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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, December 12, 1891
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
has failed in his appointed task. For what he has to say in the way of making known to the world the man JOHN LEECH, a very thin volume would have sufficed, even had he included the more useful of his remarks on LEECH's work and his method. But there being two volumes to fill, Mr. FRITH genially summarises The Physiology of Evening Parties, by Mr. ALBERT SMITH; Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour, and other not very high-class literature, whose only claim to being remembered is that LEECH illustrated them. Of The Marchioness of Brinvilliers, ALBERT SMITH's attempt to rival the attractions of the Newgate Calendar, Mr. FRITH positively gives two whole chapters! He allots one to the Bon Gaultier Ballads, and nineteen mortal pages to telling the Story of Miss Kilmansegg, with copious extracts from that easily accessible work.
This is not Memoir-writing, it is book-making. The reader can skip these chapters, and, diligently searching, will find here and there a ray of light thrown on this beautiful placid life, weighed down as it was from earliest manhood by family circumstances at which Mr. FRITH delicately hints. "Give, give!" was, truly, the cry of the daughters of the horseleach. There are, however, several other anecdotes contributed by personal friends of LEECH's, who have come to Mr. FRITH's assistance, and succeed in the main in making the book an interesting one, as giving the outside world some glimpses of a sweet and manly character. The volumes are crowded with illustrations. These are LEECH's own work, and make the volumes worth more than their published price.
TO EVANGELINE.
Oh, come and be my Queen,
And share my lot
In some artistic cot
At Turnham Green,
EVANGELINE!
The painted tambourine
Shall grace its wall,
And many a table small
And folding screen
Shall on its floor be seen,
EVANGELINE!
Your beauty's dazzling sheen
Upsets me quite—
Of late my appetite
Has wretched been,
EVANGELINE!
I shun the soup tureen
And pine for you;
At pudding, joint, and stew
My face turns green—
What do the symptoms mean,
EVANGELINE?
If Fate should come between
My Love and me,
This countenance will be
No more serene,
EVANGELINE!
With nitro-glycerine
I'll speed my flight,
Or else I will ignite
Some Magazine—
Some Powder Magazine,
EVANGELINE!
An Aunt at Will.
[A lawsuit has been occasioned in India through white ants devouring a will.]
It is usually supposed that Australia is topsey-turvey mad, but in India it seems that matters also go by contraries, when compared with their mode of procedure at home. A lawsuit has been occasioned in Calcutta through white ants devouring a will. In England our Aunts (who are generally whites) make wills (bless them!) and we devour them, or at least live on the proceeds.
DEAR CHILD!
Papa (to Friend from Town). "THERE, MY BOY, THAT'S WHAT YOU OUGHT TO DO! GET A GEE, AND COME OUT WITH THE HOUNDS!"
Little Daughter. "OH, PAPA, TAKE CARE YOU DON'T FALL OFF, AS YOU DID THE OTHER DAY!"
KATHLEEN AND PETRUCHIO;
OR, SHAKSPEARE BALFOURISED.
Kathleen. HIBERNIA. Petruchio. Mr. BALFOUR.
Grumio.... Mr. JACKSON.
Haberdasher.. Mr. GLADSTONE.
Petruchio. Thus have I politicly begun my reign,
And 'tis my hope to end successfully;
My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty;
And, till she stoop, she must not be full-gorg'd,
For then she never looks upon her lure.
Another way I have to man my haggard,
To make her come, and know her keeper's call;
That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites
That bate, and beat, and will not be obedient.
She plays no tricks to-day, nor none shall play;
Last Session she ruled not, nor shall next Session;
Resolute government is the only way
To smooth these stormy spirits.
All the same,
After the hurly-burly, I intend
All shall be done in reverend care of her;
And, in conclusion, she shall have her rights,
If she will cease to rise, and rail, and brawl,
And with her clangour keep the world awake.
This is the way to kill her wrath with kindness,
And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong humour.—
He that knows better how to tame a shrew,
Let him speak out! 'Tis time the kingdom knew!
Kathleen. The more my wrong the more his smile appears!
How doth he madden me—and master me!—
I—I, who never knew how to submit,
Nor never fancied that I should submit,—
Am starved for strife, stupid for lack of struggle,
With Law kept bridled, and with Order saddled:
And that, which spites me more than all these stints,
He does it under name of perfect love;
As who should say, if I should have my will,
'Twere deadly sickness or else present death.
Petruchio. KATHLEEN, thou mend'st apace!
And now, my love,
Will we return unto thy father's house,
And ruffle it as bravely as the best,
With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings,
With ruffs, and cuffs, and farthingales, and things;
With orange tissue trimmed with true-blue bravery,
Eschewing wearing of the green,—that's knavery.
See GRUMIO there! He waits thy loving leisure
To deck thy body with his boxed-up treasure.
A cap of mine own choice, come fresh from town;
It will become thee better than a crown.
'Tis my ideal. (Enter Haberdasher.) Well—what would you, sirrah?
Haberdasher. Here is the hat the lady did bespeak!
Petruchio. Why, this was moulded on a foreign block,
A Phrygian cap. Fie, fie! 'tis crude and flaunting.
Why, 'tis a coal-vase or a bushel-basket,
A fraud, a toy, a trick, a verdant fool'scap:
Away with it! Come, let me have a smaller!
Kathleen. I'll have no smaller: this doth fit the time,
And gentlewomen wear such hats as these.
Petruchio. When you are gentle, you shall have one too,
But of another pattern.
Grumio (aside). Mine, to wit.
Kathleen. Why, Sir, I trust I may have leave to speak:
And speak I will. I am no child, no babe:
Your betters have endured me say my mind,
And, if you cannot, best you stop your ears.
My tongue will tell the craving of my heart,