A Political Catechism for Children of Riper Years. Children of Riper Years
Question.—Now my child, what is your Name?
Answer.—Weathercock Johnny, alias Jack the Reformer, of the tribe of Russellites.
Q.—Who gave you that Name?
A.—My Godfathers and Godmothers, the People of England, who are called the great unwashed.
Q.—And what do the People of England want you to do?
A.—First, they want to amend my ways, which they say are in a most shaky condition. Secondly, to take a few of Palmerston’s pills, which they say will invigorate my Political system. And, Thirdly, to stick up for the Rights of the People, and speak up according to my size, as long as I remain in office.
Q.—And do you think that you are capable of holding firm by the reins, and steer the good coach Constitution, in safety through the mud and mire of these macadamized times, and not as you have done before, getting your unlucky feet in a plug-hole.
A.—
Yes, I do, so help my tater,
Try me, and I’ll prove a first-rater.
There’s a good lad! now stir your young self, and let your conduct be a shade better than it has been, and you will earn our praise, and the nation will reward your services with a putty medal.
So be it.
Now let us sing for the amusement of this respectable congregation, and the benefit of own pockets, a few lines written to uncommon metre.
Now attend to good advice,—Little Johnny, O,
And I’ll tell you what is right,—Little Johnny, O,
Hold your head up like a man,
Keep the whip in your right hand,
And be honest, if you can,—Little Johnny, O.
Curtail the ladies crinoline,—Little Johnny, O,
And save us from broken shins,—Little Johnny, O,
And as Gladstone gave us cheap tea,
From heavy taxes set us free,
And crush monopoly,—Little Johnny, O.
Save us from starvation’s evil,—Little Johnny, O,
And from meat that’s got the measles,—Little Johnny, O,
Let the poor have wholesome food,
And a loaf that’s cheap and good,
Gain our praise I’m sure you would,—Little Johnny, O.
Now Johnny dear, be brave,—Little Johnny, O,
From the Fenians, pray us save,—Little Johnny, O,
If at bogey’s game they play,
They will better know some day,
It will end in the cabbage garden way,—Little Johnny, O.
In Yankee Land, I hear,—Little Johnny, O,
They talk big with privateers,—Little Johnny, O,
You had better send word out,
If they get Johnny Bull’s shirt out,
He will put them to the rout,—Little Johnny, O.
Then put your shoulder to the wheel,—Little Johnny, O,
Then it’s pressure you won’t feel,—Little Johnny, O,
Flare up and be a brick,
And none of your shuffling tricks,
Or you had better cut your stick,—Little Johnny, O.
Let us say,
And now Johnny, thou most excellent of all state coachmen, to thy Fatherly care, we, an overtaxed, ill-paid, and half-starved people do consign ourselves, trusting that you will take our lamentable condition into thy kind consideration, and spare us from being poisoned with meat that has had the measles, and from being cheated by a set of greedy butchers; and save us from the Fenianites, we implore you; and grant us most merciful Johnny, that at the forthcoming Christmas, every mother’s son of us may be plentifully supplied with beef, pudding, and stout, so that we may boldly shout, slap bang, here we are again, and sing in thy praise now and for evermore. Amen.
Thus endeth the Lesson of the day.
Henry Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles.