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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, February 11, 1893
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, Vol. 104, February 11, 1893
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It scarce can be thou art the last
To fade before my watchful gaze;
So short the part that each one plays,
A flickering flame, and life is past.
And thou wert clothed in robe of snow,
A crimson veil around thy head,
And now thou liest, charred and dead,
Erstwhile with ruddy fire aglow.
I held thee in a fond embrace
To guard thee from the whistling wind;
And not another can I find
To comfort me and take thy place.
And though I lay aside my weeds,
Yet like a widow I bemoan;
Nor all the wealth the Indies own,
Could satisfy my present needs.
Thy spark has vanished from my sight,
Useless cigar, tobacco, pipe;
Of perfect misery the type,
A man without another light.
Employment for the Unemployed.—On Tuesday, in last week, the Unemployed had their hands full, when at Temple Avenue they unsuccessfully attempted to overcome the effective resistance of the Police. The Unemployed might have been better employed.
THE STAR OF HOPE.
(A New Naval Ode.)
[The Royal Commission on Telegraphic Communication between Lighthouses and Lightships and the Shore, have issued their first report recommending immediate action in the more urgent cases. Dealing with the same subject, on November 28, 1891, Mr. Punch said:—
"Punch pictures with prophetic pen, a brighter, cheerier page,
Which must be turned, and speedily."—See "The Sweet Little Cherub that Sits up Aloft," (Modern Version as it Must Be) Vol. ci., p. 254.
Mr. Punch is mightily pleased that his injunction has been obeyed, and that his prophecy is in process of fulfilment.]
I.
Ye Mariners of England,
Shipwrecked in our home seas,
How this will calm your wives' wild fears,
And give your stout hearts ease!
Hope's blue eyes gleam above the main,
Her lifted light will glow,
And sweep o'er the deep,
When the stormy winds do blow;
When the tempest rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.
II.
The spirit comfort gathers,
From schemes designed to save
Brave fellows, who have dared the deep,
Near home to find a grave.
See how o'er rock and quicksand fell,
The Electric ray doth glow,
And sweep o'er the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the tempest rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow!
III.
Britannia needs as bulwarks
Light-towers along the steep,
To save her gallant sons from graves
Near home, though on the deep.
With levin as from Jovian hand
She'll light the floods below,
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy winds do blow;
When the tempest rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.
IV.
The Mariners of England
Glad eyes shall shoreward turn
In danger's night. Behold, brave hearts,
Where the Star of Hope doth burn!
Science, tired by Humanity,
Their grateful song shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the storm is o'er, and they're safe ashore,
Thanks to Hope's beacon-glow!
Q. Are there any Lighthouses away from the Coast?—A. Certainly. Q. Where?—A. In London. Q. Name them.—A. The Comedy, Toole's, the Opéra Comique, and Strand. All Light-and-leading Houses.
A SNUB.
"Fifty Guineas for a Boa and a Muff! That's rather dear, isn't it?"
"We don't keep Catskin, Madam!"
A METROPOLITAN MAYOR'S NEST.
["The Common Council is stated to have appointed a 'Fighting Committee' to oppose the Unification of London, and to take steps for the formation of separate Municipalities in different parts of the Metropolis."—Daily Paper.]
Lord Mayor's Day.—Ah, if only we had not got Parliament to sanction the plan of splitting London up into distinct Municipalities, what a proud day this would be for me! As it is, must try and remember that I am not Lord Mayor of London at all, but only Mayor of the new Corporate Borough of Cripplegate Without, one of the half-dozen boroughs into which the old City has been divided.
The Show.—Well, thank goodness, we do keep that up! All the 674 Mayors of all the different districts of London take part in it. That reminds me that I must put on my Civic robes, edged with imitation ermine, and my aluminium chain of office, and prepare to start. A little hitch to begin with. Mayors all assembled outside Guildhall. Mayor of South-South-West Hammersmith tries to join us. Nobody seems to know him. Very suspicious, especially as, on referring to official records, we find that there is no such borough as South-South-West Hammersmith! We tell him so. He replies, sulkily, that it was created last night by a Special Vote of the South-West Hammersmith Town Council, who found the work getting too much for them, and that, anyhow, "he intends to take part in the procession." Awkward—but we have to yield.
In the Streets.—The 675 Mayors don't inspire as much respect as I should like. Perhaps it is due to the fact that a regular scramble took place for seats in the old Lord Mayor's Coach, in the course of which the Mayor of Tottenham Court Road was badly pommeled by the Mayor of Battersea Rise, and the coach itself had one side knocked out of it. Also that we other Mayors have to follow on foot, and are repeatedly asked if we are a procession of the Unemployed!
At the Law Courts.—In the good old days Lord Chief Justice used to deliver a flowery harangue congratulating the Chief Magistrate on his elevation. But who is the Chief Magistrate now? To-day a free fight among the Mayors to get first into the Court. In consequence, Chief Justice angrily orders Court to be cleared, and threatens to commit us for contempt! Yet surely in former days a Judge would have been imprisoned in the deepest dungeons of the Mansion House for much less.
Evening.—The hospitable custom of the Ministerial banquet still retained. Prime Minister adopts tactics of the Music Hall "Lion Comique," and, after addressing a few genial words to the guests assembled at the table of the Mayor of West Ham, jumps into brougham, and appears a few minutes