Punch (100.1891)

36

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[January 17, 1891.

Extract from Report of the G. O. M 's
Birthday Speech at Hawarden:—

"AndI do not hesitate to betray to you this
secret, that not infrequently in the summer
months, when winding my way homewards after
midnight, sometimes very long after it, from the
House of Commons, I have stopped my course for
a moment by the side of the drinking fountain in
Great George Street, Westminster, when there was
nobody to look at me, and have indulged in the
refreshing draught which was there afforded me,
feeling at the same time that I was not performing
any action which could expose me to the resent-
ment or displeasure of my excellent friend whose
name is well known to you all — Sir Wilfkid
Lawson."

G. 0. M. {to himself). "I hope Lawson isn't
looking at mo."

I'D BE A CRIMINAL.

A Song of the Ruling Sensation.

Tune—I'd be a Butterfly.

I'd be a criminal, born in a slum,
Where refuse, and rowdies, and raggedness
meet;

For when to the court for my trial I come,
I '11 be gazed on by all that is gracious and
sweet.

Fair dames of the land wiU'acknowledge my
power, [feet;

And Scientists sage will be slaves at my
Offers of marriage I '11 get in full shower,
And fools in my cause in their thousands
will meet.

They'll trot out each new "scientific"
vagary,

Some hope of escape to mv prison to bring.
And scribes on my case will be sportive and
airy [or sing.

And tell how I look, eat, sleep, dress, talk

Those I have butchered will get scant atten-
Interest's sure to be centred in me. [tion,

Painters will picture me, poets may mention,
Beauties discuss me at five o'clock tea.

Mad doctors will fight o'er my mental con-
dition,

Hypnotists swear I was somebody's tool;
And if I'm condemned, why a Monster Peti-
tion [and fool.
Will promptly be signed by each faddist

Murder—and good Dr. Liegois of Nancy
Will back you, Labetjyeee will help you

I'd be a Murderer, that is my fancy, [away.
He is the only true Hero to-day !

THE AMUSINC RATTLE'S TOPICAL NOTE-
BOOK.

(For the Use of Diners-out and other Ama-
teur Entertainers.)

The Strike in Scotland.—You might sug-
gest, that were it in Ireland, one might see a
rail way out of it, or rather in it. This jest
may be expected to be appreciated by a par-
son's wife of the sharper sort. Something
ought to be got out of the visit of the agitator
Burns to the North. Example of what can
be done in this direction :—" People who play
with fire (persons who go in for strikes) must
expect Burns." However, be careful not to
say this to a Scotchman, or he may want
your blood before you get to the cigarettes.
North Britons are very jealous of the reputa-
tion of their national poet, and permit no
jokes upon the subject. You see, in letting
off your witticism at a Scotchman, you would
have to explain that it teas a joke. You
might also hint that it was "hard lines"
for the Railway Companies concerned ; but
this will provoke gloom rather than gaiety
amongst those who have invested in Cale-
donians and North British. If you talk about
the riots in connection with the movement,
you might say that the pugnacious rioters
remind you of safety matches, " for they not
only strike, but strike on the box ! "

The Pamell Negociations in France. —
You can say something about O'Bbien's
invitation to Mr. Pabnell to pay him an
evening visit on the French coast, reminds
you of the once popular song, "Meet me by
Moonlight, Boulogne." If you are told that
"Boulogne" should be "Alone," return,
"Precisely—borrowed a word—Boulogne was
a loan." This ought to go with roars. At
a Smoking Concert you might suggest that
Mr. O'Beien was just the man to settle a
quarrel, because even when he was in prison
he took an absorbing interest in the proper
adjustment of breeches !

The Row at the Post Office. — As the
Savings' Bank Department has for years been
the Cinderella of the Civil Service, this is a
subject that will not create much interest;
however, you might possibly extract a plea-
santry out of the name of the present Post-
master-General in connection with the now-
appeased employes. With a little trouble you
should be able to say something quite spark-
ling about what the " officers " hoe to Raikes !

The Portuguese Difficulty in Africa.—
Rather a good subject at a Christmas Dinner,
where relatives (on particularly affectionate
and intimate terms) are gathered together.
Say you have got to the dessert, and you start
the subject. Observe that it is fortunate that
the Sultan of Turkey is not interested in
the matter, or there would be further trouble
of a like character. To the question,'' Why ? "
reply, taking up a bottle of red wine to point
your witticism, "would it not be a second
difficulty with the Porte, you geese ? " To
make the jest perfect, connect Turkey in
Europe with the dindon aux marrons, of
which you will have just partaken.

The Weather.—If forced to fall back upon
this venerable subject (which should only be
broached in the wilds of Cornwall, or other
equally primitive spots), of course you can
speak of a hard frost being " an ice day for a
hunting-man, although he is sure to swear
at it." If the weather breaks, you may
observe, " You thaw so" but not when you
have to shout the quibble through the ear-
trumpet of a deaf old maid. And this, with
the other witticisms recorded above, should
carry you (by desire) into the middle of next
week.

A Deadly Kiss.—The Hotch-kiss.

A PANTOMIMIC BEVERIE.

{By a "Slippered Pantaloon.")

Tax-Gathebebs molest one's door,

The streets are choked with messy mist;
I'm the proverbial Bachelor,

An old, prosaic Pessimist.
Yet somehow—who can tell me why ?—

Urged by the Past's dim Phantom, I'm
Disposed my cosy Club to fly,

And prank it at the Pantomime.

A Phantom weird of things forgot !

My mother, proud of me at her
Sweet side—our yellow chariot—

The long, long drive—the theatre—

My fear to miss -my thrill when in—
The Fairy Queen, the jolly King—

The laughter flung at Harlequin,
And Pantaloon aroilicking.

And sister Peue, and brother Tim,

(I scarcely recollected them),
Magnificent in gala trim:

Dear me, how I respected them !
I deemed them quite grown up, so bold

Seemed they, glared so defiantly :
Yet they, too, cowered to behold

Prone before Jack the Giant lie.

Yes ! Where is Tim, where Peue, alack!

Where mother fondly pliant now ?
Where for that matter too is Jack,

And where the grisly Giant now r"
In lonely stall, with vacant brow

I sit and eye the coryphees :
In my time they were Fairies ; now

They seem to me but sorry fays.

The pageantry is twice as grand,

The wealth of wealth embarrasses ;
And yet this is not elfin land

But great Augustus Haebis's.
The blase children vote it flat,

When Mister Clown cries, "Here's a go!"
Yes, there's the box where erst we sat

And laughed so, sixty years ago.

The very box: I think, you know,

The reason 1 'm so queer to-night
Is merely because long ago

Here faces were not here to-night.
I'd best be off-Bless me ! no Clown P

No Stage ?—no Past invidious ?
No Orchestra?—but simply Bbo"\yn

Snoring the midnight hideous !

No Drury Lane ?—no tinsel flare P—

No pirouetting Bogeydom ?—
Only a Club, and one who there

Forgot in sleep his Fogeydom!
Welcome my Transformation Scene ;

I'm dull once more, and every
Old Bachelor like me, I ween,

May muse at times his reverie.

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