قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 99, September 27, 1890
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
is dear.
Our wedding day is coming, love,
Our married course is clear.
Then, pretty JANE, if poorish JANE,
Ah, never look so shy;
But meet me, meet me at the Altar,
When the price of wheat rules high!
TAKEN ON TRUST.
Viscount Conamorey (whose recollections of the antique are somewhat hazy). "AW—A—WHAT BEAUTIFUL ARMS AND HANDS YOU'VE GOT, MRS. BOUNDER! THEY REMIND ME OF THE VENUS OF MILO'S!"
Mrs. B. (who has never even seen the Venus of Milo). "OH! YOU FLATTERER!"
AN INVOCATION.
(By a Town Mouse.)
Come back to Town! Why wander where
The snow-clad peaks arise?
Our English sunsets are as fair,
With red September skies.
Soft is the matutinal mist
Through which the trees loom brown;
Come back, if only to be kist,—
Come back to Town!
For evermore, in days like these,
When musing on your face,
My sad imagination sees
Another in my place.
Say, do you listen to his prayer,
Or slay him with a frown?
At any rate I can't be there.
Come back to Town!
Why linger by some far-off lake
Or Continental strand?
St. Martin's Summer comes to make
A glory in the land.
The river runs a golden stream
Where WREN'S great dome looks down;
Thine eyes, methinks, have brighter gleam;
Come back to Town!
I hear your voice upon the wind,
In dreamland you appear;
But do you wonder that I find
The day so long and drear?
Lentis adhærens brachiis come
Once more my life to crown;
Without thee 'tis too burdensome.
Come back to Town!
MR. PUNCH'S DICTIONARY OF PHRASES.
AT AN AFTERNOON CALL.
"So glad to see you at last. Now don't let me interrupt your talk with Mrs. VEREKER;" i.e., "If I do, I shall be let in for being button-holed."
"Do let me get you some tea—you must be dying for a cup;" i.e., "Know I am."
"So sorry—I fear everything is cold. Do let me have some fresh tea made for you;" i.e., "He can't accept that offer."
IN A NON-SMOKING CARRIAGE.
"You don't mind my cigar, do you?" i.e., "I know he does, but I'm not going to waste it."
(Reply to the above query.)
"Oh, not at all!" i.e., "Beastly thing! If he wasn't so confoundedly selfish and stingy, he'd throw it away."
"I'M AFLOAT!"
(NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE VERSION.)
I'm afloat, I'm afloat on the coaly black Tyne!
The draft licence sent me I begged to decline;
Though other chaps had 'em, they were not for me;
I prefer a free flag, on the strictest Q.T.
A sly "floating factory" thus I set up
(I'm a mixture of RUPERT the Rover and KRUPP).
At Jarrow Slake moored, my trim wherry or boat
I rejoiced in, and sung "I'm afloat! I'm afloat!"
For quick-firing guns ammunition I made,
Engaging (says FORD) in the contraband trade.
An inquest was held, but its verdict cleared me.
I'm afloat, I'm afloat, and the Rover is free!
I fear not the Government, heed not its law.
Much rumpus is made, we shall hear lots of jaw:
An explosion took place on October the third,
My sly "floating factory" blew up like a bird.
It killed one poor fellow, and damaged a lot,
But I am a Great Gun, and got off like a shot;
Indeed all were well, but for cold Colonel FORD,
Who blames me, the Rover! Too bad, on my word!
The Pirate of Elswick shall not be the sport
of a fussy Commission's ill-tempered Report.
To bring me to book is all fiddlededee—
I'm afloat, I'm afloat, and the Rover is free!
I contraband, careless? Why, everyone owns
That is natural, 'neath the black flag and cross-bones.
No mere paltry maker of fireworks am I,
But a Rover who's free, whose sole roof is the sky.
The law of the land may the petty appal.
But frighten the Rover? Oh no, not at all!
And ne'er to Commissions or Colonels I'll yield,
Whilst there's Black Tyne to back me or Whitehall to shield.
Unfurl the Black Flag! shake its folds to the wind!
And I'll warrant we'll soon leave sea-lawyers behind.
Up, up with the flag! Pirate's licence for me!
I'm afloat, I'm afloat, and the Rover is free!
DEFINITION OF MILITARY MANOEUVRES.—"Peace-work."
DARWINITES.—"The Evolutionary Squadron."
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
Speaking of Reynart the Fox, I was made, by a slip of the printer's hand—I am accustomed to seeing slips from his hand, which is quite another thing—to say that this mediæval romance "presents a truer picture of life than novels in which vice is punished and virtue patiently rewarded." After considering for some time what on earth I could have meant by "patiently rewarded," I remembered that I had written "patently rewarded." The printer put my "i" out; and without an "i" it was very difficult to perceive the sense of the phrase.
Nutshell Novels, by that crack writer—no, not "crack'd"—and poet, whose verses send a frill right through us, Mr. J. ASHBY-STERRY, are coming out. Capital title. As SHAKSPEARE says, "Sermons in stones, novels in nutshells, and good in everything." SHELLEY'S poems might be brought out in pocketable form under a similar title, Nut-Shelley Poems. I have not yet seen the volume in question, only heard tell of it, and should not be surprised to hear that the central novel and the best was a short military novel, entitled The Kernel. Messrs. HUTCHINSON & Co. are the publishers. I hope Mr. STERRY has illustrated them himself. He can draw and paint, but he won't, and there's an end on't. He must follow up the Nutshells with a volume of Crackers, about Christmas time.
Just been looking through London Street Arabs, by Mrs. H.M. STANLEY, published by CASSELL & Co., which firm—whose telegraphic address is "Caspeg, London," and a good name too—writes to the Baron thus:—"In forwarding you an early copy"—small and early—"of Mrs. Stanley's book, we will ask you to be good enough"—("I am 'good enough'" quoth the
