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قراءة كتاب Punch, or The London Charivari, Volume 105, July 22nd, 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, Volume 105, July 22nd, 1893
caught the Sphinx
Propounding "Missing Words," one thinks
Our British justice could not fail
To send her speedily to gaol!
Impy and Garry.—Colonel Saunderson, "speaking as an Irishman" (did anyone ever hear the gallant Colonel speak as an Englishman?), didn't object to being classed among his countrymen, whom Mr. BRODRICK had styled "impecunious and garrulous." He might have quoted the name of one of their own national airs as emphasizing, by descriptively abbreviating, these two epithets, namely, "Garryowen." "Garry" is clearly the short for "garrulous," and "owen" is the oldest form of "not payin'."
A "TURKISH OCCUPATION;" OR, VISIONS IN SMOKE.
"The Khedive has been the object of numerous marks of personal friendship on the Sultan's part."
Sultan (amicably). Welcome, dear Abbas! Take a seat, and a pipe—take anything you have a mind to, and "make yourself at home," as the accursed Giaours say.
Khedive (squatting). Thanks, my dear—Suzerain! Yildiz Kiosk feels, indeed, very home-like. More than my own Cairo does—when Cromer's there. This Nichan-i-Imtiaz Order is really very becoming. Pity you and I, Abdul, have to take "orders" from anybody west of Alexandria!
Sultan (sotto voce). And why should we?
Khedive (sulkily). Well, the sons of burnt fathers have got the upper hand of the Faithful, somehow—confound them!
Sultan (reading). "Intelligence received here of late, from trustworthy quarters in Egypt, indicates that the Khedive's journey is to be made the point of departure for a grande action diplomatique against British influence in the Valley of the Nile." That's from the Times, my Abbas!
Khedive (moodily). Humph! Wish the Egyptian quarters were "trustworthy." Grande action diplomatique? Quite makes one's mouth water!
Sultan. Doesn't it? The same infernal—but influential—news-sheet says: "The young Khedive knows that not only would he meet with a personally kindly reception, but that the grievances he is known to be anxious to pour out would fall on ready ears." There, at least, the Giaour "rag" is right. Pour away, my Abbas! "Keep your eye on your father—or Suzerain—and he will pull you through."
[Winks and whiffs.
Khedive (whiffing and winking). Will he, though? And that Turkish Bodyguard?
Sultan (warmly). At your service at any moment, my dear Abbas!
Khedive (smoking furiously with closed eyes). Ah! if they would only let me alone, let me rule my subjects in my own Oriental way—as you do yours in Armenia, for example—then, indeed, I could have a good time, and plenty of treasure.
Sultan (significantly). Out of which my little formal trifle of Tribute might come easily and regularly—eh, Abbas?
Khedive. Quite so, Padishah! Bah! These brutal, blundering Britishers don't understand the Art of Government as adapted to Eastern Ideas.
Sultan (soothingly). Well, never mind, Abbas. We'll lay our heads together, anon, now you are here, and—who knows? Meanwhile, let's enjoy ourselves. Something like a "Turkish Occupation" this—eh? And how do you like this Turkish tobacco?
Khedive (blowing vigorously). Smokes easily, and makes a big cloud. In which I fancy I can see myself driving the British Lion out of the Nile Valley at the point of the bayonet.
Sultan (dreamily). And I picture myself comfortably replenishing my Treasury with that Tribute! Like music, ABBAS?
Khedive (uneasily). Ye-e-e-s. Why!
Sultan (promptly). Then I'll tip you something soothing.
[Sings.
I'll sing thee songs of Arabi,
And tales of far Cash ne-ar!
Strange yarns to move thee to a smile,
Or melt thee to a te-ar!
And dreams of delight shall hover bright,
And smoke-born vi-i-sions rise
Of artful "fake," which well may wake
Wild wonder in thine eyes.
I'll move thee to a smile
With dreams of far Cash ne-e-e-e-ar!
[Left dreaming.
LACONIC.
Passenger. "Can you tell me what are the Times for these 'Busses to leave the Swiss Cottage?"
Driver. "Quarter after—'Arf after—Quarter to—and At!"
A VISION OF ROYALTY.
(Written after a surfeit of the Illustrated Papers.)
Ye Royalties of England, how beautiful ye are!
The special artists claim you, they track you from afar.
In uniforms and diamonds, with sceptre and with crown,
In many a picture-paper those artists set you down.
And thus the British public may gaze upon its Queen—
They make her small, but dignified, of most majestic mien.
She smiles—the artist marks her; she frowns—the artist quails,
And soothes himself by drawing H.R.H. the Prince of Wales.
He draws him at foundation stones, a trowel in his hand
(The point of silver trowels I ne'er could understand);
He draws him opening railways, or turning sods of grass,
And he draws him as a Colonel, in helmet and cuirasse.
We see him dressed for London, a-riding in the Row—
I wonder if he ever finds his London pleasures slow;
And we see him down at Sandringham, his country-home in Norfolk,
Where the Royal pair are much beloved, especially by poor folk.
And oft at public dinners, in Garter and in Star,
We see his Royal Highness enjoying his cigar.
I wish they wouldn't vary quite so much his Royal figure.
For they sometimes make him leaner, and sometimes make him bigger.
But, be that as it may, I feel that, while my life endures,
I know by heart my Prince's face, my future King's contours.
A stiff examination in the Prince of Wales I'd pass,
And in all his princely attitudes they'd give me a first-class.
The Duke of York, our Sailor Prince, I think I've got him pat;
I've never seen him face to face, but what's the odds of that?
In illustrated papers I have watched him every day
Since he went and popped the question to the pretty Princess May.