Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 100, April 4, 1891
Chapter 3
The following advertisement appears in the _Standard_:--
A Lady wishes to have twice from the country a SUPPLY of LIVE SPARROWS, for a favourite cat.--Address, &c.
There is an uncomfortably blood-thirsty look about this "Lady's" desire to supply her favourite cat with some downright real Sport. For it is to be presumed that she intends her well-cared for pet literally to do the unhappy sparrows to death in the most approved fashion. How will she manage it? Clip their wings, and set them on the drawing-room floor; or tie strings to their legs, and let the favourite cat "go for them?" Cats must be fed. But it is not necessary to provide them with a "Supply of Live Sparrows" twice, or even once. We submit the subject to the notice of the S.P.C.A.
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ONE POUND NOTES.--Probable rate that a fashionable _prima donna_ will charge for a song in the near future.
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OUR OPENING (SUN) DAY!
_Emancipated Blue-Ribboned British Workman loquitur_:--
Yesh, HARRY LAWSHUN mosh entirely righ'! WILFRIDSH mush blesh his nameshake! Had a frigh' Only lash Shundaysh. Fanshied I saw snakesh. Frigh'ful to watch 'em wrigglung, when one wakesh Over the quilterpane--I mean counterquilt. Liqnorsh are lovely, when you're that waysh built; But snakesh ish pizen! So ish liquorsh, too-- Leastwaysh, so WILFRIDSH LAWSHON and hish crew Alwaysh declaresh! No matter! Nash'ral Museum, Mush better than the Jim-Jamsh! Eugh! I shee 'em! All eyesh and limbsh, all twists, and twirls, and twiddles; Tails like long corkscrewsh, gogglesh in their middles; Big headsh, and bony bodysh--frigh'fully frisky! Fancy sush things living in Irish Whishky, Like animalcu--what's it? in--_hic_--water! No matter! I've sworn offsh! POLLY, my daughter, Made me Good Templarsh! No more horrorsh now! To Heaven's broad blue vault I lift my brow, A shober Br--Bri'sh Workman! So old DUMPER, The lecturer, putsh it. He'sh a rare tub-thumper! Itsh Easter Shunday, and I am not tigh'! Bri'sh Workman--Nash'ral Museum! Thatsh or'righ'. Feelsh bit unsteady! That dashed ginger-beer Gassysh--go i' my head an' makesh me queer! One nipsh!--no, no! won't do! Wherream I? Lor! Strai' on, the plishman says, through tha' there door. Doorsh blesshed wide, and these 'ere big shop-cases With bitsh o' stone and beedlesh!--Yah! Thosh faces! Thosh eyesh, thosh limbsh, thosh bodysh, big and bony! Thosh wrigglewigglements! I'll bet a pony _Thish_ ish no Nash'ral Museum--Nash--_hic_--ral Hishtory! Look at 'em! _Look_ at 'em!! Oh, hersh a mystery! POLLYSH,--where are yer? Where'sh that blesshed bottle? I'vesh got a peck o' March dust down my throttle. Give ush that gin--ger beersh, o' course, I mean. Look, POLLY!--shee that creature long and lean, Crawling towardsh us! Jim-Jamsh are not in it With thish 'ere Bri's'h Museum! Wai' a minute! Where am I? Whersh tha' girl? Can't read this lingo! "Mega--" It moves! _Got 'em again, by Jingo!!!_
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LEAVES FROM A CANDIDATE'S DIARY.
_March 10_.--It has come at last, and I'm free to confess I don't care for it half as much as I thought I should. I got the letter five days ago. Here it is:--
45, _Main Street, Billsbury, March 4, 18--._
Sir,--I have been in communication with headquarters, and I am informed that you are looking out for a Constituency at the next General Election. We have been for some time past endeavouring to find a Candidate for this Borough, and should be glad to hear if we may submit your name to the consideration of our local Council. The political history of Billsbury must be known to you. Up to the date of the last election we have always been represented by a Conservative. In fact, Billsbury was always looked upon as an impregnable fortress of sound Constitutional opinion.
Our late Member, however, was unable to devote to the Constituency the time and attention it required. Moreover, I may mention in strict confidence, that his conduct over the Billsbury Main Drainage Scheme alienated a considerable number of his supporters, and the consequence was that at the last election Sir THOMAS CHUBSON, the Liberal Candidate and present Member for Billsbury, was elected by a majority of 279. Since then, however, the Party has rallied, the divisions in our ranks have been healed, the registrations have been very much in our favour, and there is no reason to doubt that, as soon as Billsbury has the chance, she will return to her ancient allegiance. I shall be in London the day after to-morrow (Thursday, March 6), and shall do myself the honour of calling upon you. Kindly let me know where and when I can see you. I shall be glad to afford you any further information.
