Punch: Punch (101.1891)

December 12, 1891.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

287

TRANSLATED.

(Being a newly-discovered fragment oj an old Greek
Play, supposed to be a very early " Agamemnon.'')
* * # # *

Cly. The coals I bought as Wallsend are not so.

Ag. Thus groundless hopes vanish—like coals in smoke.

Cly. You speak in words mysterious, lacking sense.

Ag. The sense is patent to the reasoning mind.

Cly. And yet I paid for them upon the nail.

Ag. What matter, if the price was far too low ?

C ly. Then call you eighteen shillings low for coal ?

Ag. Yes, for "Prime Wallsend"—what could you

Cly. Listen! In passing 'long the public way [expect!'
I saw a notice telling of these coals.
It called them " ever-burning " : said no skill'
Could put them out when once they were alight,
Because they were " the best the world produced."
I purchased some. Ai! ai! They turned out slates.
My household maidens by Prometheus swear
They never saw such stuff for lighting fires.
What of it is not slag, that part is slate,
And slated should they be that sold it me.
Moreover, when with anger I remarked
To those who bore the sacks upon their backs,
Within our cellars to deposit them,
That they had better bear their loads away
Seeing I ordered coals, not lumps of slate,
They answered that, if they refused to burn,
They might be useful for a Rockery !
So now they have the shillings, / the coals.

Ag. And having them, we have no household fires.

Cly. What then to do ? You sit with idle hands.

Ag. I cannot turn to Wallsend bits of slag.

Cly. But you can seek the Archon, and denounce

The man whose cunning robs our hearth of fiame.

Ag. [going out). In what you say not nothing I perceive.
Women, in hunting cheapness, capture costs.

Choeus. Stbophe.
The puny race of men
Soars, in imagination, to the skies ;
While tackling Science and Theosophy
Their hands the coal-scoop grasp!

Choeus. Antisteopiie.
From high Olympus Zeus
Smiles at the perjuries of coal-heavers.
Not always is the cheapest article
The one that turns out best.

A BOARD-SCHOOL CHRISTMAS.

(An Anticipation of the not very Distant Future.)

It was a very unseasonable Yule-tide. Instead of the
old-fashioned mild weather that had been the constant
companion of Christmas for many years, the ground was
covered with snow and the river blocked with ice. How-
ever, thanks to modern improvements, the artisans had

not been impeded in executing their four hours of labour
as provided by a recent statute. They had been sitting
at their Club (supported by the State), reading the news-
papers purchased out of the rates, and were only annoyed
that no food and drink was supplied them free gratis and
for nothing.

THINGS ONE WOULD WISH TO HAVE EXPRESSED DIFFERENTLY.

"Well, good-bye, Miss Smith. Tell the others I was very sorry not
to find Anyone at Home—a—a—a—except You—a ! "

" It would never do," said an old workman, who remembered the eight-hour
day that used to prevail at the end of the Nineteenth Century. '' You see were
we to have beer at will, the brewers' draymen might complain. It was once
attempted, but the Licensed Yictuallers made such a disturbance that the idea
was abandoned."

" There is something in what you say," observed a second workman ; "but,
for the life of me, I don't see why the Nation shouldn't provide bread." _

•'No, there you are out! " cried a third. " I am a baker, and anything that
interferes with my industry won't do."

And so they talked, discussing this and that, until all the subjects of the leaders
in the daily papers had been exhausted. It was then that one of the workmen
suggested a walk and a pipe on the Embankment.

So they lounged down the main thoroughfare of London, with its pleasant
cafes and well-appointed restaurants, and came to the conclusion (for the fiftieth
time) that it was far better than anything of the same kind in Paris, or any
other of the capitals of Europe. They had all been abroad during their State-
assisted vacation, and consequently had the chief towns of the world, so to speak,
at their finger-tips. As they sauntered along, they came to a group of half-
starved, perambulating performers, who were giving an entertainment to a crowd
of bystanders. It was not a good programme. First a young woman in rags,
played on an old piano, with decent precision, some extremely difficult variations
of Chopin's Funercd March. She was followed by a man who painted a portrait
of a leading statesman indifferently well. Then another man jumped into the
river, and made his way in the cold water with the ease of a fifth-rate professional
swimmer. Then a second young woman recited something or other in German,
with an atrocious English accent. And the whole concluded with a lecture upon
chemistry (given by a seedy^-looking old man), which was illustrated with some
ambitious, but feeble experiments.

On the balance the performance was a bore, and the public were rather pleased
than otherwise, when a police constable ordered the troupe " to move on." The
poor people gathered together their impedimenta and prepared to obeyT the officer's
behest. It was then that the performers came face to face with the artisans.
There was a cry of recognition.

"Why, would you believe it! " exclaimed one of the workmen, "if it isn't
Sally Jones, and Tommy Beown, and Noeah Jenkins, and Haeey Smith ! "

The well-fed and the starving1 cordially greeted one another. Then there were
mutual explanations, and the old man who had lectured upon chemistry had his
say:—