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    MR. PUNCH'S COCKNEY HUMOUR

    [Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

    PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR

    Edited by J. A. HAMMERTON

    Designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in
    itself, the cream of our national humour, contributed by the
    masters of comic draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to
    "Punch," from its beginning in 1841 to the present day.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ONE OF NATURE'S GALLANTS. _Loafer (to fair occupant on
her way to Court)._ "Ullo, Ethel! All alone?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

MR. PUNCH'S COCKNEY HUMOUR

IN PICTURE AND STORY

_WITH 133 ILLUSTRATIONS_

  BY

  PHIL MAY, CHARLES KEENE,
  L. RAVEN-HILL, TOM BROWNE,
  C. SHEPPERSON, E. T. REED,
  BERNARD PARTRIDGE, J. A.
  SHEPHERD, G. D. ARMOUR,
  GEORGE DU MAURIER, AND
  OTHERS

[Illustration]

PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH THE PROPRIETORS OF "PUNCH"

THE EDUCATIONAL BOOK CO. LTD.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR

_Twenty-five volumes, crown 8vo, 192 pages, fully illustrated_

  LIFE IN LONDON
  COUNTRY LIFE
  IN THE HIGHLANDS
  SCOTTISH HUMOUR
  IRISH HUMOUR
  COCKNEY HUMOUR
  IN SOCIETY
  AFTER DINNER STORIES
  IN BOHEMIA
  AT THE PLAY
  MR. PUNCH AT HOME
  ON THE CONTINONG
  RAILWAY BOOK
  AT THE SEASIDE
  MR. PUNCH AFLOAT
  IN THE HUNTING FIELD
  MR. PUNCH ON TOUR
  WITH ROD AND GUN
  MR. PUNCH AWHEEL
  BOOK OF SPORTS
  GOLF STORIES
  IN WIG AND GOWN
  ON THE WARPATH
  BOOK OF LOVE
  WITH THE CHILDREN

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

EDITOR'S NOTE

Cockney humour smacks, of course, of the town and makes up in smartness
and shrewdness what it lacks in mellowness. The Cockney is as a rule a
conscious humorist; you laugh _with_ him very often, whereas you nearly
always laugh _at_ the rustic humorist.

George Du Maurier concerned himself a good deal with Cockney character,
but he was not in sympathy with the Cockney; generally he had an obvious
contempt for him, and most of his jokes turn on the dropped H, the
mispronounced word, and educational deficiencies. He portrays some of
the Cockney's superficial characteristics; he despises him too much to
be able to get at the heart of him and reveal his character.

Take Phil May's pictures and jokes, and the difference is at once
apparent. He was fully alive to the Cockney's deficiencies of manner and
culture; now and then he quite genially and without the least touch of
scorn or self-complacency makes fun of them; but he really gives you the
Cockney character. Take, for instance, such a picture as his "Politics
and Gallantry," his "I say, 'Arry, don't we look frights!" his "Informal
Introduction"--(the self-consciousness of the girl's expression, and the
blatant pride of the man's)--here, and in almost any of his drawings you
turn to, you have the absolutely natural Cockney; his types are full of
character and so true and free from condescension that not only are we
moved irresistibly to laugh at them, but the Cockney himself would be
the first to recognise their truth and to laugh joyously at them too. We
may say pretty much the same of Charles Keene, of Mr. Raven-Hill, of Mr.
Bernard Partridge, and of others of the "Punch" artists represented
here, who illustrate the essential Cockney character, and do not go on
the easy assumption that dropped H's and mispronounced words and
aggressive vulgarity are the beginning and the end of it.

[Illustration]

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[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

MR. PUNCH'S COCKNEY HUMOUR

"All's swell that ends swell," as 'Arry remarked when he purchased a
pair of "misfits."

       *       *       *       *       *

'ARRY AND 'ARRIET'S FAVOURITE ITALIAN POET.--'Ariosto.

       *       *       *       *       *

MOTHER WIT.--_First Coster._ I say, Bill, wot's the meanin' o' Congress?

_Second Coster._ A shee heel. Female of conger.

       *       *       *       *       *

A LONDONER'S RURAL REFLECTION.--The Hayfield is better than the
Haymarket.

       *       *       *       *       *

'ARRY'S LAMENT

"A public meeting was held at Hampstead last night to protest against
the tampering with the Heath by tube railway promoters."--_Daily Paper._

  Wot! Toobs on 'appy 'Amstid?
    A stytion at _Jack Strors_?
  I 'old the sime a bloomin' shim
    An' clean agin the lors,
      Leastwyes it oughter be--
      If lors wos mide by me
      No toobs yer wouldn't see
        On 'appy 'Amstid.

  Wy, wheer are we ter go, Liz,
    Ter git a breath of air?
  Yer'll set yer teeth agin the 'eath
    When theer's a toob up there.
      A pinky-yaller stytion
      By wye o' deckyrytion--
      I calls it desecrytion,
        'Appy 'Amstid.

  Oh! sive us 'appy 'Amstid!
    It's Parrydise, you bet!
  Theer ain't no smoke ter 'arm a bloke.
    Nor yet no smuts as yet.
      An' so I 'opes they'll tell
      This bloomin' Yanky swell
      Ter send 'is toobs ter--well,
        Not 'appy 'Amstid!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE WILD WILD EAST

_First Coster._ "Say, Bill, 'ow d'yer like my new kickseys? Good fit,
eh?"

_Second Coster._ "Fit! They ain't no _fit_. They're a _haper-plictick
stroke_!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTE BY A COCKNEY NATURALIST

The common blackbeetles (_Scarabaeus niger_) which so abundantly infest
the culinary regions of Cockaigne are alleged to be agreeable, although
profuse, in flavour, provided they be delicately larded before crimping,
and then fricasseed or simply fried. Care should specially be taken not
to injure their antennae, which, when crisp with egg and breadcrumbs,
exquisitely tickle the palate of the gourmet, and provoke him to the
liveliest of gastronomic feats. There lurks in vulgar minds a savage
prejudice against these interesting insects, by reason, very likely, of
the popular impression that at times they have been manufactured into
Soy. But this may be assumed to be mere idle superstition, and Soyer,
the great _chef_, wisely set his face against it, remarking, as he did
so, "_Honi Soy qui mal y pense._"

Among the warblers which abound in the vicinity of the metropolis, one
of the most interesting is the little mudlark (_Alauda Greenwichiensis_)
whose plaintive cry may nightly be heard upon the shore of the river,
where these little creatures congregate in flocks, and pick up any grub
which they may chance to meet with.

Doubts have been entertained by sundry Cockney naturalists whether the
pyramids of oyster shells, which in the early part of August used to be
noticed in the streets, should be regarded as a proof of the migratory
habits of the mollusc. That the oyster is a sluggard and objects to
leave his bed seems pretty generally admitted; but that he is endowed
with the power of locomotion has, fortunately for science, been placed
beyond a doubt. Whether oysters shed their shells when they are crossed
in love is a point on which the naturalist is still somewhat in the
dark.

       *       *       *       *       *

SELF-EVIDENT.--It must have been a cockney who said that St. Bees came
from St. 'Ives.

       *       *       *       *       *

A DEAD LETTER.--Too often H.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "I say, Bill, 'ere comes two champion doners! Let's kid
'em 'at we're hofficers!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: EPSOM UP TO DATE.

_'Arry._ "Ain't ye comin' to see the 'orse run for yer money?"

_Cholley._ "Not me! No bloomin' fear! I'm goin' to see this cove don't
run _with_ my money!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ROYAL ALBERT HALL

  TO DAY AT 3 PATTI

"I 'ear this 'ere Patti ain't _'arf_ bad!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "Would you gentlemen like to look at the old church?"

"Ho, yus. We're _nuts_ on old churches!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

Quoth an eminent literary man, in the hearing of 'Arry, "All George
Meredith's poetry might be republished under one title as 'Our
Georgics.'"

"Oo's 'Icks'?" asked 'Arry.

       *       *       *       *       *

"THE TEACHING OF ERSE IN IRELAND."--"Well," says 'Arry, "it sounds
uncommon funereal. O' course I knew an erse and plumes and coal black
'osses is what they call a 'moral lesson.' But why make such a fuss
about it in Ireland?"

       *       *       *       *       *

AN AWKWARD NAME.--'Arry, on a marine excursion, hearing mention made of
the two sea-birds the great auk and the little auk, inquired if the
little auk was a sparrow-'awk.

       *       *       *       *       *

"He is the greatest liar on (H)earth," as the Cockney said of the
lap-dog he often saw lying before the fire.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE VERNACULAR.

"Yer know that young Germin feller as come ter sty in our 'ouse six
months agow? Well, w'en fust 'e come, I give yer my word'e didn' know
nothink but 'is own lengwidge; but we bin learnin' 'im English, an' now
e' can speak it puffick--jes' the sime as wot you an' me can."]

       *       *       *       *       *

DINNER FOR THE H-LESS. GOOD EDUCATIONAL COURSE FOR AN UNEDUCATED
COCKNEY.--An _aitch_-bone.

       *       *       *       *       *

COCKNEYS AT ALDERSHOT.--_First Cockney._ "'Ere, 'Arry, where's the
colonel?"

_Second Cockney._ "The _colonel_, bless yer, 'e's in _an 'ut_."

       *       *       *       *       *

HOUSEHOLD NOTE.--_(By a Cockney). What to do with cold mutton. H_eat
it.

       *       *       *       *       *

COCKNEY CONUNDRUM.--Wot lake in Hengland's got the glassiest buzzum?

Windermere.

       *       *       *       *       *

FOR CIVES ROMANI.--The way to 'Ampton races?--The 'Appy 'Un (Appian) of
course.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _'Bus Conductor._ "Emmersmith! Emmersmith! 'Ere ye are
Emmersmith!"

_Liza Ann._ "Oo er yer callin' Emmer Smith? Sorcy 'ound!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: POOR LETTER "A."

"Do you sell type?"--"Type, sir? No, sir. This is an ironmonger's.
You'll find type at the linendryper's over the w'y!"

"I don't mean _tape_, man! _Type_, for _printing_!"

"Oh, _toype_ yer mean! I beg yer pardon, sir!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: MYOPIA

_Little Binks (to unsteady party who had lurched heavily against him)._
"I beg your pardon, I'm sure, but I'm very short-sighted----"

_Dissipated Stranger._ "Do' mensh't, shir--I've met goo' many shor'
sight peopl'sh morn', bu' you're firsh gen'l'm'sh made 'shli'sht
'pology!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR 'ARRY AGAIN!

  'Arry _is at a hotel where the boarding system prevails, and sees the
  following notice posted on the walls--"Breakfast, 9 a.m."_

_'Arry (to Waiter)._ "Breakfast, and some 'am."

_Waiter._ "We've no 'am."

_'Arry._ "No 'am! _(Pointing to notice.)_ What's that?"

       *       *       *       *       *

_Says one 'Arry to another 'Arry._ "I say, old man, the papers say they
'ope 1882 will be the openin' of a new era. What's that?"

_Second 'Arry._ "Openin' of a new 'earer? Why, a telephone, of course,
you juggins!"

       *       *       *       *       *

A SONG FOR COCKNEY SPORTSMEN

  The hart's in the Highlands,
    Of that there's no fear,
  And 'tis there you may buy lands
    For stalking the deer:
  But the hills are no trifle,
    And they're windy and cold,
  So your wish you'd best stifle,
    Or buy, and be--sold.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: GOOD NEWS

_'Arry._ "T'aint no good miking a fuss about it, yer know, guv'nor! Me
and my pals must 'ave our 'd'y out'!"

