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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 107, September 8, 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, Vol. 107, September 8, 1894
now.
Lady M. I think it was a thousand pities you didn't, as you seem to have stayed on purpose to be as stupid and unkind as you possibly can.
[She turns to her other neighbour, Lord Lullington.
Mrs. Chatt. (to Capt. Thicknesse, who is on her other side). Oh, Captain Thicknesse, what do you think Mr. Spurrell has just told me? You remember those lines to Lady Grisoline that Mr. Pilliner made such fun of this morning? Well, they were meant for Lady Maisie! They're quite old friends, it seems. So romantic! Wouldn't you like to know how they came to meet?
Capt. Thick. Can't say I'm particularly curious—no affair of mine, don't you know. (To himself.) And she told me they'd never met before! Sooner I get back the better. Only in the way here.
Lady M. (turning to him). Well, are you as determined to be disagreeable as ever? Oh, yes, I see you are!
Capt. Thick. I'm hurt, that's what it is, and I'm not clever at hiding my feelin's. Fact is, I've just been told somethin' that—well, it's no business of mine, only you might have been a little more frank with an old friend, instead of leavin' it to come through somebody else. These things always come out, you know.
Lady M. (to herself). That wretch has been talking! I knew he would! (Aloud.) I—I know I've been very foolish. If I was to tell you some time——
Capt. Thick. (hastily). Oh, no reason why you should tell me anything. Assure you, I—I'm not curious.
Lady M. In that case I shall certainly not trouble you. (To herself.) He may think just what he pleases, I don't care. But, oh, if Mr. Spurrell dares to speak to me after this, I shall astonish him!
Lady Rhoda (to Spurrell). I say—I am in a funk. Only just heard who I'm next to. I always do feel such a perfect fool when I've got to talk to a famous person—and you're frightfully famous, aren't you?
Spurr. (modestly). Oh, I don't know—I suppose I am, in a sort of way, through Andromeda. Seem to think so here, anyhow.
Lady Rh. Well, I'd better tell you at once, I'm no good at Poetry—can't make head or tail of it, some'ow. It does seem to me such—well, such footle. Awf'ly rude of me sayin' things like that!
Spurr. Is it? I'm just the same—wouldn't give a penny a yard for Poetry, myself!
Lady Rh. You wouldn't? I am glad. Such a let-off for me! I was afraid you'd want to talk of nothin' else, and the only things I can really talk about are horses and dogs, and that kind of thing.
Spurr. That's all right, then. All I don't know about dogs and horses you could put in a homœopathic globule—and then it would rattle!
Lady Rh. Then you're just the man. Look here, I've an Airedale at home, and he's losin' all his coat and——
[They converse with animation.
Spurr. (later—to himself). I am getting on. I always knew I was made for Society. If only this coat was easier under the arms!
Thomas (behind him—in a discreet whisper). Beg your pardon, Sir, but I was requested to 'and you this note, and wait for an answer.
Spurr. (opening it, and reading). "Mr. Galfrid Undershell thinks that the gentleman who is occupying the Verney Chamber has, doubtless by inadvertence, put on Mr. Undershell's evening clothes. As he requires them immediately, he will be obliged by an early appointment being made, with a view to their return." (To himself.) Oh, Lor! Then it wasn't Sir Rupert, after all! Just when I was beginning to enjoy my evening, too. What on earth am I to say to this chap? I can't take 'em all off here!
[He sits staring at the paper in blank dismay.
The Wail of the Word-Spinner.
There is nothing new under the sun at all
To your journalist penny-a-lining and shoppy.
And how can a man be "original"
When his days (and his nights) are devoted to "copy"?
No, no, his tired head will ne'er "knock at the stars,"
Who is tied to the spinning of "leaders" and "pars."
THE VOYAGE OF ALFRED.
[See Mr. Alfred Austin's article, entitled "That Damnable Country," in Blackwood's Magazine.]
"Land, land!" cried Alfred Austin. "By my halidom, I spy land!
Many weary leagues we've wandered since we left our native shores,
Seeking still through calm and tempest a remote and barren island,
While we smote the sounding furrows of the ocean with our oars.
"Never wind availed to beat us; by the waters overweighted,
Or becalmed, with idle canvas hanging loosely from the mast,
Yet we steered her or we rowed her with our courage unabated,
And, our labours past and over, we have come to land at last.
"Though the land be bleak and barren, though barbarians its dwellers,
Let us add this last achievement to the record of our deeds;
When the savage tribes come shouting as attackers and repellers,
We can win the men with clothing and the women-folk with beads.
"There be savages in India as in Tierra del Fuego;
There be savages in Zululand with shield and assegai;
We have tamed them, whether cannibals or fed on rice and sago—
Shall a Briton ever flinch from such? No, by the Lord, not I!"
On the land he had discovered thus the Poet Austin landed;
Marco Polo or Columbus might have envied him the scene;
And in prose he has described it, in a language understanded
Of the people, and has printed it in Blackwood's Magazine.
The scenery was beautiful, so lovely that it dazed him;
He thought their manners charming, and he rather liked their rain.
He did not find them savages, which seems to have amazed him;
And he tells us all to visit them again and yet again.
We thank you for the hints you give describing what you've seen there,
It really is amazing; but——(a whisper in your ear)
You're not the first discoverer, for some of us have been there,
And shaken hands with Irish folk before the present year.
But in your precious article your wonder you exhaust in
Describing how an Irishman can really be polite:
"Behold," you