Punch (76.1879)

February 8, 1879.] PUNCH, OK THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 49

STAUNCH.

Old Lady {who had been buying Eggs). '"Deed, Mr. McTreacle, Butchers'
Meat's sae dear now-a-days ah'm no able to buy't ! "
Grocer. "You should turn a Vegetarian-"

Old Lady. "A Veegetarian !—Na, na ! ah was born an' brocht up i'
the Free Kirk, an' a'm no gaun ta change ma Releegion i' m' auld
Days !»

A BURNING SHAME.

The Anti-Cremationists of Woking have been opening the fiercest of fires on
the proposed "Bustum," before the Home Secretary. "Trains," they say,
already "run into the heart of the Cemetery," and now here is a " Bustum"
about to be run into the hearts of the Cemetery shareholders. Their difficulty
is to get hold of somebody to fire at. Failing other offending bodies which
may hereafter be brought to the " Bustum," the only offender they can find to
pour their vials of wrath over, is a Mr. Easy, a Civil Engineer, who says he has
been " instructed to erect the necessary apparatus in a secluded spot."

So, at least, the outrage is not going to be thrust offensively under the eyes
and noses of the public. But, admitting this, the Woking Anti-Cremationists
still consider that Mr. Easy's proceedings have been much too free and easy.

They can't say he is about to create a nuisance ; but they are of opinion that
the whole scheme will be not only a damage to Woking Cemetery Shares, but
" a monstrous interference with the simple rites of interment; " that " Crema-
tion is a scandal and a disgrace, and is so regarded throughout the breadth of the
land." With a great deal more too virulent and offensive for Punch to repeat.

If this be so, surely the vigilant guardians of Woking need not fear that
Mr. Easy's Cremation Society will be likely to find many customers. Punch is
glad to offer them this consolation en attendant mieux. In the meantime, it is quite
right that proper inquiry should be made into what the Cremationists are going
to do before they are allowed to do it. And this Mr. Cross promises. So rest,
perturbed spirits of Woking, rest!

A Good Example.

We observe, in the interesting proceedings at the Caucus, held by the '' South-
wark Liberal Two Hundred"—whoever they may be—that the Candidates,
after being trotted out, are put through the ballot, and retire in succession,
the one with fewest votes first, so that the last in wins, as in that other and
earlier form of Caucus, a donkey-race.

MIDDLE-AGE MUSINGS.

Suggested by Mr. CaldecoWs Charming Illustrations to
"John Gilpin " and " The House that Jack Built.'1''

"Ah ! 'twas not so when I was young."
Those words from many an ancient tongue,
At modern modes and manners flung,

Have fallen, and in fact, I
Whose hair is thin and tinged with grey,
Feel ever strengthening, day by day,
The senile tendency to play

Laudator temporis acti.

But while in pleasant pictured guise
Jack builds, or luckless Gilpin flies,
Those words upon my lips arise

With quite another meaning.
It was not so, in very sooth,
Art illustrated in my youth
The nursery legends on whose truth

Young faith delights in leaning.

" Look on this picture and on that! "
My old book's here ; I gaze thereat,
The house, the cow, the dog, the rat,—

Coarse daubs and out of drawing.
But, sketched by Caldecott, the scene
Is nature ; Landseer's self I ween
Ne'er drew a cat more sly and keen,

Or naturally clawing.

And then that dog!—but mark his eye,

His ear, his full fatuity

Of crossest self-complacency,

Unwarned of nearing Nemesis!
It tickles one almost to tears,
This touch of nature, which endears
The comedy of hopes and fears,

Played out on Jack's new premises.

That tattered all-a-tiptoe man,
Bucolic yet Bohemian!—
His artful osculatory plan

Success from sorrow snatches.
The maid forlorn, so fair of face,
With such a gentle rustic grace,
Seems so at home in his embrace,

For all his shreds and patches.

'Tis deep philosophy. What kiss
To mourning lips comes much amiss ?
The tattered one deserves his bliss

For opportunely daring.
Another time that maid forlorn
Might have repulsed his love with scorn,
But in the suit he pleads this morn

Forgets the suit he's wearing.

And Gilpin ! Oh! for time and space,

In daintiest detail to trace,

The mingled traits of fun and grace,

The snatches of sweet scenery:
The luckless Cit's long equine strife ;
His buxom, fair, well-favoured wife,
That homely eighteenth century life,

Unmarred by grim machinery.

And beauty lends a grace to joke,—
That charming girl with Gilpin's cloak,
That milkmaid with her pail and yoke,

Are things of joy for ever.
A Flaxman of the fireside here
Hits each home-trait to Britons dear,
With charm spontaneously clear,

As classically clever.

More power to those fingers swift,
That fancy far too full for thrift,
May they yet fashion many a gift

For happy youth to treasure ;
Which, nursery-bound, will yet engage
The interest of genial age,
That finds on every pictured page,

Imperishable pleasure.

A very Natural Destination eor the Marshal
[after his coup de grace) .—Gone to Grasse. (See Daily
Telegraph.)

vol. lxxvi.