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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, September 17, 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, September 17, 1892
Man—mouton degenerate!
That "Bête Humaine," as ZOLA dubs him. Gr—r—r!
The real brutes are braver;
The tiger, when in chase of prey, won't purr,
Nor will the Bear, then, slaver.
The Bear! Reminds me of a horrid dream
I had that night. A funny one,
But startling! I awoke with such a scream!
I dreamt some link (a money one?)
Bound me to a big Bruin, rampant, tall,
A regular Russian Shagbag,
In whose close hug I felt extremely small,
And squeezable as a rag-bag.
I, CARNOT, squeezable! 'Tis too absurd!
A President, and pliant!
But—in my dream—the raucous voice I heard
Of that grim ursine giant.
"Come to my arms! You'll find them strong and snug.
The North's so true—and tender!"—
And then that monster huge put on the hug!
I thought my soul I'd render.
A bear's embrace, like a prize-fighter's grip,
Is close as passion's clasping.
"Welcome!" he grunted. "I'll not let you slip!"
"Thanks! thanks!" I answered, gasping.
"J'em—brasse—la—Rus—sie!" Here my breath quite failed
In that prodigious cuddle.
'Twas but a dream—How was it sleep prevailed
My meaning so to muddle?
"J'embrasse la Russie!" It was neatly phrased
As MOHRENHEIM admitted,
A President, in doggerel stanzas praised,
Must be so ready-witted,
Yet mild Republican and Autocrat,
Hugging in friendly seeming,
Suggest that Someone may be cuddled flat—
At least in restless dreaming.
From the Vale of Llangolflyn.
DEAR MR. PUNCH,—I have just seen your Number with the Song of "The Golf Enthusiast." It occurs to me that no one has ever mentioned the fact that the Romans knew the game, for does not VIRGIL sing, "Tee veniente die—Tee decedente canebat?" I have not the book, and therefore can't give you the reference—but I know I am right, as I am
"PUTTING ON THE HUG!"
M. LE PRÉSIDENT (breathlessly). "J'EM—BRASSE—LA RUSSIE!!"
["An interesting incident occurred during the official reception held by M. CARNOT at the Mairie. A child dressed in the Russian national costume presented the President with a bouquet, at the same time reciting a brief complimentary speech. M. CARNOT smilingly embraced the child, saying, 'I embrace Russia.'"—Quoted from Daily Papers.]
WHY YOUNG MEN DON'T MARRY.
DEAR MR. PUNCH,—The reason is obvious. It is entirely owing to your advice to those about to marry—Don't! I myself have been on the brink of proposing to several thousand delightful girls, a large per centage of which, I am convinced, would have gladly accepted me. I have in every case been restrained by the recollection of your advice.—Your obedient and obliged Servant,
Sept. 5, 1892.
DEAR MR. PUNCH,—The reason (which I confide to your ear, and yours alone) is obvious—the girls don't, and apparently won't propose. Of course they ought—what else do we have Leap Year for? Take my own case. I am genuinely in love with ETHEL TRINKERTON, who has just been staying with us in the country for three weeks. She has paid me every kind of attention. In our neighbourhood, if A. carries B.'s umbrella, where A. and B. are of opposite sexes, it is regarded as an informal, though perfectly definite way of announcing an approaching engagement. She knew the custom, and carried mine on no less than three occasions. (It is entirely beside the point that it rained heavily each time.) Yet she left us yesterday without an approach to a proposal. She's fair enough herself, but is her conduct? It isn't as if I hadn't given her enough chances. It cost me a small fortune to bribe my small brother to keep away; and, time after time, I've consented to sit alone with her in the summer-house. It isn't as if she couldn't afford it. They tell me she has at least a thousand a-year in her own right (whatever that may be), which would do capitally. I happen to be penniless myself; but, as I heard her say, her idea of marriage was the union of "soul to soul," my want of a few paltry pence could hardly matter. It's particularly humiliating for me, as, after the repeated umbrella-carrying, everybody here thinks it's all settled. That, Mr. Punch, is the reason why, at any rate, one young man doesn't marry.
Pickleton-in-the-Marsh, Kent.
P.S.—If ETHEL really didn't understand her position, and would like to reopen the matter, I would not be haughty about it.—B. C-C.
DEAR, KIND, GOOD MR. PUNCH,—The reason is obvious—the men don't and won't propose to the right girls. Take my own case. I've just stayed three weeks with the COOL-CHEEKS, and felt quite certain BERTIE would have proposed. He had all the symptoms badly. I saw him give his little brother half-a-crown to go indoors for ten minutes, and the way he would go in the summer-house and for long walks—with me—made it quite clear (as I thought) what was going to happen. Yet, he let me come away without a word! I'm sure I don't want to run after him (or anybody else), but I did think he meant something. We suited one another admirably. In fact, if he doesn't ask me with all the opportunities he had, he'd ask no one.
The Thorns, Bayswater.
P.S.—He carried my umbrella almost hourly—and you know what that means. If BERTIE was only nervous, and would like another chance—well, we are always at home on Sunday afternoons.—E.T.