Punch: Punch (83.1882)

November 11, 1882.]

PUNCH, OR, THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 219

ALMANACK TIME.

[The innumerable Paris Almanacks have just appeared.]

Autumnal leaves, autumnal leaves,

The autumn’s red blood in their veins
The asphalte fleck with sanguine stains.

The coco merchant mutely grieves,

And his last sickly heeltap drains ;

And each bookseller’s shop contains
New-born autumnal leaves.

Autumnal leaves, square-cut, but not,

Not more square-toed than Dumas fils,

That air a fair effronte-space
Described by Grevin’s dash and dot,

Which don’t recall the lines of Greece—
Figures whose lips suggest a crease,

Whose eyes suggest a blot.

The Charivari ! Bless each curl
The dear familiar letters take ;

Its pleasantries may be opaque,

And limp the bolts it used to hurl,

It’s welcome for its old sire’s sake—

Sire who made Philippe’s gold cocks quake,
And Charles’s white flags furl.

Ah, happy little calendars,

That show the gladness of the years,

Enforce their smiles, suppress their tears,

With jovial scorn for their worst scars ;

How smooth your sea of life appears,

Full of fair freights and frolic cheers,

While ours seems full of spars.

Your dates look sweet and good of hue,

Our dates seem only rind and stone
In stony Arab deserts grown ;

Yours tell what’s nice, if not what’s new ;

Ours tell the nasty, too well known.

You have a billet-doux's best tone ;

Ours say when bills are due.

Spiritualism in the Suburbs.

In several suburban public-houses (we are informed)
is posted the notification that—

“ Our Annual Spirit Club has commenced.”

Here is clearly a case for the Psychical Research Society.
They might find their account in looking in here and
there at an establishment where a Spirit Club may be
holding seances, a resort probably constituting a “ House
of Call for Mediums.” There would doubtless be no diffi-
culty experienced in raising the Ghost of “ Old Tom.”

MO ONE IS A HERO TO HIS VALET.”

Sir Arthur Pillson, Bart., M.D., F.B.C.P., &c., &c., &c. “And are you
better, Simpson, after that Medicine I gave you last night?”

Cook. “Well, I can’t say as I ham, Sir Harthur ; and to tell you
the truth, if you’ve no objection, Sir Harthur, I should like to con-
sult A REGULAR MEDICAL MAN /”

So, we gibe at him like this, we snap at him like that;

We yawn and laugh : sometimes we chaff, or contradict him flat;
And, if he make a slip,

We have him by the hip !

By Jove, our brass, though not high-class,

Is all our Statesmanship.

It isn’t that we really mean to irritate the Chair,

Or worry old Sir Stafford till he’s fit to tear his hair.

Nor o’er our friends do we desire our party mud to fling,

But when the Grand Old Man gets up—we ’re up to anything!

So we gibe at him like this, we snap at him like that,

We yawn, we laugh; sometimes we chaff, or contradict him flat;
And if he make a slip,

Like Cannibals we skip,

And show the House what depths of nous,

Has Jingo Statesmanship!

DOWN PARNASSUS.

That the Laureate has been doing his very best to fit himself for
his great forthcoming dramatic effort in everyday prose, may be
gathered from the following unrhythmical version of one of his own
well-known poems, recently picked up in pencil, on a fly-leaf, at the
stage-door of the Globe Theatre. There is perhaps a little too much
redundancy of expression observable ; but the determined effort to
get rid of poetic form at any cost, is highly praiseworthy, and augurs
well for the distinguished Author’s latest venture.

In addressing you, I admit, somewhat incoherently, 0 Sea, I must
most emphatically reiterate my request that you will not only break
upon what are vaguely termed “your cold grey crags,” but even, if
possible, splash up on to the very Marine Parade; and must add,
while preferring this simple request, that I most heartily wish I could
in the least convey, in any intelligible language, what on earth it
is 1 ’m thinking about.

It is extremely fortunate for the Fisherman’s Boy that, while
engaged in athletic recreation with his Bister, he finds his lungs in
more than average condition ! It is also a matter of real congratu-
lation to the Nautical-Yachting Young Man, that, whatever appa-
rently may be the state of the weather in the Bay, he finds himself,
when once on board, equal to a song!

And what is really a remarkable bit of seamanship, the vessels in
the immediate neighbourhood, vessels, too, apparently well conducted
and officered with some dignity, somehow or other blunder away, and,
very possibly to escape pier-dues, manage to come up alongside—I
should say a great deal too close in—right under the hill! But not-
withstanding the peculiarity of this artful marine manaiuvre, I am
still anxious to play a game at blind-man’s buff conducted without
noise on the new and approved Silent System rules.

And so, once more, 0 Sea, please break upon the crags I have
already referred to. At the same time, I may mention in con-
fidence, the anything-but-tough experiences of a.n agreeable season,
which I feel it is morally impossible to resuscitate, I must, like a
sensible man, regard henceforth as fairly and hopelessly wiped out.