Punch (89.1885)

August 29, 1885.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 105

SEA-SIDE PUZZLE.

Sea coming in rapidly. Only One Hokse to drag them all up. What are you to do 1

"A ONE-GUNNER.'J

(By the Old Salt, Peter.)

"Shiyee my Timbers!" was, of
yore,

Jack's usual imprecation,

When wooden walls fenced. Eng-
land's shore
'Gainst every foreign nation.

But heart-of-oak by ironclads
Has since been superseded ;

So now then, " Pierce my Plates!"
tight lads,

Sing out, when song is needed.

For, with some pounds of dynamite,
We 're told, a shell, boys, loaded,

When'gainst a vessel fired aright,
Is by the shock exploded.

Slap, bang, the thickest armour-
coat

A gap, through, crashes wide in.

Therefore, if not ashore, afloat,
May Jack shout, " Smash my
Side in!"

A boat with but a single gun
Will be in a position

To send a Minotaur, at one
Long shot, to swift perdition.

Eight down she goes, all hands
are lost,

The waves above them whirling;

And oh, my Lords, but count the
cost:

Some half a million sterling!

Oh, think of that, as you intend
To strengthen England's Navy,

Lest you build ships but to descend
To Jones whom Jack names
Davy.

One trial, e'en might test the
fact;

Its proof needs no haranguer ;

Whether, as vouched for, 'tis
exact,

Or that bomb all a " banger."

JUST ANOTHER SNIFE.

A Correspondent, signing himself " J. B. G.," wrote to the
Times to show that in Mud Salad Market everything that is possible
to be done has been, in his opinion, done, and that Oovent Garden is
as near an Eden as anything in this metropolitan world can be. He
did not deny that'' during the day the market is, more or less, strewn
with vegetable matter''—evidently to him a mere trifle. But he airily
adds, '' If strangers to the neighbourhood were to visit it after business
is over, they would be surprised at its cleanliness, and on Sundays
they would not know the place."

Yes, only " strangers to the neighbourhood " would be likely to visit

it " after business is over," and then they wouldn't come a second time
ia a hurry. "On Sundays they would not know the place "—how
could they, if they were " strangers ? " But visit it during business
hours, be there on any Friday night and Saturday morning, or on most
mornings for the matter of that, and how the stranger will revel in
the delights with which three out of his five senses will be regaled.
How pleased he will be to be detained in this Garden of sweet odours
by the obstructing carts, specially if his Cabman has chosen this route
as the shortest and quickest between anywhere and a Railway Station.
How full of charming excitement, too, is the attempt at landing at
any of the Hotel-doors, and what a store of fun may be laid by for
pantomime time from the presence of vegetable slides on the pavement.
And on the ornaments of speech !

"The refuse of the market is swept up and carted away every
evening," says this same letter-writer to the Times. So it ought to be.
But where is it carted to ? Bedford Street ? Garrick Street ? and some
of the other favoured streets round about, to await parochial action ?

Mud-salad may be very nice for late breakfast or early lunch, but
Mr. Punch, speaking from experience of having had it occasionally
served up under his bold Roman nose, is inclined to fancy that a great
liking for the delicacy must be quite an acquired taste. Luckily,
Mr. J'unch can "hold, his own'' anywhere, and he did (as regards
his nose) on these occasions._ But could he hold his peace ?

The Duke, we hear, is going to enlarge the Garden—some of the
old hotels are coming down. G^d—but will enlarging the Garden
diminish the nuisance ? If fruit, flowers, and vegetables must be
mixed, treble the space, and let the market be carried on under suoh
conditions as will make one condition—its present one—impossible.

There has been, we a,re glad to hear, some improvement. Fortunate
indeed is it that there is no epidemic; but we can answer for one
thing, in view of the letters we receive from " round and about that
quarter," that there are no end of " complaints."

A Cry from Kent.

Prosperity's fled from our gardens and grounds;

How spindly our bines and how scanty our crops!

Wealth may be " advancing by leaps and by bounds,"
It certainly isn't by Hops !