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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 109, August 3, 1895
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. 109, August 3, 1895
that the clergyman of her parish had been compelled to leave. "You see," she said, "the poor man fell off his bicycle, and his doctor has told him that for some time he must try an incumbent position. So he has gone away for another cure."
DEFEATED!
Napoleon R-s-b-ry (meditating). "Um!—Bless Harcourt!"
ODE TO A WATER COMPANY.
(By a Poor Sufferer who "Owes it One.")
"Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,"
(Like woman,)
And variable—in supply—
As your excuses (all my eye!).
Inhuman,
Brutal, and bumptious (corporate) beast!
Harsh as the wind when in the east!
Were water
"Supplied" to Wealth as 'tis to me,
Short is the shrift that you would see!
Last quarter
You "froze me out," you "cut me off,"
And at my plaintive cries would scoff,
(Confuse you all!)
Claiming for what I did not have,
And treating me like a mere slave,
(As usual.)
And now, in Summer, just to suit
Your interests, you (corporate) brute,
You slacken
My poor, inadequate supply.
Yah! I should like your (corporate) eye
To blacken!
When care and heat bedew my brow,
A ministering demon thou!
My fickle
Supply, upon a day quite torrid,
You slacken to a thread-like, horrid,
Slow trickle.
I cannot wash, I dare not drink,
And fever lurks in pipe and sink.
You, scorning
My needs, my health, may turn the screw,
In mercy, for an hour or two
Each morning,—
Or you may not! Or when my throat is
Heat-parched you come and—without notice—
Dissever
Me from the main for a whole day,
As is your little funny way;
And never
Do I complain, with visage meek,
But you administer more cheek,
You Tartar!
And for redress I've little chance
Unless I've stumped up in advance;
Your "charter"
Always exonerating you,
Whether for "putting on the screw"
Or turning
The service off. Oh, Company!
There are, ah! thousands like poor me,
Who're burning
With indignation at the capers
You play with laundresses, and drapers,
And poor fishmongers.
Beware! The public yet, you bet,
On you that dire revenge will get
For which it hungers!!
AWKWARDLY PUT.
She. "By the way, George, have you got anything on this Evening?"
He. "Nothing whatever."
She. "Then come and Dine with us—and don't Dress!"
ON THE SENIOR SCULLS.
(By our Water Wagtail.)
[The Hon. R. Guinness won the Senior Sculls at the Metropolitan Amateur Regatta, beating the redoubtable brothers Guy and Vivian Nickalls, believed to be almost invincible.]
But scullers of the stamp of Guinness
Are not too common. What a damp
To Guy and Vivian this win is!
The Honourable R. has found
How fickle fortune gives hope pickles;
But in this last—aquatic—round
True Guinness gold has beaten Nickalls.
They'll meet, perchance, again, to settle
The game—for all are men of mettle.
The Glass House of Commons.—Some fine "Pairs" already on view.
ELECTION NOTES FROM THE WEST.
This is how the Western Daily Mercury describes "the fight"—before it began. "The electoral battle continues, but it is a most unequal contest. The Tories have been out-generalled, outmanœuvred, and outclassed. They are like the Chinese fleet at Yalu, stolid and uncertain, whilst the Liberals are sailing round them, pouring into them a withering fire from quick-firing guns, sweeping away masts and signal-yards, and scattering their crews in confusion. The fire from the Tories is intermittent, insufficient, and badly directed. It is doing very little harm."
This is quite a gem of nautical description. Such as might justly be expected from a great naval port like Plymouth, which is the home of the Mercury. The chief beauty of it, moreover, is that it will serve again to describe the battle—when it is finished ("after the poll"), the only alteration necessary being a transposition of the two words Tories and Liberals.
Cornwall.—Excellent programme, including Two Macs. As usual, when one "scores," the other doesn't. McDougall beaten, while McArthur of course held whip-hand in St. Austell's division.
Love's Local Option.—"Drink to me only with thine eyes."
SCRAPS FROM CHAPS.
Another Irish Party!—The snakes are coming back to Ireland! In a Cork paper we read the following:—
Mr. Cornelius Donovan, while crossing a grass field near Blarney, encountered a snake, which at first he believed to be an eel, and struck it with his walking stick. Having killed the reptile, he discovered it was a snake, measuring 3 feet 9 inches.