قراءة كتاب Punch, Or The London Charivari, Volume 102, April 2, 1892

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Punch, Or The London Charivari, Volume 102, April 2, 1892

Punch, Or The London Charivari, Volume 102, April 2, 1892

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
الصفحة رقم: 2

Fourth Voice. What is it?

Imp. Sub. Are you Arctic Wine Company?

Fourth Voice. Yes, all right! What is it?

Imp. Sub. (joyfully). Have you sent a case of champagne to BUMBLETON?

Fourth Voice. What? I can't hear you.

First Voice. (interposing). Have you finished?

Imp. Sub. No, we are still speaking. Have you sent a case of champagne to BUMBLETON?

Fourth Voice. We can't hear you. Send a messenger.

First Voice. Have you finished?

Imp. Sub. (shouting). Yes! (Is cut off.) Shorter to have done so at once!

[Uses intemperate language, and hurries off to get a Messenger. Curtain.


THE CHURLISH CABMAN.

AIR—"Ballyhooley."

The Cabman's thrifty fares,

Who would seek suburban airs,

Desire, of course, a more extended "radius;"

But, Cabby, it is clear,

Thinks quite otherwise. I fear

The controversy's growing rather "taydious."

Whether by night or day,

A fair fare the fare should pay,

And Cabby should not overcharge unduly;

But this is what riles me,

When churl Cabby will not see

A would-be fare, but just ignores him coolly.

Chorus.

"Hi! hi! Cab! Hi!" Oh, no!

On the sullen brute will go;

When he wants a fare, he's clamorous and unruly;

But if he wants a drink,

With a sneer or with a wink,

He'll rumble on and just ignore you coolly.


DESTROYING THE MONEY-LENDER'S WEB; OR, THE THIRTEENTH LABOUR OF HERSCHELLES.

DESTROYING THE MONEY-LENDER'S WEB; OR, THE THIRTEENTH LABOUR OF HERSCHELLES.


RATHER SMART ALL ROUND.

RATHER SMART ALL ROUND.

Lady Di. (who has been trying a Horse with a view to purchase). "AND DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT HE'S QUITE UP TO MY WEIGHT, MR. SPAVIN?"

Spavin. "LOR! MY LADY, HE'D CARRY TWO OF YOU!"

Lady Di. "WHAT? DO YOU MEAN TO SAY THAT I'M ONLY HALF A HORSEWOMAN?"

Spavin. "BY NO MEANS, MY LADY. BUT ANOTHER LIKE YOUR LADYSHIP WOULD LOOK SO WELL ON THE OTHER SIDE!"


HOW TO REPORT THE PRACTICE OF THE CREWS.

(Newest Style.)

Scarcely had the tintinabulum fixed on the altitude of the clock tower of the ecclesiastical building known to fame and rowing men as Putney Church sounded out the merry chimes of eleven in the forenoon, when the wielders of the sky-blue (or dark-blue) blades were observed by the eager frequenters of the tow-path carrying their trim-built ship to the water's edge. Not many moments were cut to waste before each man had safely ensconced himself on the thwart built for him under the experienced eyes of the champion boat-builder. The men looked, it must in all fairness be admitted, in the high level of condition. In each eye there blazed a stern determination to do or die on every possible occasion. When the signal to start was given, the boat was observed to move with the bounding speed of a highly-trained greyhound. The oars dipped into the water like one man, though a marked inclination was observed on the part of two or three of the oarsmen to "hurry," while the rest seemed equally disposed to be "late." A few fatherly words from the prince of modern coaches soon had the desired effect of placing matters on a more completely satisfactory footing. The suggestion often made in these columns that a swifter rate of striking should be introduced, was acted upon. The boat moved with perfect evenness, while the wavelets played round her like young dolphins out for a holiday.

I need only add that our old friend Jupiter Pluvius proved once again to be a kind friend to those who tempted the dangers of the foaming tide in Putney Reach. In conclusion, it must be observed that the stroke was sometimes "short" and occasionally "long," but the "slides" moved like things of life, and contributed greatly to the pleasure of a very enjoyable outing.


DESTROYING THE SPIDER'S WEB;

Or, The Thirteenth Labour of Herschelles.

"To Lion-Hearted Hercules," the strong,

Sounded the clarion of Homeric song.

"Alcides, forcefullest of all the brood

Of men enforced with need of earthly food."

Punch will sing gallant Herschelles, than whom

Who was more worthy of Alcmene's womb

Or Jovian parentage? Behold him stand

With lion-hide on loins, and club in hand!

Forceful and formidable to all foes,

But fatal most especially to those

Of Hydra presence and Stymphalian beak,

Whose quarry is unseasoned youth, who seek

By subtle snares the Infant's steps to trip,

And catch the Minor in their harpy grip.

To his Twelve Labours, against monsters grim,

Who might have lived in safety but for him,

To snare, to slay, to humbug, and to cozen,

Herschelles, just to make a baker's dozen,

Adds a Thirteenth!

A wily, wicked wight,

Dwelling in noxious nooks as dark as night,

Beyond the radius of the housemaid's broom,

And thence dispensing dire disgrace and doom

Long time our homes hath haunted. Greedy Ghoul,

As furtive of advance as fierce of soul,

The Money-lending Spider is his name,

And grim and gruesome was his little game.

Of swollen body, of protuberant beak,

He knew that Youths were green, and Infants weak,

And spun his web, invisible but strong,

Where'er GRAY's well-named "little triflers" throng,

Who, verily unmindful of their doom,

He watched from forth his grubby haunts of gloom,

And strove by sinister device to lure,

Till, 'midst his viscous mazes once secure,

Them he might seize and suck.

The Birds, the Boar,

The Lion, or the Bull, all whom before

Great Herschelles had tackled, were not worse

Than the Colossal Spider, Albion's curse,

The scourge of childish Wealth and youthful Rank,

The Moloch of our Minors! Fathers, thank

Our new Alcides, who, with legal club,

Could dare the web assault, the Spider drub!

Worse than Tarantula venom hath the bite

Of this Conkiferous Ogre, which to fight

Herschelles did adventure! Thump! Bang! Whack!

The web is burst, the Spider's on his back,

All impotently spluttering poisonous spleen

Let's hope such monster may no more be seen.

And let us hail great Herschelles, whose skill

The high-nosed horror hath availed to kill.

Blow, Infants, blow the pipe, and thump the tabor,

In honour of the hero's Thirteenth Labour!


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