Punch: Punch (89.1885)

100

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[Augost 29, 1885.

NE PLUS ULTRA.

" Only fancy, Grandpapa, I made Thirteen Mistakes in my French
Exercise !"

" Oh, I dake say I should have made more, my darling ! "

"Oh no, you -wouldn't! There were only Thirteen Words!"

MOCK HEROICS WITH A VENGEANCE!
Poet (piping)—

Or Rocheeort's wrath, to England direful spring'
Of woes unnumbered, Gutter-Goddess, sing!

That wrath nor sense nor justice can restrain,

Roused by the death of Pain, untimely slain,

Whose limbs unburied on the Nile's sad shore
Dog Kitchener and vulture Wolseley tore.

Since hulking Ajax with Thersites strove,

There never was so great a row, by Jove!

Howrise the frenzied howls, the feline squalls
(Which euphemistic Temps "polemic" calls),
The heaven-assaulting oaths (which none will heed)

That Salisbury shall fall and Lyons bleed;

The wailings womanish, the yells hysterical,

Moved by suspicions mad and hopes chimerical!

Declare, 0 Muse, in what ill-fated hour
Sprung the fierce strife, commenced the foul mud-shower;
How rowdy Rochepobt foul contagion spread,

And half the Paris Press went off its head !

Muse {interrupting)—

Not if I know it, Bardling. Nay, not I!

Excuse me I I have other fish to fry.

What matter showers of undeserved abuse,

Or the fierce hissings of a frantic goose ?

Egregious Henri, of the addled brain.

May curse Britannia or myself in vain.

We may he, like -ZEneas, " forced by fate,"
But not by baby-RocHEFORT's babbling hate !

A Short Way with. Voters.

" C. S. M.," writing to the Times, says he would
" legalise bribery to the extent of making it lawful to
pay a Voter not to vote," on the ground that "A man
who is willing to accept such a bribe is unfit to have a
vote." This would be " buying off the barbarians"
with a vengeance, and suggests novel developments in
legislation. " Tour money or your Vote—which will
you have ? " says the Candidate, in effect, to a possible
elector, and the latter's choice decides his electoral fitness,
and, possibly, the chance of the would-be M.P. Whether
he who accepts such an offer should be paid for being
unfit, or whether he who makes it is fit to "have the
Vote," of those who are not bought off, are questions
which "C. S. M." does not tackle. Perhaps our new
electoral Daniel will " come to judgment" again.

THE TALE OE A WHALE.

I stood by Waterloo Bridge the other afternoon, watching the
argosies of British commerce passing swiftly to and fro on the water
highway of the world, feeling pride in the spectaole, yet regret that
a parsimonious and pusillanimous Government permitted these
vessels to venture afar without any protection. Here were trim,
taut steamers, with low hulls and rakish funnels, bound with fifty
or sixty human lives, and at least a dozen or two of bottled beer, for
Pimlico Pier. There larger craft, but still built in the same beautiful
lines, were preparing for further and more dangerous journeys; the
passengers on which were fully prepared for the time and difficulties
before them, for while some, braving the fierce high winds which on
the calmest day elsewhere for ever swirl and sway round the Cathe-
dral of St. Paul, were purchasing boxes of fusees, so as not to be
dependent on the fickle match for their ignition of tobacco, others,
mindful of the long and weary delays that would inevitably ensue
ere they bumped Blackwall Pier, stepped on board with a perfect
library in the shape of the day's Daily Telegraph. A sight calcu-
lated to arouse one's pride, yet at the same time bitter regret, when
one thought what havoe, in case of war, a few fast cruisers might
inflict on this superb fleet.

I stood not alone regarding this scene. Passionately fond of the
sea as I am, ever since my people, calling a spade a spade, had called
me a young rake, and had sent me to the Hoe of Plymouth, there to
sink or swim, I yet do not monopolise all regard for the ocean, and
I soon became aware of a figure by mv side contemplating the busy
movements of the magnificent vessels. He was an old man, in a
faded blue suit, with red half-closed eyes, a bulbous nose, and
blotchy cheeks, which at once betrayed his calling. Show me such a
man anywhere, and I would at once say that he was accustomed to
an ocean—of liquor.

" Purty, ain't it?" he asked, commencing the conversation, a^d
my heart at onee warmed towards the old familiar accents which
betokened a man acquainted with the three seas. Yes, all the great

seas—the C. C. C. I returned in the affirmative, and he went on:—
"But, lawks, what a deal of fuss is made about these 'ere tin
kettles, for that they are nothing more or less! Ah, it was a bit
different when we had sailing wessels, and didn't know[nothing about
these 'ere craft. Steam, they says, was in its infancy then. Well, I
only wishes that infant had been entrusted to the care of a baby farm."

Such sentiments, so similar to those which I have promulgated so
often in public and private, at once induced me to ask this son of the
sea whether he had any objection to join me in a friendly glass.
" None whatever; he would join me in several," was his eminently
sailorly reply, and then, with the keen true instinct of a mariner
who knows upon what little chances his dangerous calling turns,
added, " and in smokes." So saying, he led the way to a neighbour-
ing hostelry frequented by seamen, the very name of which, " The
Romanocian," smacked of the sea. And those who were refreshing
themselves within spoke in nautical phrases, alluding to having been
half seas over the night before, and of having had a storm with their
wives, and of feeling perfect wrecks this day ; their favourite hero
and heroine were Captain Crosstree and Dolly Mayflower, but as I
never once heard the command given, "Starboard," so did I never
hear anyone order " Port."

Having placed refreshments before and within my friend, he
commenced,—

" They scientific coves and folks up at the Admiralty talks about
the superior rate of progression that is obtained nowadays by steam.
But it makes one ill to hear them a going on. Now how long do you
suppose it takes one of them vessels to get down to Southend Pier ? "

I answered—" Five, six, seven hours, as the case might be."

" Exactly. There you have it in a moment with your calculating
figure-heaa. Well, I have sailed it—sailed it in three-quarters of
an hour! Vou may well look surprised; but what I am telling you's
Gospel truth. It is some many years ago now, and there's me and
my mate, Joe Blocki.ey, one of the smartest lads that ever handled
a tiller or a till—rather too smart, the Judge, a land-lubbing chap in
a wig, said over the latter job as he give him two with,—and he