DOI Heft:
January 2, 1892
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17693#0019
January 2, 1892,1 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
TO JUSTICE.
{In January?)
Just take a look round, most respectable
Madam ;
New Year's Day is an. excellent time for
the task,
When serious thoughts come to each son of
Adam
Who dares to peep under Convention's
smutf mask.
Your sword looks a little bit rusty and
notched, Ma'am;
Your scales now and then hang a trifle
askew; [Ma'am!
A lot of your Ministers need to be watched,
Punch isn't quite pleased with the prospect
■—are you ?
If one could but take a wide survey, though
summary,
Of all the strange " sentences" passed in
one year
By persons called "Justices"—(yes, it sounds
flummery)— [I fear.
Justice would look like Burlesque, Ma'am,
Excellent subject for whimsical Gilbert,
But not a nice spectacle, Madam, for me.
Long spell of " chokee " for prigging a—
filbert
(Given, you bet, by some rural J. P.) ;
Easy let-off for a bogus " Promoter,"
_ Helping the ruin of hundreds for gain;
Six months for stealing a turnip or "bloater,"
Ditto for bashing a wife on the brain:
Sentences cut to one-twelfth on appealing,
Judges and juries at loggerheads quite !
Really each day brings some curious revealing,
Putting you, Ma'am, in a very strange light.
Take my advice, Ma'am, this bright New
Year's morning,
Give a look up to your agents all round ;
To some give the sack, and to others a warning;
The Public will back up your move, I '11 be
bound!
Greek meetsG-beek.—"What! " exclaimed
an indignant scholar, who had not peeped into
a Classic for some forty years, "no more com -
prdsory Greek at our Universities ! What
are we coming to ? All I can say is, ' Absit
omen' ! " " 'Scuse me!" replied his friend,
who was all for the new learning, "but
I should say, 'Absit Homer ' / "
SEASONABLE (AND SUITABLE) GOOD WISHES.
To a Card-player
To a Smart Girl
To a Flirt
To an Old Maid
To an Infant
To a Pigeon-shot
To an Explorer
To a Student
To a Cross Child
To an aspiring Pugilist
To a Spiritualist
To a Toper
To Toby
To a Snuff-taker
A Nappy ^
A "Snappy"
A "Chappy"
A Cappy
A Pappy
o
A Trappy
_o
A Mappy
f-t
A Sappy
r cs
A Slappy
A " Scrappy "
A Tappy
<&
to
A " Lappy "
A Yappy
A Rappee
GIFTS FOB THE NEW YEAR.
H-r M-j-sty.—The hearty congratulations
of a loyal and united people.
The Pr-nce and Pr-nc-ss. — The most
welcome of daughters-in-law.
Prince Alb-rt V-ct-r.—Mat in February.
The Rest of the R-y-l F-m-ly.—The best
of wishes from everybody.
L-rd S-l-sl-ry.—-A General Election.
J/r._ Arth-r JB-If-r.—A Translation from
the Irish.
Mr. J. Ch-mb-rl-n.—Promotion.
Sir W-ll-m H-rc-rt.—A Vision of the
Woolsack.
The Cz-r of R-ss-a.—A Yision of another
sort of Sack.
The G-rm-nEmp-r-r. New toys personaUy
selected.
President C-rn-t.—The compliments of the
Marquis of Dufferest.
Kerr Ibs-n.—A tale without a plot.
Mr. R-dy-rdK-pl-ng.—Quite another story.
The Corporation of L-v-rp-l.—The Freedom
of the Grand Old Man.
The Gr-nd Old M-n—The loss of the
Corporation of Liverpool.
And Mr. P-nch.—Tons of material (volun-
tarily contributed) for the Grand Old Waste
Paper Basket.
BOS v. BOSS.
[One of the Delegates at the Conference on
Rural Reforms said, " We do not want to be bossed
by the Parsons" ; another, " We don't want sou})
or blankets, but fair play."]
0 generous
gents, who
VJ It 'V'vJSEss? ' cure of
souls,"
Learn hence
that justice
wins far
more than
doles.