_Foreign Fellow-traveller._ "Aha! Die out! You go to die out? Mon Dieu!
I am vairy glad to 'ear it. It is time!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: FORCE OF HABIT; OR, CITY SUSPICIONS

_'Arry (who is foraging for his camping party)._ "Look here, my good
woman, are these cabbages fresh?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Little Dobbs._ "Hullo! what's that? Looks like a mowing
machine."

_Hairdresser (who does not appreciate "chaff")._ "No, sir, 'tain't a
mowin' machine. It's meant to give gentlemen fresh _h_air."]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: BITING SARCASM

_Gentleman with the Broom (who has inadvertently splashed the artist's
favourite shipwreck)._ "Ow yus! I suppose yer think ye're the president
o' the Roy'l Acadermy! A settin' there in the lap er luxury!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: FOREIGN COMPETITION

_British Habitual Criminal._ "Well, if these 'ere furrin aliens is
a-goin' ter take the bread out of a honest man's mouth--blimey if I
don't turn copper!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

VERY APPROPRIATE.--Says 'Arry, "Regular good place for a medical man to
live in is 'Ill Street, Berkeley Square. But why don't he cure it and
make it Quite Well Street?"

       *       *       *       *       *

COMMENT BY A COCKNEY

  Bad-Gastein! Sounds more fit than nice, and yet
    They say most healing waters there are had.
  Strange, though, that people fancy good to get
    By going to the Bad!

       *       *       *       *       *

'Arriet read from a daily paper, "Navigation in the Ouse." "I s'pose,"
said 'Arry, "as the members are goin' to 'ave a 'ouse-boat this season.
Which 'ouse? Hupper or lower? Whichever's to steer? The Speaker or Lord
'Igh Chancellor?"

       *       *       *       *       *

TWO DISTINCT CLASSES.--The aristocracy and the '_Arry_-stocracy.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: WITHERING.

_'Arry._ "I s'y--does one tip the witers 'ere?"

_Alphonse._ "Not onless you are reecher zan ze vaiter, sare!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE BLESSED HERITAGE

["Poverty is a blessed heritage."--_Mr. Carnegie._]

  'Ere, Lizer, wheer's yer gratitood? 'E ses, ses Mr. C.,
  As it's a blessed 'eritage, is poverty, ses 'e.
  Then think 'ow thankful an' 'ow blest we oughter feel, us two,
  But yet yer that contrairy that I'm blest, Liz, if yer do.

  Wot? 'Ungry? Wot is 'unger? Don't it vary the monotony
  An' Wooster sorce yer vittles, that's supposin' as yer've got any?
  Then think of them pore millionaires wot misses the delight
  Of 'avin' 'ad no breakfast on a roarin' happytite.

  Then money! I Think, Elizer, of them cruel stocks and shares
  Wot makes their lives a torter to them martyred millionaires
  Oh, ain't we much more appy when the sticks is up the spout
  An' the kids is wantin' dinner and 'as got ter go without?

  And don't it make yer 'eart bleed, too, to think of all the care
  Of mansions in the country and an 'ouse in Grosvenor Square?
  Ah, what would them pore fellers give if honly they could come
  An' live with all their fam'ly in our garret hup the slum?

  Wot, Liz? Yer'd like ter see 'em come? 'Ere, none o' that theer charf!
  Yer'd sell yer bloomin' birthright for a pot of 'arf-an-'arf?
  Lor, Liz! Ter think as you should be in sich a thankless mood!
  Yer've got a "blessed 'eritage," an' 'ere's yer gratitood!

       *       *       *       *       *

'ARRY EXAMINED.--_Q._ "What is meant by 'Higher Education'"?

_'Arry._ "Getting a tutor at so much a week. That's the way I should
'ire education--if I wanted it."

       *       *       *       *       *

WHY HE IS SUCH A DULL BOY.

"'Arry," said an eminent comic singer to his friend, confidentially at
the Oxford, "I'm exclusively engaged at the music 'alls; mayn't perform
in a theatre."

"Then," replied 'Arry, knowingly, "it's all work and no play with you."

The conclusion was so evident that, had it not been for a good deal of
soothing syrup at 'Arry's expense, there might have been a serious
breach of the peace.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Toff._ "I say, my boy, would you like to drive me to
Piccadilly?"

_Boy._ "I shouldn't mind, old sport, only I don't fink the 'arness would
fit yer!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: IDDEN AND POOR LETTER H

_Tout Contractor (who has been paid a shilling per man, and sees his way
to a little extra profit)._ "Now look 'ere, you two H's! The public
don't want yer--nor _I_ don't, nor nobody don't; so jist drop them
boards, and then 'ook it!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

OBSERVATIONS BY A COCKNEY NATURALIST

A nightingale has been heard singing in Kensington Gardens (_vide
Times_, April 19). A salmon has been seen swimming close to London
Bridge. A trout has been observed (reposing on a marble slab) near to
Charing Cross. Sticklebacks have been captured in the waters of the
Serpentine. Plovers eggs have been discovered in the middle of Covent
Garden: I myself have found there as many as two dozen in a single walk.
There is a rookery in St. Giles's, well known to the police. I have seen
a pigeon shot not far from Shepherd's Bush, and I have heard one has
been plucked by a member of the hawk tribe at another West-End haunt.
Blackbeetles are common in the back kitchens of Belgravia, and
bluebottles abound among the butchers of Whitechapel during the warm
months. There is another kind of fly, which is said to be indigenous to
the stables of the jobmasters, and which also may be seen by observant
Cockney naturalists, but less seldom in Whitechapel than near the
Regent's Park. Sparrow-clubs have not been established yet in London,
but pea-shooters are common in many of its streets. I am told that early
risers may hear a male canary singing in the neighbourhood of Islington
at four o'clock, A.M., and may also hear a cock crow any morning, except
Sunday, between five and six o'clock. The thrush has been observed among
sundry of the children, under medical inspection, in the nurseries and
infant hospitals of town. Little ducks are plentiful in the _salons_ of
Tyburnia, and in Bayswater and Brompton there are numbers of great
geese. Welsh rabbits may be seen close to Covent Garden, and wild
turkeys have been noticed even in the Strand, hanging by the beak. In
the purlieus of St. Stephen's, where are the sacred haunts of the
collective wisdom of the kingdom, I have heard the hootings of many an
old owl. From information which I have received from members of the
metropolitan police, I may assert that larks are common in the
Haymarket, and that on the shores of the silver Thames at Wapping there
is frequently observable a goodly flock of mudlarks. From similar
information, I may add that there are careful observers in the streets
who rarely pass a day without their setting their eyes upon a robbin'.
Who shall say that in the very midst of the metropolis there is not
abundant evidence of a truly rural, and a tooral-looral life?

       *       *       *       *       *

NIGHT-BIRDS THAT MAKE WEST-END NIGHT HIDEOUS.--The 'owls of 'Arry after
his larks.

       *       *       *       *       *

CHARADE FOR COSTERMONGERS.--My first is unfathomable, my second
odoriferous, and my whole is a people of Africa.--_Abyss-inians._

       *       *       *       *       *

CONSOLATION FOR COCKNEYS.--It is all very well to talk of the fine
boulevards of Paris; but in the French metropolis, where the rent is so
high, and the living so dear, there is not one street to be named with
Cheapside.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _'Arry (encountering a shut gate for the first time)._
"Wonder which end the thing opens? Ah, 'ere y'are! 'Ere's the 'ooks an'
eyes!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE BEAN HARVEST

_Cockney Tourist._ "Tut-t-t! Good gracious! What ever can 'ave made the
corn turn so black?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE EASTER VACATION.

_Owner._ "Well, the poor old moke ain't been quite 'isself lately, so we
thought a day in the country 'ud do im good!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

MISTAKES ABOUT SCOTLAND

_(Contributed by a Converted Cockney)_

It is a mistake to believe that every Scotchman, when he goes to
Edinburgh, immediately walks down Princes Street clad in the ancient
costume of the Highlanders.

It is a mistake to believe that the _piece de resistance_ at every
Scotch dinner-party is a haggis.

It is a mistake to believe that a Scotchman does not enjoy a joke every
bit as much as an Englishman.

It is a mistake to believe that a Scotch Sabbath in the country is a
whit more _triste_ than an English Sunday in the provinces.

It is a mistake to believe that a Scotchman sets a greater value upon
his "bawbee" than an Englishman upon his shilling or an American upon
his dollar.

It is a mistake to believe that inns in Scotland are dearer and less
comfortable than hotels in England.

It is a mistake to believe that we have a city in England that can
compare favourably (from an architectural point of view) with the town
of Edinburgh.

It is a mistake to believe that it always rains in the Isle of Skye.

It is a mistake to believe that there are no more "Fair Maids" in the
houses of Perth.

It is a mistake to believe that Hampstead Heath is as beautiful as
Dunkeld.

It is a mistake to believe that the Caledonian Canal is at all like the
Serpentine.

It is a mistake to believe that Aberdeen is less imposing in appearance
than Chelsea or Islington.

It is a mistake to believe that the countrymen of Scott and Burns do not
appreciate the works of Shakspeare, Milton, Byron, Dickens, Thackeray,
and Tennyson.

And, lastly (this is added to the Cockney's list by the wisest sage of
this or any other age), it is the greatest mistake of all to believe
that _Mr. Punch_ does not like and respect (in spite of an occasional
joke at their expense) the kindly, homely, sound-hearted people who live
north of the Tweed.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AFTER THE RACES.

_Little 'Arry (who has had a "bad day"--to driver of public coach)._
"Ever lose any money backin' 'orses, coachie?"

_Driver._ "Not 'alf! Lost twenty quid once--backed a pair of 'orses and
a homnibus into a shop window in Regent Street!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Old Lady._ "Dear me, what a nice refined-looking little
boy. Why, Jane, he has a mouth fit for a cherub; I really must give him
sixpence."

    [_Does so._

_The Cherub (five seconds later)._ "S-s-s-s!! Billee! the old gal's give
me a tanner!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

BY OUR COCKNEY

When is a yew tree not a yew tree? When it's a 'igh tree.

Talking of that, _Mr. P._, what a nice line the Great Northern to
Hedgware is, to be sure. I am, as you know, werry partickler about my
"H"s, but "'ang me," as my friend 'Arry Belleville says, "if t'ain't
'nough to spoil your pronunshiashun for a hage and hall time to 'ave to
'ear such names of stations one atop of tother, as the followin', as
called out by the porters an' guards:"

  'Olloway.
  Seven Scissors Road.
  Crouch Hend.
  'Ighgate and 'Ampstead.
  Heast Hend.
  Finchley and 'Endon.
  Mill 'Ill.
  Hedgware.

There's a lot for you! And t'other line goes to 'Arford, 'Atfield, and
Saint All-buns. Saint _All Buns_ would be a good feast, eh, sir?

  Yours,

    _Hivy 'Ouse, 'Oxton._

      ENERY.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _First Combatant._ "----!----!----! &c."

_Bystander._ "Why don't yer answer 'im back?"

_Second Combatant._ "'Ow can I? 'E's used all the best words!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A COCKNEY RHAPSODY

    [A critic in the _Daily News_ accuses artists generally of
    ignorance in their treatment of rural subjects, and declares that
    nearly every picture of work in the hay or harvest field is
      incorrect.]

  Come revel with me in the country's delights,
  Its rapturous pleasures, its marvellous sights;
  No landscape of common or garden I praise,
  But Nature's strange charms that the painter pourtrays.

  No summer begins there, and spring never ends,
  It mingles with autumn, with winter it blends;
  Its primroses bloom when the barley is ripe,
  Amid its red apples the nightingales pipe.

  There often the shadow falls southward at noon,
  And sunrise is hailed by the pale crescent moon,
  The sun sets at will in the east or the west,
  In the grove where the cuckoo is building her nest.

