Punch (103.1892)

202 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [Octobek 29, 1892.

A COOL HAND.

Irrepressible Pupil. "Poor Stuff, Sir, this Virgil. Don't you think so?

Suffering Coach {icho can scarcely believe his ears). " Poor Stuff, Sir ! ! ! Virgil—poor Stuff ! What do rou mean?"
Irrepressible Pupil {unmoved). "Seems to me, Sir, it's merely a Literal Translation of some of the best English Cribs!"

LES ENFANTS TERRIBLES! '

["It 13 to be sincerely hoped that there is no
truth in the rumour that a paper for children will
shortly make its appearance, entirely written and
illustrated by children under fifteen years of age."
—St. James's Gazette, October \2th.~]

Why, churlish critic, do you hope sincerely
The rumour, which you mention, is untrue ?

Mere prejudice makes you regard severely
The cause of liberty which we pursue.

"VVe are, The Prattler will establish clearly,
Quite competent to edit a review;

The age of greatest wisdom will be seen

To be decidedly below fifteen.

We never showed, as we need hardly mention,
That fabled ignorance about the stars, _

From earliest days we spoke about' declension,'
And argued on the atmosphere of Mars ;

While parents we put up with, more attention
We paid towards another kind of " pars.";

Full soon was lit the journalistic flame,—

We lisped in leaders, for the leaders came.

That foolish custom, which at present
smothers

Our youthful genius, we shall supersede.
Here are some papers which, with many others,

Will make The Prattler eminent indeed ;—
A series on "The Management of Mothers,"

Will meet, we hope, a long-experienced
need;

Elsewhere we '11 note, in some attractive way,
The latest long-clothes fashion of the day.

Instruction in the art of window-breaking,
And modes to tame a fiery governess,

Descriptions of perambulator-making—
No need on details to lay further stress,

You'll own our journalistic undertaking

Must prove an unequivocal success ;
While you, who uttered this untimely sneer,
Will blush, apologise, and disappear!

MY FIRST BRIEF.

When you, my first brief, were delivered,
Every fibre in me quivered
With delight. I seemed to see
Myself admitted a Q..C.;

Piles of briefs upon

the table,
More work to do than

I was able;
Clients scrambling

for advice,
Then Lord Chan-
— cellor in a trice.

I seized my virgin

pencil blue,
Marked and perused
you through and
through.

The story brief, instructions short,

Defendant in a County Court,

It needed not an ounce of sense

To see that you had no defence.

But, erudite in English law,

I fashioned bricks without the straw.

Around my chamber-floor I sped.
Harangued the book-case on each head ;
Demosthenes and Cicero
On hearing me had cried a go.
Then I must own that I was nettled—
Out of Court the case was settled.
All my points were left unmade,
And the fee is left unpaid.

POLITE LEARNING.

[Professor Lombroso writes in the Revue des
Revues that all women are liars. Mr. Victor
Hoiisley writes in the Times that one of Miss
Cobbe's statements is a he.]

Shameful, shocking, rude Professor!
Crichton Browne—your predecessor
In attacks, would-be suppressor

Of the higher
Education—once compared them
To the Pantaloon, and scared them,
But he was polite, and spared them

Words like "liar."

Lie, indeed! There is a middle
Course—say " fib " or " tarradiddle,"
" Not quite true," " A sort of riddle

Facts to smother."
We, who love the fair romancer—
Be she talker, singer, dancer,
What you will, she's sweet—we answer,

" You 're another ! "

As for you, rough Mr. Horsley,

Arguing so very coarsely,

May I say yours is a worse lie,—

Rhyming badly ?
You, so skilled in vivisection,
Could cut up Miss Cobbe's objection,
With your tongue in some subjection,

Not thus madly.

Why, Lombroso would despise you,
Though he is so rude. These " lies" you
Freely write make folks surmise you

An impostor,
Not the lady. You 've not " licked" her.
(Slang to suit you) though you 're Victor^
Since you stoop to contradict her

Like a coster.