Volume 107 — THE NEW CANDIDATE.
Reading edition
Dear Mr. Punch,—I trust you will give me the hospitality of your columns (and thus save me the cost of extensive advertising) to announce that I intend to offer myself as a candidate for all the eleven divisions at the forthcoming School Board Election. I do this for several reasons. In the first place, as I have no more chance in any one place more than in any other, I feel it quite impossible to make any choice. Besides, to be elected at the top of eleven polls would be an unique distinction, second only to being defeated at the bottom of eleven. In the next place, as I can find no other persons who will come forward on my platform, I am bound to offer myself everywhere. My views are extensive, not to say peculiar. On the religious question, I agree with everything that has been said by everybody. I hope in this way to avoid incurring odium theologicum of any kind. I am in favour of no one paying rates unless he has children actually at a Board School. I am told that this will not secure for me the Labour Vote, but it ought, at any rate, to rally to my side all the "intelligent and respectable." On all other points I believe I am well fitted to sit on the London School Board. I understand that at its meetings oysters and Chablis are sometimes the order of the day. If I am returned, my main object, I avow it frankly, will be to make them the standing order. Soliciting the vote of every patriotic citizen, I am,
Yours up-to-(being-a-candi-)date, October 27. Wottol Ark.
"HE'S HAPPY NOW."
["A Constant Reader's" favourite craze is now being discussed in all the papers.]
"I am so glad this Subject is being thoroughly ventilated. It must be doing so much good among the Young."
MAYENNAISE v. MAYONNAISE: A REJOINDER. My poor Mayonnaise, they have sullied your fame! They would alter your spelling, my sweet Mayonnaise. The younger Dumas has e-mended your name And sent you forth "o"-less the rest of your days. So this man of romances—this writer of plays— Who has woven full many a plot in his time— Would force us to spell you henceforth Mayennaise. Nay! this is a plot little short of a crime! 'Twill make not an atom of diff'rence to me. The younger Dumas may discourse as he will; He's welcome, with Weller, to "spell with a 'wee'"— To me and the world you are Mayonnaise still. He says, at the time when the city Mayenne Was besieged by an army and riddled with shot, Your charms were acknowledged and praised by the men. Was that army not led by Sir Thomas de Rot? Say, Queen of the Sauces, which vow'l shall it be? Will you yield up the name your admirers bestow? Pronounce—while your lover is down on an "E"— Is it that which you choose? Is it yes? or a "NO"?
***This correspondence must now cease.—Ed.
"Where is He?"—With diamond robberies and darksome murders, of which the perpetrators are still at large, we are all crying out for a real genuine "Sherlock Holmes." We, Watsons, are waiting for him to step forward and drag various dark mysteries into the light of day. Cheerfully shall the coming Holmes be saluted with Mr. Brookfield's refrain, "O Sherlock, you wonderful man!"
SOCIAL AGONIES.
Hostess. "I heard you met my Cousin, Maud Leslie, at the Gibsons at Dinner, Mr. Wilkinson, and that you were charmed with her!"
Mr. Wilkinson. "Charmed with her? I should think so! Who wouldn't be? Why, I've absolutely forgotten who the Lady was I took into Dinner, and who sat on my other side!"
Lady Visitor. "I'm afraid it happened to be Me, Mr. Wilkinson!"
"AN AWKWARD CUSTOMER." Air—"The Bold Poacher." When I was bound by Party ties to play the bold Premier, I shouldered of my gun, my lads, and started void of fear; With my trusty lurcher at my heels, to whom the sport is dear, For he's game for fight by day or night at the season of the year! As I and my bold comrade were after bird or hare, The gamekeeper was watching us; for him we did not care. For we were on our ground, my boys, grounds free to tyke or peer; And they're my delight by day or night at the season of the year! As I and my bold comrade were in the Peers' Preserve, We heard the keeper's footsteps, but we did not halt or swerve. But I whistled—to keep up my pluck—a song to sportsmen dear: "Oh it's my delight on a shiny night, in the season of the year!" The Gamekeeper popped through the copse, and faced us with a frown; He's got a black-a-vised stern phiz, and a coat o' velvet brown. He says "Hillo, Sir! Poaching?" I retorts, "Oh, don't you fear! A gent may poach his own preserves at the season of the year!" He says, "You ought to be ashamed to set so bad example A sportsman true won't join the crew who trespass, trap, and trample. A dirty bird fouls its own nest!" he adds, with a sour sneer. "Swells should not poach by day or night in the season of the year." Says I, "You sneer, but I'm your peer, my Sol. The people sent me! Stare like an owl, or sneer and scowl, you know you can't prevent me! These here Preserves want breaking up, Monopoly's pitch to queer Is our delight by day or night, in the season of the year. "A-poaching on one's own preserves scarce poaching seems at all. My foot is on my native—copse! The old Game Laws must fall. The 'Peers' Preserves' the people will throw open—or else clear, And you'll have to fight for your old old right at the season of the year. "You ask me if I like the job? That's neither here nor there! I'm simply bound to do it, and I really don't much care. If Peers will claim the best o' the game, and strive the rest to queer, We'll take our right, by day or night, at the season of the year!"
"AN AWKWARD CUSTOMER."
Gamekeeper S-l-sb-r-y. "HALLO! YOUNG FELLOW! POACHING?"
The "Young Fellow" R-s-b-ry. "IF I AM POACHING, I'M ON MY OWN PRESERVES."