Punch: Punch (83.1882)

July 15, 1882.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

21

arn’tnot no Reporters present, do go on in a way as is quite refreshin
to lissen too.

“ A set of aughty inserlent Saxon prigs,” says one table.

“ Contemptibul, bog-trotting, treesonabul scamps,” says another.

“Tyrannical, dommyneering merjorrity,” says a third.

“A miserabel hobstructive minority,” says a fourth; and when
the diwision bell rings in the middle of all this exchange of comple-
minx, it sems to give increesed henergy to the langwidge used.

I should think that for grand exampels of thorough good hatred,
or contemp, or lothin, or dislike, there’s no place can beet that
first assemberly of Gentlemen, the House of Commons. Praps that’s
why they alters begin their proceedins with Prairs.

I dessay many peeple ’ud like to know what the 25 Irish Briggunds
sed, and did, and drunk, when they was all bundled out of the
House, but no, I couldn’t grattify their Lordable cureosity without
such breeches of unpropriety as even a Irish labourer would blush
to ware. But this I will and do say, that if some of the poor
deseeved Fenian Cooks and Ousemades and Bricklairs Laberers as
sends their poor little shillins and arfcrowns from Ameriker for the
good as they thinks of dear old Ireland, could jest see how a good
deal of it is spent, I rayther fancy it would make ’em open their
eyes pretty wide, and keep their pusses a little closer. How any
man, calling hisself a man and a M.P., can lower hisself to such a
depth of diggerradashun as to live upon the fat of the land at the
expense of poor workin men and women over in Ameriker, is
somethink as I can’t unnerstan, no, not a bit.

I calkulate as it takes about a duzzen Is. subskripshuns from poor
Irish Survants in Amerikey, to pay for one Bottle of Dry Hide-and-
Seek for the Honnerabel Mimber for Dung-cavern, say, and about
half a duzzen half-crown subskripshuns from poor Irish Laberers to
pay for one bottle of Click-Oh ! for the equally Honnerabel Mimber
for Slv-goes.

I ’m rayther fond of ’igh living myself, and pretty well accoustumed
to it, but, before I’d stoop so low as that, I ’d consent to live on
plane roast and biled for the rest of my nat’ral, or rayther unnat’ral
life, beleeving as I do, that a humbel glass of Bitter would be
sweeter to me, if I’d fairly earned it, than a whole Bottel of the
sweetest Click Oh ! if drawn by false pretences from the pockets of
my poor hard-working misguided Countrymen and Countrywomen.

Robert.

RATHER A BORE?

Or a little Foreshadowing from under the Fore Shore.

The Submarine Continental Railway Company.

Another extraordinary Meeting of the Shareholders of the above
Company was held at Dover yesterday, at the temporary Offices
again being reconstructed on the foreshore, directly beneath the head
of the Admiralty Pier. Notwithstanding the opposition of the
Government authorities, and the condition of the roof, through
which the sea-water was visibly oozing in considerable volume,
there was a large attendance.

The Chairman, who had on a complete diver’s costume, and was
supported by several highly respectable firms of Solicitors, briefly
explained the circumstances under which the Meeting had been sud-
denly summoned. He regretted to have to inform the assembled
Shareholders that it had been decided, as a precautionary measure,
to blow up the Tunnel, and he had, in fact, just received the usual
Government three days’ notice. (Groans.) He was not surprised
at that manifestation. This would make the fifteenth time their
property had been wantonly sacrificed in a moment of inconsiderate
panic. And when he recalled with pride the fact, that, during a
chequered commercial career of nine years, the Company had not got
rid of its original Shareholders more than five-and-twenty times,
nor led to more than three serious invasions of these islands, he felt
that the action of the Government, in again hampering their receipts,
was not only cruel but unbusiness-like. (Loud cheers.) However,
there was nothing for it but to prepare themselves for the usual
financial crisis, and make up their minds for another ad interim call
of £175 per share. (Uproar.) Of course there would be no dividend.
(Laughter.)