  There the milkmaid sits down to the left of the cow,
  In harvest they sow, and in haytime they plough;
  While mowers, in attitudes gladsome and blythe,
  Impossible antics perform with the scythe.

  There huntsmen in June after foxes may roam,
  And horses unbridled go champing with foam;
  From torrents by winter fierce swollen and high,
  The proud salmon leaps in pursuit of the fly.

  Ah Nature! it's little--I own for my part--
  I know of your face save as mirrored in art;
  Yet, vainly shall critics begrudge me that charm,
  For a fellow can paint without learning to farm.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: BETHNAL GREEN.

_East-Ender._ "'Ary Scheffer!' Hignorant fellers, these foreigners Bill!
Spells 'Enery without the haitch!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

OVERHEARD AT A MEETING OF THE UP-IN-A-BALLOON SOCIETY.

_'Arry._ Wot's the difference between Nelson and that cove in the chair?

_Charlie._ Give it up, mate.

_'Arry._ Wy, _Nelson_ was a nautical 'ero, and this chap's a _'ero
nautical_, to be sure.

       *       *       *       *       *

'ARRY 'AD--FOR ONCE.--SCENE--_Exterior of St. James's Hall on a Schumann
and Joachim Night._

_'Arry (meeting High-Art Musical Friend, who has come out during an
interval, after assisting at Madame Schumann's magnificent reception)._
'Ullo! What's up? What are they at now?

_High-Art Friend (consulting programme)._ Let me see. They've done "Op.
13." Ah, yes! They've just got to "Op. 44."

_'Arry (astounded)._ 'Op forty-four! St. James's 'All got a dancin'
licence! Hooray! I'm all there! I'll go in for 'Op forty-five. What is
it, a waltz or a polka?

    [_Rushes to the pay-place._]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "RUDE AM I IN MY SPEECH" (OTHELLO)

THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWER GIRLS]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE COMPLAINT OF THE COCKNEY CLERK

    "I know of no cure but for the Englishman (1) to do his best to
    compete in the particulars where the German now excels; (2) to try
    to show that, taken all round, he is worth more than the
    German."--_Mr. Gladstone on English Clerks and German Competition._

  All very fine, O orator illustrious!
    But I as soon would be a mole or merman,
  As a short-grubbing, horribly industrious,
            Linguistic German.

  A clerk's a clerk, that is a cove who scribbles
    All day, and then goes in for cue, and "jigger,"
  And not a mere machine who feeds by nibbles,
            Slaves like a <DW65>.

  Learn languages? And for two quid a week?
    Cut barmaids, billiards, bitter beer and betting?
  Yah! that may suit a sausage, or a sneak!
            Whistles need wetting.

  That is if they are genuine English whistles,
    And not dry, hoarse, yah-yah Teutonic throttles.
  _I_'m not a donkey who can thrive on thistles.
            No, that's "no bottles."

  I've learned my native tongue,--and that's a teaser--
    I've also learned a lot of slang and patter;
  But German, French, Italian, Portuguese, sir,
            For "screw" no fatter?

  Not me, my old exuberant wood-chopper!
    Level _me_ to the straw-haired Carls and Hermanns?
  No; there's another trick would do me proper,--
            Kick out the Germans!

  Old Bismarck's "blood and iron's" a receipt meant
    For sour-krautt gobblers, sandy and sardonic!
  But for us Britons that Teutonic treatment
            Is much too tonic.

  The cheek of 'em just puts me in a rage,
    Send 'em back home, ah! even pay their passage
  Or soon, by Jove, we'll have to call our age,
            The German "sauce"-age!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AN INFORMAL INTRODUCTION.

_'Arry (shouting across the street to his "Pal")._ "Hi! Bill! This is
'er!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

    "ON A CLIFF BY THE SEA"

    (_Whit Monday_)

  A verse for "'Arry"? Well, I'm shot!
    (Excuse my language plain and terse)
  For such a nuisance I have not
            A verse.

  His praise don't ask me to rehearse,
    But, if you like--I'll tell you what--
  The _role_ of Baalam I'll reverse.

  Only, like Balak, from this spot
    Desire me 'Arry's tribe to curse,
  To grant that prayer you'll find me not
            Averse!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _'Arriet._ "Wot toime his the next troine fer
'Ammersmith?" _Clerk._ "Due now."

_'Arriet._ "'Course Oi dawn't now, stoopid, or I wouldn't be harskin'
yer!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

'ARRY IN ROME AND LONDON

A kind correspondent calls _Mr. Punch's_ attention to the fact that
'Arry the ubiquitous crops up even in the classics as Arrius, in fact,
in _Carmen_ lxxxiv. of Catullus. How proud 'Arry will be to hear of his
classical prototype! Our correspondent "dropping into verse,"
exclaims:--

  Yes! Your Cockney is eternal;
    Arrius speaks in 'Arry still;
  Vaunts 'is "hincome" by paternal
    "Hartful" tricks hup 'Olborn 'Ill.

     How well he is justified may be seen by a glance at the text of
        Catullus:--

        DE ARRIO.

  "C_h_ommoda" dicebat, si quando commoda vellet
    Dicere, et "_h_indsidias" Arrius insidias:
  Et tum mirifice sperabat se esse locutum.
    Cum, quantum poterat, dixerat "_h_insidias."
  Credo, sic mater, sic Liber avunculus ejus.
    Sic maternus avus dixerit, atque avia.

                               Catullus, _Carmen_ lxxxiv.

    Which--for the benefit of 'Arry himself, who is not perhaps
    familiar with the "Lingo Romano"--though he may know something of a
    "Romano" dear to certain young sportsmen, though not dearer to
    them than other caterers--may thus be _very_ freely  adapted:--

  'Arry to _H_oxford gives the aspirate still
  He cruelly denies to 'Igate 'Ill;
  Yet deems in diction he can ape the "swell,"
  And "git the 'ang of it" exceeding well.
  Doubtless his sire, the 'atter, and his mother,
  The hupper 'ousemaid, so addressed each other;
  For spite of all that wrangling Board Schools teach,
  There seems heredity in Cockney speech.

       *       *       *       *       *

COMMERCIAL INTELLIGENCE.--According to a trade circular issued by a
Cockney company, Florence and Lucca, whence the finer description of
oils have been heretofore imported, are threatened with a vigorous
competition by the Iles of Greece.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE RICHEST DISH IN THE WORLD.--The "weal" of fortune.

       *       *       *       *       *

'ARRY'S MOTTO.--"Youth on the prowl and pleasure at the 'elm."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Lady._ "Half-a-crown, indeed! Your fare is
eighteen-pence. I looked it up in Bradshaw."

_Cabman._ "Well, to be sure! Wot a good wife you _would 'ave_ made for a
pore man!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: BACK TO THE LAND.

_Farmer's Wife (who has told the new lad from London to collect eggs)._
"Well, Jack, have you got many?"

_Jack (who has raided a sitting hen)._ "Rauther! One old 'en she's bin
and layed thirteen, and I don't think she's finished yet!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

LINES BY A COCKNEY

_Addressed to A Young Lady, but dropped by some mistake into Mr. Punch's
letter-box._

  Sweet hangel, whom I met last heve
    Hat Mrs. Harthur's 'op,
  I 'ope that you will give me leave
    A question now to pop.

  I mind me 'ow when in the 'all
    Your carriage was hannounced,
  You hasked me to hadjust your shawl,
    Hon which with 'aste I pounced.

  Then heager to your Ma you ran,
    She anxious to be gone,
  I 'eard 'er call you Mary-Hann,
    Or helse 'twas Mari-hon.

  Now, Mary-Hann's a name I 'ate
    Has much as Betsy-Jane,
  I could not bear to link my fate
    With such a 'orrid name;

  But Mari-hon I like as well
    As hany name I know;
  Then, hangel, I emplore thee tell,
    Dost spell it with a Ho?

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: POLITICS AND GALLANTRY

_First 'Arry._ "Hay, wot's this 'ere Rosebery a torkin' abaat? Bless'd
if he ain't a goin' to do awy with the Lords!"

_Second 'Arry (more of a Don Juan than a Politician)._ "Do awy with the
'ole bloomin' lot o' Lords, if he likes, as long as he don't do away
with the lidies!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "AND _SHE_ OUGHT TO KNOW!"

"That's supposed to be a portograph of Lady Solsbury. But, bless yer, it
ain't like her a bit in private!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: 'ARRY'S AUNT UPON THE CLIFF

A study in perspective done by 'Arry with a 'and camera.]

       *       *       *       *       *

ECHO'S ANSWERS

  _To a Cockney Inquirer who consults her concerning the inevitable Annual
  "Outing" and its probable issues._

_Inquirer._ What subject sets me worrying and doubting?

_Echo. "Outing._"

_Inquirer._ My wife suggests for family health's improving?--

_Echo. Roving._

_Inquirer._ What's the first requisite for taking pleasure?

_Echo. Leisure._

_Inquirer._ The second (for a slave to matrimony)?

_Echo. Money._

_Inquirer._ You say that woman of all founts of mischief--

_Echo. Is chief._

_Inquirer._ What is this close agreement of _my_ women?

_Echo. Omen._

_Inquirer._ I fear for me they'll prove a deal too clever?

_Echo. Ever._

_Inquirer._ What is the manner of my buxom Mary?

_Echo. Airy._

_Inquirer._ And what's her goal in every hint and notion?

_Echo. Ocean._

_Inquirer._ How recommends she Ramsgate, shrimpy, sandy?

_Echo. 'Andy._

_Inquirer._ Whereas _I_ hold it at this season torrid?--

_Echo. 'Orrid!_

_Inquirer._ And hint, with a faint view to scare or stop her?--

_Echo. 'Opper!_

_Inquirer._ (Meaning the _Pulex_.) Answers she politely?

_Echo. Lightly._

_Inquirer._ How then am I inclined to view the mater?

_Echo. 'Ate her._

_Inquirer._ What feel I when she hints at sea-side clothing?

_Echo. Loathing._

_Inquirer._ Mention of what makes all my family scoffers?

_Echo. Coffers._

_Inquirer._ Then if I storm, what word breaks sequent stillness?

_Echo. Illness!_

_Inquirer._ What feels a man when women 'gin to blubber?

_Echo. Lubber._

_Inquirer._ What is the show of patience that may follow?

_Echo. Hollow!_

_Inquirer._ What would the sex when it assumes that virtue?

_Echo. Hurt you._

_Inquirer._ What's the result of halting and misgiving?

_Echo. Giving._

_Inquirer._ What is man's share anent this yearly yearning?

_Echo. Earning._

_Inquirer._ What's the chief issue of this seaward flowing?

_Echo. Owing._

_Inquirer_. How long before I'm free of tradesmen's pages?

_Echo. Ages!_

       *       *       *       *       *

THE MOORS.

Our Cockney correspondent says that the birds are very wild, and that
the heath being extremely slippery, the attempt to run after them is apt
to be attended with numerous falls, especially in patent-leather boots.
He says the exercise is fatiguing in the extreme, and complains that
there are no cabs to be had on the hills though there are plenty of
flies.

       *       *       *       *       *

DOUBLE COCKNEY CONUNDRUM FOR THE DERBY DAY.--"What eminent composer
would in England have probably been 'in the ring'?"

"_'Aydn._"

"Why?"

"Because who ever 'eard of 'Aydn alone? Ain't it always a '_Aydn and
abettin_'? Eh? Now then! Come up, can't yer!"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: EUPHEMISM.

