Public-domain ebook
by Various
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Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #13994.
The opening · free to read
He was a gentle Fishmonger, and WILLIAMSON his name, No doubt you may have heard before his philanthropic game. The lack of oysters pained him much, for how could people royster And happy be in r-less months without the luscious oyster?
A look of pain was in his face, a pucker on his brow, Long time he pondered very hard to try and find out how. At last he cried, "Eureka! from France I'll go and bring them, And into beds I've got at home without a murmur fling them."
Then they came across the Channel, and he very sweetly said, "So glad to see you looking well, would you like to see your bed? For there, my little dears, you stay; you'll one day know the reason. I'll rouse you when the month of May makes natives out of season."
The Fishmongers, the Worshipful, sent down a man to see, He wrung his hands and shook his head, and said, "Oh, miseree! It pains me very deeply, and it drives me to distraction, You've done what's wrong, and I shall have to institute an action."
Then WILLIAMSON, he sobbed aloud, and shed a bitter tear, "Oh, hang it all," he cried, "why must you come and interfere? I quite admit, however, that I see your point precisely, So don't let's quarrel, let's be friends, and bring the action nicely."
They brought that friendly action, and the clever counsel tried To prove to FAUDELL PHILLIPS that the law was on his side. But the oyster-dealer found the law for him was one too many, So he had to pay the piper--to be quite exact, a penny.
And you who love your oyster in the latter end of May, In June, July, and August, too, will sadly rue the day, For philanthropic folk will find it unremunerative To introduce in summer-time this Franco-English native.[1]
[Footnote 1: Oysters are to be six shillings a dozen this winter!! How many of the ordinarily careless will now be compelled to go by RULES without going in for Oysters. N.B.--"Action" in these verses is poetic license for "summons."]
Sub. (with much heartiness). Getting on capitally! Just been writing to all the papers to say that it is stupid to call you "Old Dot-and-go-one," because it is inapplicable to either your age or your mode of controversy.
Lead. (with a feeble smile). That was kind of you! But who had said it?
Sub. (airily). Oh, someone of about fourth-rate importance! and it had been quite forgotten you know. So I dragged it up again, and put it all right for you.
Lead. (shaking hands). Thanks, so very much. But if persons had forgotten it, why revert to it?
Sub. Oh, don't you see? Why, the point is, you are not a bit like it-not a scrap like it! Next week I shall write and say that it's rubbish to call you a turncoat, because you have always been consistent.
Lead. (anxiously). But is anybody calling me a turncoat?
Sub. Not that I know of, but they might, don't you see. So it's as well to be on the safe side. I shall say that, if any one did call you a turncoat, that the speaker would prove himself a liar! That ought to give you a leg up, oughtn't it?
Lead. (with some hesitation). My dear friend, you are most kind; but if you don't mind, I would be so immensely obliged if you would leave my interests alone.
Sub. (with great cordiality). What, leave your interests alone! Never! You may be always sure of my hearty support!
Lead. (earnestly). But as a personal matter, I must beg of you kindly to leave me alone.
Sub. (reluctantly). Well, of course, if you make it a personal matter, I must consent. But the Party will suffer.
Lead. (dryly). Possibly--from your point of view. [_Exeunt._
JAWFUL NEWS!--_The Diminution of the Jaw in the Civilised Races_ is the title of a pamphlet by Mr. F. HOWARD COLLINS. We haven't read it; but if it be in favour of the diminution of "jaw," we heartily recommend its study to all Members of Parliament, actual or intending, and to all post-prandial speechmakers generally.
