قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 108, May 4th, 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. 108, May 4th, 1895
"Why does one yearn for the top brick off the chimney when one is a child, and yet feel dissatisfied when, as a man, one receives it on the top of one's Sunday tile? Why does the sea bird fly inland in winter to get food from the towns—only to turn up its beak when presented with a ticket for soup? Why do we——?"
"A clear and practical illustration."
My friend the Tallow-chandler answered never a word, but chuckled foolishly to himself and retired behind a barrier of mottled soap.
When I had gone a piece further I reached a back street, where I found my friend the Bird-stuffer sitting on his doorstep, playing the mouth-organ.
"Answer me a question," I besought him. "Suppose you found out that those who hold the reins of government in our town were educating large blue-bottle flies to make apricot jam out of your and your neighbours' pig-wash, would you write to the local paper about it, even if you knew that the editor would decline to insert your letter?"
My friend answered never a word; he only giggled in embarrassment, struck up a mazurka on his mouth-organ, and began to dance sheepishly.
But, down in Mud Alley, my friend the Dustcart-man sat at his open window—a family idyll, wife and six small children, all eating onions and fried fish.
"Answer me a question," I prayed him. "If a person came to you and said rudely, 'Better anything else than sitting here with your head in the domestic halter among the potsherds and puffballs of the old ideals; rather a jolly good row that ends in a fortnight's "hard" than fat-headed, elephant-footed dulness here with your buzzing brood around you!' If a person came to you and said that, what reply would you give him?"
My friend answered never a word; he was out of the window before I had time to walk away; and in a very few moments I received a clear and practical illustration of the sort of reply he would give to such a question.
As for me, I limped home as well as I could, and, when evening fell, and I was done up in brown paper and vinegar, both my eyes gleamed in the evening sun with the iridescent glitter of peacocks' tails.
"FOR THIS RELIEF, MUCH THANKS!"
["Fort Chitral, April 20.—Colonel Kelly's force from Gilghit arrived to-day.... Much sickness from bad food, excessive work, and exposure. Conduct of troops admirable.... The discipline, devotion, and fortitude displayed by all ranks under circumstances which required all those qualities are beyond all praise."—Dr. Robertson's Summary of the Siege of Chitral.]
"Small time, but, in that small, most greatly liv'd
This star of England."
Chorus: King Henry the Fifth, Act V., Scene 2.
Only one more "little war,"—of course,
Precipitate pluck, and inadequate force—
Such wars as our England wages
At terrible cost in British lives,
And orphan children and widowed wives,
Whereat, though greatly our glory thrives,
Our conscience sometimes rages.
But such little wars may need great hearts,
And the wandering heroes who play their parts
For England, the wide world over;
Fight as well though they fight—and fall—
In a leagured hut, by a shattered wall,
As though the purple of Wellington's pall
Each death-cold breast should cover.
Devotion, fortitude, discipline? Yes!
They always shine in the perilous press,
Where British soldiers rally.
Shine as bright in the hopeless dark
Of the mad mêlée, though there's none to mark
The scattered wreckage ruddy and stark
Of the last brave stand or sally.
We rejoice to hear, though we knew we should,
Chitral's defenders again made good
The glorious old tradition
Of loyalty to the flying flag.
Cynics may dub it the torn red rag,
But our tongues shall laud, whilst those tongues can wag,
That splendid "superstition."
The men who stood, and the men who came
O'er ice-bound ridges with hearts aflame,
To relieve their leagured brothers,
Have all done well; and the tawny skin
Of those who helped us to war and win,—
Well, your little Englander's less akin
To England than those others!
"For this relief, much thanks!" And thanks
To dead, and living, and of all ranks.
Forget their service? Never!
"Small time," indeed, but as brightly shone
"This star of England," as it had done
On that stricken field when the lurid sun
Of the Corsican sank for ever.
A FIRST STEP
TOWARDS HISTRIONICS.
(Under the guidance of Herr Goethemann.)
- Question. Have you witnessed the performance of the Actor-manager?
- Answer. No, but I have perused the tragedy of the Author-publisher.
- Q. Is it a curtain-raiser?
- A. No, but it is a hair-lifter, in three acts.
- Q. How many are the persons of the drama?
- A. Four.
- Q. Of these, how many are objectionable?
- A. Five.
- Q. Kindly resolve this paradox.
- A. All are objectionable that come on the stage, and one that doesn't.
- Q. You speak of the stage; where has the play been given?
- A. Nowhere. It has not received a license.
- Q. Is it the close season?
- A. No, but so much private license was taken by the Author-publisher that the public censor did not see his way to adding to the amount.
- Q. Then we shall not see it interpreted by intelligent actors?
- A. No, for even if license were granted, the Author-publisher would take all the parts himself.
- Q. I do not follow this scheme of plurality.
- A. I quote from his own printed advertisement, "The right of performing in public this play (sic) is reserved by the author."
- Q. Did you state that it is a tragedy?
- A. Yes, but inclining to farce.
- Q. Does it move the reader to pity and terror?
- A. Yes, both. Pity for himself, and terror of the next thing of the kind that he may have to read.
- Q. Has it any other of the high qualities of the Greek Tragedy?
- A. It says it has the unities.
- Q. A severe attack?
- A. No, the Norwegian kind; a form of Teutonic measles, painful but transitory.
- Q. Is it heroic?
- A. No, but it is suburban.
- Q. Is the conclusion worthy of a great tragedy? Does it end in a lurid light of whole-souled passion and death?
- A. It ends about 4 A.M. the next day, with a cock crowing. The protagonist has come home intoxicated, and remains so. I regret to add that he pushes the heroine, she having displaced his beverage by breaking the glass. She slaps him upon the face, and eventually loses animation. I do not know how the other two end, because they were not home in time for the curtain. As it was, the Author-publisher nearly spoilt