_Cab Tout (exasperated by the persistent attentions of constable)._
"Look 'ere, ole lightnin'-ketcher, w'ere the missin' word are yer
shovin' us to?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Coster (to acquaintance, who has been away for some
months)._ "Wot are yer bin doin' all this time?"

_(Bill Robbins who has been "doing time")._ "Oh I've bin wheelin' a
bit, ole man--wheelin' a bit!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HE THOUGHT HE WAS SAFE.

_Irascible Old Gentleman._ "Buy a comb! What the devil should I buy a
comb for? You don't see any hair on my head, do you?"

_Unlicensed Hawker._ "Lor' bless yer, sir!--yer don't want no 'air on
yer 'ead for a tooth-comb!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A QUESTION OF TASTE

_Liz (to Emily)._ "Mind yer, it's all roight so fur as it goes. All I
sez is, it wants a fevver or two, or a bit o' plush somewhares, to give
it what I call _stoyle_!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE LAND OF THE 'ARRY'UNS.--'Am'stead 'eath.

       *       *       *       *       *

When a vulgar husband drops his h's, a good wife drops her eyes.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE SNOW CURE!!

_Fiendish Little Boy (to elderly gentleman, who has come a cropper for
the fourth time in a hundred yards)._ "'Ere I say, guv'nor, you're fair
wallerin' in it this mornin'! H'anyone 'ud think as you'd bin hordered
it by your medical man!!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OPEN TO DOUBT

_Ostler (dubiously, to 'Arry, who is trying to mount on the wrong
side)._ "Beg pard'n, sir, I suppose you're quite accustomed to 'osses,
sir?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

NOTES BY A COCKNEY NATURALIST

There are various kinds of larks to be observed by Cockney naturalists,
which are more or less, and rather less than more, indigenous to London.
There is first of all the cage lark (_Alauda Miserrima_) which is
chiefly found on grass-plats measuring about two inches square, and may
be heard singing plaintively in many a back slum. Then there is the mud
lark (_Alauda Greenwichiensis_), which is principally seen towards
nightfall on the shores of the river, when the whitebait is in season.
This little lark is a migratory bird, and flits from place to place in
quest of anything worth picking up that may happen to be thrown to it.
Finally, there is the street lark (_Alauda Nocturna_), which is known to
most policemen in the neighbourhood of the Haymarket, and the like
nocturnal haunts.

As a gratifying proof of our progressing civilisation, there has been of
recent years a very marked decrease in the number of white mice, and
monkeys dressed as soldiers, exhibited by organ-grinders in the London
streets. Trained dogs appear, however, decidedly more numerous, and
performing canaries may be met with not infrequently in the squares of
the West End. The naturalist should note, moreover, that the learned
British pig (_Porcus Sapiens Britannicus_) which, within the memory of
men who are still living, used commonly to infest the fairs near the
metropolis, has recently well nigh completely disappeared and is
believed by sundry naturalists to be utterly extinct.

The rum shrub (_Shrubbus Curiosus_) which, although deserving of close
investigation has somehow escaped mention in the pages of Linnaeus, is
found in great profusion in the purlieus of Whitechapel, as well as
other parts of London where dram-drinkers do congregate. It may be
generally discovered in proximity to the Pot-tree (_Arbor
Pewteriferens_), which may be readily recognised by its metallic fruit.

The common cat of the metropolis (_Felis Catterwaulans_) is remarkable,
especially for the exceeding frequency and shrillness of its cries when
it goes upon the tiles, or proceeds to other spots of feline popular
resort. Sleep becomes impossible within earshot of its yellings, and the
injury they cause to property as well as human temper is immense. It
has, indeed, been roughly estimated that thirty thousand water-jugs are
annually sacrificed, within a circuit of not more than six miles from
St. Paul's, by being hurled from bedroom windows with the aim to stop
these squalling feline "Voices of the night."

A certain proof that oysters are amphibious may be noted in the fact
that they always build their grottoes in the courts and the back streets
of the metropolis where, in the month of August, with extravagant
profusion, their shells are yearly cast.

The scarlet-coated lobster (_Le Homard Militaire_, Cuvier) has been
frequently discovered on the shores of the Serpentine, or basking by the
margin of the water in St. James's Park. This crustacean, when treated
well, will drink like a fish, excepting that, unlike a fish, he does not
confine himself to water for his drink. His shell (jacket) is of a
bright red colour, which is not produced, as in the lobster species
generally, by the agency of the caloric in the act of being boiled. The
scarlet-coated lobster leads, while in London, a very peaceful life,
notwithstanding his presumed propensities for fighting.

If we may credit the statistics which, with no slight labour, have been
recently collected, no fewer than five million and eleven blue-bottles
are annually slaughtered in the butchers' shops of London, before
depositing their ova in the primest joints of meat. The number of the
smaller flies which, merely in the City, are every year destroyed for
buzzing round the bald heads of irritable bank clerks, amounts, it has
been calculated, to one million three hundred thousand and thirteen.

       *       *       *       *       *

FROM TAPLOW.--_First 'Arry._ I'll tell you a good name for a riverside
inn--_"The Av-a-launch"._

_Second 'Arry._ I'll tell you a better--"The 'Ave-a-lunch." Come along!

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "Did yer order any ile round the corner?"

"What do you mean by ile? Do you mean oil?"

"Naw. Not ile, but ILE wot yer drinks!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A QUESTION OF THE SENSES.

_First County Councillor._ "I'm told the _acoustics_ of this hall leave
much to be desired, Mr. Brown!"

_Second C. C. (delicately sniffing)._ "Indeed, Sir Pompey? Can't say as
I perceive anythink amiss, myself; and my nose is pretty sharp, too!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: QUICK WORK.

_Guttersnipe._ "Please muvver wants sixpence on this 'ere fryin' pan."

_Pawnbroker._ "Hallo! it's _hot_!"

_Guttersnipe._ "Yus, muvver's just cooked the sossidges, an' wants the
money for the beer!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: WE MUSTN'T ALWAYS JUDGE BY APPEARANCES.

"I say, Bill, you aren't got such a thing as the price of 'arf a pint
about you, are yer? I'm so blooming dry!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Philanthropic Coster' (who has been crying
"Perry-wink-wink-wink!" till he's hoarse--and no buyers)._ "I wonder
what the p'or unfort'nate creeters in these 'ere low neighb'r'oods do
live on!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: RUDE INQUIRY

_Street Arabs._ "Hoo curls yer 'air, gov'nour?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: BILLINGSGATE UP-TO-DATE.

_'Enery._ "'Ullo, Chawley? Wot's up? 'As yer motor broke down?"

_Chawley (whose "moke" is a "bit below himself")._ "Yuss, smashed me
'sparking plug.'"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _First "Growler"._ "'Ulloah, William, where are yer
takin' that little lot?"

_Second "Growler"._ "Hararat! Don't yer see I'm navigatin' the Hark?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _'Arriet._ "I will say this for Bill, 'e _do_ look the
gentleman!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _First Urchin._ "Fifth o' November, sir! Only a copper,
sir! Jist a penny, sir!"

_Second Urchin._ "Let 'im alone. _Cawn't yer see 'e's one of the
family!_"]

       *       *       *       *       *

SONGS FOR THE NATION

"[Greek: Lays are a luxury songs essential.]"

    _'Arrystophanes._


It is evident that the nation is yearning for singable songs in the
'Arry dialect. The late lamented Artemus Ward would probably have said,
"Let her yearn"; but a stern sense of duty impels me to try and meet the
need, created by the _Daily Chronicle_. I have a comforting impression
that all that is necessary to insure correctness is to "chinge" as many
"a"s as possible into "i"s. By this means I secure the "local
colouring," which, by the way, has undergone a complete change since
Dickens spelt Weller "with a wee, my lord." A catchword, a propos of
nothing, is always useful, so I have duly provided it.

        'ARRY THE OPTIMIST

                  I.
    Oh! you should see
    My gal and me
  (Mariar is 'er nime),
    When we go daown
    To Brighton taown
  To 'ave a gorjus time.

  She wears sich feathers in 'er 'at,
    She's beautiful and guy,
  But it ain't all beer and skittles--flat
    And 'ere's the reason why:
  _Refrine--_
    She 'urries me, she worries me,
      To ketch the bloomin' trine;
    She 'ustles me, she bustles me,
      She grumbles 'arf the time:
    It's "'Arry do," and "'Arry don't,"
    Which "'Arry" will, or "'Arry" won't
      (It goes against the grine),
    But--
  (_Triumphantly._)
        We 'as a 'appy 'ollidy,
    We gets there all the sime.
        --'Urry up, 'Arry.


                 II.

          And when we reach
          The Brighton beach
        It's sure to pour with rine
          A pub is not
          A 'appy spot
        For us to set and drine
  Yet there we set and tike our beer
    And while awy the dy,
  Though we don't 'ave words, no bloomin' fear
    Mariar 'as 'er sy.
  _Refrine--_
    'Er langwidge is for sangwidges,
      She's sorry that she cime;
        The weather's wrong, 'er feather's wrong,
          I 'as to tike the blime.
        It's "'Arry" 'ere, and "'Arry" there,
        And "'Arry, you're a bloomin' bear,"
          And "'Arry, it's a shime"--
  (_Spoken._)--Which is 'ard on a feller! And then we 'as
  to ketch the bloomin' trine again, and she _do_ talk, but
  never mind--
        (_Brightly._)
          We've 'ad a 'appy 'ollidy,
        We gits 'ome all the sime.
          --'Urry up, 'Arry!

       *       *       *       *       *

COCKNEY SPORT EXTRAORDINARY.

Well-known sporting character, residing at Putney, being unable to reach
the moors this season, and having lost his gun, has lately amused
himself by bringing down several brace of grouse by means of the
Brompton omnibus.

       *       *       *       *       *

AT THE ZOO. (A FACT).--_'Arriet (looking at the Java sparrows)._ Wot's
them? Sparrerkeets?

_'Arry._ Sparrerkeets be 'anged--them's live 'umming birds.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: COMMON OBJECTS OF THE SEA SHORE.

_First seaside saddle polisher._ "Wot cheer, 'Arry? 'Ow are yer gettin'
on?"

_'Arry._ "First-rate, old pal. Only this--beggar always--bumps--at the
wrong--time!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: UNDER CORRECTION.

Fare. "Hans Mansions."

_Cabby._ "_Queen_ Hanne's Mansions, I suppose you mean, miss?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "Penny 'addick."

"Finen?"

"No; thick 'un!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _First Frenchman._ "Ah, mon cher ami!"

_Second Frenchman._ "Ah, c'est mon cher Alphonse!"

_British Workman._ "Bloomin' Germans!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Clerk of Booking-Office._ "There is _no_ first class by
this train, sir." _'Arry._ "Then wot are we going ter do, Bill?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "Fader's gettin' better. 'E's beginnin' ter swear
again!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Vendor of Pirated Songs._ "Er y'are, lidy! ''Oly City',
'Bu'ful Star,' 'Hi cawn't think why Hi lubs yer, but Hi do!'"]

       *       *       *       *       *

'ARRY ON HIS 'OLIDAY

_Being an epistle from that notorious and ubiquitous person, luxuriating
for the time in rural parts, to his chum Charlie, confined in town._

  Wha' cheer, my dear Charlie? 'Ow are yer? I promised I'd drop yer
      a line.
  I'm out on the trot for a fortnit; and ain't it golumpshusly fine?
  Bin dooing the swell pretty proper, I beg to assure yer, old man.
  Jest go it tip-top while you're at it, and blow the expense, is
      _my_ plan.

  Bin took for a nob, and no error this time; which my tailor's A 1.
  The cut of these bags, sir, beats Poole _out of_ fits. (Are yer fly
      to the pun?)
  And this gridiron pattern in treacle and mustard is something uneek,
  As the girls--but there, Charlie, _you_ know me, and so there's no
      call for to speak.