A Shareholder, who said he had been ruined several times by
the enterprise already—(loud laughter)—wanted to know why they
couldn’t block up the other end somewhere, and open what was left
of the Tunnel as a Submarine Warm Bath Establishment. (Hear !
hear !) When the Dutch got hold of it, the year before last, they
had almost screwed a dividend out of the concern as a Beer Saloon.
(Cheers.) If he had his way, he would sell it privately at a crisis
like the present, to some Foreign Government who would have no
ossible interest in blowing it up. (Enthusiastic cheering.) They
ad not put their money into the Tunnel for patriotism, but for
fifteen per cent. His motto was “First a Shareholder, then an
Englishman.” (Loud laughter.)

The Chairman said, that he felt that was the sentiment, of course,

TRAP, BAT, AND BALL. * * * * * 6 * 8

that was animating all of them, but pointed out that there was con-
siderable difficulty in the way of giving it full and adequate expres-
sion.

Sir E. Watrin, who was swathed in flannel, and was understood
to be suffering severely from several forms of chronic rheumatism,
here rose and said, that, having devoted the last ten years of his life
to baling the Tunnel out—(roars of laughter)—he took a nobler view
of its use and destiny than that endorsed by their honourable Chair-
man. He had never gone from his original contention, that the con-
struction of this vast engineering work, in enabling him to give a
Champagne lunch continually, in turns, to all the distinguished
people in every part of the civilised world, had led to a friendly state
of feeling little short of miraculous. (Cheers.) This was the true
use of the Tunnel—(loud cheers)—and, from his really patriotic and
social point of view, all he could say was, the oftener it was blown
up the better. (Enthusiastic cheers.) It is true that, taking his
mid-day meal for years in a leaky and stifling atmosphere under the
bed of the sea, had somewhat told on his health. (“Wo / no!")
Still he was able to keep it up as long as he could get anybody to
come down and take a snack with him, regardless of draughts, damp,
swimming sensation in the head, and sciatica. (Cheers.) Give him
plenty of flannel, plenty of friends, and a good brand of Champagne,
and the Government might blow up the Tunnel again as soon as they
liked ! (Prolonged cheers.)

The Chairman here rose to move the adoption of the last Report,
and was about to put the question to the Meeting, when the chalk
roof that had been cracking somewhat ominously, suddenly fell in
with a loud crash, bringing down with it at the same time several
hundred yards of the superincumbent Admiralty Pier. This not un-
foreseen catastrophe necessitated as usual a rather hurried adjourn-
ment. After some slight confusion in passing the customary vote of

confidence in the Directors, the proceedings terminated.

ARABI’S DIARY.

6 a.m.—Up with the alligator. Finished Life of Napoleon, Popular

Lllustrated Egyptian Edition. Wish my cherry pantaloons and
moustache were up to his ! Still, I am like him, and I ’ll give old
Seymour a taste of it before long. Where’s my French Dictionary ?-

8 a.m.—Excellent. Six-and-thirty fresh guns in position. Couple
of barges sunk at night. Rare fun for infidel dogs ! Old Seymour
wants to know what I mean by it. Happy Thought.— Crush him.
Ask him, by signal, if he has ever heard of le Petit Caporal f

10a.m. — Says “he hasn’t,” and threatens a bombardment.
Awkward! Private interview with French Restaurateur, who-
advises me to ask old S., Who thrashed the English at Waterloo ?

Noon.—Says “ he ’ll let me know presently,” and threatens bom-
bardment. Yery awkward. Fancy that Frenchman hasn’t got it
quite straight. Happy Thought.—Pump Dervish.

2 p.m.—First-rate. Knows all about it. Once saw “ historic
tableau," introducing Napoleon in a circus at Stamboul. First
came in disguised as a market-woman, then changed to Pickwick,
rapidly appearing as a brigand chief, gradually assuming the mili-
tary dress he wore at Austerlitz wnen pursued by Russians, andi
finally flinging off everything, and finishing up as Cupid on the back
of four horses. No wonder he had the world at his feet! I ’ll have-
a shy myself after sundown. Meantime, why not sink another barge ?

6p.m.—Furious! Old S. says, “If I do that once more, he L:
telegraph home for ‘ instructions.’ ” Asks me, “ Who the dickens 1
think I am?” Signal back that “That’s my business,” and ask
him if he has ever been to Madame Tussaud’s ? Shuts him up.

8 p.m.—Sink another barge, and go to sleep, dreaming six hundred
centuries are looking down upon me.