Blankets
and soup
Dames
Bountiful
may give,
But what
Hodge
craves is a
fair chance
to live
On labour
fairly paid,
Bos Locutus Est! not casual
boons.
Salisbury's " Circuses," and smart buffoons,
Won't move him, by "amusement," from
that wish.
Parties may mutually denounce or " dish;"
But what will win the Labourer for a friend
Is Home and Work, without the Workhouse
end! [loss,
Listen! Those who heed not will bide the
For Bos locutus est,—against the "J?oss"/
LAYS OF MODERN HOME.
No. I.—" My Housemaid ! "
Who, as our Dresden's wreck we scanned,
Protested, with assurance bland,
" It come to pieces in my 'and" ?
My Housemaid.
Who " tidies " things each Monday morn,
And hides—until, with search outworn,
I wish I never had been born ?
My Housemaid.
Who "turns " my study " out " that day,
And then contrives to pitch away
As " rubbish " (which it is) my Play ?
My Housemaid.
Who guards within her jealous care,
Mending or marking, till I swear,
The underclothes I long to wear r
My Housemaid.
Who cultivates a habit most
Perverse, of running to " The Post"
To meet her brothers [such a host!) ?_
My Housemaid.
Who, if she spends her " Sundays out "
At Chapel, as she does, no doubt,
Must be protractedly devout P
My Housemaid.
Who takes my novels down (it must
Be, as she vows, of course, " to dust"),
And thumbs them, much to my disgust ?
My Housemaid.
Who " can't abide " a play or ball,
But dearly loves a Funeral,
Or Exeter's reproachless Hall ?
My Housemaid.
Who late returning thence, in fits
Of what she terms " Histories," sits,—
And this day month my service quits?
My Housemaid.
Quite Clear.—"Aha! mon ami," ex-
claimed our friend Jules, during the recent
murky weather in Town, '' you ask me the
difference between our Paris and your
London. Tenez, I will tell you. Paris is
always tres gai, veritablement gai; but
London is toujours faux gai—you see it is
always fo-gay." And he meant "fog-gy."
Well, he wasn't far wrong, just now.
TO JUSTICE.
{In January?)
Just take a look round, most respectable
Madam ;
New Year's Day is an. excellent time for
the task,
When serious thoughts come to each son of
Adam
Who dares to peep under Convention's
smutf mask.
Your sword looks a little bit rusty and
notched, Ma'am;
Your scales now and then hang a trifle
askew; [Ma'am!
A lot of your Ministers need to be watched,
Punch isn't quite pleased with the prospect
■—are you ?
If one could but take a wide survey, though
summary,
Of all the strange " sentences" passed in
one year
By persons called "Justices"—(yes, it sounds
flummery)— [I fear.
Justice would look like Burlesque, Ma'am,
Excellent subject for whimsical Gilbert,
But not a nice spectacle, Madam, for me.
Long spell of " chokee " for prigging a—
filbert
(Given, you bet, by some rural J. P.) ;
Easy let-off for a bogus " Promoter,"
_ Helping the ruin of hundreds for gain;
Six months for stealing a turnip or "bloater,"
Ditto for bashing a wife on the brain:
Sentences cut to one-twelfth on appealing,
Judges and juries at loggerheads quite !
Really each day brings some curious revealing,
Putting you, Ma'am, in a very strange light.
Take my advice, Ma'am, this bright New
Year's morning,
Give a look up to your agents all round ;
To some give the sack, and to others a warning;
The Public will back up your move, I '11 be
bound!
Greek meetsG-beek.—"What! " exclaimed
an indignant scholar, who had not peeped into
a Classic for some forty years, "no more com -
prdsory Greek at our Universities ! What
are we coming to ? All I can say is, ' Absit
omen' ! " " 'Scuse me!" replied his friend,
who was all for the new learning, "but
I should say, 'Absit Homer ' / "
SEASONABLE (AND SUITABLE) GOOD WISHES.