  My merstach is a coming on proper--that fetches 'em, Charlie, my boy;
  Though one on 'em called me young spiky, which doubtless was meant
      to annoy.
  But, bless yer! 'twas only a touch of the green-eyed, 'acos I looked
      sweet
  On a tidy young parcel in pink as 'ung out in the very same street.

  O Charlie, such larks as I'm 'aving. To toddle about on the sands,
  And watch the blue beauties a-bathing, and spot the sick muffs as
      they lands,
  Awful flabby and white in the gills, and with hoptics so sheepishly
      sad,
  And twig 'em go green as we chaff 'em; I tell yer it isn't half bad.

  Then, s'rimps! Wy, I pooty near lives on 'em; got arf a pocketful
      here,
  There's a flavour of bird's-eye about 'em; but that's soon took off
      by the beer.
  The "bitter" round here is jest lummy, and as for their soda-and-b.,
  It's ekal to "fizz" and no error, and suits this small child to a t.

  The weeds as I've blown is a caution;--I'm nuts on a tuppenny smoke.
  Don't care for the baths, but there's sailing, and rollicking rides
      on a moke.
  I've sung comic songs on the cliffs after dark, and wot's fun if
      that ain't?
  And I've chiselled my name in a church on the cheek of a rummy stone
      saint.

  So, Charlie, I think you will see, I've been doing the tourist
      to rights.
  Good grub and prime larks in the daytime, and billiards and bitter
      at nights;
  That's wot _I_ calls 'oliday-making, my pippin. I wish _you_ was here,
  Jest wouldn't we go it extensive! But now I am off for the pier.

  To ogle the girls. 'Ow they likes it! though some of their dragons
      looks blue.
  But lor'! if a chap _has_ a way with the sex, what the doose can
      he do?
  The toffs may look thunder and tommy on me and my spicey rig out,
  But they don't stare yours faithfully down, an' it's all nasty envy,
      no doubt.

  Ta! ta! There's a boat coming in, and the sea has been roughish
      all day;
  All our fellows will be on the watch, and _I_ mustn't be out of
      the way.
  Carn't yer manige to run down on Sunday? I tell yer it's larks,
      and no kid!
                      Yours bloomingly,
                                            'ARRY.

    P.S.--I have parted with close on four quid!

       *       *       *       *       *

POISON IN THE BOWL.--_Hot weather._--Advice by our own Cockney. Don't
put ice in your champagne. It's pison. How do I know this? Because it
comes from Venom Lake.

       *       *       *       *       *

SEASONABLE.--_'Arry's friend._ What's the proper dinner for Ash
Wednesday?

_'Arry._ Why, 'ash mutton, o' course.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SELF-RESPECT.

_The Missus._ "Oh, Jem, you said you'd give me your photergrarf. Now,
let's go in, and get it done."

_Jem._ "Oh, I dessay! an' 'ave my 'Carte de Wisete' stuck up in the
winder along o' all these 'ere bally-gals an' 'igh-church parsons! No,
Sairey!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE TRIALS OF OUR ARTISTIC FRIEND, LEONARDO DA TOMPKINS

(_Who lives in an unappreciative Suburb_)

_'Arriet (nudging her lidy friend, and in an ostentatious
stage-whisper)._ "'Amlet!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Tenor (singing)._ "Oh, 'appy, 'appy, 'appy be thy
dreams----"

_Professor._ "Stop, stop! Why don't you sound the H?"

_Tenor._ "It don't go no 'igher than G!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _First Newspaper Boy._ "Hullo, Bill! Who's 'e?"

_Second Newspaper Boy._ "I suppose 'e's the North Pole as 'as just been
discovered!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Gorgeous-looking Individual._ "Most 'strordinary
weather, ain't it? First it's 'ot, then it's cold. Blow me, if one knows
'ow to dress!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "I say, Bill, wot 's a Prodigal?"

"Why, a Prodigal's a sort o' cove as keeps on coming back!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: NOT WHAT SHE EXPECTED

SCENE--_Canal side, Sunday morning_

_Lady._ "Do you know where little boys go to who bathe on Sunday?"

_First Arab._ "Yus. It's farder up the canal side. But you can't go.
Girls ain't allowed!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

'ARRY ON 'APPINESS

DEAR CHARLIE,

        A 'Appy New Year to yer! That's the straight tip for to-day,
  So I'm bound to be in it, old chip, though things don't _look_
      remarkable gay.
  I inclose you a card--a correct one, I 'ope, though it strikes one
      as queer
  That such picters is thought _apprypo_ this perticular time of the
      year.

  You'll observe there's a hangel in muslin a twisting 'erself all awry,
  With some plums, happle-blossoms, and marigolds, backed by a dab
      o' blue sky.
  Dekkyrative it's called, so the mivvy informed me who nobbled
      my tanner;
  _I_ call it a little bit mixed, like the art on a Odd-Fellow's
      banner.

  But, bless you, it's all of a piece, Charlie--life is so muddled
      with rot
  That it takes rayther more than a judge or a jury to tell yer
      wot's wot.
  Whether knifing a boy 'cos one's peckish means murder if lyings are
      libels,
  Seem questions as bothers the big wigs, in spite of their blue books
      and Bibles.

  Where are we, old pal? that's the question. Perhaps it would add to
      one's ease
  If life wos declared a "mixed wobble," it's motter a "go as you
      please."
  But 'tisn't all cinder-path, Charlie, wus luck! if it was, with
      "all in,"
  You wouldn't go fur wrong, I fancy, in backing "yours truly" to win.

  "A 'Appy New Year!" That's the cackle all over the shop like to-day.
  Wot's 'Appiness? Praps Mister Ruskin and little Lord Garmoyle will say.
  You an' me's got _our_ notions of yum-yum, as isn't fur wide
      o' the mark,
  But who'll give us change for 'em, Charlie? Ah! that's where we're
      left in the dark.

  The Reform Bill won't do it, my pippin, on that you may lay your
      last dollar.
  The fact is this 'Appy New Year fake is 'oller, mate, hutterly 'oller.
  'Twon't fly--like the Christmas card hangels, it doesn't fit into
      the facks;
  All it does is to spread tommy-rot, and to break all the postmen's
      poor backs.

  You'll be thinking I've got the blue-mouldies, old man, and you
      won't be fur hout.
  Funds low with yours truly, my bloater, no chances of getting about.
  Larks, any amount of 'em, going, advertisements gassing like fun,
  But 'Arry, for once in the way, 's a stone-broker and not in the run.

  It's cutting, that's wot it is, _cutting_. I'm so used to leading
      the field,
  That place as fust-fly at life's fences is one as I _don't_ like
      to yield,
  Espechly to one like Bill Blossit--no style, not a bit about Bill!
  And they talk of a 'Appy New Year, mate, and cackle o' peace
      and goodwill!

  Oh yus, I'd goodwill 'em, Bill Blossit and false Fanny Friswell, a lot!
  They are off to the world's fair to-night, sir, and _that's_ wy I
      say it's such rot.
  If form such as mine's to go 'obbling whilst mugginses win out
      o' sight,
  I say the world's handicap's wrong, mate, and Christmas cards won't
      set it right.

  Lor bless yer, 'e ain't got no patter, not more than a nutmeg,
      Bill ain't;
  But the railway has taken his shop, and he's come out as fresh as
      new paint.
  And so because _I'm_ out of luck, and that duffer has landed the chink,
  She 'ooks onto him _like_ a bat to a belfry, sir! What do _you_ think?

  A 'Appy New Year? Yus, it looks like it! Charlie, old chap, I've
      heard tell
  Of parties called pessymists, writers as swear the whole world's
      a big sell;
  No doubt they've bin jilted, or jockeyed by some such a juggins
      as Bill;
  And without real jam--cash and kisses--this world is a bitterish
      pill.

  Still, I wish you a 'Appy New Year, if you care for the kibosh,
      old chappie,
  Though 'taint 'igh art cards full o' gush and green paint'll make
      you and me 'appy.
  Wot _we_ want is lucre and larks, love and lotion as much as you'll
      carry!
  Give me them, and one slap at that Bill,--They're the new year
      gifts to suit.

       'ARRY.

       *       *       *       *       *

AT SCARBOROUGH.--_'Arriet (pointing to postillions of pony-chaises)._
Why do all them boys wear them jackets?

_'Arry._ There's a stoopid question! Why, they're all jockeys a-training
for the Ledger, of course!

       *       *       *       *       *

EGGING HIM ON.--_Knowing old Gentleman._ Now, sir, talking of eggs, can
you tell me where a ship lays to?

_Smart Youth (not in the least disconcerted)._ Don't know, sir, unless
it is in the hatchway.

       *       *       *       *       *

RETREAT FOR COCKNEY IDLERS.--Earn nil.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AN EASTER OBJECT LESSON

(_At the Natural History Museum_)

_Visitor._ "Hullo! I say, I've got 'em agin! Gi' me the blue ribbon!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: HIS BEST "SOOT."

_Short-tempered Gentleman in Black (after violent collision with a
stonemason fresh from work)._ "Now, I'll arsk you jest to look at the
narsty beastly mess as you've gone and mide me in! Why, I'm simply
smothered in some 'orrid white stuff!! Why don't yer be more
careful!!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: OVERHEARD DURING ONE OF OUR RECENT STORMY DAYS.

"What cheer, matey! Doin' any business?"

"Garn! Wot yer gettin' at? I ain't 'ere to do business. I'm takin' the
hopen hair treatment!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ALWAYS BE KIND TO DUMB ANIMALS.

_Master._ "Jim!"

_Page._ "Yessir."

_Master._ "Rather a 'igh 'ill we're comin' to, ain't it?"

_Page._ "Very 'igh 'ill indeed, sir."

_Master._ "Ah! well, jest you jump down, Jim, and walk alongside a bit;
it'll make it easier for the poor 'orse, you know."]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: REAL SYMPATHY.

_'Arry (reading account of the war in the East)._ "Ow, I s'y, 'Arriet,
they've bin an' took old Li 'Ung Chang's three-heyed peacock's feathers
all off 'im!"

_'Arriet (compassionately)._ "Pore old feller!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "SWEET LAVENDER!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "AUT CAESAR AUT NULLUS."

_Architect._ "What aspect would you like, Mr. Smithers?" _(who is about
to build a house)_.

_Mr. Smithers._ "Has Muggles"--(_a rival tradesman_)--"got a haspect?
'Cause--mind yer, I should like mine made a good deal bigger than
'is!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE LAST STRAW.

_Miss Effie has left her sun-shade on the other side of the rivulet. The
chivalrous young De Korme attempts the dangerous pass in order to
restore it to her.

Obnoxiously Festive 'Arry (to him)._ "Ho, yuss! Delighted, I'm sure!
_Drop in any time you're passin'!_"]

       *       *       *       *       *

'ARRY ON THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY

    DEAR CHARLIE,

  'Ow are yer, old Turmuts? Gone mouldy, or moon-struck, or wot?
  Sticking down in the country, like you do, I tell yer, is all
      tommy-rot.
  Its town makes a man of one, Charlie, as me and the nobs 'as found out,
  And a snide 'un like you should be fly to it. Carn't fancy wot you're
      about.

  Old Ruskin, I know, sez quite t'other, but then _he_ is clean off his
      chump.
  Where's the _life_ in long lanes, with no gas-lamps? Their smell
      always give me the 'ump.
  Come hout on it, mate, it'll spile yer. It's May, and the season's
      begun,
  All the toffs is in town--ah! you trust 'em! _they_ know where
      to dropon the fun.

