Punch (77.1879)

54 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [August 9, 1879.

A VENIAL MISTAKE.

New Beauty {unversed as yet in the 'mysteries of Sigh Life). "Who's that wonderful Old Gentleman ?"

The Captain. "Sir Digby de Rigby, a Hampshire Baronet; one of the oldest in England; James the First's creation,
you know."

New Beauty (determined to be surprised at nothing). "Indeed! How well preserved he is ! I shouldn't have thought him
more than Seventy or Eighty!"

POOR NURSE NOETHCOTE!

Or, Them Blessed Babbies !

Oh dear, and oh dear! _ Which I feels that dreffle queer!
And them blessed babbies—bother 'em!—'ow 'ard they is to rear !
Is any on 'em living- P It is more than I can say.
When a woman's wexed and worrited in this 'ere kind o' way,
'Tain't no use a-arsting questions. I am sure I feel arf dead.
And whether I am standin' on my 'eels or on my 'ed
Is wot I wish they'd tell me if they chance to be aweer.
I must put my lips to summut, and—ah yes, I '11 take a cheer.
Drat the babbies ! 'Ow they seem to crowd around me as I sit
In a state of pure confloption. Eh ! Geneva ? Not a bit!
I'm the modritest of Monthlies, you can see it in my face ;
But I fear I ain't quite strong enough for this most wearing place.
Which, whether it's the shindies of them bragian Irish boys,
Or that Gladsting, who is everlasting kicking up a noise;
Or whether it's the weather, as is set in orful 'ot,
Or the weight of all them babbies, sech a lot of 'em, or wot—
I do feel that dreffle done up, I can't carry 'em no furder ;
They must jest all take their chances, as I hope it won't be murder.
Oh ! I feels like that there 'Erod, arter slortering his hostes;
Which wot I'd like to know is this—do babes-in-arms 'ave ghostes ?
Or is that a growd-up privilege exclusive ? Oh dear me!
To be jaunted by the spectres of these innercents 'ud be
A hidjus fate! Good Wings ! Who would wish to be 'ead nuss
In sech a 'Ouse as this is ? Babby-farming carn't be wuss.
The lots as I've seen corpussed—bless their 'arts!—as promised well,
Which 'ow Mother Beakey stands it so is more than I can tell.
But she is that cool and easy! 'Ow I wish as I wos ditter.
I wos allays tender-'arted, and they puts me in a twitter,
All these shindyings and slorterings. Oh lor! what's that there
sound ?

Is it one on 'em a kicking, or is Gladsting sneaking round ?

Drat that chap ! he do upset me, allays chivying at my 'eels.

Wot with him, them Irish waggerbones, the babbies' dying squeals,

And the weather, I'm that worrited, that warm, that reglar limp,

That I couldn't carry nothing as wos 'eavier than a srimp.

Thank 'evings there's an 'oliday approaching, or I think

I should 'ave to chuck up nussing, or else give my mind to drink !

[Left flopping.

SUKPHIS1NG ANNOUNCEMENT.

Besides Sir Wilfrid Lawson and Cardinal Manning!, what
personage is there in all England so hard to conceive presiding
at a "free-and-easy" as the noble Earl named in the subjoined
extract from a daily paper ?

"Habitual Erunxards.—A meeting of this Society was held on
Monday the 28th inst., the Earl of Shaftesbury in the chair. Letters were
received from the Archbishops of Canterbury and York, the Lord
Chancellor, &c, regretting their unavoidable absence."

It is true that Lord Shaftesbury bears the character of a jolly
good fellow—and so say all of us—but his Lordship is not generally
supposed to be in the habit of not going home till morning, and then
the worse for liquor; or, indeed, of drinking to excess at any time.
Neither are the two Archbishops and the Lord Chancellor com-
monly known or even imagined to be members of _ an association of
so extremely questionable a nature as that in which they appear to
be above included.

advice to british officers.

Mind how you obey the word of command to skedaddle._ No officer
can be court-martialed for disobedience to orders by which he gets
killed.

A Shooting Stab.—Dr. Carver.