Punch (86.1884)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI,

[February 16, 18a i.

elect to accept the service of these summonses, or be committed for
trial at the Old Bailey, or plead guilty, and be discharged forthwith.

Mr. Fussle, Q.C., consulted his Clients, and said, they decided to
leave the matter entirely m the hands of the Magistrate.

Sir Jacques Inkem delivered his decision as followsThe great
point in this case is whether, within the meaning of the Act, the
game of “Pitch and Toss ” is a recreation necessary for the health of
man, to enable him to better perform his duties in life. I must
reluctantly decide that playing (with only a short interval for
refreshment) from three in the afternoon till seven o’clock the next
morning, during the six week-days, and losing perhaps £4000 a
night, is not a recreation necessary to the better health of man. The
next point is how to describe excessive gambling. Dukes and Earls,
and—may I say Bloated Aristocrats ?-

Mr. Clunks. You may, Sir Jacques.

Sir Jacques. Thank you, Sir!—Bloated Aristocrats—can afford to
lose £4000 a night, but I don’t think Somerset House clerks and
officers can. However, this is your first offence, and taking into
consideration the social position of you all, and my unwillingness to
convict you, I shall not only discharge the Secretary, but impose a
merely nominal fine of £40,000 on Mr. Chinks, £30,000 on the Com-
mittee, and £20,000 on all the Members.

On leaving the Court, Mr. Chinks said, “I’m sorry I spoke ! ”

The “Fine” Gentlemen of London. — Sir James Ingham,
Messrs. Flowers, Newton, Hannay, Barstow, Chance, D’Eyn-
court, Mansfield, and Lushington.

PRACTICAL EDUCATION.

Dear Sir,

There is a great deal being written about the above subject
in the newspapers just now, and although I have not read one single
word that has appeared, yet the topic is one worthy of grave and
serious attention. The other night, at the Club, I picked up the
Nineteenth Century, a paper I had never heard of before, and which
seems to me to be singularly behind the period it professes to repre-
sent, as far as theatrical news and racing intelligence are concerned,
and I saw that Professor Huxley has been looking over his son’s
examination papers, and declares himself highly satisfied with the
way in which they are set.

Now, curiously enough, while in the country at Christmas, I was
persuaded by my sister to look over her son’s examination papers,
and more unmitigated twaddle I have never seen. The boy will be
rich, so perhaps can afford to fool away his schooldays. I am des-
perately hard up, but, out of deference to my parents, I had to fool
away my schooldays. I had to translate Tennyson into Latin verse ,
I had to study Euclid ; I had to have an intimate acquaintance with
the life of Hannibal. I wasn’t bad at it either, but I ask you what
good has it been to me since ? I can make no money by Latin verses,
I can break no hank with a combination of all Euclid’s problems put
together, and as for Hannibal, only one man in ten knows who. he
was, and that one doesn’t want to hear him talked about. Practical
Education is a subject which must be grappled with, and, pace Pro-
fessor Huxley, this is my idea of a thoroughly practical paper, the
successful answering of which would enable a boy to get through the

THE PIGEONS OE ST. PAULS.

[A Correspondent writes to a weekly paper, begging he may
not be thought a Vandal if he suggests’thc cleaning of St. Paul’s,
and the abolition of the pigeons, which he considers out of place
on a Cathedral.]

The Pigeons of Saint Mark’s may fly
Year all the long lagoons.

They circle ’neath Italian sky,

On summer afternoons.

The silent city in the sea
Has magic that enthrals;

But still you have a charm for me,

O Pigeons of Saint Paul’s !

There, ’mid the City’s ceaseless roar,
Wren’s dome its head uprears,

As it has stood from days of yore,

For twice a hundred years.

Below it still, by day and night,

Each weary toiler crawls,

While round it wheel in endless flight
The Pigeons of Saint Paul’s.

You flash past pediment and frieze,

By summer sunshine lcist,

You sail around the sombre trees,

And brave the Autumn mist.

You hear the civic stir and strife,

The City’s cries and calls ;

Methinks you scorn our busy life,

O Pigeons of Saint Paul’s !

What memories the great church keeps
Of all the great and brave;

There Wellington with Nelson sleeps,
There Picton finds a grave.

And still at morn and eventide,

From out those massive walls,

The holy music floats outside,

O Pigeons of Saint Paul’s !

Your ancestors in olden days,

As ye fly now, flew then,

And heard how wond’ring cits would praise
The mighty dome of Wren.

“ Si monumentum quceris,” he
The Critic’s word forestalls;

And bids you too “ circumspice,”

O Pigeons of Saint Paul’s !

Although no tribute you may gain,

But what my verse can give,

Soar upwards o’er Paul’s sacred fane,
Beneath whose eaves you live.

But hark! the clash of evening chimes,
And swift each shadow falls :

To you I dedicate these rhymes,

O Pigeons of Saint Paul’s !

THE EXCEPTION THAT CONFIRMS THE RULE.

Sir Peter (who is of a moralising turn of mind). “It’s an odd thing, Lady
Midas, but what People admire the most in those they really love, is
the very Beauty that is most conspicuous by its absence ! ”

Lady Midas. “Not always, Sir Peter1 For instance, I doat on my
Son, Gorgy, over there, better than anything on Earth. But I see no
particular Beauty in him, beyond his looking like a Gentleman, you
know ! ”