  Don't ketch _them_ a-Maying, my pippin, like bloomin' old
      Jacks-in-the-Green,
  A-sloppin' about in damp medders, with never a pub to be seen.
  No fear! We've primroses in tons--thanks to Beakey--for them as
      can pay.
  And other larks as _is_ larks, mate, they know meet in London in May.

  It is all very well, on a Sunday, for just arf a dozen or so
  To take a chay-cart down to Epsom, and cut down the may as yer go.
  I've 'ad 'igh old times on that lay, Charlie, gals, don't yer know,
      and all that,
  Returning at dusk with the beer on, and may branches all round yer 'at.

  With plenty of tuppenny smokes and 'am san'wiches, Charlie, old man,
  And a bit of good goods in pink musling, it ain't arf a bad sort
      o' plan.
  Concertina, in course, and tin whistle, to give 'em a rouser all round,
  And "chorus," all over the shop, till the winders'll shake at
      the sound.

  That's "May, merry May," if yer like, mate, and does your's ancetrar
      a treat.
  But the rural's a dose as wants mixing, it won't do to swaller it neat;
  That's wy the Haristos and 'Arry, and all as is fly to wot's wot,
  Likes passing the season in London, in spite of yer poetry rot.

  Country's all jolly fine in the autumn, with plenty of killing about--
  Day's rabbitin's not a bad barney, and gull-potting's lummy, no doubt;
  But green fields with nothink to slorter, no pubs, no theaytres,
      no gas!--
  No, no, it won't wash, and the muggins as tells yer it will is a hass.

  But May in "the village," my biffin, the mighty metrolopus,--ah!
  That's paradise, sir, and no kid, with a dash of the true lah-di-dah.
  Covent Garden licks Eden, I reckon, at least it'll do _me_ A 1;
  Button-'oler and Bond Street, old pal, that's yer fair top-row
      sarmple for fun!

  Wy, we git all the best of the country in London, with dollups
      chucked in.
  _Rush in herby!_--ascuse the Hitalian!--Ah, mate, ony wish I'd
      the tin;
  I'd take 'em a trot, and no flounders! It's 'ard, bloomin' 'ard,
      my dear boy,
  When form as is form ain't no fling, as a German ud say,
      _fo der quoy._

  _I_'d make Mister Ruskin sit up, and the rest of the 'owlers see
      snakes,
  With their rot about old Mother Nature, as _never_ don't make no
      mistakes.
  Yah! Nature's a fraud and a fizzle, that is if yer can't fake her
      out
  With the taste of a man about town, ony sort as knows wot he 's
      about.

  Well, London's all yum-yum jest now. Hexhibitions all hover the shop,
  I tell yer it keeps one a-movin'. _I_'m on the perpetual 'op,
  Like the prince. Aitch har aitch _is_ a stayer, a fair royal Rowell,
      I say.
  (I landed a quid on _that_ "Mix," but I carnt git the beggar to pay.)

  "Inventories" open, you know. Rayther dry, but the _extrys_ O.K.
  It's the extrys, I 'old, make up life, arf the pleasure and most o'
     the pay.
  Yus, princes and painters, philanterpists, premiers and patriots may
      gush,
  But wot ud become of their shows if it weren't for the larks and the
      lush?

 Lor bless yer, dear boy, picter galleries, balls, sandwich sworries
     and all,--
 It's fun and the fizz makes 'em go, not the picter, the speech or
     the squall.
 Keep yer eye on the buffet's my maxim, look out for the "jam" and
     the laugh,
 And you'll collar the pick o' the basket, the rest is all sordust
     and chaff.

  That's philosophy, Charlie, my pippin; the parsons and prigs may
      demur,
  But if you would foller _their_ tip, wy, you'll 'ave to go
      thundering fur.
  Ah! "May, merry May!" up in town, fills your snide 'un as full as
      he'll carry
  Of laughter and lotion. That's gospel to toffs and yours
      scrumptiously,

      'ARRY.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A JUDGE OF CHARACTER.

_Sympathetic Friend (to sweeper)._ "What's the use o' arstin' _'im_,
Bill? _'E_ don't give away nothink less than a Gover'ment appointment,
_'e_ don't!!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A BI-METALLISTIC DISCUSSION

_Jim._ "What's this 'ere 'Bi-metallism,' Bill?"

_Bill (of superior intelligence)._ "Well, yer see, Jim, it 's heither a
licens'd wittlers' or a teetotal dodge. The wages'll be paid in silver,
and no more coppers. So you can't get no arf-pint nor hanythink under a
sixpence or a thrip'ny. Then you heither leaves it alone, and takes to
water like a duck, or you runs up a score."

_Jim._ "Ah! But if there ain't no more coppers, 'ow about the 'buses and
the hunderground rileway?"

_Bill (profoundly)._ "Ah!"

    [_Left sitting._

]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Cockney Macbeth (a trifle "fluffy" in his words) bellows
out:_ "'Ang out our banners on the houtward walls! The cry is--'Let 'em
_all_ come!'"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Hedwin._ "Hangeleener! Won't yer 'ear me? Wot 'ud yer sy
if I told yer as I'd 'took the shillin'?"

_Hangelina._ "Sy? Why--'halves'!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Man Cleaning the Horse._ "Naa then lazy, w'y don't yer
do some work?"

_New Hand (loafing)._ "I'm agoin' to."

_M. C. H._ "Wot are yer goin' ter do?"

_N. H._ "'Elp you."

_M. C. H._ "Come alorng, then."

_N. H._ "All rite. You go orn, I'm agoin' ter do the 'issing."]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "BACK TO THE LAND."

_Old Farmer Worsell (who is experimenting with unemployed from London)._
"Now then, young feller, 'ow long are you goin' to be with that 'ere
milk?"

_Young Feller._ "I caunt 'elp it, guv'nor. I bin watchin' 'er arf an
hour, and she ain't laid any yit."]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "'Ere, just 'old my broom a minute. I'm just goin' up the
street. If any of my regular customers comes, just arst 'em to wait a
bit!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ART IN WHITECHAPEL.

"Well, that's what I calls a himpossible persition to get yerself
into!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Loafer (looking at a hundred pound dressing-bag)._ "I
wonder wot sort of a bloke it is as wants a bag of tools like that to
doss 'isself up with?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "Comin' up to 'Yde Park to 'ave a bave, 'Arry?"

"Yers--an' 'ave all me cloves run orf wiv. Not if _I_ know it!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE COCKNEY'S ADDRESS TO THE SEA.--"With all thy faults I love thee
_still_."

       *       *       *       *       *

A COSTERMONGER'S CANT

  Bill Coster said, "See them two fish?
    Them there's both females, mister;
  A pilchard she in this here dish:
    That 'ere's her errin' sister."

       *       *       *       *       *

FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS.--(_By a Cockney._) Why should not Dr. Watts'
poems be read by youth?

Because they contain _Hymn-morality_.

       *       *       *       *       *

A LINE FROM BROWNING

(_For hairdressers who recommend a wonderful "Restorative," and are
careless of the aspirate._)

"An everlasting wash of air."

       *       *       *       *       *

A COCKNEY CON.--When may a man really be supposed to be hungry?

When he goes to Nor-(gnaw)wood for his dinner.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SO VERY CONSIDERATE.

_Stout Coster._ "Where are ye goin' to, Bill?"

_Bill._ "Inter the country for a nice drive, bein' Bank 'Olidy."

_Stout Coster._ "Same 'ere. I sy! don't yer think we might swop misseses
just for a few hours? It would be so much kinder to the hanimile!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _'Arry (whose "Old Dutch" has been shopping, and has kept
him waiting a considerable time)._ "Wot d'yer mean, keepin' me standin'
abaat 'ere like a bloomin' fool?"

_'Arriet._ "_I_ can't 'elp the way yer stand, 'Arry."]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: VERY DRY WEATHER.

"'Ooray, Bill! 'Ere's luck! I gorr' 'nother tanner! Leshgobackag'in!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: 'EARD ON 'AMPSTEAD 'EATH

----"And talk of our bein' be'ind the French in general edication, why
all I can say is as it's the commonest thing in Paree, for instance
(over fust-class restorongs, too, mind yer), to see 'dinner' spelt with
only one 'N'!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: DIAGNOSIS.

"I can tell you what _you're_ suffering from, my good fellow! You're
suffering from _acne_!"

"_'Ackney?_ Why, that's just what _t'other_ medical gent he told me! _I
only wish I'd never been near the place!_"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE CAD'S CALENDAR

  JANUARY.

  January! Tailor's bill comes in.
  Blow that blooming snip! I'm short o' tin.
  Werry much enjoyed my Autumn caper,
  But three quid fifteen do look queer paper.
  Want another new rig out, wuss luck,
  Gurl at Boodle's bar seems awful struck,
  Like to take her to the pantermime;
  That and oysters after _would_ be prime.
  Fan's a screamer; this top coat would blue it,
  Yaller at the seams, black ink won't do it.
  Wonder if old snip would spring another?
  Boots, too, rayther seedy; beastly bother!
  Lots o' larks that empty pockets "queer."
  Can't do much on fifty quid a year.

  FEBRUARY.

  Febrywary! High old time for sprees!
  Now's yer chance the gals to please or tease,
  Dowds to guy and pooty ones to wheedle,
  And to give all rival chaps the needle.
  Crab your enemies,--I've got a many,
  You can pot 'em proper for a penny.
  My! Them walentines do 'it 'em 'ot.
  Fust-rate fun; I always buy a lot.
  Prigs complain they're spiteful,
      Lor' wot stuff!
  I can't ever get 'em strong enough.
  Safe too; no one twigs your little spree,
  If you do it on the strict Q. T.
  If you're spoons, a flowery one's your plan.
  Mem: I sent a proper one to Fan.

  MARCH.

  March! I'm nuts upon a windy day,
  Gurls do git in such a awful way.
  Petticoats yer know, and pooty feet;
  Hair all flying--tell you it's a treat.
  Pancake day. Don't like 'em--flabby, tough,
  Rayther do a pennorth o' plum-duff.
  Seediness shows up as Spring advances,
  Ah! the gurls do lead us pretty dances.
  Days a-lengthening.
      Think I spotted Fan
  Casting sheep's eyes at another man.
  Quarter-day, too, no more chance of tick.
  Fancy I shall 'ave to cut my stick.
  Got the doldrums dreadful, that is clear.
  Two _d._ left--must go and do a beer.


  APRIL.

  April! All Fools' Day's a proper time.
  Cop old gurls and guy old buffers prime.
  Scissors! don't they goggle and look blue
  When you land them with a regular "do"?
  Lor! the world would not be worth a mivvey
  If there warn't no fools to cheek and chivy.
  Then comes Easter. Got some coin in 'and,
  Trot a bonnet out and do the grand.
  Fan all flounce and flower; fellows mad
  Heye us henvious; nuts to me, my lad.
  'Ampstead! 'Ampton! Which is it to be?
  Fan--no flat--prefers the Crystal P.
  Nobby togs, high jinks, and lots o' lotion,
  That's the style to go it, I've a notion!

  MAY.

  May! The month o' flowers. Spooney sell!
  "Rum 'ot with," is wot _I_ likes to smell.
  Beats yer roses holler. A chice weed
  Licks all flowers that ever run to seed.
  Nobby button'oler very well
  When one wants to do the 'eavy swell;
  Otherwise don't care not one brass farden,
  For the best ever blowed in Covent Garden.
  Fan, though, likes 'em, cost a pretty pile,
  Rayther stiff, a tanner for a smile.
  Blued ten bob last time I took 'er out,
  Left my silver ticker up the spout.
  Women are sech sharks! If I don't drop 'er.
  Guess that I shall come a hawful cropper!