Yours faithfully, JAMES TOLLAND,
_To RICHARD B. PATTLE, Esq., President Billsbury Conservative Association. Dr. Johnson Buildings, Temple, E.C._
I dashed off at once to the Central Association. They urged me to accept, and told me that even if I failed, which they said was extremely unlikely, my fight would give me "an irresistible claim on the Party." Afterwards saw VULLIAMY, the Member for one of the Pinkshire Divisions. He said "Take it? Of course you must. Ridiculous to hesitate. A youngster like you, who only left College four years ago, ought to be proud of the chance. If you're beaten you'll have a claim on the Party, and mind you don't let 'em forget it. Curse them, they never think of a man's valuable services if he doesn't keep on reminding them himself;" and then he drivelled on for a quarter of an hour about all he'd done for the Party, and how "the shabby beggars" had refused his nephew the Morterton Recordership. It seems the other side manage their business much better. Next I called on Uncle HENRY in the City. He said he'd stick to his promise of paying half my expenses, but wouldn't help me to nurse the place. However, I daresay that won't cost much. Eventually wrote to Old TOLLAND, and asked him to call at my Chambers on Thursday at 3 o'clock. Then went home and told my mother. She said, "My darling boy, I knew you would be distinguished. I knew it all along. If your dear father had only lived, he would have been a proud man to-day. Now, mind you have that horrid grating removed from the Ladies' Gallery." And with that she kissed me and rang for cook to tell her the news. I sloped.
On Thursday Old TOLLAND called. It seems he's an Alderman, and I only addressed him as plain Esquire. He wanted to know, What were my views on the Labour Question? Was I an Eight Hours' man? How about Vaccination and Woman's Suffrage? and all kinds of other rubbish. I had to beat about a good deal, and answer generally, but at last I consented to address the Council, and to-morrow was fixed as the day. If accepted, I shall have to come before a Mass Meeting, and go through it all again. It all seems rather roundabout, but I suppose it's the usual way.
(_To be continued._)
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THE RIGHTS OF COUNSEL.
(_BY A CLIENT_.)
Oh, what are the "rights" of the Q.C.? The point of the question but few see. Those rights are to do What suits _him_, if not _you_! Faith! that's the whole business _in nuce_!
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JOKIN'S LATEST.--"The Surplus will be anything but a _dry_ subject this year, as it is owing to a steady or (probably) unsteady consumption of Drink!"
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ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.
EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.
_House of Commons, Monday, March 23_.--Easter Holidays begin to-morrow; to-night last rally round RAIKES; Postmaster harried from both sides of House; the Contumacious COBB begins it; comments on Coroner's conduct beginning to pall on accustomed appetite; references to delicate investigation in judicial circles falling flat; so turns upon POSTMASTER-GENERAL. Wants to know about the Boy Messengers? Pack in full cry; RAIKES pelted with newspapers, assailed with over-weighted letters; late at night CAMERON comes up quite fresh, desiring to "call attention to the position taken up by the POSTMASTER-GENERAL with regard to the Electric Call and Boy Messenger System," just as if he had at the moment made the discovery.
In course of lecture CAMERON produces sort of pocket-pistol; explains it's the thing you work the electric call with. You press a button here, and up comes a tumbler of milk and soda; another button, and you have a sausage and a hot potato; a third, and your boots are suddenly pulled off by an unseen agency; a fourth, and you find yourself seated in a hansom cab, with eighteenpence pressed into your hand to pay your fare withal; a fifth, and you're awakened at four o'clock in the morning with an apology. Something, you learn, went wrong with the machine, and it was the gentleman on the next floor who ought to have been called at this hour.
GANE, Q.C., with hands folded on knees, sat entranced, listening to this interesting narrative, and watching the illustrations rapidly produced by CAMERON, as he touched the various buttons.
"Wonderful!" cried GANE, Q.C. "Never knew anything like it since I read _Arabian Nights_."
"What's RAIKES' loss is our GANE," says WILFRID LAWSON.
Must think this over during the Recess.
For awhile RAIKES had peace; quite forgotten whilst House, falling into GANE's attitude, listened to CAMERON's fairy tale.
