Punch: Punch (100.1891)

April li, 1891.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHAEIVARI.

177

A COMPLAINT OF THE CENSUS.

{By a Disappointed Duke.)

[For the first time the sixth column in the Census
Schedule is simply headed " Profession or Occu-
pation."]

Oh ! I'm a reg'lar rightdown Duke :
The trying: part I act and look

Right nobly, so they tell me.
Yet I would have yon understand
"Why I am thoroughly nnmanned

At what of late befell me.

A week or something less ago,
A schedule came to let me know

The Census Day was Sunday.
The many details, one and all,
Must be filled in, and then they'd call

To fetch it on the Monday.

I found it easy to contrive

To answer columns one to five—1

I filled them np discreetly;
But when I came to column six
I got into an awful fix,

And lost my head completely.

For " Rank " alas! had disappeared.
I 'd never for an instant feared

It wouldn't really be there.
Your " Occupation" you conld state,
"Profession," too, you might relate,

But I—a Duke—had neither !

His Orace the Duke of Plaza-Toe'
"Would call himself, I'm pretty sure,

A "public entertainer."
But I and my blue-blooded wife,
"We lead a simple blameless life,

Kb life could well be plainer.

In such a plight what conld I do ?

I searched the paper through and through,

Each paragraph I read. You '11
Scarce credit it but those who " live
On their own means " had got to give

This statement in the schedule 1

I put it, but my ducal pen
I saw distinctly sputtered when

I did so. All of which he
Will please remember when I say
I thought it in a minor way
Unkind of Mr. Ritchie !

MICKY FREE IN PARIS.

As to the incident which recently appeared
in the papers under the head-line "Insulting
an Ambassador," our old friend Micky writes
us as follows:—"Be jabers then, ye must
know the truth. Me and Count Munsteb was
drivin' together. The Count's every bit a
true-born son of Ould Ireland for ever, and
descended from the Kings of Munster by both
sides, and more betoken wasn't he wearin' an
Ulster at the very moment, and isn't he the
best of chums with the Dukes of Connat/ght
and Leinsteb ? Any way we were in our
baroosh passin' the time o' day to one another
as we were drivin' in the Bore, when whack
comes a loaf o' bread, shied at our heads by
an unknown military blaygaird. It missed
me noble friend, the Count, and, as if to give
him a lesson in politeness, it just took off the
hat of a domestic alongside the coachman on
the box. 'Tunder and turf!' says L pre-
paring to descend, and give the scoundrels a
taste of my blackthorn all round. ' Whist!
be aisy now, Micky,' says the Ambassador to
me, in what is, betune ourselves, his own
native tongue; and with that he picks up the
loaf, Eniffs at it, makes a wry face ('it's a
rye loaf,' says I), and then says he, out loud,
with a supercilious look, ' Ill-bred !' Be-

gorra, there was a whoop o' delight went up
all round, which same was a sign of their pur-
liteness, as divil a one of the ignoramuses could
onderstand a wurrd the Court said in English
or German, let alone Irish. ' Coot,' says
Munsteb to me, dropping into his German
acsent, which, on occasion, comes quite
natural to him—the cratur! 'I'll give the
loaf to the dog ; ' and he whistles up the
mastiff, own brother to Bismabck's. ' Eh,
Micky, ye gossoon, isn't the proverb, " Loaf
me, loaf my dog" ?' Ah! then was cheers
for ould Ireland, and a mighty big dhrink
entirely we had that same night.

" Yours as ever, M. F."

HERRICK UP TO DATE.

{After " The Bracelet to Julia.")

Why tye I about thy wrist,
Julia , this my silken twist ?
For what other reason is't,
But to show {in theorie)

Thou sweet captive

art to me ;
Which, of course, is

fiddlededee!
B,unne and aske the

nearest Judge,
He will tell thee 'tis

pure fudge ;
When thou wiliest,
thou mayst trudge;
I'm thy Bondslave,

Hymen's pact
Bindeth me in law
and fact;
Thou art free in will and act;
'Tis but silke that bindeth thee,
Snap the thread, and thou art free :
But 'tis otherwise with me.
I am bound, and bound fast so
That from thee I cannot go.
(Hah ! We'll have this altered, though.
Man must be a wing-clipp'd goose
If he bows to Hymen's noose,—
Heads you winne, and tails I lose .')

falsehood, hypocrites, effrontery, demagogues,
Pharisees, and so on ; but expressions to be
taken in strictly Pickwickian sense, and of
course not intended for you.

