PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Vol. 62.
January 6th, 1872.
LONDON:
BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
"GENTLEMEN Arbitrators, I salute you in the concrete," said Mr. Punch, walking up to the table of the Hall ofCongress at Geneva. "I also salute you specially. Count Sclopis, una voce poco fà; M. Staempfli, my MerrySwiss Boy, point d'argent, point de Suisse; Baron Itajuba, I hope your sangre azul is cool this hot weather."
"Really, Mr. Punch," said the Lord Chief Justice Cockburn——
"And really, my dear Sir Alexander," was Mr. Punch's lightning-like repartee. "How are you? and Davis, myBancroft, how are you? Have you seen Mrs. Bancroft in Caste? Capital, isn't she? And now to business, and afterthat we'll go for a row on the Lake, my Allobroges. Know they settled here, Davis?"
"I know several things," said Mr. Davis, "and one is that you have no business in this chamber."
"Rem acu tetigisti, my Occidental. My visit is strictly on pleasure. And I reckon to have the pleasure of stickingthese here Negotiations in a greased groove before I quit."
"Porter!" exclaimed the Count Sclopis, angrily.
"Not a drop, I thank you," said Mr. Punch, smiling. "We should not get it good here. A bottle of Seltzer, if youplease, with a slight dash of the liquid named after yonder lake, but unsweetened."
His exquisite good-temper—he associates with Granville and Disraeli—was too much for the dignitaries. Theyall shook hands with him, said he was welcome, and begged that he would go away until dinner-time.
"Not a bit of it, my Beamish Boys," said Mr. Punch. "I am going to earn that dinner."
"But, dear Mr. Punch," pleaded Mr. Davis, "we can't admit another British Representative, especially so omnipotenta one as yourself."
"You are polite, and I'm cosmopolite, my dear Davis. Non ubi nascor, sed ubi pascor, and being asked to aninternational repast I shall behave internationally."
"You will have to let him speak," laughed Baron Itajuba.
"You open your mouth to drop Brazilian diamonds, my Baron."
"He'd better remain, for I don't think he'll go," gaily carolled the Chief Justice, with a reminiscence of a burlesquewritten at a time when burlesques were comic.
"Take your brief, and belabour away," sang the Merry Swiss Boy.
"Come,