Punch (74.1878)

|Apbil 27, 1878.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

191

A SON OF ADAM.

Smart Boy. "Here we are, Uncle! But what dofs ' onq n'ay pas obleeqy de

gonsommy ' mean ? "

Uncle, "it means one is not obliged to take anything if one doesn't like."
Smart Boy. "Ah, well! let tjs go to some Cafe where one is ' obleegy de con-

soumyi ' "

BULL-DOG AND BUDGET.

Budget be blowed that touches me!
Wy, baccy's taxed instead of tea !
The Income-tax of tuppence more
"Won't werry much infect the pore,
'lis only tuppence more, we knows
And up, they say, the donkey goes.
The donkey bein, yer may say,
'Im as is hass enough to pay.
And my own income's from a source
Not no ways liable, in course.
The tax as I objects to most
Is that there infimus impost,
The Dorg-tax, by a extry fix,
Riz from five bob to seven-and-six.
The Bobbies down on yer will come
In order to ixtract the sum.
My Bulldog, wot I kep tax-free,
Seven-and-a-kick to pay for thee,
Will make thy keep too high a pike—
Then must I part with thee, my Tike ?
Hang thee or drown, if I can't sell,
And bid thee, anyways, farewell ?
But if the Peelers should forget,
And for my Dag-tax I'm in debt,
Well, lean send the Guv'ment's claim,—
So much in payment of the same,
Witch none needs send without they
likes—

In " Conscience Money " fromBiLL Sikes.

A Pretty Pair.

(United in their Entertainment, in their Names
let them not be divided.)

Lord-has the three merits of giving

unquestionably good dinners, saying not
very bad things, and appreciating really
clever people. Asked the other day whether
the head of his kitchen was he or she, he
replied, "Oh, he, of course! I could not
bear to break the association of Masculine
and Cook."

Bo-Peep at Brighton.

The Church Bo-peep

Has lost some sheep,
And fain again would find them.

Let them alone.

They are off to Rome.
Watch those they have left behind them!

torture to end ; the other, with a sickening feeling of weariness, as
though there were no more light, or joy, in the world, and a strong
desire to unburden his very soul, in one heart-rending, strangling,
despairing, effort that should leave him well nigh lifeless.

Were not these omens sufficient to warn them ! No. They had
gone too far to recede, and within two hours they stood on the very
shore that had once greeted them with smiles. But now—was it the
fancy of these two fratricidal men ?—they seemed to pass between
two rows of fiends, who jeered them as they passed, who pointed
the finder of scorn at them as they dragged their weary way along,
while hoarse, malicious, cruel, whispers reached their ears, coming

get;

got the staggers ! "—" They've had a nasty one I "—" 'Ave
some biled mutton, my noble sportsman?"—"Oh, ain't he been
washin' hisself with turnip juice!"

But Strapjiore strode on, proud, heedless; and once more the
cruel, lurid, light gleamed in his'eyes, the darkness lowering more
and more heavily upon his pallid features, and men shrank away
from him, and wondered. Sweetie took no notice of his foe, yet
as he passed the Lady Regula, he felt he could have dashed her
white pearl buttons down the vibrating throat that had twined itself,
with its venom-darting tongue, between himself and his friend,
between his own existence and that of unconscious, weeping, hope-
ful, distant, Itti Ddffa. So they passed on: until the evening,
when the sun was sinking to its rest.

The great dews were gathered, and received ; in many a village
pennies, supposed to have been lost, were discovered in every
pound; pious, simple Curates shut their doors, and brushed and

oiled the locks on their temples before retiring for the night; the
artist-lighter of a thousand bees of gas, wand in hand, proceeded in
his work of marvellous illumination, with a celerity unequalled even
by the cloistered monks of mediaeval times, while the gentle Luna
was slowly, but surely, streaking with her silver threads the ruddy
golden hair of the descending Apollo, and age was creeping on the
earth, and on men, and the glamour of a false light, and of rose-
tinted cheeks and pearl-whitened shoulders, was being raised by
the sorceresses at their wicked toilet-tables—those tables of rouge
et noir—as the mists came up, and the vapours spread on the face
of this poor, lost, weary, whirling World, as if to hide its crimes
from the gaze of the mournful, pitying Moon.

The hour has come! The doom of these two men has to be
pronounced. At last!

Ah, mes freres, who shall read in the Book of Fate, and tell
us all ? Who of us shall answer the vital question, " What next ? "
—Et apres ?

(To be continued.)

Strictly in Tune.

Mr. Punch, Sra,

The Critics have been wondering how Lord Beaconsfield
—bless him!—came by his metaphor, "Diapason of our Policy! "
Those who are of the same mind with me, are proud to think that
his Lordship, with that fine feeling of the appropriate which
belongs to him, feels that a Music-Hail metaphor .is the very thing
to describe a Music-Hall policy.

Tours, very respectfully,
Jingo.