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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 100, April 25, 1891
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
doesn't do such things as that!
Brack. Really? You forget we are all realistic and unconventional persons here, and do all kinds of odd things. But don't worry yourself! [He goes out.
George (to Hedda). Oh, I say, HEDDA, what's to become of our Fairyland now, eh? We can't have a liveried servant, or give dinner-parties, or have a horse for riding. Fancy that!
Hedda (slowly, and wearily). No, we shall really have to set up as Fairies in reduced circumstances, now.
George (cheering up). Still, we shall see Aunt JULIE every day, and that will be something, and I've got back my old slippers. We shan't be altogether without some amusements, eh?
Hedda (crosses the floor). Not while I have one thing to amuse myself with, at all events.
George (beaming with joy). Oh, Heaven be praised and thanked for that! My goodness, so you have! And what may that be, HEDDA, eh?
Hedda (at the doorway, with suppressed scorn). Yes, GEORGE, you have the old slippers of the attentive Aunt, and I have the horse-pistols of the deceased General!
George (in an agony). The pistols! Oh, my goodness! what pistols?
Hedda (with cold eyes). General GABLER'S pistols—same which I shot—(recollecting herself)—no, that's THACKERAY, not IBSEN—a very different person. [She goes through the back Drawing-room.
George (at doorway, shouting after her). Dearest HEDDA, not those dangerous things, eh? Why, they have never once been known to shoot straight yet! Don't! Have a catapult. For my sake, have a catapult! [Curtain.
Bow-Wow!
The RAIKES' teeth were bared—a most terrible sight!—
At the Messenger Companies. Now all seems joy
For the Public, the P.O., the Co., and the Boy!
The Dog in the Manger JOHN BULL did affright,
But—his bark is perhaps rather worse than his bite!
SONS OF BRITANNIA; OR, THE UNITED SERVICE.
[The Senior Admiral of the Fleet, SIR PROVO WILLIAM PARRY WALLIS, G.C.B., who was in the action between the British Frigate Shannon and the American Frigate Chesapeake on June 1st, 1813 (taking command of the Shannon after the disabling of Captain BROKE), celebrated the hundredth anniversary of his birthday on April 12th, 1891.
Lieutenant GRANT "displayed great bravery and judgment" (Times) in the defence of Thobal against the Manipuris, April, 1891.]
SONS OF BRITANNIA.
1813—1891.
Britannia loquitur:—
From Boston Bay to Thobal fort
Is a far cry, but bravery bridges
The centuries, and of space makes sport.
The shot that swept the salt sea-ridges
When VERE BROKE of the Shannon smote
The foe, and, struck, left WALLIS smiting,—
Sends echoes down the years that float
To Thobal o'er the sounds of fighting.
Memories of greatness make men great!
Brave centenarian, you with pleasure
May greet the youth who guard our State.
You, whose long memories can measure
So wide a sweep of England's war,
Must joy to see her served as boldly
As in those sad mad days afar,
When, gazing on her children coldly,
She alienated kindred hearts,
Which might till now have beaten loyal.
At least you both played well your parts,
Though blunderers blind, official, royal,
May then or now have marred the work
Of arduous years, and gallant spirits,
My sons at least no peril shirk,
Valour from age to age inherits.
The old tradition, duteous stands
For the old Flag, wherever flying!
Brave WALLIS, gallant GRANT, clasp hands!
My sons! Unfaltering, undying,
Beneath grey hairs, or youth's brown locks,
The spirit proud of patriot valour!
Not desperate odds in war's wild shocks
Shall strike its flush to craven pallor.
Mud-fort, or "mealey" bastion, deck
Of shot-torn ship, or red "death-valley,"
What odds? Of danger nought I reck,
Whilst thus my sons to me can rally.
Come what, come will! Whilst centuried age
And youth in Spring strike hands before me,
Let foemen band, let battle rage,
You'll keep my Flag still flying o'er me!
"GENERAL IDEA"
HITTING ON A NOVEL PLAN FOR OUR COAST DEFENCES
The Yankee Oracle on the Three-Volume Novel.
Our people will not stand it—no!
Of Fiction, limp or strong,
Yanks want but little here below,
Nor want that little long!
(But oh! our (Saxon) stars one thanks,
Romance is not (yet) ruled by Yanks!)
SONGS OF THE UN-SENTIMENTALIST.
THE TAX-COLLECTOR'S HEART.
I know his step, his ring, his knock,
I hear him, too, explain,
With emphasis my nerves that shock,
That he "won't call again!"
I know that bodes a coming storm—
A summons looms a-head!
I follow his retreating form,
And note his stealthy tread!
Some grace to beg, implore, beseech,
'Twere vain! Let him depart!
I know no human cry can reach
That Tax-Collector's heart!
He kept his word. To claim that rate
He never called again.
An outraged Vestry, loth to wait,
Soon made their purpose plain.
I know not how, I missed the day,—
But that fell summons came.
Two shillings costs it took to play
That Tax-Collector's game.
I own the outlay was not much!
But, that is not the smart:
'Tis that no anguished shriek can touch
That Tax-Collector's heart!
"MORS ET VITA."—A fine performance, April 15, at Albert Hall, with ALBANI, HILDA WILSON, Messrs. LLOYD, and WATKIN MILLS, and Dr. MACKENZIE, as conductor or con-doctor. I should have given, writes our correspondent, a full and enthusiastic account of it, but that I was bothered all the time by two persons near me, who would talk and wouldn't listen. Thank goodness, they didn't stay throughout the performance. In a theatre they'd have been hushed down, but this is such a big place that a talking duet is heard only in the immediate neighbourhood of the talkers; and then no one wants to have a row during the performance of sacred music. It's like brawling in church.
QUEER QUERIES.
THE TITHES QUESTION.—I am the Vicar of a country Church in