  JUNE.

  June! A jolly month; sech stunning weather.
  Fan and I have lots of outs together:
  Rorty on the river, sech prime 'unts,
  Foul the racers, run into the punts.
  Prime to 'ear the anglers rave and cuss,
  When in quiet "swims" we raise a muss.
  Snack on someone's lawn upon the quiet.
  Won't the owner raise a tidy riot
  When he twigs our scraps and broken bottles?
  Cheaper this than rustyrongs or hottles,
  Whitsuntide 'ud be a lot more gay
  If it warn't so near to quarter-day.
  Snip turns sour, pulls "county-courting" faces.
  Must try and land a little on the races.

  JULY.

  'Ot July! Just nicked a handy fiver
  (Twenty-five to one on old "Screw-driver"!)
  New rig-out. This mustard colour mixture
  Suits me nobby. Fan appears a fixture.
  Gurls like style, you know, and colour ketches 'em,
  But good show of ochre,--_that's_ what fetches 'em,
  Wimbledon! _I'm_ not a Wolunteer.
  Discipline don't suit this child--no fear!
  But we 'ave fine capers at the camp,
  Proper, but for that confounded scamp:
  Punched my 'ead because I guyed his shooting.
  Fan I fancied rather 'ighfaluting;
  Ogled the big beggar as he propped me.
  Would 'a licked 'im if _she_ 'adn't stopped me.

  AUGUST.

  August! Time to think about my outing.
  No dibs yet, though, so it's no use shouting.
  Make the best of the Bank 'Oliday.
  Fan "engaged"! Don't look too bloomin' gay,
  Drop into the bar to do a beer,
  Twig her talking to that Volunteer.
  Sling my 'ook instanter sharp and short,
  Took Jemimer down to 'Ampton Court.
  Not 'arf bad, that gurl. Got rather screwed,
  Little toff complained as I was rude.
  'It 'im in the wind, he went like death;
  Weak, consumptive cove and short o' breath.
  Licked 'im proper, dropped 'im like a shot,--
  Only wish that Fan had seen _that_ lot.

  SEPTEMBER.

  'Ere's September! 'Oliday at last!
  Off to Margit--mean to go it fast.
  Mustard- togs still fresh as paint,
  Like to know who's natty, if _I_ ain't.
  Got three quid; have cried a go with Fan,
  Game to spend my money like a man.
  But sticking tight to one gal ain't no fun--
  Here's no end of prime 'uns on the run;
  Carn't resist me somehow, togs and tile
  All A 1--make even swell ones smile.
  Lor! if I'd the ochre, make no doubt
  I could cut no end of big pots out.
  Call me cad? When money's in the game,
  Cad and swell are pooty much the same.

  OCTOBER.

  Now October! Back again to collar,
  Funds run low, reduced to last 'arf-dollar.
  Snip on rampage, boots a getting thin,
  'Ave to try the turf to raise some tin.
  Evenings getting gloomy; high old games;
  Music 'alls! Look up the taking names.
  Proper swells them pros.! If I'd my choice,
  There's my mark. Just wish I'd got a voice;
  Cut the old den to-morrow, lots of cham.,
  Cabs and diamonds,--ain't that real jam?
  Got the straight tip for the Siezerwitch,
  If I _honly_ land it, I'll be rich.
  Guess next mornin' wouldn't find me sober--
  Allays get the blues about October.

  NOVEMBER.

  Dull November! Didn't land that lot.
  Fear my father's son is going to pot.
  Fan jest passed me, turned away 'er eyes,
  Guess she ranked me with the _other_ guys,
  Nobby larks upon the ninth, my joker;
  But it queers a chap to want the ochre.
  Nothing like a crowd for regular sprees,
  Ain't it fine to do a rush, and squeeze?
  Twig the women fainting! Oh, it's proper!
  Bonnet buffers when the blooming copper
  Can't get near yer nohow. Then the fogs!
  Rare old time for regular jolly dogs.
  If a chap's a genuine 'ot member,
  He _can_ keep the game up in November!

  DECEMBER.

  Dun December! Dismal, dingy, dirty.
  Still short commons--makes a chap feel shirty.
  Snip rampageous, drops a regular summons.
  Fan gets married; ah! them gurls is rum 'uns!
  After all the coin I squandered on 'er!
  Want it now. A 'eap too bad, 'pon honour,
  Snow! Ah, that's yer sort, though, and no error.
  Treat to twig the women scud in terror.
  Hot 'un in the eye for that old feller;
  Cold 'un down 'is neck, bust his umbreller.
  Ha! ha! Then Christmas,--'ave a jolly feast!
  The boss will drop a tip,--hope so, at least.
  If I don't land some tin, my look-out's queer.
  Well, let's drink, boys--"Better luck next year!"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: STUDIES IN ANIMAL LIFE.

The chick-a-leary cochin.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Swell (who won't be done)._ "H 'yars my kyard if
you'd--ah--like to summon me."

_Cabby (who has pulled up and heard the dispute)._ "Don't you take it,
Bill. It's his ticket o' leave!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A LABOUR OF LOVE!

_Benevolent Lady (who has with infinite trouble organised a country
excursion for some over-worked London dressmakers)._ "Then mind you're
at the station at nine to-morrow, Eliza. I do hope it won't rain!"

"_Rine_, miss! I 'owp not, to be sure! The country's bad enough when
it's _foine_, yn't it, miss?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ON EPSOM DOWNS

"Get onto 'is neck, like me, Halfred, an' they'll take us for jockeys!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Little Tompkins._ "That fellow Brown tried to stuff me
up with some of his travellers' tales the other day. Talked about his
trip to Italy, and the waving fields of macaroni, but he didn't catch
me, you know. They _don't_ wave!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: GUILE.

_Old Lady._ "You know the 'Royal Oak'? Well, you turn to the right, past
the 'Jolly Gardener,' till you come to the 'Red Lion'----"

_Artful Cabby._ "O, don't tell me the 'ouses, mum! Name some o' the
churches, and then I shall know where I am!!"

    [_Asks, and gets, an exorbitant fare without a murmur._

]

       *       *       *       *       *

RUS IN URBE

(_A Cockney Rhapsody_)

  As I stroll through Piccadilly,
  Scent of blossoms borne from Scilly
  Greet me. Jonquil, rose, and lily,
  Violet and daffydowndilly.
  Oh, the feeling sweet and thrilly
  That these blossoms flounced and frilly
  From soft plains and headlands hilly
  Bring my breast in Piccadilly!
  It subdues me, willy nilly,
  Though such sentiment seems silly,
  And a bunch, dear, buys your Willy,
  To dispatch, by post, to Milly,
  Dwelling, far from Piccadilly,
  In moist lowlands, rushed and rilly,
  Blossomy as Penzance or Scilly.
  Sweets to the sweet! "Poor Silly-Billy!"
  You may say in accents trilly.
  When the postman in the stilly
  Eve, from distant Piccadilly,
  Bears this box of rose and lily,
  Violet and daffodilly,
  To the rural maiden, Milly,
  From her urban lover,
                           Willy.

  P.S.--

      Dry as toke and skilly,
  Is this arid Piccadilly,
  Notwithstanding rose and lily,
  All the beauteous blooms of Scilly,
  Reft of that flower of flowers--Milly.
  So, at least, thinks
                      "Silly Billy."

       *       *       *       *       *

A COCKNEY'S EXCLAMATION UPON SEEING THE CELEBRATED HEIDELBERG
TON.--"Well, it is (s)ton-ning!"

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: NATURAL HISTORY NOTES

_Country Cousin._ "Lor, Bill, ain't that a horstrich?"

_Bill._ "_Horstrich?_ 'Corse not. That 'ere's a _mongoose_!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

SHAKESPEARE ON BLACKHEATH

  I saw young 'Arry with his billycock on,
  Checked trousers on his thighs, with knob stick armed,
  Climb from the ground like fat pig up a pole,
  And flop with such sore toil into his saddle,
  As though a bran-bag dropped down from the clouds,
  To turn and wind a slow "Jerusalem,"
  And shock the world with clumsy assmanship.

       *       *       *       *       *

'ARRY'S LATEST CONUNDRUM.--Why is a title-page like charity?--Becos it
always begins a tome. (Begins at 'ome, don'tcher see!)

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Cockney Friend._ "Good 'evins! there's a pheasant!"

_Country Friend._ "Well, what of it?"

_Cockney._ "Why, it ain't the fust of Hoctober?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Lady Visitor (at work-girls' club, giving some advice on
manners)._ "And you know ladies never speak to gentlemen without an
introduction."

_'Liza._ "We knows yer don't, miss, an' we offen pities yer!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: AN IDYLL

_Hemma._ "Oh, 'Arry, hain't this 'eavenly! You'll promise to give me 'am
sandwiches always, when we're married, won't yer?"

_'Arry._ "'Corse I will!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _First Workman._ "Why don't yer buy yer _own_ matches,
'stead of always cadgin' mine?"

_Second Workman._ "You're uncommon mean with yer matches. I'll just take
a few"--(_helps himself to two-thirds_)--"and be hinderpendent of yer!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ERRAND BOYS

_First Boy._ "Where are yer goin' to, Bill?"

_Second Boy._ "I've got to go right over 'Ammersmith Bridge to Barnes,
then I'se got to go to Putney and back by Fulham Road, then to 'Igh
Street, Kensington."

_First Boy._ "Why, I've got to go to 'Igh Street. You go on. I'm in a
bit of a hurry, but _I'll wait for yer_!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

MOST MUSICAL, MOST MELANCHOLY.--A Cockney gentleman who had been hearing
a concert of old music, where every piece that was performed was in the
programme termed an "op.," observed, as he went out, "Well, after all
these 'ops, I vote we have some malt."

       *       *       *       *       *

COCKNEYISM IN THE COUNTRY.--_1st Cockney._ I say, what sort of a 'ouse
will do for a fowl-'ouse?

_2nd Cockney._ Lor' bless yer, _hen_-ny 'ouse.

       *       *       *       *       *

CONUNDRUM FOR COCKNEYS.--Which has the greater amount of animal heat,
the beaver or the otter? Why, of course, the _otter_ of the two.

       *       *       *       *       *

SONG OF THE COCKNEY SPORTSMAN

  How happy could I be in heather,
    At the grouse gaily blazing away!
  But then, somehow, I can't touch a feather,
    So 'tis better at Brighton to stay.

       *       *       *       *       *

PRO BONO.--There is one first-rate joint that comes to table which is
the Cockney's prime aversion--the h-bone.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A MODEL MODEL.

(_The artist is rather shy, and has left his model to do the honours of
his studio._) "From whom did Mr. M'Gilp paint that head?"

"From yours obediently, madam. I sit for the 'eads of all 'is 'oly men."

"He must find you a very useful person."

"Yes, madam. I order his frames, stretch his canvases, wash his brushes,
set his palette, and mix his colours. All _he's_ got to do is just to
_shove 'em on!_"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Tripper._ "'Ere! 'Arf a mo'! Where's the change out o'
that bob I gave yer?"

_Bystander._ "Don't worry about it, cocky; ain't you got the bloomin'
'oss as security!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Holiday Driver (returning from a pic-nic)._ "Excuse me,
sir, but can you see anything wrong with the 'arness of this 'ere
'orse?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

SPORTSMEN AT SEA.

_(Tom exhibiting a tern which he has shot)._ I say, 'Arry, wot bird 's
this 'ere?

_'Arry._ A auk, I should say.

_Tom._ What yer calls a sparrerawk?

_'Arry._ No. Hay, u, k, auk, without the sparrer.

       *       *       *       *       *

A COCKNEY'S EPITAPH

  THINK! "From the cradle to the grave!" my brother,
  A nurse takes you from one, an 'earse to t'other.