Oh bother this sanit'ry bosh! Always piping the same dull old strains, One would think there wos nothink in life to be done but go sniffing the Drains! Wich my nose is a dalicot one, and I don't like the job, not by lumps; And I won't be perpetual poked up by these peeping and prying old pumps. "Bumbledom and Disease!" I like that,--like the Times' dashed himperence, I think. We porochial pots is to pass all our time a-prospecting for Stink! Doctor DUDFIELD thinks WE should inspeck, periodical, all privit dwellings, Discover and show up defecks, sech as fumings and leakings, and smellings, As "lurk unsuspected about," which the tenants theirselves do not twig, And the landlords, in course, don't remove. Well, your tenant is mostly a pig, And your landlord is sometimes a 'og; still between 'em we jest slip along, But do dooty for both of 'em? Snakes! that is coming it slightly too strong. The tenants 'old on jest as long as they can, and the landlords 'old orf. A sort of a ketchy sore-throat, or a bit of a qualm or a korf, Make some idjots go fair orf their chumps on diphtheria, and typhod and such; But then others, who don't like a hupset, put up with the lot, pooty much, Jest to save topsy-turvey and 'oles in the garden, and mud on the stairs; Landlords, likeways, is dabs at postponing, and patching, and 'ushing up scares. But if we are to spot wot goes quisby, and be the responsible chaps, Wheugh! we should 'ave a regular beanfeast with sockets and air-pipes and traps! No, no, westry worrying sneaks, it won't work. As for "W.B.E." He may frighten the Kensington lot, he won't 'ave no effeck upon Me! Diphtheria be jolly well dashed! It is often, as DUDFIELD explains, Mere "follicular(--hem!--) tonsillitis." Me bother my 'ed about Drains? Go to! I 'ave got other fish, in a manner of speaking, to fry, That L.C.C. gave itself airs and declared it would wipe my old heye With its bloomin' Big Pots and "Progressives." Aha! where the doose are they now? Mister ROSEBERY resigned, regular sick of bad manners and endless bow-wow; Now LIBBOCK and FARRER are orf. FARRER gave the Times one in the eye, 'Cos it seemed for to 'int even he of them precious Progressives wos shy. Swears their manners is quite up to dick, most consid'rit, and all that there stuff. Well they may 'ave been Brummels of course, but he seems to 'ave 'ad quite enough! 'Owsomever, wotever the cause, now they're quit of the Great Toffy Three, They must 'ave a new Chairman, in course, and--ha! ha!--_wot_ a hopening for Me!! Porochial Bumble must rule, spite of fads, in a steady and sane age, And 'aving a heye on High Orfice I can't waste my time on mere Drainage!
[_Kicks Report, and strikes an attitude._
Ah! Pirate KID's Treasure has done good we know, It suggested a rattling good story to POE. But the "Syndicate" started to seek where 'tis hid, Will probably find that same Treasure--"_all_ KID!"
The marble slabs we gather round, They're long in bringing what is wanted. The china cup with draught embrown'd Our thirsty souls are wholly haunted By Tea, Tea, fragrant Tea!
Now then, you waiter, stir, awaken! Time's up. I'll hardly save my bacon. Tea, Tea, bring that Tea!
At last! The infusion's rayther dark. But hurry up! Can't stay for ever! One swig! Br-r-r-r! Hang the cunning shark! Will't never cool? Nay, never, never! Tea, Tea, scalding Tea!
More milk; don't be an hour in bringing! Heavens! That horrid bell is ringing! "Take your seats, please!" Can't touch the Tea! Cup to the carriage must not take; Crockery may be lost, or broken; Refreshment sharks are wide awake. But--many a naughty word is spoken O'er Tea, Tea, scalding Tea!
NOTHING NEW.--The Editor of the Gentlewoman announces a forthcoming novel to be written by about a dozen or more novelists. Mr. Punch highly commends this spirited enterprise. The scheme is not absolutely a novelty, as in Mr. Punch's pages some time ago, was there not a "Limited Novel Co." of Authors and Artists to produce "Chikkin Hazard?" They combined, but did not collaborate. But any way, success to the Gentlewoman!
"WHERE IS DAT BARTY NOW?"--After the recent suicide of le pauvre Général, the Boulangist party cannot be said to have been left without leaders, at all events, in England, as they have had leaders in all the papers, and actually two in the Times.
Podb. It's not safe for your sister,--I'm hanged if it is--going out in a boat with a duffer like CULCHARD! He'll upset her as sure as eggs.
Prend. (with fraternal serenity). With pin-oars? Couldn't if he tried! And they've a man with them, too. The less I see of that chap CULCHARD the better. I did hope we'd choked him off at Nuremberg. I hate the sight of his supercilious old mug!
Podb. You can't hate it more than I do--but what can I do? (Pathetically.) I've tried rotting him, but somehow he always manages to get the best of it in the end. I never saw such a beggar to hang on!
Prend. What on earth made you ask him to come on here, after he declared he wouldn't?
Podb. I! I ask him? He settled it all with your sister. How could I help it?
Prend. I'd do something. Why can't you tell him right out he ain't wanted? I would--like a shot!
Podb. It's not so easy to tell him as you think. We haven't been on speaking terms these three days. And, after all (feebly) we're supposed to be travelling together, don't you know! You might drop him a hint now.
Prend. Don't see how I can very well--not on my own hook. Might lead to ructions with HYPATIA, too.
Podb. (anxiously). BOB, you--you don't think your sister really--eh?
Prend. HYPATIA's a rum girl--always was. She certainly don't seem to object to your friend CULCHARD. What the dickens she can see in him, I don't know!--but it's no use my putting my oar in. She'd only jump on me, y'know!
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