DOI issue:
September 25, 1880
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17764#0145
September 25, 1880.] PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 137
THE PEER AND THE PEASANT.
(A Drama dedicated to the School Board, Metropolitan Magistrates,
and Parents.)
The Peer. Hallo, Jack ! How are yon F
The Peasant. First-rate, my Lord, and glad to see you Lome again
from Eton.
The Peer. "Well, I ain’t sorry myself. How’s the fishing?
The Peasant. Prime, my Lord.
The Peer. Well, then, get some bait and come along with me.
The Peasant. Wish I could, my Lord; but I am off to school.
I The Peer. "What! do you go to school now ?
The Peasant. School-Board, you know, my Lord.
The Peer. Ha! What do you learn there P
The Peasant. Oh, nothing—at least, as little as I can, my Lord.
May I ask your Lordship what you learns at Eton ?
The Peer. Oh, the same—the same as you, you know. What do
, they do when you don’t learn anything ?
The Peasant. They whacks us, my Lord.
The Peer. Does it hurt ?
The Peasant. Not me, my Lord ; but it does him. He taps me
across the hand with a cane, and my Mother goes in and bashes him
| oyer the head with a poker, and gets him fined for assaulting me.
The Peer. Why, I got swished four times in a fortnight, without
doing anything of that sort.
The Peasant. Did it hurt, my Lord ?
The Peer. Bather!
The Peasant. Then why don’t you send your Lordship’s mother,
the Duchess, to Eton, to go and bang your old Master ?
The Peer. H’m!
[Exit, dubious as to the scholastic advantages possessed by the
Youthf ul Aristocracy over the Sons of the People.
“ Oh, I SAT ! WHAT a Shame to make us get up so early ! I ’ll
go Home and tell my Mother !”
A Proposal of the Period,
“ I ’ve rank and wealth; and, Lady, here’s my hand ;
And never shall my fancy from you range.”
“ Yes ; that’s an offer I can understand ,
But what am I to give you in exchange ? ”
“ Well, in return I ask your heart.” “ Ah me !
Kind Sir, I now must own my helplessness.
Ask me for anything but that. You see,
It’s just the one thing that I don’t possess.”
Solvency for the Sublime Porte.
A Turkish official newspaper reports the discovery, in Arabia, of
a gold mine, which it describes as “ one of the richest in the world.”
Unless that organ of the Sublime Porte affirm the thing that is not,
the Sultan is a Mussulman Micaivber, for whom something has at
last really turned up. Let us hope that this reported discovery of a
gold mine may turn out to be authentic, and prove good news for
the creditors of the impecunious Padishah, Abdul Hamid Micawber.
A FAMOUS HOLIDAY.
It was a summer evening,
The Pointsman’s work was done ;
And he before his own box door
Felt precious glad for one;
And by him loafed about the line
The Night-watch, due at half-past nine.
And, as he loafed about, he came
On something flat and round,
That smashed had caught his shuffling feet
Upon the gravelled ground.
And then he asked what he had found
That was so smashed—yet flat and round.
The Pointsman took it from his mute
Who stood all sleepy by ;
And then he clapped it on his head
And said, “Lor’ bless you—why,
It’s what some bloke dropped by the way
On that there last Bank ’oliday !
“ I often come across ’em here,
There ’s many round about;
Why, if you had to find your ’ats,
That ditch would rig you out!
There’s scores of ’em, so I’ve heard say,
Wos dropped on that there ’oliday.”
“Now tip us ’ow it come about,”
The other, drowsy, cries.
The while, the crownless chimney-pot
Upon his head he tries.
“Now, tip us : say, whose job it wor ?
What did he smash the ’Scursion for ? ”
“ Jim’s wor that job,” the Pointsman said ;
“ He ’ad too long a bout!
But what he smashed the ’Scursion for
I never could make out.
He fell a blink in, I dus say,
And took his little ’oliday !
“ But them as was a-takin’ theirs
(And some—it was their last),
Was ’appy, singin’ of their songs :
And, as she busted past,
You might ’ave heard ’em, laughin’, say,
‘ This ’ere’s a famous ’oliday ! ’
“ So, when she come upon them points,
As crammed as you could pack,
And not a soul a-chaffin’ there
Know’d death lay on the track,—
It did seem ’ard in that there way
To end their ‘ famous holiday ! ’
“ And, oh! it was a ’orrid sight,
When off the line she run,
With dozens lying stiff and still,
Who started full of fun!
But, there—-had Jim now not give way,
They’d ’ad a famous ’oliday !
“ He got it precious ’ot for that! ”
The other stroked his chin.
“Maybe. But it’s the Company,”
Said he, “ I’d like to skin !
I’d let ’em all at Bot’ny Bay
Just try their famous ’oliday ! ”
The Pointsman faced his mate. Quoth he,
“ Where can your reck’ning be ?
Here’s parties pays a bob or two,
And gets three hours o’ sea;
And, if they ain't smashed up, I say,
That there’s a famous ’oliday.”
“And, what’s to come,” the other asked,
“ Of scares now like this ’ere ? ”
The Pointsman smiled. “My mate,” he said,
“ You're green, that’s pretty clear.
Why, ‘ what’s to come ’ F Next year, I ’ll lay,
Another famous ’oliday ! ”
As a Rule.—“ Signal Failures ”—Railway Accidents.
