Punch. :0: A WET SHEET. A WET sheet and a flowing sea, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like an eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. (A Voice from the Ventilator.) WITH wet feet, in a committee, To our seats tied hard and fast, "Oh, for a cool and gentle wind!” "But give it to me hot and hot," So Dr. Reid made free To give it to us half and half, And wretched men were we! The Speaker sits at freezing point, In the reporters' gallery They all complain aloud, my boys, And say, not even Peel can blow So hot and cold as he! 1845. At that time there were loud complaints about the bad ventilation of the House of Commons, and every remedy tried, seemed only to make matters worse. Nor was much improvement felt when the members were installed in Sir Charles Barry's new Palace of Westminster, which has nearly every fault that it is possible a large public building can have. The site is probably the worst that could have been selected. The palace lies low, close to a polluted river, which smells intolerably in the summer, and gives off fog and damp in the winter. The style of architecture is totally unsuited for our climate, or for the purposes for which it is intended, and the stone of which it is built is rapidly crumbling away, whilst although the building covers nine acres of groun 1, the room in which the Commons meet will only accommodate a little more than half their number. Every consideration of comfort and utility was sacrificed to gratify an architectural fad, and the requirements of the two legislative bodies who use the building were simply ignored. Frequent debates have been held, and divisions taken, to express the dissatisfaction of the members. Committees have been appointed to examine into, and report upon the heating and ventilation, the sanitary arrangements, and the possibility of enlarging the Commons chamber. Costly repairs are constantly going on, crumbling stonework is removed and replaced, and experiments of all kinds have been tried to remedy the structural defects. But all to no purpose, and the building remains a costly monument of a nation's folly, and an architect's vanity and incompetence. SIR PERCY AND THE FEARFUL FOGGE. FULL seven hundred Members mayde aloude thys one re mark "Scarce can we breathe, or speke, or thynke. Wee all are in the darke." Like unto pyginyes arm'd against great Basan's Monarque Og, So gasping, gallant gentlemen doe battell with the Fogge. Stout Percy to the Commons went, all in Westministeere. Quoth he, "Ye have good neede of help, the Fogge doth enter heere. "I ventylate and drayne the House, and keep it sweet and cool." Cryed every man, "Who'll stay the Fogge?" Quoth bold Percy, "I wool!" "Now bless thee, Doctor Percy!" cry the Commons with a cheer, "If thou the Fogge shall set at naught all in Westministeere; "And if with cotton-wool thou pluggest cranny, hole, and crack, The Lords we'll dysestablyshe, and to thee give the Woolsack." Stout Percy sniff'd a pynche of snuff, all of the olden schoole. Quoth he, And if I fayle I ll get the Sack without the Wool. "Natheless the cotton-wool I'll try; my very best I'll do." "No more can we expect," sayde each to each. "Que woolley woo?" Stout Percy hies him to the work, nor lists to knave nor fool. Plenty of 'cry' there be," quoth he. "My ears hold cotton-wool. 66 "As walls have ears, I trow," quoth he, "those at West ministeere Will thank me soe for saving them from much that else they'd heare." Then Heav'n send Doctor Percy may bring them light and peace! May Fogge clear from Westministeere, and all obstruction cease! Punch. March 19, 1887. In August 1887, Mr. Plunket, questioned by Mr. Esslemont and Dr. Kenny, said " he had no reason to believe that the air of the House of Commons was noxious. As to the artificial system of ventilation, it simply consisted in drawing up the air through the ceiling when it had been breathed by members, in order that there might be a freer and more constant access of fresh air from below. That air passed over ice to make it cooler, and he could not recommend the discontinuance of the system. Straining the air through cotton wool had been tried, but the officials were waiting for the next fog before making another experiment." :0: SHE AND I. I IN a mighty palace, She in a lonely room, I amid mirth and laughter, She where no laugh is known, I with gay friends around me, She with her fears alone. I where gay music soundeth, She where the clock ticks loud, One aching thought beguile, I AND SHE. SHE in a gay gin palace, She where the gas is shining, She with young swells around her, One more good man gone wrong. Ah! she could soothe my sorrow, This aching heart beguile, If from her I could borrow Ten shillings for a while. And, oh, I would take it gladly, Altho' it perhaps sounds queer, If she drew me with gentle fingers One glass of her bitter beer. From The Keys At Home.' By J. M. Lowry. London. Field and Tuer, 1885. WILD WEST-MINSTER ! Air-"Do you ken John Peel?" Do Chorus For the sound of the Pats keeps us each from our bed, Do you ken Arthur Peel of the resolute will, Yes, I know Arthur Peel for a rough-riding body, Do ken Arthur Peel with a snaffle so strong, Do you ken Arthur Peel with the spur at his heel, While Wild West-minster howls in the morning? Yes, I know Arthur Peel as a chap who won't shirk; Though he leathers and spurs night and morning. For the sound of its snorts and the pad of its feet When Wild West-minster shuts some fine morning. Punch. May 14, 1887. Ready and ripe, At the sound of the pipe, Joe Chamberlain is bold and free, His actions or career; And he sounds his pipe For action now to clear Then here's to the captain, &c. From Songs for Liberal Electors. Manchester, A. Heywood, 1885. (This parody was written before Mr. Chamberlain and Lord Hartington joined the Conservative party.) JOLLY NOSE! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip Jolly Nose! he who sees thee across a broad glass, And to the pale snout of a temperate ass (For a turkey-cock's neck one might surely mistake thee: Why there's many a well-to-do fellow Can't boast such a nose! what a time it must take thee To get to a colouring so mellow.) For a big-bellied glass is the palette I use, And I find that my nose takes the mellowest hues, Jolly Nose! there are fools who say drink hurts the sight 'Tis better with wine to extinguish the light, Than live always in darkness without it. Mr. Ainsworth had omitted the third verse, this is supplied in the above version by Mr. Bates, but it will readily be seen that his lines are inferior to the gay sparkling verses of Mr. Ainsworth's translation. :0: DERBY AND JONES. (With convivial compliments to Mr. James Molloy.) But through dust and sun, I like my fun So we, that is Jones my friend and I, Have each to our wives made this reply: Arm-in-arm,-well we made our way: Arm-in-arm, we managed to slide, Though the streets and lamps all took the wrong side; And we never could quite tell how or when Each of us got safe home again! Always the same !-Banjo and BonesAlways the same with my old friend Jones. Always the same with my old friend Jones. Punch. June 4, 188г. GLADSTONE SINGS :- Derby, dear, when the votes went wry, Ah! but the thought of you cheered me then, "'Tis not for long he can hold with Ben." Always the same, Derby, my own, Until hope whispered Knowsley's lord Always the same, Derby, my own, Always the same to your old Glad-stone ! Always the same to your old Glad-stone ! Punch. December 23, 1882. Then to the fire I put it down, And let it fry until 'tis brown. Come dine with me; yes dine with me, etc. I'll fry some bread cut rather fine, I will not let thee once repine At having come with me to dine: 'Twill be my pride to hear thee say, "I have enjoy'd my chop, to-day." Come, dine with me; yes, dine with me; :0: DON'T DYE YOUR HAIR WHEN YOU GROW OLD. (Parody on “Silver Threads among the Gold.”) DON'T dye your hair when you grow old, Or you surely will be sold, As I found myself one day When my hair was turning grey, On a pretty girl, named Grace, I was spooney, quite a case, But her hair was black and bright, Don't dye your hair when you grow old, Then to myself I said, said I, But when I'd embraced dear Grace Don't dye your hair, &c. And in the morning, I declare, "Sir," said he, "that's nothing new, Don't dye your hair, &c. Next day, alas! 'twas dirty pink, Next 'twas purple, then 'twas blue, Now content with homely grey, Often to dear Grace I say, "Locks may lose their black or gold, But true love will ne'er grow old." Don't dye your hair, &c. 0: A CHILD'S HYMN OF PRAISE I. I THANK the goodness and the grace, Which on my birth have smiled, And made me in these Christian days, A happy English child. * From Hymns for Infant Minds. By Jane & Ann Taylor. A PARODY. UPON my childhood's pallid morn, No tropic summer smiled, In foreign lands I was not born, Alas! but in a colder clime, A cultured clime I dwell, All in the foremost ranks of Time, You never learn geography, I know in forest and in glade, The many things we learn about And drop one sorrowing tear. From "That very Mab." Published by Longmans. SCOTCH SONGS. Parodies of the Songs of ROBERT BURNS, and other Scotch Authors appeared in Volume III., but the following were not included. ANNIE LAURIE. Supposed to have been modernised from an old Scotch song by Douglas, and dedicated by him to Annie Laurie, daughter of Sir Robert Laurie. Tradition says that Douglas was rejected by the young lady, and further, that he did not "lay him doun and dee." MAXWELTON braes are bonnie, Which ne'er forgot will be ; Her brow is like the snaw-drift, Her throat is like the swan, Her face it is the fairest That e'er the sun shone on; That e'er the sun shone on, And dark blue is her ee; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me doun and dee. Like dew on the gowan lying, Is the fa' o' her fairy feet; And like winds in summer sighing, Her voice is low and sweet; Her voice is low and sweet, And she's all the world to me; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me doun and dee. OLD SIR PETER LAURIE. THE Guildhall Bench is funny, How that Old Sir Peter Laurie, &c. His nose is like the roast beef, The Civic board upon; His phiz it is the ruddiest, Like a dray through Cheapside going, His voice about as sweet. J. A. HARDWICK. In his day old Sir Peter Laurie was about as unpopular on the Bench as Mr. Newton is in this, and was scarcely less distinguished for the folly of his magisterial remarks. The actual circumstance which gave rise to the parody occurred in 1844, when a poor forlorn, half starved, and wholly ruined young woman was charged before this great and good Alderman. "Sir Peter Laurie said he should send her to the Old Bailey for attempted suicide. It was a fit case for trial, and he had no doubt she would be transported. He had put an end to persons attempting to drown themselves; he would now try the same cure for attempted poisoning. He had no doubt that those who took poison did not do so for the purpose of self-destruction, but for the purpose of exciting sympathy." ·:0: MY MOTHER-IN-LAW. (Air-Mary o'Argyle.) I HAVE heard the cats a-squealing I have the seen the tiles a-stealing, I have seen an eye still blacker, 'Tis thy voice, my once dear-mother- |