch, don't
go a suppoging that Sairey Gamp aint felt your ow-
dacious attacks, which they are shameful. To chaff a
poor old woman who 'as seen better days, and as 'ad to
give up nussin for to start a paper through misfortin!
Not that I aint better off than another party, a friend of
mine, who set up a paper, which shall be nameless,
although some said it was the 'JErald, which she killed
it, and which it killed 'er.

No, old Punch, I wouldn't demean myself by addres-
sing you as I have known werry intimate parties, quite
carriage company, with bran new titles, who now seem
dispoged to show the cold shoulder to a poor old woman
who never 'armed a 'air of their 'eads. Bother them, or
rather him, meaning Lord Beaconsfield, who now
won't have a word to say to his own Sairey. No, Mr.
Punch, I wouldn't have demeaned myself by addressing
you, adn't you accuged me of being a Poet, like some low
lot, such as Tennyson" or Swinburne, or that there
Shakspeare. As Mrs. Harris said to me the other
day, " Sairey, you are the best of women. If I was asked
who is a angel in clogs and an umbereller, I'd say Sairey
Gamp is that angel. Sairey, you 'ave your faults (who
'asn't); but, Sairey, you ain't a Poet: not your worse
enemy can say sich a spiteful thing ! " And then I said,
"Mrs. Harris, Mum, that old Punch has said it."
And then Mrs. Harris said, "Sairey GAMr, you are
the best woman in the world; and that old Punch is
the worst man ! Need I say more ? "

Ugh! you bad, owdacious indiwidual, I only wish I'd
the nussin of you ! I'd wake you up, then, you may be
sure, instead of sending you gently to sleep with my
paper, as I am accustomed for to do now, as it leaves
me at present. Saying such awful things of me, when
I am sure not one of my staff, from the real College Gent
who does my leaders down to the young chap who takes
down the shutters and writes the notusses on the Christ-
mas Books, would ever think of such a thing ! Ugh!
you bad thing! I'd bang you on the 'ead with my um-
bereller, if I wasn't a Lady !

It ain't the fust time you 've done it by many a
while. And at Christmas time, too,when there's always
a bottle of somethink on the mantel-piece for parties
to put their lips to when so dispoged!

But I ain't rewengeful. As Mrs. Harris said to me
only the other day, Sairey, I do believe as if any one
was to pull your 'ead off your shoulders, you would
smile quite pleasant. Sairey, your worse enemy can't
deny but what you are a saint!" I replied, "Mrs.
Harris, Marm, you 'ave known me these nve-and-forty
years ; and so what you says must be true ;" and so,
Punch, I forgives you: and if you likes to come to spend
New Year's Eve wTith me, you will find the bottle in
the usual place. All I ask of you is not to say anythink
to me, nor to look at me, but only to let me put my lips
to it when I feels that way inclined.

And so, Punch, I wishes you a appy New Year, and
sends my respectful duty to your,good Lady, 'oping
that all the cherubs is well, as they leaves me at present.
Signing myself more in sorrer, than in anger,

Shoe Lane, E.C. Your own Sairey.

Bitter Irony.—" Exeter Hall." Should it not be
" Pxiter," because, in case of alarm, there is no exit.

River Styx.—" The thousand masts of Thames."

VOL. LIXJ

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