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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 107, July 21st 1894
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 107, July 21st 1894
Returning under strong connubial stress
Unwillingly to school. And next the lover,
Sighing like Alexander for fresh fields,
And plunging wofully to win a kiss,
Even to his very eyebrows. Then the soldier,
Armed with strange maxims and a carpet-bag,
Cock-Shaw in military ironies,
And blowing off the bubbling repartee
With chocolate in his mouth. And next is Falstaff,
In fair round belly with good bolsters lined,
Full of wide sores, and badly cut about
By Windsor hussies,—modern instances
Of the revolting woman. Sixthly, Charley's Aunt.
Now ancient as the earth, and shifting still
The Penley pantaloons for ladies' gear,
Her fine heroic waist a world too wide
For the slim corset, and her manly lips,
Tuned to the treble of a maiden's pipe,
Grasping a big cigar. Last scene of all,
The season's close and mere oblivion;
Away to Europe and the provinces;
And London left forlorn without them all,
Sans-Gêne, Santuzza, yea, sans everything.
"A GOOD TIME COMING!"
British Farmer ("playing a game of mixed chance and skill with Nature") "I do believe my Luck's on the turn!"
"A GOOD TIME COMING!"
(And it HAS been a good time coming.)
["The game of mixed chance and skill which the farmer plays each year with Nature is still undecided; but, if the farmer wins, his winnings will be large indeed."—The "Times" on Farming Prospects.]
British Farmer, loq.:—
Bless my old bones!—they're weary ones, wherefore I takes small shame—
For the first time for many a year mine looks a winning game!
A "bumper" harvest? Blissful thought! For long I've been fair stuck,
But now I really hope I see a change in my bad luck.
True, my opponent is a chap 'tis doosed hard to match.
I seed a picture once of one a playing 'gainst Old Scratch,
And oftentimes I feels like that, a-sticking all together,
Against that demon-dicer whom we know as British Weather!
What use of ploughs and patience, boys, or skill, and seed, and sickle,
'Gainst frost, and rain, and blighted grain, and all that's foul and fickle?
When the fly is on the turmuts, and the blight is on the barley,
And meadows show like sodden swamps, a farmer do get snarley.
But now the crops from hay to hops show promising of plenty,
A-doubling last year's average, plus a extry ten or twenty.
And straw is good, uncommon so, and barley, wheat and oats, Sir,
Make a rare show o'er whose rich glow the long-tried farmer gloats, Sir!
Beans ain't so bad, spite o' May frosts; turnips and swedes look topping;
Though the frost and fly the mangolds try, and the taters won't be whopping.
Those poor unlucky taters! If there's any mischief going,
They cop their share, and how they'll fare this year there ain't no knowing;
And peas is good, and hops is bad, or baddish. But, by jingo!
The sight o' the hay as I saw to-day is as good as a glass of stingo.
Pastures and meadows promise prime, well nigh the country over,
Though them as depend on their clover-crop will hardly be in clover.
But take 'em all, the big and small, the cereals, roots, and grasses,
There's a lump o' cheer for the farmers' hearts, and the farmers' wives and lasses;
If only him I'm playing against—well, p'r'aps I'd best be civil,—
If he isn't Jemmy Squarefoot though, he has the luck o' the divil.
With his rain and storm and cold and hot, and his host of insect horrors,
He has the pull, and our bright to-days may be spiled by black to-morrers.
A cove like him with looks so grim, and flies, and such philistians,
Is no fair foe for farmer chaps as is mortial men and Christians.
Look at him damply glowering there with a eye like a hungry vulture!
With his blights at hand, and his floods to command, he's the scourge of Agriculture.
But howsomever, although he's clever, luck's all, and mine seems turning,
Oh! for a few more fair fine weeks, not swamped, nor yet too burning,
When the sun shines sweet on the slanting wheat, with the bees through the clover humming,
And us farmer chaps with a cheery heart will sing "There's a good time coming!"
A MODERN MADAME.
(According to the New School of Teachers.)
She believes in nothing but herself, and never accepts her own personality seriously.
She has aspirations after the impossible, and is herself far from probable; she regards her husband as an unnecessary evil, and her children as disturbances without compensating advantages.
She writes more than she reads and seldom scribbles anything.
She has no feelings, and yet has a yearning after the intense.
She is the antithesis of her grandmother, and has made further development in generations to come quite impossible.
She thinks without the thoughts of a male, and yet has lost the comprehension of a female.
To sum up, she is hardly up to the standard of a man, and yet has sunk several fathoms below the level of a woman.
Mem. at Lord's during the Eton and Harrow, Friday, July 13. (It rained the better part, which became the worse part, of the day.)—Not much use trying to do anything with any "match" in the wet.
TO GOLFERS.
Suggestion for a Rainy Day. Spillikins on a Grand Scale.
WHAT WE MAY EXPECT SOON.
By Our Own Wire.—Dispute broken out between local employer of labour—Shoemaker with two apprentices—and his hands. One apprentice won't work with t'other. Shoemaker locked out both.
Later News.—Dispute developing. Amalgamated Association of Trade Unions sent fifty thousand men with rifles into town. Also park of artillery. Arbitration suggested.
Special Telegram.—Federated Society of Masters occupying Market Place and principal streets with Gatling guns. Expresses itself willing to accept Arbitration in principle.
A Day After.—Conflicts to-day between opposing forces. Streets resemble battle-field. Authorities announce—"will shortly act with vigour." Enrolled ten extra policemen. Police, including extra ten, captured by rioters, and locked up in their own cells. Business—except of undertakers—at standstill.
Latest Developments.—More conflicts, deaths, outrages, incendiarism. Central Government telegraphs to Shoemaker to take back both apprentices to stop disastrous disorder. No reply. Shoemaker and both apprentices been killed in riots.
Close of the Struggle.—Stock of gunpowder exhausted. Both sides inclined to accept