قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 102, April 9, 1892
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 102, April 9, 1892
Monarch the Constable pitied, but still "constabulary duty must be done," as he had heard sung; and remembering that my Lord Chief Justice, in days gone by, had sent off the Heir Apparent to prison, so now he the Constable, in the name of the Law, would hale KING HERBERT before the Magistrate. So King and Clown were had up accordingly. Did the Clown whimper, and cry, "Oh, please, Sir, it wasn't me, Sir; it was t'other boy, Sir!" and did the good King prepare to meet his fate like a man? and was he ready to put his head cheerfully on the wig-block and declare with his latest breath (up to 12.55 P.M.) that in his closing hours he died for the benefit of the Public? We know not—except that both delinquents were let off—like squibs—and Mine Host, the Boniface, had to pay all the fines. He at all events had a Fine old time of it! Sic transit! So fitly ends the long run of a good Pantomime. Finis coronat opus!
The Volunteer Review at Dover.
General Idea of Officers in Command.—To make as few mistakes as possible in handling some thousands of imperfectly-drilled and entirely undisciplined bodies of men.
The same of the Rank and File.—To spend an annual holiday in marching and counter-marching, and then, after thirty miles of moving over a heavy country, to return to London dead beat.
EFFECTIVELY SETTLING IT.—A "par" in the Daily Telegraph last Friday informed us that "The Bishop of EXETER administered, yesterday, the rite of confirmation to thirty-eight patients of the Western Counties' Idiot Asylum at Starcross. This is the first time such a rite has been conferred upon inmates of this institution." Very hard on these inmates, as, previous to the ceremony there might have been some hope of their recovery; but now they have become "confirmed idiots."
ODE TO A GIRAFFE.
(On hearing that the Solitary Specimen at the Zoo had just died.)
So Death has paid the Zoo a call,
And claimed you for his own,
Who "neck or nothing" had been left
To bloom—and die—alone.
From far I gazed into your face,
I did not know your name,
You looked uncomfortable, but
I loved you all the same.
Your neck was just a trifle long,
I think you must confess.
I've often thought if, as a fact,
You could have done with less.
But we must take you all in all,
And so I hear with pain
That probably we shall not look
Upon your like again.
I could have spared a buffalo
Or elephant with ease,
An armadillo, or a bear,
A dozen chimpanzees.
When Jumbo left for foreign skies,
I did not shed a tear,
For though his Alice mourned his loss,
I knew that you were here.
You've gone to heaven, if that's where
The good giraffes all go.
I wonder if you'll ever see
What happens down below.
I hope, for your own comfort, not,
But, if you ever do,
Please recognise me as the Man
Who sadly haunts the Zoo.
THE POET AND THE SONGS.
I HAD a thought, a dainty thought,
A quaint and cunning fancy,
I said, "A theme with humour fraught
Within my grasp I can see.
This thought will work into a set
Of verses fit for singing."
A voice rasped, "Oh, a deal o' wet!"
And off that thought went winging.
And once again that thought returned,
With yet more brightness on it—
This time with the desire I burned
To weave it in a sonnet.
I'd get an artist chum to do
The subject in a rare cut.
Alas! before 'twas grasped it flew,
Alarmed by, "Git yer 'air cut!"
I strayed in silent solitude
That lost thought to recover,
And, as my journey I pursued,
'Twould still around me hover.
Almost I grasped, one fatal day,
That fancy, quaint and clever,
A cad shrieked, "Tara-boom-de-ay!"
And off it flew—for ever!
SUNDAY OBSERVANCE.
WHAT a shocking state of things,
Oh, my goodness, Mrs. GRUNDY!
There's a man that plays and sings
In a Blackpool hall on Sunday!
Oh, what wickedness, oh, dear!
Sunday music! What a scandal!
Folks might even go and hear
Things by HAYDN or by HANDEL!
Rush and find some obsolete
Act of wise and pious GEORGES,
Which will help us to defeat
Such abominable orgies!
But here's worse news, I declare;
Gracious patience, Mrs. GRUNDY!
Eastbourne people cannot bear
Nice Salvation bands on Sunday!
Acts, not words, again we need,
Just to show them they are silly.
Sunday Music stopped? Indeed,
They must like it, willy nilly!
THEATRES AND MUSIC HALLS COMMISSION.
(A Matinée, by Our Own Reporter.)
IN reply to Mr. WOODALL, Mr. J.L. TOOLE said he was happy to come there. Name is JOHN LAWRENCE TOOLE? Yes. "JACK with my familiars,"—hem!—SHAKSPEARE. Being in Witness-box,—JACK in the Box. What he would take? Nothing, thanks, not even his oath. He was quite prepared to kiss the book—in the absence of the belle. Little joke that—has heard of "bell, book, and candle." Couldn't bring the candle in,—would if he could, though, just to—ahem!—make it a light entertainment. Would they excuse his glove? What did they want to know? Whether the sanitary arrangements at his Theatre were good? Rather—he could only say they were "fust-rate." A 1, in fact, like the performance. The house held over two thousand pounds, and was crowded nightly to see Walker, London. Did he consider the structure safe? Of course he did—safe as Houses—that is, safe as his houses for Walker, London were going to be for the next three years and a half, when his tenancy would expire, and he should then be in the Army. Did the Committee want to know how it was that he would be in the Army? He'd tell them; because, when he gave up that
