PUNCH ***

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PUNCH,

OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 104.

February 4, 1893.

[Illustration: WHEN A MAN DOES NOT LOOK HIS BEST.

_Burglar_ (_taking the ground heavily_). "NAOW, 'OOEVER'D 'A' THOUGHT O' THE HOWNER O' THAT THERE HINNERCENT LITTLE VILLA BEIN' A PERFESSIONAL 'CHUCKER-HOUT'?!!!"]

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LAMENT OF THE (WOULD-BE) IRISH EMIGRANT.

(_Latest Version, with apologies to Lady Dufferin._)

[Senator CHANDLER, in _The North-American Review_, recommends that immigration into the United States should be suspended, at least for a year.]

Oi'm sittin' on the stile, MARY, an' lookin' o'er the tide, An' by jabers Oi'm afraid, Aroon, that there Oi'll _have_ to bide! The grass is springin' fresh an' green in Ould Oireland, but oh moy! If there's any green in JONATHAN'S land, _it is not in his oi_!

The States are awful changed, MARY; it is not _now_ as _then_, When they lifted a free latch-string to all exiled Oirishmen. Now we miss the whoop ov welcome; they suggest it's loike our cheek, And Oi'm listenin' for brave LOWELL'S words--which CHANDLER does _not_ speak!

It seems to me their Aigle for full Freedom no more pants, And the Senator, he mutthers ov "degraded immigrants." Says they can't "assimilate" us; faix, the wurrud sounds monstrous foine, But Oi fancy that it's maning is, "We mane to draw the loine!"

Shure, we're "ignorant and debased," dear; and the poor won't now find friends Even in free Columbia! So 'tis thus the ould boast ends! "Stop 'em--for a year," says CHANDLER; "we'll be holding our Big Show, An' poverty, an'--well, Cholera, are not wanted _thin_, you know."

It's an artful move, my MARY, but, it stroikes me, a bit thin, And it won't come home consolin', to "the poor ov Adam's kin." Faix! they won't stop 'cabin passengers,' big-wigs, an' British Peerage, But--_they don't want the poor devils that crowd over in the steerage_!

So Oi'm sittin' on the stile, MARY, and there Oi'll loikely sthop, For they don't require poor PADDY in their big new CHANDLER'S Shop. Uncle SAM'S some punkins, MARY, but he's not a great green goose; An' he's goin' to sthop a braggin' ov that latch-string always loose!

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MIXED NOTIONS--NO. IV. EGYPT.

_Two_ Well-Informed Men, _an_ Inquirer, _and an_ Average Man, _in suburban morning train to London_.

_First Well-Informed Man_ (_reading his paper_). Oh, I say, dash it, this'll never do. Here's this young KHEDIVE of Egypt kicking up a shine, and dismissing British Ministers. We can't have that, you know.

_Inquirer._ What Ministers has he dismissed?

_First W. I. M._ Why, British Ministers,--at least (_reading on_) I mean Egyptian Ministers; that's to say, chaps whom we appointed.

_Second W. I. M._ Come, come, we couldn't appoint Egyptian Ministers, could we?

_First W. I. M._ Oh, it comes to exactly the same thing; they're appointed subject to our proviso (_consulting paper_), yes, subject to our veto, and then this little whipper-snapper goes and gives them the chuck. He'll jolly soon have to climb down off that.

_Average Man._ Gently! The young chap's King, after all, isn't he? I thought Kings might appoint or dismiss Ministers as they liked.

_First W. I. M._ Oh, rot! The QUEEN can't appoint her own Ministers. We all know that. They're appointed by the Prime Minister. Any fool knows that.

_Inquirer._ But who appoints the Prime Minister?

_First W. I. M._ He appoints himself, and tells the QUEEN he's done it. They all go and kiss hands and get their seals, or something of that sort.

_Inquirer._ Of course, of course. I forgot that. But how about these Egyptian beggars?

_First W. I. M._ The KHEDIVE'S had the cheek to dismiss the Ministry, and shove another lot in. I see Lord CROMER has been to the Palace to protest.

_Inquirer._ Lord CROMER! Who's he?

_First W. I. M._ My dear fellow, fancy not knowing that! Lord CROMER'S our Ambassador at Cairo.

_Second W. I. M._ Oh, nonsense. There are no ambassadors at Cairo.

_First W. I. M._ Aren't there? Oh, indeed. Well, then perhaps you'll tell me what Lord CROMER is?

_Second W. I. M._ He's our Minister. That's what they call them.

_Inquirer._ Was it him the KHEDIVE dismissed, then?

_Second W. I. M._ (_laughing heartily_). No, no; we haven't got to that yet. He dismissed his own Johnnies, of course; Egyptians. Lord CROMER'S the English Minister.

_Average Man._ No, he isn't. He's the English Agent.

_Second