THE ANSWER TO THE RIDDLE OF THIS DAY WEEK.
(September 14, 1881.)
“ Why, for long odds, did ho leave six to four ?
Our fav’rito, sheet-anchor, last chance, Iroquois ! ”
And who is right now, Mr. Punch or the other Prophets P What did the Sporting Prophets of the penny papers say P—“ I must reluctantly throw over my old favourite.” The same favourite, by the way, whom he abused most strongly before the Derby. “It is with great regret that I put my original selection on one side.” The original selection who he declared could not win the Derby if no other horse started—Ac., &e. ? Mr. Punch referred to Iroquois as his favourite, his sheet-anchor, and his last chance,—of backing a winner of a great “ Classic Race.” If the thousands who read that last Wednesday did not back the winner, why it is their own fault. Mr. Punch feels confident that thousands how
ever did, and he congratulates them, America, Mr. Loeillakd, Fred Archer, Jacob Pincus, and last, but not least, himself.
THE FATE OF THE FLOWER- GIRL.
Roses red and roses white! Herrick would have loved the sight, Leaden town’s one touch of light
This grey Autumn morning.
Say they ’re wired and skewered ! W hat then?
Let such trifles trip the pen Of o’er-culturod critic men,
Who love scorning.
And the vendor ? Well, you see She’s no Maid of Arcady, No flower-girl of Italy,
Saucy-eyed and sunny.
Simply honest Stepney Nance, Cross-shawl’d, coarsish, bold of glance, Seeking, reckless of romance,
Merely money!
She, to catch the careless eye Of the dandv lounging by,
Trims her blossoms. Well, and why Stay such petty traffics ?
Nance must live, mayhap must bring Food to helpless lips; a thing Honester than some they sing
In soft sapphics.
Nance is honest yet; she sells Not herself, but buds and bells.
What if, driven hence, she swells Vice’s viler legions ?
Will the harsh “ Move on! ” have done Public service, adding one
To the throng who fain would shun Fouler regions P
“We must give the
world clear way,” Civic Bumbledom may say.
Nance obstructs. Poor soul! she may,
But’tis surely little. Where’s the churl who Nance would spurn
From her “ pitch,” or grudge to turn Just aside, that she may earn
Honest victual ?
Here’s no hyper-tearful touch, Sentiment strained overmuch. Realism’s ruthless clutch
Holds us though we shrink so. But deciders of romance
May afford a passing glance
At the case of Flower-Girl Nance. Don’t you think so p
The (Mary-le-)Bone of Contention.
TnE Revising Barrister of the Marylebone district has struck the Premier’s name off the Electoral Register because the Right Hon. Gentleman only occupied “ a room on the second floor and part of the linen room ” of No. 73, Harley Street. Under these circumstances Mr. Gladstone must console himself with the thought, that so long as the present Recorder of London remains Member for the borough, Marylebone will not want the best possible representative of Chambers!
THE PROPOSED NEW PISH MARKET.
What would be the result to the Whitebait if it had to be served up after coming from Blaok Fryers ?
A POWERFUL QUARTET.
(At ALL EVENTS IT LOOKS AND SOUNDS LIKE ONE.)
(September 14, 1881.)
“ Why, for long odds, did ho leave six to four ?
Our fav’rito, sheet-anchor, last chance, Iroquois ! ”
And who is right now, Mr. Punch or the other Prophets P What did the Sporting Prophets of the penny papers say P—“ I must reluctantly throw over my old favourite.” The same favourite, by the way, whom he abused most strongly before the Derby. “It is with great regret that I put my original selection on one side.” The original selection who he declared could not win the Derby if no other horse started—Ac., &e. ? Mr. Punch referred to Iroquois as his favourite, his sheet-anchor, and his last chance,—of backing a winner of a great “ Classic Race.” If the thousands who read that last Wednesday did not back the winner, why it is their own fault. Mr. Punch feels confident that thousands how
ever did, and he congratulates them, America, Mr. Loeillakd, Fred Archer, Jacob Pincus, and last, but not least, himself.
THE FATE OF THE FLOWER- GIRL.
Roses red and roses white! Herrick would have loved the sight, Leaden town’s one touch of light
This grey Autumn morning.
Say they ’re wired and skewered ! W hat then?
Let such trifles trip the pen Of o’er-culturod critic men,
Who love scorning.
And the vendor ? Well, you see She’s no Maid of Arcady, No flower-girl of Italy,
Saucy-eyed and sunny.
Simply honest Stepney Nance, Cross-shawl’d, coarsish, bold of glance, Seeking, reckless of romance,
Merely money!
She, to catch the careless eye Of the dandv lounging by,
Trims her blossoms. Well, and why Stay such petty traffics ?
Nance must live, mayhap must bring Food to helpless lips; a thing Honester than some they sing
In soft sapphics.
Nance is honest yet; she sells Not herself, but buds and bells.
What if, driven hence, she swells Vice’s viler legions ?
Will the harsh “ Move on! ” have done Public service, adding one
To the throng who fain would shun Fouler regions P
“We must give the
world clear way,” Civic Bumbledom may say.
Nance obstructs. Poor soul! she may,
But’tis surely little. Where’s the churl who Nance would spurn
From her “ pitch,” or grudge to turn Just aside, that she may earn
Honest victual ?
Here’s no hyper-tearful touch, Sentiment strained overmuch. Realism’s ruthless clutch
Holds us though we shrink so. But deciders of romance
May afford a passing glance
At the case of Flower-Girl Nance. Don’t you think so p
The (Mary-le-)Bone of Contention.
TnE Revising Barrister of the Marylebone district has struck the Premier’s name off the Electoral Register because the Right Hon. Gentleman only occupied “ a room on the second floor and part of the linen room ” of No. 73, Harley Street. Under these circumstances Mr. Gladstone must console himself with the thought, that so long as the present Recorder of London remains Member for the borough, Marylebone will not want the best possible representative of Chambers!
THE PROPOSED NEW PISH MARKET.
What would be the result to the Whitebait if it had to be served up after coming from Blaok Fryers ?
A POWERFUL QUARTET.
(At ALL EVENTS IT LOOKS AND SOUNDS LIKE ONE.)