Vol. 79.
5—2
THE PEER AND THE PEASANT.
(A Drama dedicated to the School Board, Metropolitan Magistrates,
and Parents.)
The Peer. Hallo, Jack ! How are yon F
The Peasant. First-rate, my Lord, and glad to see you Lome again
from Eton.
The Peer. "Well, I ain’t sorry myself. How’s the fishing?
The Peasant. Prime, my Lord.
The Peer. Well, then, get some bait and come along with me.
The Peasant. Wish I could, my Lord; but I am off to school.
I The Peer. "What! do you go to school now ?
The Peasant. School-Board, you know, my Lord.
The Peer. Ha! What do you learn there P
The Peasant. Oh, nothing—at least, as little as I can, my Lord.
May I ask your Lordship what you learns at Eton ?
The Peer. Oh, the same—the same as you, you know. What do
, they do when you don’t learn anything ?
The Peasant. They whacks us, my Lord.
The Peer. Does it hurt ?
The Peasant. Not me, my Lord ; but it does him. He taps me
across the hand with a cane, and my Mother goes in and bashes him
| oyer the head with a poker, and gets him fined for assaulting me.
The Peer. Why, I got swished four times in a fortnight, without
doing anything of that sort.
The Peasant. Did it hurt, my Lord ?
The Peer. Bather!
The Peasant. Then why don’t you send your Lordship’s mother,
the Duchess, to Eton, to go and bang your old Master ?
The Peer. H’m!
[Exit, dubious as to the scholastic advantages possessed by the
Youthf ul Aristocracy over the Sons of the People.
“ Oh, I SAT ! WHAT a Shame to make us get up so early ! I ’ll
go Home and tell my Mother !”
A Proposal of the Period,
“ I ’ve rank and wealth; and, Lady, here’s my hand ;
And never shall my fancy from you range.”
“ Yes ; that’s an offer I can understand ,
But what am I to give you in exchange ? ”
“ Well, in return I ask your heart.” “ Ah me !
Kind Sir, I now must own my helplessness.
Ask me for anything but that. You see,
It’s just the one thing that I don’t possess.”
Solvency for the Sublime Porte.
A Turkish official newspaper reports the discovery, in Arabia, of
a gold mine, which it describes as “ one of the richest in the world.”
Unless that organ of the Sublime Porte affirm the thing that is not,
the Sultan is a Mussulman Micaivber, for whom something has at
last really turned up. Let us hope that this reported discovery of a
gold mine may turn out to be authentic, and prove good news for
the creditors of the impecunious Padishah, Abdul Hamid Micawber.
A FAMOUS HOLIDAY.
It was a summer evening,
The Pointsman’s work was done ;
And he before his own box door
Felt precious glad for one;
And by him loafed about the line
The Night-watch, due at half-past nine.
And, as he loafed about, he came
On something flat and round,
That smashed had caught his shuffling feet
Upon the gravelled ground.
And then he asked what he had found
That was so smashed—yet flat and round.
The Pointsman took it from his mute
Who stood all sleepy by ;
And then he clapped it on his head
And said, “Lor’ bless you—why,
It’s what some bloke dropped by the way
On that there last Bank ’oliday !
“ I often come across ’em here,
There ’s many round about;
Why, if you had to find your ’ats,
That ditch would rig you out!
There’s scores of ’em, so I’ve heard say,
Wos dropped on that there ’oliday.”
“Now tip us ’ow it come about,”
The other, drowsy, cries.
The while, the crownless chimney-pot
Upon his head he tries.
“Now, tip us : say, whose job it wor ?
What did he smash the ’Scursion for ? ”
“ Jim’s wor that job,” the Pointsman said ;
“ He ’ad too long a bout!
But what he smashed the ’Scursion for
I never could make out.
He fell a blink in, I dus say,
And took his little ’oliday !
“ But them as was a-takin’ theirs
(And some—it was their last),
Was ’appy, singin’ of their songs :
And, as she busted past,
You might ’ave heard ’em, laughin’, say,
‘ This ’ere’s a famous ’oliday ! ’
“ So, when she come upon them points,
As crammed as you could pack,
And not a soul a-chaffin’ there
Know’d death lay on the track,—
It did seem ’ard in that there way
To end their ‘ famous holiday ! ’
“ And, oh! it was a ’orrid sight,
When off the line she run,
With dozens lying stiff and still,
Who started full of fun!
But, there—-had Jim now not give way,
They’d ’ad a famous ’oliday !
“ He got it precious ’ot for that! ”
The other stroked his chin.
“Maybe. But it’s the Company,”
Said he, “ I’d like to skin !
I’d let ’em all at Bot’ny Bay
Just try their famous ’oliday ! ”
The Pointsman faced his mate. Quoth he,
“ Where can your reck’ning be ?
Here’s parties pays a bob or two,
And gets three hours o’ sea;
And, if they ain't smashed up, I say,
That there’s a famous ’oliday.”
“And, what’s to come,” the other asked,
“ Of scares now like this ’ere ? ”
The Pointsman smiled. “My mate,” he said,
“ You're green, that’s pretty clear.
Why, ‘ what’s to come ’ F Next year, I ’ll lay,
Another famous ’oliday ! ”
As a Rule.—“ Signal Failures ”—Railway Accidents.
Vol. 79.
5—2