قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, January 5th, 1895
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
class="i2">And I dreamed—such a dream! I was holding forth in court,
And the prisoners in the dock,—how the Sporting League 'twould shock!—
Were the Princes, and the Nobles, and the Leading Lights of Sport.
A supreme, successful raid on the Jockey Club we'd made.
No mere stuffy, sordid set, of poor betting-men this time,
No cheap winner-spotting snobs, but a lot of topping nobs,
And I had them on the hip, and I charged the lot with Crime!
It was prime to see a Prince at my language flush and wince,
And a Lord Chief Justice squirm, and a stern-faced Judge quite blench.
But—I could not fail to mark the demeanour of the Clerk,
Who looked on it as a lark!—and that Beak upon the bench—
Ah! he had a mighty "beak," which I felt a wish to tweak—
Had a wink in his left eye which seemed frivolous, if funny;
And he didn't seem to suit us, for we wished a stern-faced Brutus;
Nay, a ruthless Rhadamanthus were the big-wig for my money.
Ah! it wanted resolution to conduct that prosecution,
With a Prince and several Dooks, and an Earl, a County Squire,
And a Mephistopheles, who sat lounging at his ease,
Whom the culprits all called "Jimmy," and seemed hugely to admire;
For although I ramped and raved, Beak and Prisoners behaved
In a fashion which seemed scornful, and assuredly was light;
And that Clerk—confound his mug, which looked strangely like a pug!—
And the chap for the defence, with his eyes so brisk and bright,
They seemed all upon the grin, or almost, which was a sin,
And I'm sure I heard a Dook whisper in a Judge's ear,
"Don't old Mulberry Nose look funny? I will bet you any money——!—"
Well, I missed the wager's point; but oh, dear! oh dear!! oh dear!!!
Think of betting—in a Court! And I thundered against Sport,
Which meant Gambling, more or less, and red ruin, and disgrace.
From the girls who, though they're loves, wager wickedly—in gloves,
To the Plunger Peer who shames his ancient race—to win a Race.
Ah! I think I "gave them beans." I'm uncertain what that means,
But the Lord Chief Justice whispered I was doing so—to "Jim"—
And the phrase I overhead, and although it sounds absurd,
I felt it meant a compliment to me, compelled from him.
So I said "Sport may intrigue and set up a rival League
To our holy Anti-Gambling One; but Sport is a Foul Sink
We have pledged ourselves to purge with a besom and a scourge——"
But here that Punchian eye indulged in a prodigious wink,
Such a spasm of sheer fun, that I felt the case was done;
Court, Prisoners, Judge, assumed the guise of a colossal Joke!
My head appeared to swim, the wild vision did dislimn,
And with a shriek of bitter disappointment I—awoke!
"Anglo-Indian."—We are indisposed to go the full length of agreement with the learned Editors of the New English Dictionary in their study of the derivation of the objectionable word "damn." In the interesting extract you inclose they remark: "The conjecture that the word is the Hindi dām, dawm, an ancient copper coin, of which 1,600 went to a rupee (see Yule), is ingenious, but has no basis in fact." That may be so. It is, nevertheless, a curious coincidence that at the present time the steady declension of the money value of the rupee, combined with its immoveable rating in the salary list, produces in the Civil Service and the army in India a state of feeling subject to which at least 1,600 dams go to a rupee. We much fear that, under this provocation, our army in India is able to compete with regiments earlier enrolled, who, you will remember, "swore terribly in Flanders."
COMBINATION COSTUMES FOR COVENT GARDEN.
"THE TWENTY-FIRST OF DECEMBER!"
"What nonsense you do talk. How do you make that out?"
"Why, any Fool could see that. The Shortest Dey and the Longest Knight, of course!"
NEW YEAR NOTIONS.
(By an Old Buffer.)
"There is nothing new under the sun," someone says;
I wish that there wasn't, by Jingo!
It seems to me everything's New in these days,
And nothing is genuine old stingo.
A New Poet turns up about once a week
(According to log-rolling rumour);
And there's the New Politics, all grab and sneak;
And something dull dubbed the New Humour!
The New Art; I'm certain it comes from Old Nick,
It's so diabolic and dirty.
Faith! some of their Novelties make me feel sick,
And most of them make me feel "shirty."
The New Year!—well, that is as old as the hills.
The New Leaf—we annually turn it.
Ah! if the New Newness would banish Old Ills.
Not e'en an Old Fogey would spurn it.
New Year, give us books that are healthy and gay,
And Art that's not impish or queer, Sir!
And if you'll but cart the New Woman away,
You will be a Happy New Year, Sir!
THE MODERN THEATRE LAUGH.
Dear Mr. Punch,—I crave the hospitality of your columns under the following circumstances. The other night I went to a burlesque. Being a man of modest means, I contented myself with paying half-a-crown, for which sum I was able not only to sit with the plebs in the pit, but to see Society in the stalls.
Will it be believed, at the end of this so-called nineteenth century, that songs were sung and things were said which made those everywhere around me laugh? Sadder still, two-thirds of those I saw were women!—women, who are our mothers and sisters, when they are not our wives and sweethearts!
I haven't the least notion where the harm in all this comes in, but I'm confident there's some somewhere. In any event it's a serious sign of the times; which reminds me that I should have sent this to the Times, if I had not thought the recent Society-play correspondence sufficient for one season. I'm so afraid the dear old Thunderer will drop the telegraphic news and take to Telegraphic Correspondence.
In any case, I invite letters on "The Seriousness of Laughter."
[No letters on this subject will be inserted.—Ed.]
NEW YEAR.
"Ring out, wild bells." We hope that you,
With '94 that's rung out,
Will kindly ring out just a few
Of all those things entitled "new"
