Punch — 82.1882

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84 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [February 18, 1882.


(Adapted to Well-Jcnown Charaders.)

Mr. Bradlaugli, as Rogne Riderhood, wants Ms Alfred David to be took down
by Sir S. Northcote, as Eugene Wrayburne.—{Our Mutual Friend.)


SCENE—A Street in London. Enter Bro'WN' and JOX'ES frotn opposite

Brown. Serious matter this, Jones, about tlie Khedive, the
Collective Note, and the Control.

Jones. Serious indeed, Brown. It is a question of Imperial
Policy ! Britannia has the choice of holding up her head proudly
amongst the nations of the world, or sinking disgraced in the dust of
her own dishonoured isle!

Brown. Quite so ! The British Lion is to be lord of all he surveys,
or to fall to the level of the meanest of beasts, and the poorest of

Jones. I entirely agree with you. And the way Britannia must
hold her own, is by being just and fearless ! She must allow Egypt
to realise its destiny.

Brown. Exactly, by putting down Arabi Bey. The British Lion
desires nothing better.

Jones. Pardon me. Not by putting Arabi Bey down, but by
putting him up. Arabi is a noble patriot!

Brown. Surely you mean a contemptible trickster ! The British
Lion can only maintain his prestige with the support of an English
occupation of Cairo.

Jones. Oecupation! Surely you would not have Britannia
appeal to force to crush out the noble instincts of an ancient people!

Brown. Noble instincts, indeed ! Why, the only idea of a native
Egyptian statesman, is to tax the fellaheen, and to escape payment
of his just debts !

Jones. In a matter of right and justice, pecuniary affairs are
entirely beside consideration. The great Anglo-Saxon race have a
duty to perform—to allow the Egyptians the inestimable boon of
self - government.

Brown. And a nice mess they made of self-government in the
days of Ismael Pasha ! And you would relax your hold of the
Suez Canal, and thus lose your right of way to our great Indian
Empire—that great Indian Empire, for the well-being of which we
are so deeply responsible !

Jones. I woula. Whatever the end may be, it never justifies the
means. The slavery of Egypt is too high a price to pay to secure
the g'wasi-independence of Hindostan.

Brown (after a pause). I think your scheme Quixotic— still, I can
sympathise with your feelings, and believe me, I respect you as a
true patriot.

Jones. I, on the other hand, consider that you take too narrow a
view of the situation, and yet I am sure that your conelusions rest
on a basis of love for justice, faith and fatherland. Farewell ! Yet
stay, one word more. Are you interested in Egyptian securities ?

Brown. I am. I am in for the rise. But you would surely not
suggest that that fact in any way influences my opinion ?

Jones {quickly). Not for a moment! I make the assertion with all
the greater confidence, as I happen to be in for the fall myself!

\_Exeunt severally, to nieet later in the day outside the Stock


Fragment of Patriotic Pessimist Romance.

“ And in the event of war, what, unless some powerful hand intervenes,
will become of the shareholders’ money ? ”—Political Economist.


The year 1892 opened in ominous gloom. The prohibitive duty on
Mixed Pickles had fallen on the Nation like a thunder-bolt. But
there had been no hesitation. War had been declared, and the
Channel Tunnel, as a menace to the security of the Empire, was at
last about to be put to the test. Not that the Authorities at the
Horse Gruards had been idle. A breech-loader had been hurriedly
mounted on the heights of Dover, the Duke was busy over a new
facing, and five Artillery Volunteers, fairly ecjuipped, were watching
the entrance to the subterranean passage from the summit of
St. Catherine’s with a powerful secondhand field-glass.

But it was a terrible and tempestuous night, and though they had
got the focus they saw nothing. Then they turned in! “ The
Frenchmen will scarcely emerge from the tunnel on an evening like
this,” said the Lieutenant in command. “ At least, I don’t think
so,” he added, with soldierly caution. In another minute the gallant
band were asleep, refreshing themselves for the struggle of the
morrow, and dreaming they were once more happy smiling children
basking in the sunny gutters of the Borough ltoad.


There was a sound as of five military bands, playing an operatic
selection together under the direction of an experienced conductor,
slowly issuing from the tunnel’s-mouth. “ It is the signal!”
remarked a handsomely bronzed middle-aged gentleman, who, in a
dark-green general’s uniform, and mounted on a well-trained
railway omnibus horse, was directing the movement of some fifteen
hundred heavily armed, but portly troops, who had now taken up a
position, that effectually commanded and protected the approaches
to the dark submarine roadway. “ It is the signal! ” he repeated,
his eye kindling as he spoke, “ and they are nearly through ! We
have only to keep the entrance clear, and prevent any molestation
for five minutes more, and then the enemy will be safely out of it,
and our great engineering enterprise wili, thank heaven ! be still
preserved to us, and capable of yet paying the usual half-yearly
dividend! ”

His sturdy followers gave a hoarse cheer. They felt that
whatever became of their country, their capital at least was still
theirown. It was a stirring scene. Some of them, strong men,
wept like children. Then the head of the French column emerged,
and in an hour ten thousand men were on the march for Margate.
The die was cast. Kent was in the hands of the invader !

* * * * * *

“ And who may be these brave troops of yours who have been of
such polite assistance to us, Monsieur le General ? For I presume I
have the honour of addressing Monsieur le General ?”

It was the French Commander-in-Chief who spoke. The middle-
aged Englishman in tbe dark green uniform quickly replied.

“Well, no, Sir,” he said, “ I ’m no General, I’m merely the
Chairman of the Company.”

“ Vraiment ? ” was the rejoinder. “ And ces braves soldats ? ”

“ Lor’ bless you! What did you take ’em for but—the share-
holders ? ”

“ Sapristi ! But you surprise me. Are you in England then in
the habit of selling your country ? ”

“ Always—when we can get sixteen per cent. for it! ”

It was a business-like answer, and the Frenchman seemed moved.
Then he smiled.

“ Mon dieu ! ” he said, “ C’est magnifique, tnais ce n’est pas la
guerre! En route for Bosh-ville ! ”

Then came the End! They knew where to spend a Happy Day !

’Arry on ’Orseback.

Our ’Arry goes ’unting and sings with a will,
“ The ’orn of the ’unter is ’eard on the ’ill: ”
And oft, when a saddle looks terribly bare,
The ’eels of our ’ Arry are seen in the air!

Prophetic Shakspeare !

On behalf of the Managers, Shakspeare says to the Right Hon.
the Lord Chamberlain, the Crown, the Metropolitan Board of Works,
the Middlesex Magistrates, the Surrey Magistrates, the District
Magistrates, the County Magistrates, the Lord Lieutenant of Ire-
land, and any other Licensing Authority in this very much licensed

“ We have all our exits and our entrances.”
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