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قراءة كتاب Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 108, May 25, 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.
Volume 108, May 25th, 1895.
edited by Sir Francis Burnand
STUDIES IN ANIMAL LIFE.
Uncle Toby and the Widow Wadman, as they might have been.
["Uncle Toby and Widow Wadman." C. R. Leslie, R.A. Exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1831.]
A Mark against Denmark.—At the beginning of last week it was midsummer weather, and not to have cast off winter clothing and donned light attire would have been deemed "Midsummer madness." But by Thursday "on a changé tout cela," except the clothes, and we were in midwinter! The Daily Telegraph's weather-clerk observed, that all "this resulted from a deep depression in Denmark." It certainly caused deep depression here; and there must be "something rotten in the State of Denmark" which ought to be looked to immediately. Ere these lines appear we hope—sincerely hope—that we shall have retraced our steps towards summer.
Query Suggested.—We read in the Financial Times that "A corner in camphor is, it is stated, being arranged." Is to be in "a corner in camphor" as good as being "laid up in lavender"?
A CENTURY OF CENTURIES.
[By scoring 288 in the match Gloucester v. Somerset at Bristol, on May 17, Mr. W. G. Grace, now nearing his 47th birthday, made his hundredth innings of 100 runs or over in first-class matches.]
"O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
Sang Punch on the seventeenth instant May,
With a true Jabberwockian chortle,
As he saw the swipe, on the Bristol ground,
Which worked Grace's hundred of centuries round;
A record ne'er equalled by mortal.
"My beamish boy"—of nigh forty-seven—
There isn't a cheerier sight under heaven
Than W. G. at the wicket.
When your "vorpal" bat "goes snicker-snack,"
Punch loves to lie, with a tree at his back,
And watch what he calls Cricket.
And now, as a topper of thirty years,
After many hopes, and a few faint fears.
(Which Punch never shared for a jiffy.)
You've done the trick! Did your pulse beat quick
As you crept notch by notch within reach of the nick?
Did even your heart feel squiffy?
Punch frankly owns his went pit-a-pat
While he followed the ball and watched your bat
As the nineties slowly tottled;
And the boys of the Bristol Brigade held breath,
In an anxious silence as still as death.
But oh! like good fizz unbottled,
We all "let go" with a loud "hooray"
As the leather was safely "put away"
For that hundredth hundred. Verily,
Now you're the "many centuried" Grace!
And for many a year may you keep top place,
Piling three-figure innings right merrily!
Game from the Highlands.—A "Scotch Golfer of Twenty Years' Standing" (poor man! he certainly ought to be invited to take the chair at any Golf meeting!) writes to the Liverpool Daily Post complaining that novices in England will persist in sounding the letter "l" in the title of the sport, "although on every green from John o' Groats to Airlie it remains silent in the mouth of player and caddie alike." As the Golfer "puts" it, the name should be "goff," or even "gowf." As long as there is plenty of acreage for the game, an "ell" is not worth mentioning.
Musical Note of "Herr Willy Burmester"—or "Our" Willy. "Bless you!" as the old salt said; "he fiddles like a angel!" Of course, like all violinists, the hair of his head is peculiar, but his airs on his violin are marvellous in execution.
University Privilege not generally known.—When a resident Oxonion is suffering from a bronchial attack he is entitled to the professional attendance (gratis) of "The Curators of the Chest."
Extra-ordinary Self-annihilating Cannibals.—Children, when they over-eat themselves.
THE WAIL OF THE WALWORTH WOTER.
["Many of our men have certainly been got at."—Walworth Liberal Agent.]
"Got at," my boy? Well, that's a fack;
Yet not by Lansbury, Reade, or Bailey.
But by the burdens on our back,
As seem a-gettin' heavier daily.
Trade's bloomin' bad, and rents is high;
Yet more and more the Guv'ment axes.
Progress, old man, is all my heye,—
As means raised rents, and rates, and taxes.
School Boards, Free Liberies, an' such,
With County Council schemes, look proper;
When they too 'ard poor pockets touch
On them the poor must put a stopper.
Fust we 'ave got to live, I say;
To pay our way, and grub our young 'uns.
Will Rads make that more easier, hay,
Than wot you call "Bible and Bung'uns"?
By Jingo, if you want our wotes,
You'll git 'em, not by playing peeper,
Or wetoing beer from our poor throats;
But—making life easier and cheaper!
Got at? Wy, yus, by want o' grub,
And rents an' taxes too extensive;
And so we'll weto—not the Pub,
But "Progress" wot comes too expensive!
Parties in the House of Commons.—Besides the usual number of parties, there will always be, during the fine summer weather, Tea-parties.
Contradiction.—Tremendous "Crushing Reports" come in from the mines, and, in spite of this, mining shares are better than ever.
HERCULES AND OMPHALE; OR, PETTICOAT GOVERNMENT.
Hercules (Prince Bismarck). "I believe that Female sympathy with our Political Institutions is a much stronger Bulwark against Social Democracy than our Revolution Bill would have been if it had been passed." (See Daily Papers.)
