قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, December 17, 1892
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
Doctor.—He was ordered by his Doctor to walk two miles a day. "Can't do it in London," was the patient's reply; "never walk more than one mile. But," he said, brightening up, "I'll go to Paris, as one mile there is equal to double the distance in England. How's that? I'll tell you. I do half a mile out, half a mile back: one mile; et voilà two!"
"Little Tich" and "Collins."—The former, not the Little Tich of Drury Lane Pantomime, but Sir Henry Tichborne, Bart., has, for absence of mind and body, thus not fulfilling his duties as High Sheriff, been fined by Mr. Justice Collins five hundred pounds—quids pro quo—unless he can show some just cause or impediment. "He wants Tich-ing up a bit," thought Mr. Justice, but he didn't say so.
Reports of Crackers.—If among our old friend Sparagnapane & Co.'s Crackers there are any that will "go off" better than others it will be those called The True Lovers' Code Cosaques. This is the latest addition to the School-Board Education Code for the Christmas Holidays.
"SET A THIEF TO CATCH A THIEF!"
Mrs. Brown (a victim of secret social ambitions). "Oh, as for poor Mrs. Robinson, her only object in life is to drop all her Old Friends and know Titled People! Isn't it Loathsome and Sickening?"
Mrs. Jones (who is consumed inwardly by just the same desire). "Yes, indeed, if it's true! But what makes you think she wants anything so utterly Despicable and Mean?"
Mrs. Brown (naïvely). "Because she was so precious hard on Mrs. Smith for trying to know Lord and Lady Snooks!"
"THE MISSING WORD." (?)
down with burdens scarce to be borne,
Waiting a blast on Hope's clarion horn, loud
as the "Cock that crew in the morn."
Bucolic, wheat-crowned, she—Micawber
seems she, waiting for something to turn up—somehow.
Poor Agriculture! Care's merciless vulture
has harried her vitals, and furrowed her brow.
from Chaplin the cheery, to Winchilsea wise,
And valorous Muntz, who the land-question
shunts, and "goes the whole hog" for Protection and rise;
With rollicking Lowther, who's no Malagrowther,
but larkily hints that the look-out is mournful;
And Nethersole, rustic and most nubibustic,
of law and of logic complacently scornful.
queries will hardly restore her her loved long-lost daughter,
(Fair Profits) whom Pluto ("the Foreigner")
stole. Vainly landlords and farmers breathe forth fire and slaughter
At Free Trade—that Circe on whom they've
no mercy,—and howl down the speeches of those she's enchanted.
The one "Missing Word" may sound wholly
absurd to cool sense, but to them 'tis the one thing that's wanted.
of Taxes? Low Rents? More improvements in modes of production?
Pooh! Saunders and Riley must be far
more wily to get him to yield to their Red Rad seduction.
He stands midst his ruins (like Marius) making
of faith in Protection an open confession.
'Tis Duties on Food will alone do us good,
nought else can now cure "the prevailing depression."
poser you put to the country, the cliques, and the classes,
The Landlord, The Farmer, the Labourer!
Say they agree, what response may you hope from "the Masses."
Those tiresome "Consumers"? Old myths
and new rumours are like the East wind, Maiden, mighty unfilling;
Bucolic ideas and crude panaceas won't help
you, though with them all Fad-dom is thrilling.
tells us, in this far more wise than he's wholly aware of.
But Chaplin-cum-Walsh cannot turn back
time's tide. And Punch, who all interests has to take care of,
Must tell you in kindness, that only sheer
blindness can say of Protection the true Missing Word it is,
Though men, my poor Maiden, with worries
o'erladen, will lend ear to Quackdom's most arrant absurdities!
Suggestions for New Musical Publications.
A Companion to The Stars of Normandy, to be entitled, The North Pole-Star (the words by Cold-Wetherby), to be sung by Charles Very Chilley. If sung at St. James's Hall, admission generally, one shilling. Freeze-seats, nothing.
"The Carnival" is announced, as "Molloy's last hit." We hope not. We trust that it is only Misther James Molloy's latest hit. "Never say die!"
As a companion to "Come Dance the Romaika," will be published, "Come Read the Romeike," set up and composed by the Press Cutting Agency.
Rather Startling.—A Correspondent sends us a cutting from a paper:—
"Mr. Moody, the Evangelist, who was a passenger on the Spree, ... preached an able discourse."
She says, "I can read no more to-day. Mr. Moody, as 'a passenger on the Spree,' is too much for my feelings." As Joe said to Pip, "What larks!" Yours truly, Shocked!