Punch (96.1889)

Mabch 23, 1889.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

141

ECHOES OF THE STREET.

“ On afternoons, in London streets,

The Winner is proclaimed by boys ;

And ev’ry wretched lad one meets,

Flouts Losers with prodigious noise! ”

The Saladmonger.

When the day is nigh done,

And good folks have begun
To think they will homeward be strolling—
Comes a voice, does there not ?

Through cab-clatter, I wot,

And busses eternally rolling;

It is piercing and
shrill,

And proclaims with
a will

Much comfort for
toiler and spinner';
Y ou know, without
doubt,

From the news-
vendor’s shout,
That someone or
something ’s a
“ Winner ! ”

If times have been
bad,

And you ’re sulky
or sad,

While little enough in your purse is,

If a victim to fate,

You can naught contemplate
But unbroken chains of reverses :

If you ’re feeling put out,

Or you ’re threatened with gout,

(As trying to saint as to sinner),

You are apt to get riled,

For it makes you so wild,

To hear such a shouting of “ Winner! ”

If you ’ve just had to part
With the girl of your heart,

Who better loves some other fella ;

If the rain-clouds descend,

And you find that your friend
Has taken your silken umbrella ;

If you hail cabs in vain,

As you trudge through the rain,

While late, minutes thirty, for dinner—
How you’d like then to flay
Those young imps, by the way,

Who wildly ejaculate “ Winner! ”

When, in spite of the cram,

You ne’er pass your exam.,

When plays you’ve annexed are detected;
When your novel’s a frost,

Your election is lost;

Or your wonderful picture rejected—

Still each urchin will yowl
O’er your downfall, and howl—•

Like a fiend o’er your fate he’s a grinner—
He will gaily rejoice
At the top of his voice,

And blithely vociferate, “ Winner! ”

The attempt of his Servian friends to get
M. Paschitch, the celebrated outlaw, whose
only fitness for the post is supplied by the
fact that he has been frequently chased across
country by gendarmes for acts of brigandage,
appointed Minister of Commerce and Agri-
culture, appears, as might have been ex-
pected, to have created a considerable hitch
m the recent settlement of affairs at Bel-
grade. It need hardly be added that the hitch
in question was supplied in the person of M.
Paso hitch himself.

RULE, BRITANNIA!

[New Economic Version. For the use of Cheap
Patriots and Purblind Party Spouters.)

When Britain first at Heaven’s command
Arose from out the azure main,

This was the charter of our land,

And guardian Chancellors sang this strain:

Rule, Britannia, Britannia rule the waves—

Provided always that her cash she saves !

Nations not half so rich as thee
Must pay up sharp, or prostrate fall.

Whilst thou shalt flourish, great and free—
On blunders big and taxes small!

Rule, Britannia, &c.

Still Mammon-nurtured shalt thou rise,
Whilst other nations are stone-broke ;

Absorbed in small economies,

Deriding danger as a joke.

Rule, Britannia, &c.

Thee haughty tyrant ne’er shall tame;

His fleets shall sink, his tars shall drown ;

Whilst, vowed to the gold-grubbing game,
Our Crown we risk—to save a crown.

Rule, Britannia, &c.

To thee belongs the God of Gain,

Commerce’s golden grain thou ’It reap,

And thine shall be the subj ect main—

If thou canst rule it on the cheap !

Rule, Britannia, &c.

The Muses, mute as a dumb hound
For thy bare coasts feel scarce a care ;

Blest Isle, where blundering knaves abound,
Burst guns, and ships that need repair !

Rule, Britannia, Britannia rule the waves,

Whilst Factions fight, and the Exchequer
saves!

The Ice Carnival.—According to the
rather chilly reports we’ve seen, the Ice
Carnival appears to have started with more
or less of a frost. Rather a dull affair if
contrasted with A Nice Carnival.

OUR BOOKING-OEEICE.

