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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, July 16, 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 103, July 16, 1892
And he lost by seven hundred, and is out of the fierce fray;
And whether he rejoices, or internally repines,
May be clear to the wiseacres who can "read between the lines."
It was hot, too, while it lasted, and of epidemic ills
The Election Fever "takes the cake." 'Tis true it seldom kills,
But for far and wide contagion, and for agony acute,
Its supremacy is certain as its sway is absolute.
And he had it very badly. He looks convalescent now,
But the frenzy of the meeting brought the crimson to his brow,
And his thorax is still husky with his eloquent appeal
To the mustered working-men at the hour of mid-day meal.
How they swarmed about his waggon! How their oily fustian filled
The summer air with fragrance that his fine olfactories thrilled!
How very loud their shouts were, and how very rude their jeers,
And how very strong the bouquet of clay pipes and bitter beers!
His arguments amused them, and his peroration fine,
About "standing for old England stoutly all along the line,"
Would have surely proved impressive, but for some sardonic ass,
Who produced an anti-climax with the shouted comment "Gas!"
Then the mob broke up in laughter, to return to pipe and can,
And—plumped for his opponent pretty nearly to a man;
For of all ungrateful cynics, and of all impervious clowns,
Commend me (says our wanderer), to the workmen of our towns.
Well, experientia docet. That confounded "local Club"
(Blend of Institute and Chapel with a savour of the pub.)
Where the pallid-faced cheesemongers, and the clammy-handed snobs,
Swarmed around to "patronise" him, was the toughest of tough jobs.
Its rooms were wondrous stuffy and its members scarce "good form,"
For they mostly dropped their aitches, and they always looked so warm.
Why political enthusiasts so run to noise and heat,
And crude manners, and bad grammar, is a crux that's hard to beat.
But he bore it,—yes, he bore it; he shook heaps of 'orny 'ands,
Heard the shindy of their shoutings, and the braying of their bands;
Stood their "heckling," which was trying, and their praises, which
were worse,
All the claims upon his time, and taste, his patience, and his purse.
Then they "chucked" him by three figures! Well, he's "out of it," thanks be!
And he "offs it by the Special" to the river or the sea.
He heard the "Declaration," and the rival Party's roar,
And—"the subsequent proceedings interested him no more."
"'Latest Results! Helections!!' Oh, confound the boy! Get out!
Let the winners sum their winnings, let their blatant backers shout.
What have I to do with pollings? Cease, cacophonous urchin, cease!
I am going to read The Wrecker, and possess my soul in peace!"
"D.G." and MRS. R.—Mr. Punch begs to congratulate the Daily Graphic on the electioneering ladder showing every day the position of the Parties. Very "Happy Thought." His ancient friend, Mrs. RAM, in speaking of this journal, observed, that "Daily Graphic was not by any means a new name, and the paper ought to have been purely theatrical, as the person after whom it is evidently called was the celebrated actor, you know, my dear, in the last century, whom Dr. JOHNSON used to call 'Little Daily Graphic.'"
OUT OF IT!
("And the subsequent Proceedings interested him no more.")
NEWSPAPER-BOY. "'ERE Y'ARE, SIR! LATEST RESULTS O' THE POLL, SIR!"
REJECTED CANDIDATE (growls). "OH! GO TO THE DEUCE!!"
HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF.
Lady Godiva. "NOW PROMISE ME, YOU DEAR GOOD MAN, PROMISE ME YOU'LL VOTE FOR LORD JAMES, AND I'LL—I'LL DIV YOU A TISS!"
THE END OF HENLEY.
(Fragment from a Historical Sketch yet to be written.)
It was shortly after the middle of July, 1892, that the Great Representative of the British Race stood upon the Victoria Embankment, watching the river-steamers as they passed to and fro. There were few persons about, for the General Election was over, and civilised London was out of Town. Some of civilised London had gone abroad, some were in Scotland, some by the Sea. So the Great Representative expected to see no one.
"Mr. Punch, I believe!" said some one, approaching the Great Representative. The speaker was a person who wore a garb peculiarly suitable to the autumnal sultriness of the weather. He had about a couple of yards of calico, and one good coating of serviceable paint. The Great Representative bowed his head, and by a gesture, invited further explanation.
"I am connected with the literary world, and am a Colonist. I am known, or used to be known (for I am getting a trifle out of date), as Lord MACAULAY's New-Zealander."
Again the Great Representative bowed. He knew his visitor, and bade him welcome. Then he asked him the cause of his visit.
"Well, I really don't know," replied the New-Zealander, with a short laugh. "I am afraid I must have been hoaxed. I was told that England was absolutely ruined, and was looking for a comfortable seat amongst the remains of London Bridge."
"You see you are slightly premature," returned the Great Representative, pointing towards a more or less majestic pile in the offing. "There was some talk of rebuilding the structure some short while ago, but a viaduct near the Tower was considered preferable. When it is opened, there will be Knighthoods for the Sheriffs, and a Baronetcy for the Lord MAYOR."
"And yet," pondered the New-Zealander, "I was certainly informed by wire, that the glory of Britain had vanished for ever."
"Very likely an Election cry," observed Mr. Punch, "In the midst of a contested polling, both sides think the success of their rivals must be followed by immediate disaster. But somehow or other, things settle down afterwards, and nothing comes of it. Whichever side wins, the old flag floats in the wind as gaily and as prosperously as ever."
"And yet I was certainly told that the sun of England had set never to rise again," persisted the Aboriginal, who seemed to be of an obstinate turn of mind. "Now I remember—the cause was something to do with Diamonds and Henley. Stay, the bright brains of the nation had disappeared. I recollect, the Diamond Sculls of the nation (once so great) had passed to foreigners."
"Ah, now I take your meaning." said the National Representative, with a smile, "and you must have heard of the result of the race for the Diamond Sculls at Henley."
"That must be it," acquiesced the New-Zealander. "I had forgotten to take into account possible errors in transmission. But tell me, has there been a national