Punch, Or The London Charivari | Page 3

of this line young--but degreeless--Medical Student groans in cadence._
III.
Degrees! I cannot grant them--true! Or it were with a run done, Sir. I'm only the Metropolis. Pooh! Provincial pedants flout the U- -niversity of London, Sir! -niversity of London, Sir!
IV.
Talk of Home Rule? It's all askew! I have it not, for one done, Sir. I've taught you; your "trademark"--boohoo!-- I cannot give you at the U- -niversity of London, Sir! -niversity of London, Sir!
V.
To knowledge in my halls you grew; But now you are--dear son, done, Sir! You're only a mere Medical Stu- -dent at the sorely slighted U- -niversity of London, Sir. -niversity of London, Sir!
VI.
Off--to Newcastle, boy! Adieu! By that big vote we're undone, Sir. Provincial Colleges have exclu- -sive rights denied to the poor U- -niversity of London, Sir? -niversity of London, Sir!
[_During the last stanza, M.S. beats his breast with his stethoscope and goes off--like coals--to Newcastle, or like mustard--to Durham--to waste valuable time in getting in those colossal provincial centres what "Poor Little London" cannot grant him._
* * * * *
BREAKFAST TABLE-TALK.
(_FROM EDISON'S PHRASE-BOOK._)
Good gracious! what was that horrible noise? It sounded like the falling of a leg of mutton!
Oh! that was only the blow delivered by the Hackney Cockchafer on the eye of the Midland Wrap-Rascal. It's the best fight I've seen for a long time.
I wish, then, you would take it with you into another room. I can scarcely catch a single word of the Rev. JABEZ FISHE's delightful sermon, to which I am endeavouring to listen.
Heavens! why all the windows are broken! And the mirrors are shattered! And the chandelier has come down!
Well, my dear, I am very sorry, but I was much interested in the firing of this new 137-ton gun, and they have just let it off. That's all.
* * * * *
GEOGRAPHICAL.
"Low-lying" districts are much talked about just now as breeding-grounds for the pestiferous Influenza microbe. The worst "low-lying" districts Punch knows are the editorial offices of certain scurrilous journals, and the social pestilences they engender and disseminate sorely need abatement. Perhaps when they have duly fumigated the House, they will turn their attention to the Office.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A JUDGE OF CHARACTER.
Sympathetic Friend (_to Sweeper_). "WHAT'S THE USE O' ARSTIN' _'IM_, BILL? _'E_ DON'T GIVE AWAY NOTHINK LESS THAN A GOVER'MENT APPOINTMENT, _'E_ DON'T!!"]
* * * * *
THE BITTER CRY OF OUTCAST COMPETITION.
"The breakfast at St. James's Hall, which we reported yesterday, and which was held in order to allow those who partook of it to discuss the possibility of establishing in this country a 'non-competitive system of university examination,' was, in some respects, a natural outcome of the revolt against competition which has of late years made itself felt in many different quarters."--The Times.
I'm in a pretty pickle! The world is wondrous fickle; But lately it would stickle For Progress by Exam. And now, in Trade and Learning, Against me they seem turning, Deliberately discerning In me a noxious sham!
The _Laissez-faire_ philosopher My enemies grew gross over; But now Economists toss over Their idol of old days. They swear "Free Competition" Leads to Trade inanition: That I'm a superstition, A cruel vampire craze.
And now Big Wigs scholastic, To modern movements plastic, Would try reform most drastic Upon the School Exam. The ways my nerves that jar on AUBERON HERBERT's far on; E'en Dr. WARRE makes war on Dear old Competitive Cram!
If pundits thus--at breakfast-- Neologise, neck-and-neck, fast, My kingdom they will wreck fast! The Army loves me not; Socialists whet their soul-edge Against me; now the College Swears that my road to knowledge Is simply--Tommy rot.
Revolt? It's most revolting! My road might yield some jolting, But boobies from it bolting Will probably get bogged, And, lost in some dim bye-way, Regret the well-paved highway Along which long in my way Contentedly they jogged.
* * * * *
OUR PARTICULAR TIP FOR THE DERBY.
(_FURNISHED BY THE ODD MAN OUT._)
Looking through the List of Probable Starters (who are all coming on well, and might therefore be called, in the quaint turf Italian, "_comeystarters_"), I cannot help feeling that this year the Blue Riband of the Turf will fall to the flower of the flock--as, indeed, it should. But if it does not, why, there are other really sound horses that are sure to give a good account of themselves. We may take it, that the winner will be out of the common. As the glorious animal passes the post, the cheers will be so deafening, that there will be a universal cry, "This must be ordinance!" As the fun of the Derby of late times has seen some revival, the hero of the hour will, _par excellence_, be the doll, which, in spite of many rivals, has never ceased to be popular. Not that the fun will be fast