Punch: Punch (87.1884)

118

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

i September (5, 1884,

THE SORROWS OF
SANITATION.

[Dr. Mortimer Granville re-
cently declared “there are multitudes
who suffer the sorrows of a sanitary
life ! ”]

I’m: weary of the dwellings known
As sanitary houses;

I ’m quite contented with my own,
Though its condition rouses
The scorn of all our Engineers—
Who head this modern move-
ment ;

Each man possessing, it appears,
A patented improvement.

I’m tired of all this endless noise,
And talk on sanitation ;

The plumber comes, and he enjoys,
Of course, the situation.

He brings the ventilating-trap,
Which may be scientific ;

I know I’m scarcely “worth a
rap,”

His bill is so terrific.

I’m bound to try electric light,

To Swan and Siemens trusting;
I wake up thinking in the night
The whole concern is “ bust-
ing.”

They say there ’s danger lurks in
dirt,

And typhoid in a puddle,

And death in coloured socks and
shirt;—

It’s all a precious muddle.

Oh, give me back the good old days
Before these men ran riot,

To stand within the ancient ways,
By open drains in quiet.

1 ’m sick of scientific strife,

I ’m always on the anvil,

So, hang a sanitary life,

I say with Doctor Granville !

BY DEGREES.

“ Ninety in the shade ? ” cried
Miss Virginia Yerjuice, reading
a meteorological announcement.
“I should think so, indeed! Why,
I am not half that, and I’ve been
‘ in the shade’ for years ! ”

The Best Joke oe the Week.
—Le Gaulois calling Mr. Glad-
stone “ le hideux Shy lock ! ”

PUNCH’S OCCASIONAL FABLES.

; The bearings of it lie in the application.”—Jack Bunsby.

THE POPGUN AND THE PENNY-TEUMPET.

“ There ! !! ” cried a Popgun, its toy-pellet aiming,
With force prodigious, at a Great Man’s back.

“ Guess that means sudden death, or mortal maiming.
See where it hits him—smack! ’*

“ Pooh! ” shrieked a Penny-Trumpet tootling madly,
“ Mine is the music that his soul shall cheer.

I twangle in his praise ; he ’ll hear it gladly,

And feel no sort of fear.”

The Great Man minded neither blast nor pelt,

The first he heard not, nor the second felt.

Moral.

Small choice between fools’ halfpence and their kicks.
Leviathan cares for neither pats nor pricks.

WHAT IT MAY COME TO.

I remember, I remember,

The House where I was bred ;
The Woolsack, whence the Chan-
cellor

That annual Message read.

He never came till after four,

And rarely stayed till five ;

For, if their dinners were delayed,
Could Senators survive ?

I

I remember, I remember,

The Marquises and Earls,

The peerless rows of Peeresses,
Those flowers decked in pearls.
The cross-bench, where the Princes
sat;

And where the Prelates shone
In piety and lawn arrayed—

The Bishops now are gone!

I remember, I remember,

Where I was used to spout,

And thought the papers must be
mad

To leave my speeches out.

My eloquence was practised then,
That now is left to rust;

And Statesmen oft, I’m sure,
have winced ■

Before my boyish thrust!

I remember, I remember,

The Commons trooping in ;

I used to think that in a fight
The Peers must always win.

It was a childish ignorance,

But now ’tis little joy
To know I’m kicked out of the
House

I sat in when a boy !

A BATTER prospect.

It seems that young Mr. Pullen
heads the Gloucestershire Batting
Averages this year with the very
respectable figure of 39'4. We
; are glad to see this, as Glouces-
j tershire Cricket, although not yet
dis- Graced, evidently requires
I Pullen up.

The Pursuits of the Pre-
mier.—It will be seen that Mr.
Gladstone has not relinquished
his habitual recreation of cutting
! a tree down, to mount the stump.

VERY MUCH ABROAD.

{Notes of a First Visit to La Bourboule-les-Bains, Puy-de-Ddme.)

II.

With a Groivler on a Night-journey from Paris to Laqueuille.

Dudley Chivers has commenced the journey by saying pleasantly
that he is “prepared to rough it,” and that “his name is Easy.”
However, I soon find that his tone of mind belies the name which he
has chosen for himself.

Dudley Chivers has become quite a changed character; that is, at
the present moment en route for La Bourboule. Had I been asked
at any time within the last twenty years to point out the man whom
nothing could ruffle, I should, without hesitation, have named
Dudley Chivers. Now, d Vheure qu'il est (one glides into
French as Wegg did into poetry, and Chivers is tout-a-fait le
Franqais—“ Quite the Frenchman”), he is a grumble per-
sonified. I discover it at once. And the effect upon myself is
curious; for whereas, up to now, I had looked upon this obligatory
journey to undergo a course of water-treatment at La Bourboule as
a purgatorial discipline to which only the prospect of a certain future
and lasting beneficial effect could in the least reconcile me, now,
owing to the wretched view that Dudley Chivers takes of every-

thing and everybody, I am forced into so strong an opposition as to
find myself becoming quite a Mark Tapley, every minute growing
more and more cheery and sanguine, though occasionally shaken
in my own beliefs by my companion’s apparently well-founded
scepticism.

“A long journey before us,” I commence, pleasantly, “ but the
reward of returning quite well!—eh ? ”

“Ah, that’s it,” growls the Gentleman whose ‘name is Easy,’
moving himself restlessly in the seat, where he evidently can nut
make himself comfortable. “What carriages these are! beastly!
and eighteen francs supplement! What an infernal row that engine
makes! Why the deuce can’t the French start a train without all
this confounded shouting, screeching, foghorn-blowing, and bell-
ringing F Ugh ! the fools ! ”

“ They are noisy,” I reply, cheerfully, “but there’s life in it.”

Here the engine gives a series of screeches as if in extremest
agony.

“ Go it! ” shouts the Easy One,—Chivers nomine Facile,—sarcas-
tically. “Go it!— allez ! — don’t mind me!” This adjuration,
addressed to the Stoker, Driver, and Pail way Officials generally, is
perfectly unnecessary. They don't mind him in the least, and for a
few minutes all attempts at conversation are rendered impossible.
Sharp, shrill, convulsive shrieks, answered by other engines in
different quarters with similar sounds, make the night hideous.