قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, October 10, 1891
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Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, October 10, 1891
reading Dr. T. Orme Duffield's Report to the Vestry of Kensington on the health and sanitary condition of the district), loquitur:—
Oh bother this sanit'ry bosh! Always piping the same dull old strains,
One would think there wos nothink in life to be done but go sniffing the Drains!
Wich my nose is a dalicot one, and I don't like the job, not by lumps;
And I won't be perpetual poked up by these peeping and prying old pumps.
"Bumbledom and Disease!" I like that,—like the Times' dashed himperence, I think.
We porochial pots is to pass all our time a-prospecting for Stink!
Doctor DUDFIELD thinks WE should inspeck, periodical, all privit dwellings,
Discover and show up defecks, sech as fumings and leakings, and smellings,
As "lurk unsuspected about," which the tenants theirselves do not twig,
And the landlords, in course, don't remove. Well, your tenant is mostly a pig,
And your landlord is sometimes a 'og; still between 'em we jest slip along,
But do dooty for both of 'em? Snakes! that is coming it slightly too strong.
The tenants 'old on jest as long as they can, and the landlords 'old orf.
A sort of a ketchy sore-throat, or a bit of a qualm or a korf,
Make some idjots go fair orf their chumps on diphtheria, and typhod and such;
But then others, who don't like a hupset, put up with the lot, pooty much,
Jest to save topsy-turvey and 'oles in the garden, and mud on the stairs;
Landlords, likeways, is dabs at postponing, and patching, and 'ushing up scares.
But if we are to spot wot goes quisby, and be the responsible chaps,
Wheugh! we should 'ave a regular beanfeast with sockets and air-pipes and traps!
No, no, westry worrying sneaks, it won't work. As for "W.B.E."
He may frighten the Kensington lot, he won't 'ave no effeck upon Me!
Diphtheria be jolly well dashed! It is often, as DUDFIELD explains,
Mere "follicular(—hem!—) tonsillitis." Me bother my 'ed about Drains?
Go to! I 'ave got other fish, in a manner of speaking, to fry,
That L.C.C. gave itself airs and declared it would wipe my old heye
With its bloomin' Big Pots and "Progressives." Aha! where the doose are they now?
Mister ROSEBERY resigned, regular sick of bad manners and endless bow-wow;
Now LIBBOCK and FARRER are orf. FARRER gave the Times one in the eye,
'Cos it seemed for to 'int even he of them precious Progressives wos shy.
Swears their manners is quite up to dick, most consid'rit, and all that there stuff.
Well they may 'ave been Brummels of course, but he seems to 'ave 'ad quite enough!
'Owsomever, wotever the cause, now they're quit of the Great Toffy Three,
They must 'ave a new Chairman, in course, and—ha! ha!—wot a hopening for Me!!
Porochial Bumble must rule, spite of fads, in a steady and sane age,
And 'aving a heye on High Orfice I can't waste my time on mere Drainage!
[Kicks Report, and strikes an attitude.
TRUE LITERARY EXCLUSIVENESS.
"DON'T YOU ADMIRE ROBERT BROWNING AS A POET, MR. FITZSNOOK?"
"I USED TO, ONCE; BUT EVERYBODY ADMIRES HIM NOW, DON'TCHERKNOW—SO I'VE HAD TO GIVE HIM UP!"
Hide and Seek.
Ah! Pirate KID's Treasure has done good we know,
It suggested a rattling good story to POE.
But the "Syndicate" started to seek where 'tis hid,
Will probably find that same Treasure—"all KID!"
TEA IN TEN MINUTES.
(A SONG AT A RAILWAY STATION.)
Air—"Thee, Thee, only Thee."
Ten minutes here! The sun is sinking
And longingly we've long been thinking,
Of Tea, Tea, fragrant Tea!
The marble slabs we gather round,
They're long in bringing what is wanted.
The china cup with draught embrown'd
Our thirsty souls are wholly haunted
By Tea, Tea, fragrant Tea!
Now then, you waiter, stir, awaken!
Time's up. I'll hardly save my bacon.
Tea, Tea, bring that Tea!
At last! The infusion's rayther dark.
But hurry up! Can't stay for ever!
One swig! Br-r-r-r! Hang the cunning shark!
Will't never cool? Nay, never, never!
Tea, Tea, scalding Tea!
More milk; don't be an hour in bringing!
Heavens! That horrid bell is ringing!
"Take your seats, please!" Can't touch the Tea!
Cup to the carriage must not take;
Crockery may be lost, or broken;
Refreshment sharks are wide awake.
But—many a naughty word is spoken
O'er Tea, Tea, scalding Tea!
NOTHING NEW.—The Editor of the Gentlewoman announces a forthcoming novel to be written by about a dozen or more novelists. Mr. Punch highly commends this spirited enterprise. The scheme is not absolutely a novelty, as in Mr. Punch's pages some time ago, was there not a "Limited Novel Co." of Authors and Artists to produce "Chikkin Hazard?" They combined, but did not collaborate. But any way, success to the Gentlewoman!
"WHERE IS DAT BARTY NOW?"—After the recent suicide of le pauvre Général, the Boulangist party cannot be said to have been left without leaders, at all events, in England, as they have had leaders in all the papers, and actually two in the Times.
THE TRAVELLING COMPANIONS.
No. X.
SCENE—A flight of steps by the lake in the grounds of the Insel Hotel, Constance. Time, late afternoon. A small boat, containing three persons, is just visible far out on the glassy grey-green water. BOB PRENDERGAST and PODBUBY are perched side by side on a parapet, smoking disconsolately.
Podbury. Do they look at all as if they meant to come in? I tell you what, BOB, vote we row out to them and tell them they'll be late for table d'hôte. Eh? [He knocks out his pipe.
Prendergast (phlegmatically). Only be late for it ourselves if we do. They'll come in when they want to.
Podb. It's not safe for your sister,—I'm hanged if it is—going out in a boat with a duffer like CULCHARD! He'll upset her as sure as eggs.
Prend. (with fraternal serenity). With pin-oars? Couldn't if he tried! And they've a man with them, too. The less I see of that chap CULCHARD the better. I did hope we'd choked him off at Nuremberg. I hate the sight of his supercilious old mug!
Podb. You can't hate it more than I do—but what can I do? (Pathetically.) I've tried rotting him, but somehow he always manages to get the best of it in the end. I never saw such a beggar to hang on!
