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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
which would have been substituted for the stone pedestal, while the Don or Leporello (it doesn't much matter which) sings his asides to the audience! Here is novelty, and a great attraction! It is returning to Elizabethan days, when Managers called a spade a spade, and then so labelled it to prevent mistakes.
Song from "As You Like It" (for the Member for East Galway, arranged by Colonel Saunderson, M.P.).—"What shall he have who shot the Deer?"
A Bank Note.—The most likely time for obtaining payment "in hard cash," is when the Money Market "hardens a little," as was the case, so The Times Money Article informed us, last Friday.
AN EARLY PURITAN.
Bobby (who sees his Mamma in Evening Dress for the first time, and doesn't like it). "I'll write and tell Papa!"
"A STIFF JOB."
Grand Old Ploughman sings:—
Speed the Plough! Ah, that's all mighty fine,
And I like the old saying's suggestion;
But—wi' a small crock such as mine,
The speed may be matter o' question.
I've set my hand to 'un, o' course,
And munna look back, there's no doubt o' it:
Yet I wish I'd a handier horse
For the job, or that I were well out o' it!
Stiff clay on a slaantin' hill-side,
Would tax a strong team. Steady, steady!
The little 'un goes a bit wide,
And seems to be shirkin' already.
To keep a straight furrow this go
Will strain the old ploughman's slack muscle;
And yet my new measters, I know,
Will expect I to keep on the bustle.
Stiff job for a little 'un? Yes!
If he doesn't pull straight there'll be bother,
Must make the best of 'un I guess,
This time, for I sha'an't get no other.
Gee up! I shall have a good try,
On that they may bet their last dollar.
It's do, poor old crook, now, or die!
But—I must keep 'un oop to the collar!
"This room is very close!" said Mrs. R., settling herself down to her knitting, which her nephew had furtively unravelled. "Open the window, Tom, and let out the asphyxia."
LINES ON THE AUTHOR OF THE LABOUR BUREAU.
(By a Labourer.)
'Ooray for Mister Mundella,
(Who's under Old Gladdy's umbrella.)
For he's a jolly good fella,
And so say all of hus!
With a 'ip, 'ip, 'ip, 'ooray!
We hope the Bureau may pay.
Of course it might well have been better,
But then—it might have been wus!
Emphasis Gratiâ.—What a difference a slight emphasis makes in an ordinary sentence! The D. T. when giving, in advance, an account of a marriage to be solemnised the same afternoon, spoke thus concerning the costumes of the very youthful bridesmaids. "They will wear dresses of very pale blue silk, made up with ivory-hued lace." Now, had the second word been in italics, it would have read thus, "They will wear," &c., as if everything had been done to prevent them from so arraying themselves, "but, in spite of all efforts, they will wear dresses of very pale blue!" So obstinate of them! Such nice little ladies, too!
"The Liberal-Unionists have resolved to abstain from pairing during the present Session." So The Times. "Birds in their little nests agree," quoth the eminent Dr. Watts; but these Parliamentary Birds will belie their name of "Unionists" if they refuse to "pair."
Telegram from Hawaians to American President.—"WE would be U.S."
THE ANTI——?
Your aid let me ask in a difficult task, Mr. Punch, with the greatest submission;
To win for my name a well-merited fame was always my ardent ambition,
And clearly to-day the least difficult way is to send an appeal to the papers,
To form an intrigue for creating a league against fashion-designers and drapers.
Thereby shall I reap an advertisement cheap, and writers, with much perseverance,
Will furnish as news their apocryphal views on my appetite, age, and appearance;
They all will revere my conviction sincere, and loudly re-echo my praises,
But the thing which, as yet, I'm unable to get, is a novel departure in crazes
The idea shall we float that a swallow-tail coat is only adapted for Vandals?
Write pamphlets, designed to enlighten mankind on the duty of taking to sandals?
Would a hatred of hats, or crusade on cravats, secure us a sympathy louder?
Or shall we assert it is time to revert to patches, knee-breeches, and powder?
Meanwhile, your applause we invite for our Cause—you notice the capital letter—
Subscriptions and fees you may send when you please to the writer, the sooner the better.
But as to the theme of this notable scheme, I wait for a timely suggestion;
Its worth's beyond doubt, but what it's about remains, for the present, a question!
The Bishop of Chester trembles. He is marked with the brand of "Caine"!
"A STIFF JOB."
W. E. G. (to himself). "SHALL HAVE TO KEEP HIM UP TO THE COLLAR!" (Aloud.) "GEE UP!!"
CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS.
HOSTS.
"Dear Punch," writes a valued Correspondent, "I wish you'd tip me the wink how I'm to talk to my hosts. I'm a poor man, but not a poor shot. So I get asked about a good deal to different places, and as I'm not the sort that turns on the talking-tap very easily, I often get stuck up. Just as I've got fairly into the swim with one of them I leave him, and have to think of talk for quite a different kind of chap, and so on all through the season. For instance, last December I did three shoots in as many weeks. The first was with old Callaby, the rich manufacturer, who's turned sportsman late in life. I thought he'd like a talk about bimetallism, so I sweated it up a bit, and started off with a burst as soon as I got a look in. All no go. Nothing would please him but to talk of birds, and rabbits, and hares, and farming, and crops, and who was going to be High Sheriff, and all that. So I got a little left at the first go off.
