Punch, Or The London Charivari | Page 6

bold British veins Bold British hearts drive bubbling British blood. No true-born Briton, come what may, disdains To eat the patient chewers of the cud.
Or seek the uplands, where of old Bo Peep (So runs the tale) lost all her fleecy flocks; There happy shepherds tend their grazing sheep (Some men like mutton, some prefer the ox).
Ay, surely it would need a heart of flint To watch the blithe lambs caper o'er the lea, And, watching them, refrain from thoughts of mint, Of new potatoes, and the sweet green pea.
Is Lunch worth lunching? The September sun Makes answer "Yes;" no longer must thou lag. Forth to the stubble, cynic; take thy gun, And add the juicy partridge to thy bag.
Out in the fields the keen-eyed pigeons coo; They fill their crops, and then away they fly. Pigeons are sometimes passable in stew, And always quite delicious in a pie.
Or pluck red-currants on some summer day, Then take of raspberries an equal part, Add cream and sugar--can mere words convey The luscious joys of this delightful tart?
Is Lunch worth lunching? If such cates should fail, Go out of country bread a solid hunch, Pile on it cheese, wash down with country ale, And, faring plainly, yet enjoy thy lunch.
Yea, this is truth, the lunch of knife and fork, The pic-nic lunch, spread out upon the earth, Lunches of beef, bread, mutton, veal, or pork, All, all, without exception all, are worth!
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NINETY-NINE OUT OF A HUNDRED CANDIDATES MUST BE "PILLED."--The Living of "Easington-with-Liverton, Yorkshire, worth ￡600 per annum," is vacant. Is it in the gift of the celebrated Dr. COCKLE? or of Dr. CARTER, of Little-Liverpill-Street fame?
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[Illustration: "BACK!"]
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PLAYFUL HEIFERVESCENCE AT HAWARDEN.
[Mr. GLADSTONE met with an extraordinary adventure in Hawarden Park one day last week. A heifer, which had got loose, made for Mr. GLADSTONE as he was crossing the park, and knocked him down. Mr. GLADSTONE took refuge behind a tree. The heifer scampered off, and was subsequently shot.]
[Illustration]
G.O.M. _sings_:--
How happy could I be with heifer, If sure it were only her play. Is't LABBY? or Labour? Together In one? I'll get out of the way. Singing (_to myself_)--With my tol de rol de rol LABBY, &c.
She comes! On her horns she is playing A tune with a nourish or two! No cow-herd am I but my staying To play second fiddle won't do. Singing (_to myself_)--With my tol de rol tol-e-rate LABBY, &c.
Don't chivey her! I would allot her "Three acres," and lots of sweet hay. Alas! while I'm talking, they've shot her! Well! heifers, like dogs, have their day! Singing (_to myself, as before_)--With my tol lol de rol-licking LABBY, &c.
_Latest._--After dinner, Mr. GLADSTONE fell asleep in his chair! He was seen to smile, although his repose seemed somewhat disturbed. Presently he was heard to murmur melodiously the words of the old song, slightly adapted to the most recent event,--"_Heifer of thee I'm fondly dreaming_!" Then a shudder ran through his frame as he pronounced softly a Latin sentence; it was "Labor omnia vincit!" Then he awoke.
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SONGS OUT OF SEASON.
NO. II.--KEW-RIOUS!
It's a pleasure worth the danger, Deems your gorgeous DE LA PLUCHE, To become the main arranger Of a drive in your barouche; And your Coachman, honest JOE too, When approached thereon by JEAMES, Doesn't say exactly "no," to Such inviting little schemes.
JEAMES has doffed them "'orrid knee-things;" Plush gives way to tweed and socks; And a hamper with the tea-things, Fills his place upon the box; With MARIA, JANE, and HEMMA, He is playing archest games, And they're in the sweet dilemma, Who shall make the most of JAMES.
Mr. COACHMAN smokes his pipe on His accustomed throne of pride, And, through driving, keeps an eye 'pon All the revellers inside. Mrs. COACHMAN there is seated; Children twain are on her lapped, Who alternately are treated, And alternately are slapped.
While the painters haunt your mansion, And you're "_H_up" "The _H_alps" or "Rhind," Your domestics find expansion In diversions of the kind; And on such a day as this is, They will drink the health at Kew, Of "The Master and the Missis, And their bloomin' kerridge too!"
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THE PALLIUM AND ARCHIEPISCOPAL OATH CONTROVERSY IN THE "TIMES."--No wonder this is a very dry subject, when they've got such a strong THURST-ON among them. Our advice, by way of moistening it, is, "Drop it!"
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"CLERGY FEES" (_see "Times" Correspondence_).--_Growl of the Archiepiscopal Ogre & Co._:--
"Fee, fi, fo, fum! I smell the coin of a Clergyman! Hath he fat glebe, be he ill-fee'd, ill-fed, I'll grab his fees to butter my bread!"
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A NIGHTLY CHEVALIER.
Music-Hall Artists are not by any means "Fixed Stars." During the evening they manage