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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 98, January 18, 1890
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Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 98, January 18, 1890
that wretched jealousy and bickering which ruins professionals.
Mrs. Gagmore. It is delightful to listen to them, certainly. They all look and act like perfect gentlemen. All Mr. Jarp's Butlers are splendid. You can see at a glance that they have only been with good families.
Behind the Curtain.
Hon. B. Boldero. I fancy we shall have good notices to-morrow in the Morning Moonbeam. I saw Penfold laughing immensely.
Spinks (down on his luck). Did you? (Plucking up a bit.) Well, it "went" capitally. It was only that blessed parrot.
[Goes off intending to buy several copies of next morning's "Moonbeam."
In Front of the Curtain.
Mr. Penfold (to his neighbour, a brother journalist): Are you going to write anything about this? I have got to do a short notice for the Morning Moonbeam. It's no use abusing these fellows. That's been tried. I'll give them a little butter this time, and see whether that won't stop them. How would it do to say something like this?—"We advise the Thespians to keep clear as much as they can of professionalism. Of course, tradition demands that the ladies' parts should be played by professionals, but the introduction of a professional parrot and a professional baby in the First Act was a mistake, which might have ruined the performance."
[His Friend nods approval. Exeunt severally. Imagine tableau next day. Delight of Amateurs on reading the notice of their performance in the "Moonbeam."
HOLIDAY CATECHISM.
Mr. P. Now little Master Jack Horner, from your corner in Drury Lane, what plums do you pick out of the Pantomime?
Master J. H. The Hansom Cab and King Harry (Nicholls) returning home confronted by the Queen, then the Griffiths Cow, the Giant's Dinner and his Servants, and the Dame Leno's wonderful Fowl.
Mr. P. What else?
Master J. H. Lots of things, but at the Circus at Covent Garden, the Shetland Ponies lovely. They come first, so you must be early.
Mr. P. Did you see anything else that pleased you?
Master J. H. I should think so. Such a game! Mlle. Gou-Gou quite shocked my little sister Polly, by her strange conduct. But when it turned out that he was a man, how we laughed! It was funny.
Mr. P. And I suppose you stayed for the Lion?
Master J. H. You may be sure we did! Polly was a little frightened at first; but when we found that the Royal Dane Boarhound and the Horse didn't mind him a bit, why we didn't mind either. Isn't it wonderful? Oh, you ought to go and see them. They are prime!
Barnum's Motto.—"Tout à fait La Shows."
MUZZLED AND PUZZLED; OR, "LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG."
(A Carol of Kentish Conservatism. Some way after Goldsmith.)
Give ear unto my song,
And spare your puerile intent
To do your Party wrong.
* * * *
To power appointed late;
A virtuous and valiant Vir,
A Pillar of the State.
Should in himself be fat,
This Minister seemed bound to thrive
As to his post most pat.
Bucolics never sang;
And when he took that post and wage,
All round his praises rang.
Chaplin was surely born;
He bore his honours with the pride
Of Chanticleer at morn.
For Tories still there be;
In fact, the species doth abound
In spite of W. G.
But when a feud began
They—whom a little thing offends—
Rounded on that good man.
Was, "Love me, love my Dog;"
And soon with angry discontent
The County was agog.
Cockiest of Ministers!—
Quite supererogant, did seek
To muzzle Kentish Curs!
An angry protest ran;
To touch a Kentish dog, 'tis clear,
Touches a Kentish Man.
Scorn hygienic laws,
And though their dogs should snap all round
You must not bind their jaws.
To every Kentish eye,
And, whilst they swore the Man was mad,
They swore the Dogs would die.
From true-blue Tory throats:
"With muzzles if our dogs you fret,
You shall not have our votes!"
The puzzle Chaplin fogs;
'Tis plain that Party loyalty
Is going to the dogs!
The question stirs the town,
Whether the Tories will give up,
Or Chaplin will climb down!
STUDIES IN REPARTEE.
Heavyside (Author of "Epaminondas" and other unread Epics). "By the bye, how much do you weigh, Binks?"
Little Binks. "Fourteen Stone!"
Heavyside. "Dear me! You don't look very Big, to weigh all that!"
Little Binks. "'Epaminondas' doesn't look very Big—but it's precious Heavy!"]
SLAPS FOR SLIPPERS.
Sir,—I am at a loss to understand what is the meaning of all this futile discussion as to the respective merits of the various kinds of road pavement. There cannot be a moment's doubt, as to which is, far and