Punch: Punch (81.1881)

206

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARL

[November 5, 1881.

TOO CONSCIENTIOUS BY HALF.

Mamma. "Really, dear John, I can't make you out ! Your own Son,
only Twelve, just caught in the very act of smoking a Cigarette ; and
yet you, who think smoking such an abomination, take it quietly/"

Papa. '' Well, my Love, it's rather awkward, you see. / was caught

in the act when I was only ten!—and, by jove, it was a ClGAR 1 "

[Let us hope clear John will warm the Youngster to-rights, all the same.

THE BEAK AND THE SCHOOL-BOARD.

Dear Mr. Punch,

"What is all this bother atween'the Ammersmith Beak and the School
Board ? The Ammersmith Beak is the cove as doesnt like Bysykels or School
Boards. He thinks they both go too fast, and he aint far wrong. I thinks
with Mr. Paget, that its igh time Bysykels should be put down by Hact
o Parlyment. For dont yer see Mr. Punch if they was put down many a
fast young Gent as now rides his bysikel would ride in my Ansom. But there
never will be no justice done to us cabbies till we gets into Parlyment. The
coliers send chaps to Parlyment, and wy not the cabbies ? Sure I am one could
teach manners to some of the gents there if we could teach nothink ellus. That
you know Mr. Punch as well as me.

, But to come back to the Ammersmith Beak and the School Board. I just want
you to tell me what its all about. A boy twix thirteen and fourteen is
Drought afore the Beak cos he dont go to school. The School Board axes the
Beak to fine his Guvnor : the Beak says heel be blowed if he do, for the boy
is over thirteen and can snapp his fingers at the School Board. Leestways, says
the School Board, the boy shooldnt work, and they says they have a hact o
Parlyment to pervent him. The Beak says he dont care a hang for their hact
o Parlyment wich the School Board dont understan, and instid of fining
the Guvnor of the boy, he fines the School Board man, which sarves him jolly
well rite. What a cabby Mr. Paget would have made if he hadnt been a
Beak: not to be druvround, no not at any prise.

And the School Board man runs owling away to the Ome Secretairy
and arkses him for protekshun agin the Beak wot as bullied him and snubbed
him and fined him. And he gets the Ome Secretairy to rite a letter to the
Beak, very sivel like, for the Ome Secretairy dont like poor foaks to be find
and sold up and sent to prisin cos their kids dont chatter French like a lot o
munkis of a Sunday arternoon in the Zoo. And the Beak writes back to the
Ome Secretairy and tells him why he find the School Board man, and thats
all I nose about it.

But Mr. Punch I does want to no sumthink more. Ive a kid o my

hone wot is jist over thirteen. You list tell me Mr.
Punch wot Im to do with him ? School Board says he
shant go to work: Beak says he shant go to school. Must
he go on the streets and lurn to be a thief ? Well hes a
sharp lad and he can lurn farst enuf for hes a very
fair scoller, and havin nothink to do he may read in the
Sunday papers that the burglers biznis is about the
best goin, and hact accordionly. All Ive got to say Mr.
Punch is that Im thankfull to say I was born afore the
days o School Boards, for if Ide been on the streets
atwixt thirteen and fourteen instead of irnin an nonist
penny, 1 mighter crorssed the Errin Pond years and
years ago or may be made my bow some fine mornin at
Newgit instid of drivn my Ansom and tho I says it
the best oss in Ammersmith.

So no more at pressunt.

Your Bedint Survint,

Cabby.

HUMANITY HUNTING-SONG.

"Opening Meet of the "Windsor Garrison Drag-
Hounds.—On Saturday, in miserably wet weather, this pack of
draghounds commenced their hunting season. . . . The hounds
will be hunted twice a week (every Wednesday and Saturday)
during the season."—Morning Paper.

We 're going to have a glorious run,

This murk and mizzling morn.
Our Hunt inferior is to none,

Except not even the Ouorn.
A substitute will, scent as strong

As Pteynard's own, supply.
Excuse the burden of my song ;

This day a Drag must die !

Chorus—
With a hey, ho, chivy ;
Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy!
Excuse the burden of my song ;
This day a Drag must die !

Because although a herring red

May, like a fox, be tracked,
The Drag is absolutely dead

In point of literal fact.
Yet hounds and horses after go,

With huntsmen's horns, and cry
Of " Yoicks ! " and shout of " TaUyho! "

This day a Drag must die !

Chorus—With a hey, ho, &c.

A Drag's as good to ride behind

As ever a fox's tail.
Well drawn about, with turn and wind,

O'er many a hill and dale.
Fence, hedgerow, palings, turnpike gate,

The rider's pluck will try,
As much as though 'twere true to state,

This day a Drag must die !

Chorus—With a hey, ho, &c.

Each man as much risks life or limb

As when a fox is slain;
The sport is all the same to him,

And we give no animal pain.
Ilumane excitement whilst we seek,

No victim in our eye ;
Except, as now, when, so to speak,

This day a Drag must die !

Chorus—With a hey, ho, &c.

Note.—William Cobbett, in one of his charming works,
tells a delightful story of the revenue he, when a young clod-
hopper, once took of a huntsman who had fetched him a cut of
his whip; in repayment for which injury Cobbett went and
trailed a red herring over the hunting-ground, and then, mounted
on a hill-top commanding a view all round, stood enjoying the
satisfaction of seeing the hounds thrown oft' the scent, and the
fox-hunt turned into a drag-hunt, to his enemy's vexation.

bric-a-brac at knowsley.

Mr. Gladstone is a great collector. He has lately got
hold of a fine specimen of Ileal Derby, which he intends
to place in his Cabinet.