"It's only postponed, TOBY," he said, wearily, CAMERON (having accidentally touched the wrong button) being promptly carried off to bed in the middle of a sentence; "they'll be at me again to-morrow, and will begin once more, like giants refreshed, when they come back from the holidays. It's an old story; the House of Commons must always have its whipping-boy. Don't know whether you've sat long enough for Barks to remember AYRTON? A dead set was made against him, and he was not only driven out of office, but forth from public life. It's generally the HOME SECRETARY who is fastened on. There was WALPOLE, chronically reduced to tears. BRUCE was chivied by the cabmen, and had his hat blocked by the publicans. The blameless HARCOURT didn't go scot free whilst he was at the Home Office. MATTHEWS has had a long run, with the hounds after him. Now they've turned aside from him, and are yelping after me. It's very well for MATTHEWS, but a little worrying for me. Of course I don't claim to be perfect. As HARCOURT once admitted of himself, I'm almost human, I try to do my duty, and protect the interests of Department committed to my charge. They come in touch with all classes, and naturally there is friction. Just now the howling is persistent, and, I fancy, organised. Perhaps it'll fall away by-and-by. In the meanwhile, it's rather wearing, so pitilessly monotonous. As you said the other day, a new constitutional maxim has been established. Once OLD MORALITY used to write in his copybook, 'The QUEEN can Do no Wrong.' Now he may add this other, 'The POSTMASTER-GENERAL Does Nothing Right.'" _Business done._--Miscellaneous.
_Tuesday Afternoon_.--Winding up business before holiday; rather a scramble at the end. OLD MORALITY, as usual, piled up heap of work to be got through. "Quite easy, you know," he said. "Tithes Bill, Electoral Disabilities Removal Bill, Savings Bank Bill, take them in your stride. What does the poet say? Line upon Line; Little by Little; Here to-day and gone To-morrow. Those are the sound economical principles that should guide a man through life."
At one time seemed that whilst we were certainly here to-day, we wouldn't be gone till to-morrow. Tithe Bill in last stage took a lot of fighting over. House wouldn't have Electoral Disabilities Removal Bill or the Savings Bank Bill at any price.
"Then I'll move the adjournment," paid OLD MORALITY, in despair.
"Not till you've heard my speech," said Dr. CLARK; pulled out manuscript from breast coat-pocket, began descanting on the under-pay of Civil Servants in Scotland, whilst TYSSEN AMHERST folded his tent like the Arab, and as silently stole away. Example followed generally by Members in all parts of the House. CLARK thoroughly enjoying himself, composedly went on to end of speech, and then adjournment. SPEAKER "kept in" till Thursday to take part in ceremony of Royal Commission. Rest off, and won't be back till Monday, 6th of April.
_Business done_.--Wound up for Easter Holidays.
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CRITICISING THE CALENDAR.
SIR,--The suggestion of your Correspondent "EASTER EGG," who wishes Easter to be a fixed festival, always coming on April 20, is excellent. At present, Easter-tide, like the other tide, depends on the moon. What a humiliating confession! Why should we any longer consent to be the slaves of the (so-called) Science of Astronomy?
Yours, REFORMING SPIRIT.
SIR,--What's all this fuss about Easter being too early this year? It isn't half early enough. It ought to have come last Christmas, and Whitsuntide the same, and then we should have polished off three public holiday seasons--public nuisances, _I_ call them,--at once.
Yours, gloomily, TRUE PHILANTHROPIST.
SIR,--I have just been horrified to hear that one of my boys now at home from school remains with us for a three weeks' vacation! The early date of Easter is the paltry excuse offered by his Headmaster for this infliction. Anybody can see through such a flimsy pretext. His brother is to have _his_ holiday four weeks later. The result is that the boys will see nothing of each other during their holidays, while their parents will see a great deal too much. How can brotherly affection--I say nothing of fatherly affection,--that priceless blessing, which I flatter myself I always conspicuously display--be expected to continue under these depressing conditions?
Yours, exasperatedly, FOND PARENT.
SIR,--As peeple are riting lettres to you about the Easter holy-days, I should like you to put in what old BOREHAM--he's our Principul--has been doing. We all think it a thundring shame. He kept us grinding away right through Good Friday, Easter Monday, and means us to go on several weeks afterwards! The result was we had about half a Hot Cross-Bun each! Old BOREHAM akshally fixed Easter Monday for going over all the Latin irreglur verbs. Pleese would you say something in your valyble collums about old BOREHAM, and oblige
Yours, obedjiently, SMITH (_Tertius_), _Rodchester_.
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