Eminent Writer to Editor. —• Explanation
unsatisfactory. You first insert contribu-
tion, and then slate it. Do you call yourself
an Editor ?

Editor to Eminent Writer.—Rather think
I do call myself Editor. Couldn't insert that
humbug about India and Canada without
reply. By the bye, have forgotten if you
spell Christian name with or without k ?
Important. Wire back.

Eminent Writer to Editor.—Yah! Look
out for next Shortsprightly, that's all!
Article entitled, "Editorial Horseplay."
It'll give you fits, or my name isn't—
Fbedebic, without the k.

ANOTHER'S!

{A Once Rejected Address.)

Yes! Thou must be another's. Oh,

Such anguish stands alone !
I 'd always fancied thou wert so

Peculiarly mine own ;
No welcome doubt my soul can free ;

A convict may not choose—
Yet, since another's thou must be,

Most kindly tell me whose f

Is it the Lord of Shilling Thrills

Wrho penned The Black that Mails—
That martial man who from the hills

Excogitates his tales ?
Is it ubiquitous A. Lang ?

Nay, shrink not but explain
To which of all the writing gang

Dost properly pertain ?

Perchance to some provincial churl,

Who blushes quite unseen ?
Perchance to some ambitious Earl

Or Stockbroker, I ween?
Such things have frequently occurred,

And gems like thee have crowned
The titular and moneyed herd,
And made them nigh renowned.

I know not, this alone is clear,
Thou wert my sole delight;
I pored on thee by sunshine, dear,

I dreamed of thee at night.
Thou wert so good —too splendid for

The common critic's praise—
And I was thy proprietor—
And all the world must gaze !

But Punch, that autocrat, decrees

That thou another's art:
I cannot choose but bow my knees

And lacerate my heart.
Thou must be someone's else, alack !

The truth remains confessed —
For Mr. P. hath sent thee back,
My cherished little Jest.

MAGAZINE MANNERS.

Editor to Eminent Writer— Review pro-
mises to be deadly slow next month. Can you
do something slashing for us ? Pitch into
somebody or other—you know the style.

Eminent Writer to Editor. — Happy to
oblige. Got old article handy advocating
cession of Canada and India to the French.
Never wrote anything more ripping. Pitches
into everybody. Touching it up, and will let
you have it in two days. By tbe bye, tele-
graph people put a k to my Christian name.
Tell them not to do it again.

Editor to Eminent Writer {a week later).—
Sorry about the k. Got your article. Not
quite what I wanted. Style all right, but
arguments idiotic. Can't you take the other
side ? Much more popular.

Eminent Writer to Editor— Idea insulting.
Any more telegrams of that sort, and I con-
tribute in future to the Shortsprightly Review,
not yours !

Editor to Eminent Writer.—No offence
meant. Is there any other Preview besides
mine ? Never heard of the one you mentioned.

Eminent Writer to Editor [a month later).
—I say, what's this ? Virulent personal
attack on me in your Review, signed with
your name! Pretends my article on giving up
Canada, &c, was all a joke ! Am I thesort
of man who would joke about anything P
Reply at once, with apology, or I skin you alive
in next Number of Shortsprightly.

Editor to Eminent Writer.—Sorry you're
offended. I thought my Article rather a Place of Banishment eok Mistaken Peb-
moderate one. Quite true that I talk about | sons.—The Isle of Mull.

Fbom a Fly-leae.—" Buzziness first, plea-
sure after," as the bluebottle said when, after
circling three times about the breakfast-table,
he aligbted on a lump of sugar.

SALISBURY AT ST. MABTIN'S-LE-GBAND.

Hoay slow is fate from fatal friends to free us!
Still, still, alas ! 'tis " Ego et Raikes meus."

"The Oyeobd Movement."—Not much
to choose between this and the Cambridge
movement in the last race.