“What’s the odds so long as you’re
happy ? ” is a popular quotation, but, like
many popular quota-
tions, its meaning is
not absolutely clear.
We would, however,
vary the phrase, and
say, “ Take Long
Odds if you’d wish
to be happy! ” Pos-
sibly, from a sporting
point of view, this
may be not altogether
correct; but from a
literary standpoint it
is an “ absolute moral.” Hawlet Smart has
now contributed over a quarter of a hundred
stories for the delectation of the reading
public, and this one, his latest, shows no
diminution in his power as a novelist. Long
Odds, though in three volumes, oddly enough,
never seems long; it is full of dash and
sparkle, and thoroughly amusing from start
to finish.

“ Pickwick and Principle, always be tho-
rough ; Hie thee, boy, hie thee, away to the
Borough! ” So sings Mr. Arthur Cecil in
the Dramatic Cantata at the Comedy Theatre,
and this might almost be adopted as the motto
of a most interesting and valuable volume,
entitled, The Inns of Old Southwark. Both
Mr. William Rendle, with his pen, and Mr.
Philip Norman, with his pencil, have hied
them away to the Borough to some purpose,
and they have always been thorough. No
pains have been spared to be exact down to
the most minute details ; and yet the terrible
statistical dryness which is the characteristic
of most books treating of antiquarian sub-
jects, is altogether absent. Mr. Rendle’s
knowledge of Southwark, like Mr. Weller's
acquaintance with London, is “extensive and
peculiar.” He had an intimate knowledge of

the old Inns in the old days, long before the
Demon Demolition had commenced what it
is fashionable to call ‘ ‘ improvement; ” he has
an excellent memory ; he has an intimate
knowledge of “ authorities ; ” and he is teem-
ing with lore concerning the old quarter and
its associations. In his work he has been
admirably seconded by Mr. Norman; who,
besides contributing some of the best pictures
in the volume, has superintended and
arranged the whole of the illustrations which
accompany the text.


THE LAY OF THE LADY CANVASSER.

A Study in Social Development.

When lovely Woman stoops to touting
For Party votes, her pleasant way
Is different from the male’s mad shouting,
But still she has her little say.

She does not stand at
the street-corner
And wave her arms
like semaphores,

Of “ chuck ers” she is
no suborner;

By other little tricks
she scores.

She “takes a book”

(and well she
knows it),

And on her canvas sallies forth ;

And by St. Jingo how she “ goes it ”

From East to West, from South to North!

Amongst the poorest of the Yoters,

In humblest “ diggings ” she will pop ;

She shrinks not from the smell of “ bloaters,”
She shims not the cheap barber’s shop.

To her affairs of State are riddles.

Not hers to know or reason well,

But oh ! the awful taradiddles,

The Lady Canvasser can tell!

She tells them with tremendous unction,

She tells them with a smiling face ;

You ’d think bold lying was the function
Designed by Nature for her race.

She fibs not feebly; no small “ cracker,”

No timid trifling with the true.

She outs with some colossal “whacker,”

And sticks to it till all is blue.

With open mouth the workmen’s spouses
Listen to “proofs” of Gladstone's crimes;
The small shopkeeper’s wife she rouses
With awful tales about the “Times.”

“ That rival Candidate,” she gurgles
Into the Voter’s ready ear,

“ Is a bad man; ’tis thought he burgles,

’Tis known that he gets drunk—on beer !

“ He beats his wife, he was a waiter,

He is an awful atheist,

To our good Queen at heart he’s traitor ! ”
Such hideous “ facts ” who could resist ?
As to insidious suggestions

Of nameless sins—with such she teems ;
Her whispered and soul-withering questions
Haunt honest Yoters in their dreams.

And so, unscrupulous, seductive,

Our latest Siren proudly floats
On Party waves, with wiles obstructive
Of truth, but telling much on—Votes.

Development ? Some social Darwin
May show the genesis of her,

Meanwhile they who would Party war win,
Can’t slight the Lady Canvasser.

Motto eor an Old Poet arodt to Publish.
—“ See me re-verse ! ”

Admitted by both Parties.—The present
state of Remington,—Hope-less.