To a Card-player
To a Smart Girl
To a Flirt
To an Old Maid
To an Infant
To a Pigeon-shot
To an Explorer
To a Student
To a Cross Child
To an aspiring Pugilist
To a Spiritualist
To a Toper
To Toby
To a Snuff-taker
A Nappy ^
A "Snappy"
A "Chappy"
A Cappy
A Pappy
o
A Trappy
_o
A Mappy
f-t
A Sappy
r cs
A Slappy
A " Scrappy "
A Tappy
<&
to
A " Lappy "
A Yappy
A Rappee
GIFTS FOB THE NEW YEAR.
H-r M-j-sty.—The hearty congratulations
of a loyal and united people.
The Pr-nce and Pr-nc-ss. — The most
welcome of daughters-in-law.
Prince Alb-rt V-ct-r.—Mat in February.
The Rest of the R-y-l F-m-ly.—The best
of wishes from everybody.
L-rd S-l-sl-ry.—-A General Election.
J/r._ Arth-r JB-If-r.—A Translation from
the Irish.
Mr. J. Ch-mb-rl-n.—Promotion.
Sir W-ll-m H-rc-rt.—A Vision of the
Woolsack.
The Cz-r of R-ss-a.—A Yision of another
sort of Sack.
The G-rm-nEmp-r-r. New toys personaUy
selected.
President C-rn-t.—The compliments of the
Marquis of Dufferest.
Kerr Ibs-n.—A tale without a plot.
Mr. R-dy-rdK-pl-ng.—Quite another story.
The Corporation of L-v-rp-l.—The Freedom
of the Grand Old Man.
The Gr-nd Old M-n—The loss of the
Corporation of Liverpool.
And Mr. P-nch.—Tons of material (volun-
tarily contributed) for the Grand Old Waste
Paper Basket.
BOS v. BOSS.
[One of the Delegates at the Conference on
Rural Reforms said, " We do not want to be bossed
by the Parsons" ; another, " We don't want sou})
or blankets, but fair play."]
0 generous
gents, who
VJ It 'V'vJSEss? ' cure of
souls,"
Learn hence
that justice
wins far
more than
doles.
Blankets
and soup
Dames
Bountiful
may give,
But what
Hodge
craves is a
fair chance
to live
On labour
fairly paid,
Bos Locutus Est! not casual
boons.
Salisbury's " Circuses," and smart buffoons,
Won't move him, by "amusement," from
that wish.
Parties may mutually denounce or " dish;"
But what will win the Labourer for a friend
Is Home and Work, without the Workhouse
end! [loss,
Listen! Those who heed not will bide the
For Bos locutus est,—against the "J?oss"/
LAYS OF MODERN HOME.
No. I.—" My Housemaid ! "
Who, as our Dresden's wreck we scanned,
Protested, with assurance bland,
" It come to pieces in my 'and" ?
My Housemaid.
Who " tidies " things each Monday morn,
And hides—until, with search outworn,
I wish I never had been born ?
My Housemaid.
Who "turns " my study " out " that day,
And then contrives to pitch away
As " rubbish " (which it is) my Play ?
My Housemaid.
Who guards within her jealous care,
Mending or marking, till I swear,
The underclothes I long to wear r
My Housemaid.
Who cultivates a habit most
Perverse, of running to " The Post"
To meet her brothers [such a host!) ?_
My Housemaid.
Who, if she spends her " Sundays out "
At Chapel, as she does, no doubt,
Must be protractedly devout P
My Housemaid.
Who takes my novels down (it must
Be, as she vows, of course, " to dust"),
And thumbs them, much to my disgust ?
My Housemaid.
Who " can't abide " a play or ball,
But dearly loves a Funeral,
Or Exeter's reproachless Hall ?
My Housemaid.
Who late returning thence, in fits
Of what she terms " Histories," sits,—
And this day month my service quits?
My Housemaid.
Quite Clear.—"Aha! mon ami," ex-
claimed our friend Jules, during the recent
murky weather in Town, '' you ask me the
difference between our Paris and your
London. Tenez, I will tell you. Paris is
always tres gai, veritablement gai; but
London is toujours faux gai—you see it is
always fo-gay." And he meant "fog-gy."
Well, he wasn't far wrong, just now.