Punch (103.1892)

222 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [November 12, 1892.

FELINE AMENITIES.

How Kind of you to Call—I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting ! "
"Oh, don't Mention it—I've not been at all boked ! I've been trying to Imagine what I should do to make this
Room look Comfortable if it webe Mine ! "

"ICHABOD !

Gog, loquitur:—

Here's a pretty fine business, my Magog !!!

Where are we a-drifting: to now ?
These here tears in my eyes you must twig ;

I detect the glum gloom on your brow.
Most natural, Magog, most natural! Loyal

old giants, like us,
Must be cut to the heart by these times, which

they get every year wus and wus !
It 's Ikybod, Magog; I see it a-written all

over the shop.
Our glory's departed, old partner. And

where is it going for to stop f
That Feast of Belshazzer weren't in it for

worritting warnings of woe ;
Which our beautiful Annual Banquet will

soon not be worth half a blow.
It's not half a blow-out as it is, not com-

_ pared with old glorious gorges.
I wish, oh I wish, MAGOGmine, we was back in

the times of the Georges,
Or even Dick Whittington's days, which

for Giants was quite good enough ;
But they've spoilt all the good things of life

with their Science, and Progress, and

stuff.

I see how it's drifting, dear Magog. The

Munching House and the Gildhall
Did use to be London's fust pride. Is it so

in these days ? Not at all!
Whippersnappers cock snooks at us, Magog ;

A ignerent pert L. C. C,
To whom Calipash is a mistry, whose soul

never loved Calipee,

A feller elected by groundlings, who can't

tell Madeira from Port,
Some sour-faced suburban Dissenter—he,

Magog, may make us his sport,
Without being popped in the pillory! Proper

old punishment that!
As all the old punishments was. We 're

a-getting too flabby, that's fiat.
The gallows, the stocks, and the pillory kept

rebel rascals in hor,
But now every jumped-up Jack Cade, or

Wat Tyler can give us his jor
Hot-and-hot, without fear of brave Wal-
worth's sharp dagger, or even a shower
Of stones, rotten heggs, and dead cats. Yah!

The People has far too much power
With their wotes, and free speech, and such

fudge. Ah ! if Gladstone, and Asquith,

and Burns,
And a tidy few more of their sort, in the

pillory just took their turns,
Like that rapscallion, Daniel Defoe, what a

clearance he 'd have of the cads
Who worrit us out of our lives with Reform,

and such humbugging fads!

Magog, loquitur:—

Ah, Gog, I am quite of your mind! Which

I don't mind admitting that Knill
To a Protestant Giant like me was the least

little bit of a pill.
Stillsomever, he's Lord Mayor now, and did

ought to be backed up as such,
For what City Fathers determine it ain't for

outsiders to touch.
But where are the Big Pots ? The Banquet

seems shorn of its splendour to-day.

No Premier, nor no Foreign Sec, nor no
_ Chancellor !! ! Really, I say

This is rascally Radical imperence ! How can
they dare stop away,

From the greatest event of the year, when the
words of ripe wisdom, well wined,

Should fall from grave turtle-fed lips to make
heasy the poor Public mind,

As when Palmerston, Dizzy, and Salis-
bury, spoke from that time-honoured
Chair!

And that Gladstone—he ain't no great loss!
—but to think the Woodchopper should

dare

To neglect his fust duty like this !!! Oh!

it's Ikybod, just as you say,
My Gog. Civic glory's burst up, and the

splendour of Lord Mayor's Day
Is eclipsed by that L.C.C. lot and their

backers. I'm full, Gog, of fears ;
The look-out's enough to depress us, and

move the poor Turtle to tears.
It's Ikybod, Ikybod, Ikybod! Oh, for the

days that were gayer,
No Gladstone, no Rosebery, no Har-

court ! !! Wy, next we shall have no

Lord Mayor ! [.Left lamenting.

Very Cruel.—Mrs. R. was very much
annoyed at something she said having been
misreported by a friend. "I can't trust
him," said the excellent Lady; "he twists
and gargles everything I say."

Often talked about but Never Seen.
—"A Clean Sweep."