قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 102, May 14, 1892
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Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 102, May 14, 1892
SIDE!"
He (wishing to please). "WELL—A—REALLY—I DON'T SEE ANY DIFFERENCE!"
"NOT AT HOME!"
(A Duologue on a Doorstep.)
SCENE—The G.O.M.'s front door. Two expectant callers, EIGHT-HOURS BILL and Miss SARAH SUFFRAGE, in sore disappointment and some disgust, interlocute:—
Mr. Bill (sardonically). You too? Ah! he ain't no respecter of pussons, he ain't!
Miss Sarah (tartly). Well, this tries the temper of even a Suffrage she-saint.
I did think,—but there, you cannot trust Men—even Grand Old Ones!
Mr. Bill. Trust? Them as do trust Party Leaders are gen'rally sold ones.
It don't a mite matter which side.
Miss Sarah. Well, as far as I see,
The other side shows the most signs, BILL, of favouring Me!
I'm sure Mister BALFOUR was awfully civil and nice.
Mr. Bill. You won't trust Prince ARTHUR too far, if you'll take my advice.
Miss Sarah. Well, no,—but I should like to pay out—the other. Ah, drat him!
I'd comb his scant wool, the old fox, could I only get at him.
I'd pamphlet the wily old word-spinner.
Mr. Bill. Ah! I've no doubt;
But wot can we do when his flunkey assures us he's out?
Miss Sarah. We're out, anyhow.
Mr. Bill. Ah! you see you ain't never got in.
But me, his old pardner and pal! It's a shame, and a sin!
He's throwed lots of cold water of late. I am blowed if I likes
His wobbleyfied views about Payment of Members, and Strikes.
And then that HOOD bizness! Long rigmarole—cheered by the Tories!
I fear it's all Ikybod now with our G.O.M.'s glories.
Miss Suffrage. I never quite liked him—at heart. Mrs. FAWCETT, she warned me.
Mr. Bill. Well, now, I did love him! You see, he so buttered and yarned me;
And now—he won't see me! O WILLYUM, I carn't understand it.
Miss Suffrage. I've asked him politely this time. P'raps next time I'll demand it.
Unsex me? Aha! I am willing to wager Stonehenge
To a pebble, when canvassing's wanted, I'll have my revenge!
Mr. Bill. And though he seems cocksure the Gen'l Election he'll win,
Maybe if he's out to me always, he may not get in! [Exeunt.
Grand Old Voice (within). Look nasty! Now have I done wisely this time—on reflection?
One must be so careful—"in view of the General Election!"
RECOLLECTIONS OF (COCKNEY) "ARABIAN" DAYS AND NIGHTS.
[Mr. MONTAGU WILLIAMS, Q.C., is about to publish, in the pages of Household Words, a series of descriptive articles, embodying his more than Wellerishly "extensive and peculiar" knowledge of London, and entitled "Round London, Down East, Up West."]
When the breeze of romance in my youth blew free,
"A Welcome Guest" I was wont to see.
It was a right good time with me,
A joyful, book-devouring time.
Far about London I was borne,
From night to night, from morn to morn;
From Street to Park, from Tower to Dock.
I was conveyed "Twice Round the Clock."
True Sala-ite was I and sworn,
For it was in the golden prime
Of graphic GEORGE AUGUSTUS:
And now I find me revelling through
A magazine of saffron hue,
Called "Sala's Journal," and I swim
Once more in London's rushing tide,
Piloted as of old by him
Through "London Up to Date." With pride,
I own I have a goodly time,
For still it seems the golden prime
Of graphic GEORGE AUGUSTUS.
But many another since my youth
The streets of Babylon hath trod,
With a statistic measuring-rod,
Or philanthropic gauge. In sooth
There was GEORGE SIMS, there is CHARLES BOOTH.
We now search out the Social Truth;
A goodly plan, in the old time
Foreshadowed in the golden prime
Of worthy HENRY MAYHEW.
Now London Labour, London Poor,
Occupy pen and pencil more
Than Pictures in the Passing Show
Of the Immense Metropolis.
And few have knowledge such as his,
(The great Q.C., the worthy Beak!)
Of modern Babylon, high and low;
And so shall I with interest seek
These pages, full of interest,
"Round London, Down East, and Up West."
True picture of the present time,
Drawn for us by the pencil prime
Of good MONTAGU WILLIAMS!
"NOT AT HOME."
MISS SARAH SUFFRAGE (indignantly). "OH! 'OUT' IS HE!"
EIGHT-HOURS BILL (angrily). "YUS!—AND HE WON'T GET 'IN,' IF I CAN, HELP IT!!"
[Mr. GLADSTONE has lately published an unsympathetic Pamphlet on "Female Suffrage," and has declined to receive a Deputation on the "Eight Hours Day" question.]
AN OVER-EXTENDED FRANCHISE.
My Lady (to her pet protégée). "PRAY WHOM DID YOUR HUSBAND VOTE FOR?"
Martha Stubbs. "I DON'T KNOW, MY LADY."
My Lady. "BUT SURELY YOUR HUSBAND TOLD YOU?"
Martha Stubbs. "HE DOESN'T KNOW HIMSELF, MY LADY. HE'S SUCH A POOR IGNORANT CREATURE!"
BURNING WORDS.
(From a Working Man.)
["How many of you men would contribute to a Working Men's Fund the shilling you put on Orme, who, by the way, I am sorry to see was not poisoned to death."—Mr. John Burns in the Park.]
Look 'ere, JOHN, you stow it; you're nuts on the spoutin';
I don't mind a man as can 'oller a bit;
And if shillings are goin', I'd back you for shoutin',
Though your game's an Aunt Sally, all miss and no 'it.
But the blusterin' chap as keeps naggin' the boys on
To fight and get beat all for nothing's an ass.
And I'm certain o' this, that the wust kind o' poison
Is the stuff as you fellers 'ave lots of—that's gas!
What's Orme done to you? 'E can't 'elp a cove bettin'.
To get at 'im for that is a trifle too warm.
And poisonin' racers ain't my kind o' vettin'.
I likes a good 'orse, so 'ere's 'ealth to old Orme.
Take a bolus yourself, it might stop you from
