"Wheel about and turn about,
And do jes so;
Ebery time he turn about,
He jumps Jim Crow."
MANAGER.--Then it is your opinion that the prospects of the Whigs are not
very flattering?
PUNCH.--'Tis all up with them, as the young lady remarked when Mr. Green
and his friends left Wauxhall in the balloon; they haven't a chance. The
election returns are against them everywhere. England deserts
them--Ireland fails them--Scotland alone sticks with national attachment
to their backs, like a--
THE DOG TOBY.--Bow, wow, wow, wough!
MANAGER.--Of course, then, the Tories will take office--?
PUNCH.--I rayther suspect they will. Have they not been licking their
chops for ten years outside the Treasury door, while the sneaking Whigs
were helping themselves to all the fat tit-bits within? Have they not
growled and snarled all the while, and proved by their barking that they
were the fittest guardians of the country? Have they not wept over the
decay of our ancient and venerable constitution--? And have they not
promised and vowed, the moment they got into office, that they would--Send
round the hat.
MANAGER.--Very good, Mr. Punch; but I should like to know what the Tories
mean to do about the corn-laws? Will they give the people cheap food?
PUNCH.--No, but they'll give them cheap drink. They'll throw open the
Thames for the use of the temperance societies.
MANAGER.--But if we don't have cheap corn, our trade must be destroyed,
our factories will be closed, and our mills left idle.
PUNCH.--There you're wrong. Our tread-mills will be in constant work; and,
though our factories should be empty, our prisons will be quite full.
MANAGER.--That's all very well, Mr. Punch; but the people will grumble a
_leetle_ if you starve them.
PUNCH.--Ay, hang them, so they will; the populace have no idea of being
grateful for benefits. Talk of starvation! Pooh!--I've studied political
economy in a workhouse, and I know what it means. They've got a fine plan
in those workhouses for feeding the poor devils. They do it on the
homoeopathic system, by administering to them oatmeal porridge in
infinitessimal doses; but some of the paupers have such proud stomachs
that they object to the diet, and actually die through spite and villany.
Oh! 'tis a dreadful world for ingratitude! But never mind--Send round the
hat.
MANAGER.--What is the meaning of the sliding scale, Mr. Punch?
PUNCH.--It means--when a man has got nothing for breakfast, he may slide
his breakfast into his lunch; then, if he has got nothing for lunch, he
may slide that into his dinner; and if he labours under the same
difficulties with respect to the dinner, he may slide all three meals into
his supper.
MANAGER.--But if the man has got no supper?
PUNCH.--Then let him wish he may get it.
MANAGER.--Oh! that's your sliding scale?
PUNCH.--Yes; and a very ingenious invention it is for the suppression of
victuals. R-r-r-roo-to-tooit-tooit! Send round the hat.
MANAGER.--At this rate, Mr. Punch, I suppose you would not be favourable
to free trade?
PUNCH.--Certainly not, sir. Free trade is one of your new-fangled notions
that mean nothing but free plunder. I'll illustrate my position. I'm a boy
in a school, with a bag of apples, which, being the only apples on my
form, I naturally sell at a penny a-piece, and so look forward to pulling
in a considerable quantity of browns, when a boy from another form, with a
bigger bag of apples, comes and sells his at three for a penny, which, of
course, knocks up my trade.
MANAGER.--But it benefits the community, Mr. Punch.
PUNCH.--D--n the community! I know of no community but PUNCH and Co. I'm
for centralization--and individualization--every man for himself, and
PUNCH for us all! Only let me catch any rascal bringing his apples to my
form, and see how I'll cobb him. So now--send round the hat--and three
cheers for