Punch: Punch (89.1885)

December 12, 1885.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHAKIVARI.

285

GLADSTONIUS.

[Extract from a Classic Poem.)

But with a crash, like thunder,

Fell many a loosened "plank,"
And, with a dam,* the Grand Old
Man

Made for the County Bank.
* # * *

" 0 Yoter, Rural Voter,

To whom we Liberals pray,
A Liberal's life and policy
Take thou in charge this
day! "

So he spake, and speaking, fas-
tened

The well-worn mackintosh,
And, with "Welsh flannel on his
back,

Plunged Hodgewards in the
slosh.

* * # *
And when above the turmuts
They see his drooping gills ;
From the Reform came loud
applause,

And the Times1 Leader-writers
pause

To trim their well-worn quills.

* * * *

Buthislimbs were borne upbravely

By the brave heart within,
And the Good Rural Yoter
Bore bravely up his chin.
# * * *

And now he feels the bottom,

Now on dry earth he stands,
Now round him throng the
Lib'rals,

To press his muddy hands.
* # * #

They gave him an umbrella-stand

In record of the fight,
And twelve stout stand-up collars

To wear from morn till night.
They gave him gay.'gardenias

For buttonholes, 1 vow,
And Chamberlaiitus promised
him

" Three Acres and a Cow I "

* There is something like thiB in Macatjlay's Lays:—

" And, like a dam, the mighty -wreck," &e.

The Two Obadiahs.

Me. Isaac Holder, in his seventy-eighth year, has won a splendid
victory for the Liberals in Yorkshire. His son, Mr. A. Holden, has
won a seat in Bradford. It_ is pleasant to think that, in this par-
ticular case, the difficulty anticipated iu distinguishing Members by
the nomenclature of their Constituencies will not exist. The Members
for the Keighley Division of the West Riding of Yorkshire and for
the Eastern Division of Bradford will, of course, be known respec-
tively as the 'Olden and the Young 'un.

That Cow Again !

Our Joe thinks that Wealth is too Tory by half.

How ean one account for it, how,

That the hot devotees of the Golden Calf
Turn their backs on the Brummagem " Cow" ?

A Happy Return of the Day.—"When the excellent Justice of
that name recovered from his indisposition.

Out of Place.—Childebs, ex-M.P. for Pontefract.

THE GRAND OLD MINSTREL.

Morning.—News of my singing " Home Sweet Home," at the
Orphanage, seems to have caused intense interest in the country.
Fifty-six letters on subject to-day. Perhaps, after all, it was a mis-
take speechifying to hardy Scots—should have sung 'em national
ditties instead. Herbert suggests, " with bagpipes accompaniment."
Yes, certainly, bagpipes! Capital idea. Half a mind to write to
Edinburgh Committee, and ofier to give 'em a new (Musical) Midlo-
thian Campaign—shall practise " Scots Wha Hae " to-night.

Enterprising American Theatre Manager writes to ask if I'm open
to an engagement to sing " The Last Rose of Summer," at ten
guineas a night, between first and second Acts of Othello. Says it
would be sure to bring down house. He could, if I preferred it, in-
troduce " Hush-a-Bye, Baby" into II Trovatore, only it would be
best with a few alterations, topical allusions, &c. ; he sends two lines
for a specimen:—

" Hush-a-bye, Chamberlain, just for a bit!

"When the Rads rant, the Party will split," &c.

Don't see my way to this, somehow.

Flattering note from organiser of Ballad Concerts. Says he's
going to have an " Irish Night" soon, and recommends me to practise
Moore's Melodies, and the "Exile of Erin," with what he calls
its " beautiful refrain of Erin-go-Bragh." Erin go hang ! I say.
And this after Parnell's atrocious ingratitude! Shall write to say
I've had enough Irish Melodies for some time—my next "Irish
Night" will probably be in the House, and then won't the " Exiles
from Erin " repent that Circular!

Mid-Day.—Found my voice a trifle husky, so went to Village
School to practise it. Schoolmaster seemed surprised to see me. Had
to interrupt his lesson in Animal Biology, but said it " didn't matter
at all." Got his class to take up chorus while I sang Dr. Watts's
charming Ballad of the " Busy Bee," which Stephen's Organist has
just set to music for me. Noticed some of the children a little in-
attentive—others put their fingers in their ears and made faces—
afraid my voice must have been very husky. However, after sing-
ing " Busy Bee" for a couple of hours, I left amid enthusiastic
cheers from little girls and boys. Curious they should cheer more
when I go than when I arrive. Shows magic of personal influence, I
suppose.

After Lunch.—Deputation of Cheshire Liberals just called. Seemed
despondent. Wanted to know what I thought of Elections. Also
wanted some "cheerful message from Hawarden" to carry back
with them. Reminds me of a " Pretty Present from Scarborough."
To-morrow's polling-day, it seems, in Western Division of county.
Told Cheshire Liberals I had exhausted politics up in Midlothian,
but if they liked I'd sing them " Pop go the Counties ! " to the tune
of " Pop goes the Weasel! " as a duet with Mrs. Gladstone. Cheshire
Liberals didn't seem to take to idea. Asked, doubtfully, if my song
had any reference to Disestablishment, or Three Acres and a Cow?
None whatever, I told them, but there's a nice little song I was
practising, about how a Cow jumped, or tried to jump, over the
Moon, which I should be happy to sing to them on the spot. Cheshire
Liberals suddenly found they had to catch a train, and went off
hurriedly.

Later.—Must really interrupt little boys and girls at village school
again. Can't practise songs with choruses anywhere else, and
Herbert's done such a screaming parody of "Mary had a little
Lamb." The first verse goes like this—

Lowther told a little cram,

How Trade was Bure to go ;

But everywhere where Lowther went
The Voters all said " No." &c.

Rosebery (who's staying here) says he thinks a breakdown dance
introduced into song would improve it._ Really surprised at Rose-
bery. Ask him to accompany me to village school. Says he's got
such a bad toothache he doesn't like to. Query.—Is this a mere
excuse ?

Evening.—Enjoyed myself at school tremendously just now.
Don't know if children did, however. Message brought from Village
Schoolmaster. _ Says there's a mutiny in school. It seems his pupils
have locked him into a coal-cellar, and won't let him out, unless he
promises "not to have any more choruses." Says "he himself
admires my voice immensely, and thinks it beats Sims Reeves hollow,
but his scholars don't." Then why doesn't he whip his scholars, I
want to know ? Orphans the best, after all.

End up day with practising Lady Giitard's charming song of
" I'm sitting on a Stile, Mary," and go to bed hoarser than ever.

New Spelling.—Mr. Chamberlain's Radical Programme is not
to the taste of the Moderate Liberals, who, with a view to a coalition
and his utter discomfiture, proolaim their hope of being "Whig-
Tory-ous in the future!"