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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, December 24, 1892

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Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, December 24, 1892

Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, December 24, 1892

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
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of the 670 gentlemen who now compose the House of Commons, who might not find himself, by some accident, unseated, if a full investigation were made into everything that had taken place in his constituency, say, during the ten years preceding his candidature."—Mr. Balfour at Sheffield.

M.P. (of any Party you please), loquitur:—

Phew! It's all very fine, when you gather to dine,
And to blow off the steam, while you blow off your 'bacca,
(As the farmers of Aylesbury did, when their wine
Was sweetened with "news from the Straits of Malacca");
But things are much changed since the voters of Bucks
Flushed red with loud fun at the phrases of Dizzy,
And M.P.'s are dreadfully down on their lucks,
Since Balfour's confounded "tribunals" got busy.
What precious stiff posers to loyal Primrosers
Are offered by Rochester, Walsall, and Hexham!
Platform perorators, post-prandial glosers,
Must find many points to perplex 'em and vex 'em.
It bothers a spouter who freely would flourish
Coat-tails and mixed tropes at political dinners,
When doubts of his safety he's driven to nourish,
Through publicans rash and (electoral) sinners.
Good lack, and good gracious! One may be veracious,
And look with disgust upon bribes and forced bias,
Yet owing to "Agents" more hot than sagacious,
Appear as Autolycus-cum-Ananias.
One might just as soon be a Man-in-the-Moon,
Or hark back at once to the style of Old Sarum.
That Act (Corrupt Practices) may be a boon.
But the way they apply it seems most harum-scarum.
Should a would-be M.P. ask old ladies to tea,
Or invite male supporters to crumpets or cricket;
Should a snug Party Club prove a trifle too free,
Or give an equivocal "treat," or hat-ticket;
A seven years' nursing of Slopville-on-Slime,
A well-fought Election and Glorious Victory
(Crowed o'er by proud Party prints at the time)
May—lose you your Seat. It does seem contradictory.
Of course, my good friends, one would not say a word,
Against England's glory—Electoral Purity!
Suspect me of slighting that boon? Too absurd!
But what good's a Seat without some small security.
To fight tooth and nail, land a win, and then fail
Along of dishon—I mean o'er-zealous "Agents"—
Well, well, I don't wish at our Judges to rail,
But—putting it plainly—I fear it won't pay, gents.
'Tis hard to attend a political feast,
And strut like a peacock, and crow like a bantam,
Yet feel at one's back, like a blast from the east,
A be-robed and be-wigged and blood-curdling law phantom.
Stentorian cheers, and uproarious hear-hears,
Though welcome, won't banish the sense of "wet-blanket"
(That's Ingoldsby's rhyme), when Petition-bred fears
Conjure up a grim Skeleton (Judge) at the Banquet!

SUCH A HAPPY FAMILY PARTY—AT CHRISTMAS.

SUCH A HAPPY FAMILY PARTY—AT CHRISTMAS.

Uncle John (losing his money and his temper). "Now, Jane, do me a Favour for once, and don't show your Hand!"

Aunt Jane (whose best Cards her Partner has invariably over-trumped). "I can't help it. You show your Hands, and I'm sure they're no Beauties!" [After this, there's a prospect of a very pleasant evening.


THE SHORTEST DAY.

Short verse
We need,
Most terse
Indeed,
That it—
This lay—
May fit
This day.
Short sight
Of sun.
Long night,
Begun
At four,
Sunshine
Once more
At nine.
A. M.
Meets eyes
Of them
Who rise
If no
Fog hide—
Then woe
Betide;
The day
That ought
To stay
So short
A space
Can't show
Its face
Below.
But when
It goes,
Why then
One knows
New Year
Will soon
Be here—
Then June,
So bright!
So sweet!
So light!
We'll greet
The day
That's long
With gay,
Glad song—
Excessively long-footed verse will undoubtedly characterise what
we say,
For Longfellow's longest lines skip along when we've long longed
for the Longest Day.

(Signed) Touchstone.


Military Motto for the New South London Ophthalmic Hospital opened last Friday by the Duke of York.—"Eyes right!"

THE CHOICE OF BOOKS.

To various opinions the quidnuncs give voice,
But the best "choice of books" means—the books of your choice.

THE LAST WORD

(A Domestic Drama of the Day before Yesterday.)

Scene.—The Breakfast Room at Linoleum Lodge, the suburban residence of Samuel Stodgeford, Esq. Mr. and Mrs. Stodgeford, their son Parmenas, and daughters Pompilia and Priscilla, discovered at breakfast.

Mr. Stodgeford. We shall probably get it by the second post, and though the delay is—ah—to some

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