       *       *       *       *       *

A VULGAR ERROR.--Misplacing the haspirate.

       *       *       *       *       *

A CHEVALIERESQUE CONUNDRUM.--_Coster Bill (to 'Arriet)._ I si! When is
your young man like a fish out of water?

_'Arriet._ Oh, g'long! Give't up.

_Coster Bill._ Why, when 'es a _witin'_ round the corner.

    [Short encounter, and exeunt severally.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A CAPITAL ANSWER.

_"Self-made" Man (examining school, of which he is a manager)._ "Now,
boy, what's the capital of 'Olland?"

_Boy._ "An 'H,' sir."]

       *       *       *       *       *

DISCOVERED IN DRURY LANE

(_Near the new Baker Street Lodging House established by the County
Council._)

  I 'old it true wote'er befall,
    I feel it when things go most cross,
    Better do a fi'penny doss,
  Than never do a doss at all!

       *       *       *       *       *

UNIVERSITY SYMPATHY.

_First Errand Boy (after the University Boat Race)._ Wot 'ave yer got a
light blue ribbon in yer button 'ole for, Tommy?

_Second E. B. (promptly)._ 'Cos our 'ouse allus sells Cambridge
sausages!

       *       *       *       *       *

A MATTER OF TASTE.

_Vulgar Parvenu (who is watching the interior decorations of his
house)._ "Don't you think that tapestry 'eats the rooms?"

_Artistic Decorator._ "Very possibly, sir; you see, it's Goblin
(_Gobelin_)."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE IRREPRESSIBLE.

_Street Boy (to cabby, in a block)._ "Look 'ere, are you a goin' on wi'
this four wheeler?--'r else me an' my friend'll get down an' walk!"

    [_Retires hastily._

]

       *       *       *       *       *

AUDACIOUS 'ARRYISM.--Our friend 'Arry objects to the title of a recently
published novel, "Airy Fairy Lilian." He says that he can't imagine a
fairy all over 'air, though he might an 'obgoblin.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE BAGMAN'S BAG

  Hark how the cockney sportsman drops
    His aitches o'er the glades and glens,
  But, at hen pheasents though he pops,
    Your 'Arry never drops his n's.

       *       *       *       *       *

A PAIR OF "NIPPERS."--A coster's twins.

       *       *       *       *       *

COCKNEY CLASSICS.

"Jack," said Robins, "which varsity would you rayther go to, Hoxford or
'Idleberg?"

"Hoxford, Jemmy, to be sure, you muff," answered Robbins. "'Cos vy, I
prefers hindustry to hidleness."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A BANK HOLIDAY REMINISCENCE.

_'Arry._ "Ow much an hour, guv'nor?"

_Horsekeeper._ "Eighteenpence."

_'Arry._ "All right. I'll have a ride."

_Horsekeeper._ "Well, you've got to leave 'arf a crown on the 'orse?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: POOR LETTER "H"

"Have you got any _whole_ strawberry jam?"

"No, miss. All ours is quite new!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SONGS OF THE SUMMER

"The weather seems to be improving, Nupkins!"

"Yes, miss; the nightingale and the cuckoo is a-'ollerin', every
night!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

'ARRY ON 'ORSEBACK

  Our 'Arry goes 'unting and sings with a will,
  "The 'orn of the 'unter is 'eard on the 'ill";
  And oft, when a saddle looks terribly bare,
  The 'eels of our 'Arry are seen in the air!

       *       *       *       *       *

COCKNEY EPITAPH FOR A COOK.--"Peace to his hashes."

       *       *       *       *       *

"A Horse," observed a Scotch vet., "may have a very good appetite, and
yet be unable to eat a bit."

"Ah," said 'Arry, "there's the difference between a 'oss and a ostridge,
which could eat bit, snaffle, curb and all."

       *       *       *       *       *

LE SPORT.

A Cockney sportsman, wishing to introduce hare-hunting into France, is
seriously meditating a work on the subject, to be entitled,
_Arriere-pensees_; _or, Thoughts on Keeping 'Ariers_. His _nom de plume_
will be _Le petit Jean du_ Jockey Club.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _'Arriet (as a bee alights on her hand)._
"My word, 'Arry, wot a pretty fly!"

(_Sting._)

"Crikey! ain't 'is feet 'ot!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "'Ullo, Jim, look 'ere! 'Ere's a noo stachoo! Lend us yer
knife!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Jinks._ "I want to buy a dog. I don't know what they
call the breed, but it is something the shape of a greyhound, with a
short curly tail and rough hair. Do you keep dogs like that?"

_Fancier._ "No. I drowns 'em!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

COCKNEY PHILOSOPHY.

The Socratic mode of argument is the only true mode of chopping logic,
because it proceeds altogether on the principle of axing questions.

       *       *       *       *       *

'ARRY PUTS 'EM RIGHT.

The _Daily Chronicle_--recently suggested that the plural of rhinoceros
is a disputed point. 'Arry writes: "What O, _Mr. P._, 'disputed'?--not a
bit. Any kiddy as 'as 'ad 'arf an eddication knows what the plural of
''oss' is, don't he? No matter as to its bein' spelt ''os' or ''oss.'
Plural, anyway ''osses.' 'Bus-'os'--'Bus-'osses.'
'Rhinocer-os'--'Rhinocer-osses.' That's as plain as an 'aystack, ain't
it?"

    "Yours,

          "'ARRY."

       *       *       *       *       *

DEFINITION FOR A DINER-OUT.--An unlicensed wittler, quoth our worthy
'ost.--'ARRY.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: FERVOUR IN THE FOG

_Unpromising Individual (suddenly--his voice vibrating with passion)._

  "She's moy unney;
  Oim 'er joy!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

"Ah!" exclaimed, enthusiastically, a hairdresser's assistant who had
been out for a holiday. "'Ind 'Ead, in Surrey! That's the place for
hair!"

       *       *       *       *       *

THE REAL LONDON PRIDE.--We know an inveterate Cockney who declares that
London milk beats the country milk, and beats it "_by many chalks_."

       *       *       *       *       *

GOOD PAPER FOR DEAF COCKNEYS.--_The 'Earer._

       *       *       *       *       *

THE MUSICAL COSTER CRAZE.--_Customer._ Have you a copy of Costa's _Eli_?

_Shopman._ No, sir; we have none of Chevalier's songs.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "I say, 'Arry, don't we look frights!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "I say, Bill, oo was this 'ere Nelson as everybody wos a
talkin' about?" "Why, 'e was the chap as turned the French out of
Trafalgar Square!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "Bill, can you lend me twopence?"

"Wot a silly question to arst! Why, if I 'ad twopence, wot 'ud I be
doin' standin' outside a public 'ouse?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

A SONG OF SPRING

_By a Cockney Poet._

  All hail, thou jocund time of year,
  To Cockneys and cock-robins dear!
  All hail, thou flowery, showery season,
  When throstles, mating, perch the trees on:
  When sparrows on the house-tops sit,
  And court their loves with cheery twit:
  While opera songsters tune their throats,
  Exchanging for our gold their notes!
  Now Nature her new dress receives,
  And dinner-tables spread their leaves;
  Asparagus again one sees,
  And early ducklings, served with peas;
  Again the crisp whitebait we crunch,
  And chops of lambkin blithely munch;
  Salmon again our shops afford,
  And plovers' eggs adorn the board;
  While for one day at least our sons
  May stuff themselves with hot cross buns!
    See now the swells begin to show
  Their horsemanship in Rotten Row:
  See now the Drive is thronged once more,
  And idlers lounge there as of yore:
  See now fair April fills Mayfair,
  And gives new life to Grosvenor Square.
  See now what crowds flock to the Zoo,
  Where Master Hippo is on view
  See daffodils, and daisies pied
  In bloom, and buttercups beside:
  See now the thorn, and e'en the rose
  Signs of returning Spring disclose:
  See now the lilac large in bud;
  While costermongers, splashed with mud,
  The product of the passing showers,
  Cry, "Here's yer all a blowing flowers!"
  Or wake the echoes of the groves[A]
  With "Hornaments for yer fire-stoves!"

[Footnote A: Westbourne Grove, Lisson Grove, Camden Grove, &c.]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _'Appy 'Arry_--

  "With my new panama-a-ar
  And tupp'ny ciga-a-ar."]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: ENCOURAGING, VERY!

_Cockney Art-Teacher (newly arrived and nervous--after a long silence)._
"If you _should_ see a chance o' drorin' any thing correctly--DO SO!!"

    [_Collapse of expectant student._

]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: STANDING NO NONSENSE.

_'Arry._ "Phew!"--(_the weather was warm, and they had walked over from
'Ammersmith_)--"bring us a bottle o'champagne, waiter."

_Waiter._ "Yessir--dry, sir?"

_'Arry (aughtily, to put a stop to this familiarity at once)._ "Never
you mind whether we're dry or whether we ain't!--bring the wine!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: SHEREDITY.

_Lady._ "You don't mean to tell me that this little girl is fit to wait
at table!"

_Mother (proudly)._ "Well 'm, she _ought_ to be, seein' as 'ow 'er
father 'as been a _plate layer_ for five-and-twenty year!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Lady (referring to programme, to friend)._ "'Schumann,
op. 2.' What's the meaning of 'op. 2'?"

_'Arry (who thinks he is being addressed, and always ready to oblige
with information)._ "Oh, op. 2. Second dance; second 'op, yer know. May
I 'ave the pleasure?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE SALE OF INTOXICANTS TO CHILDREN BILL.

"It's another hinjustice to hus pore wimmen, it is! They won't let us
send the kids for it now, an' if my heldest boy goes for it 'e 'as 'arf
of it 'isself, 'an' if my old man goes 'e never comes back! so the hend
of it is, I 'ave to go for it myself!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: DISCOURAGING.

_Nervous Philanthropist (on a slumming excursion)._ "Can you tell me if
this is Little Erebus Street, my man?"

_Suspicious-looking Party._ "Yus."

_Nervous P._ "Er--rather a rough sort of thoroughfare, isn't it?"

_Suspicious-looking P._ "Yus; it is a bit thick. The further yer gows
daown, the thicker it gits. I lives in the last 'aouse."

    [_Exit philanthropist hurriedly in the opposite direction._

]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: THE FESTIVE SEASON.

_First Burglar._ "'Ere's a go, mate! This 'ere bit o' turkey, knuckile
hend of an 'am, arf a sossidge, and the 'olly off the plum-puddin'!
Might as well 'ave looked in on a bloomin' vegetarian!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: _Temperance Orator._ "Ho, pause, my dear friends, pause!"
_A Voice._ "Ye're right, ole man, _they are_!"]

       *       *       *       *       *

COCKNEY HOBSERVATION.

Cockneys are not the only people who drop or exasperate the "h's." It is
done by common people in the provinces, and you may laugh at them for
it. The deduction therefore is, that a peasant, with an "h," is fair
game.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW COCKNEY SAINT.--Mrs. Malaprop declares that if she lives to be a
hundred--and all her family detain a venerated age--she will certainly
have a Saint 'Enery.

       *       *       *       *       *

RIDDLE BY 'ARRY.--"Look 'ere, if you're speakin' of a young unmarried
lady bein' rather 'uffy, what well-known river would you name?--Why,
'_Miss is 'ippy_,' o' course."

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: EASTER MONDAY

_'Arry._ "Do you pass any pubs on the way to Broadstairs, cabby?"

_Cabby._ "Yes. Lots."

_'Arry._ "Well, _don't!_"]

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: "I beg your pardon, ma'am, but I think you dropped
this?"]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE END

BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. Punch's Cockney Humour, by Various

*** 