Punch, or The London Charivari | Page 8

fetch Lord FUMFUDGE, And then--I am made for life!
It links two most distant meanings Into one perfect chime-- * * * * * Here my servant broke the silence, And said it was dinner-time! * * * * * I have sought, but I seek it vainly, That great Lost Joke of mine, Which had slipped from my mind entirely When I sat me down to dine.
It may be that something some day May bring it me back again; But I only wish--confound it!-- I had fixed it with pencil or pen. It may be that luck--bright Angel!-- May inspire me once more with that stroke, But I fear me 'tis only in Limbo I shall light on my great Lost Joke!
* * * * *
MRS. R., who has been busy with her juniors, tells us that she has been horrified to learn from her Nephew, who has been fighting the Slave-hunters on the Congo, that in that country they "preserve" the bodies of their enemies. He writes to her--"I have 'potted' several Arabs."
* * * * *
[Illustration: "AU REVOIR!"
SCENE--_NO. 10, DOWNING STREET. EXTERIOR._
S-L-SB-RY AND B-LF-R. "TA! TA! TAKE CARE OF THE HOUSE, OLD MAN! BACK AGAIN SOON!"
[Exeunt "B. and S."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: FROM THE PARTICULAR TO THE GENERAL.
"I SAY, OLD CHAPPIE--WHAT TREMENDOUS HIGH CHAIRS YOU'VE GOT--ONE'S FEET POSITIVELY DANGLE!"]
* * * * *
THE SONG OF THE BAR.
Work, work, work! Sang HOOD, in the "_Song of the Shirt_," Of the seamstress slave who worked to her grave In poverty, hunger, and dirt. Work, work, work! The Bar-maid, too, can say, Work for ten hours, or more; Oh, for "eight hours" a day!
Is she a happier slave Where gilding and mirrors abound? Of what can she think when eternal drink Is the cry of all around? Stand, stand, stand! Serving sots from far and near; Stand, stand, stand! More whiskey! More brandy! More beer!
Possibly some one may say, "What can that matter to us? She is frail, frivolous, gay; She is not worth a fuss." Prig, all her life is a snare, You, so excessively good, Would pity her rather if there Once for ten hours you stood.
How would you feel at the end? You may not think she is fit, Quite, for your sister's friend-- Is she too wicked to sit? Stand stand, stand! In the smoke of pipe and cigar, Always to think of eternal drink; Oh, pity the Slave of the Bar!
* * * * *
BY A RIBBON GIRL WHO HAS BEEN TO FRANCE.--"Sure the town itself must be full of go-a-head young women that a decent female wouldn't be seen spaking to--else why is it called _Belle-Fast_?"
* * * * *
THE OPERA IN THE FUTURE.
(_AS SUGGESTED BY "MUSICAL PAUPERS."_)
SCENE--_Interior of Covent Garden on a Subscription Night. The house is filled in the parts reserved for Subscribers. The remainder of the Auditorium is less crowded. The Overture is over, when there is a loud cry for the Manager. Enter before the Curtain Courteous Gentleman, who bows, and waits in an attitude of respectful attention._
_Person in the Amphitheatre._ I say, Mister, look 'ere, after charging me sixpence for a seat, I'm 'anged if they don't want an extra penny for a bill of the play.
_Courteous Gentleman._ Highly improper, Sir. I will look into the matter to-morrow, and if you are kind enough to identify the attendant who has attempted this overcharge, I will have him dismissed. And now, with your permission, your Royal Highnesses, my Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen, we will go on with the Musical performances.
[_The Opera continues. At the end of the Third Act there is another cry for the Manager. The Courteous Gentleman re-enters before the Curtain, as before._
_Very Stout Person in the Amphitheatre Stalls._ I say, look here--I paid two shillings for this seat, and the back's coming off.
_Cour. Gen._ Perhaps, Sir, you have been leaning with a weight it is unable to bear.
_Very S.P._ Never mind about that. As I pay two shillings for my seat, I expect you to stop the show until it's mended.
_Cour. Gen._ As the show (as you call it, Sir) costs about two pounds a minute, I fear that would be rather an extravagant proceeding. If I may suggest, I would counsel you to change your seat to a more perfect one.
_Very S.P._ I like that! and get turned out by someone who had reserved it. No, thankee! But there, after all, I am rather heavy, so let's say no more about it.
_Cour. Gen._ I am infinitely obliged to you.
[_Exit. The Opera continues until the commencement of the last Act, when there is a frantic cry for the Manager. The Courteous Gentleman again appears before the Curtain._
_Voices from the Cheaper Parts of the House._ Here, cut it short! Let's get to the end. Let's see how the