Punch, or the London Charivari

Volume 105, December 16, 1893.

edited by Sir Francis Burnand

SEASONABLE SONNET. (By a Vegetarian.) Yes, Christmas overtakes us yet once more. The Cattle Show has vanished in the mists Of time and Islington, but re-exists In piecemeal splendour at the store. Here, nightly, big boys blue are to the fore With knives and choppers in their greasy fists; And now, methinks, the wight who never lists Yet hears the brass band on the proud first floor. High over all rings "What d'ye buy, buy, buy?" The meat is decked with gay rosette and bow, While gas-jets beckon all the world and wife. A cheerful scene? A ghastly one, say I, Where mutilated corpses hang arow, And in the midst of death we are in life. As They Liked It.—We read of the recent success at Palmer's Theatre, New York, of As You Like It, with all the parts played by women. Of course, everybody knows that this was a complete reversal of the practice of the stage in Shakspeare's own day, when the buskin was on the other leg, so to speak; but we are not told if the passage "Doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat" was transposed to "Petticoat ought to show itself courageous to doublet and hose." This Settled It.—"He may be irritable," observed Mrs. R., "but remember the old saying that 'Irritation is the sincerest form of flattery.'"

ALL IN THE DAY'S WORK. Critic. "How's the Book going, Old Man?" Author. "Oh—all right, I fancy. The Press has noticed it already. Yesterday's Roseleaves hails me as the coming Thackeray!" Critic. "Ah, I wrote that!" Author. "Did you really? How can I thank you? On the other hand, this week's Knacker says that I've been fortunately arrested by Madness on the road to Idiotcy!" Critic. "Ah, I Wrote that too!"

A PLEA FOR PLEADINGS.

Dear Mr. Punch,—Last week I begged for a chance for the Briefless, and the only reply has been, that by a few strokes of the pen the Judges have ruined and undone the Junior Bar. On a day which will be known henceforth in the Temple as Bad Friday, we read the new Rules, by which in future it will be possible to have an action—without pleadings! Statement of Claim, Defence, Reply, Rejoinder—all disappear into a beggarly "Summons for Directions," that can be drawn by a solicitor's office-boy. Of course, amongst the silks, the change will, no doubt, be popular. These learned gentlemen can with a light heart and a heavy pocket welcome the change, which will get rid of the pleadings which it is merely a nuisance to read. But what is to become of us whose business it is to draw them?

It may possibly be said that this new arrangement will save the pockets of the clients, but what have the Judges to do with that? Does anyone imagine litigation to be anything more than a pastime, at which those who play ought to be content to pay? In a hard winter, when the wolf is consistently at our door, to take the bread out of our mouths in this way, is a proceeding which (pace Mr. Gladstone) takes the cake. I am sure Mr. Goschen will welcome such an expression. In any case I appeal, Sir, through you, from the Judges to an enlightened paying public.

Yours faithfully,

L. Erned Counsel.

102, Temple Gardens, E.C.,

Dec. 6.

Cause and Effect.—A razor and a tabula rasa.

JOHN TYNDALL.

A Feminine Triumph.—Shee, Q.C., appointed Judge of the Court of Record at Salford. Naturally Shee likes being courted. Pity it wasn't in Wales, as then they would Welshly-and-grammatically speak of "appearing before Shee" as "appearing before Her." This is clearly an example of the "Shee who must be obeyed."

Murch Praised!

["Mr. Jerome Murch, seven times Mayor of Bath, &c., and for thirty years chairman of, &c., has just published a volume, entitled Bath Celebrities."]

University Intelligence.—The Oxford undergraduate who was caught red-(paint)-handed, and sent down for a year, forgot, no doubt, that he had to be well read, not the town; but a year in the country will no doubt make him as fresh as the paint itself. Curiously enough, very popular still in his College, which shows no inclination to cut the painter!

"Something Like a Hunting Run."—In the Pall Mall last Thursday was the account of a grand run with "the Barlow Hounds." Of course Sandford and Merton were on ponies, and out with "their beloved tutor's" pack. Mr. Barlow, of course, is both "Master" and "Whipper-in."

The Toper's Toast.—"Pot-luck!"

TRIP-LETS.

[Miss Young writes from North Merton Vicarage to say that her turkeys have taken to step-dancing. "First two young 'toms' bowed politely to one another, then passed on with stately tread, skipped into the air twice in the most ludicrous manner, turned, and repeated the performance."—See Daily Graphic, December 7.]