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قراءة كتاب Punch or the London Charivari, Vol. 109, September 7, 1895
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Punch or the London Charivari, Vol. 109, September 7, 1895
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Hackney (to Shire Horse). "Look here, Friend Dobbin, I'll be shod if they won't do away with us altogether some of these days!"
After the Procession. A Solo by Grand-père.
CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY "COPPER."
(After Wordsworth's "Character of the Happy Warrior.")
[Sir John Bridge, at Bow Street, bidding farewell to Detective-Sergeant Partridge, retiring after thirty years' service, described the virtues of the perfect policeman. He must be "absolutely without fear," "gentle and mild in manner," and utterly free from "swagger," &c., &c.]
Whom every Man in Blue should wish to be?
Near drunken men, and females who have fought,
Surveys them with a glance of sober thought;
Whose calm endeavours check the nascent fight,
And "clears the road" from watchers fierce and tight.
Who, doomed to tramp the slums in cold or rain,
Or put tremendous traffic in right train,
Does it, with plucky heart and a cool brain;
In face of danger shows a placid power,
Which is our human nature's highest dower;
Controls crowds, roughs subdues, outwitteth thieves,
Comforts lost kids, yet ne'er a tip receives
For objects which he would not care to state.
Cool-headed, cheery, and compassionate;
Though skilful with his fists, of patience sure,
And menaced much, still able to endure.
—'Tis he who is Law's vassal; who depends
Upon that Law as freedom's best of friends;
Whence, in the streets where men are tempted still
By fine superfluous pubs to swig and swill
Drink that in quality is not the best,
The Perfect Bobby brings cool reason's test
To shocks and shindies, and street-blocking shows;
Men argue, women wrangle,—Bobby knows!
—Who, conscious of his power of command
Stays with a nod, and checks with lifted hand,
And bids this van advance, that cab retire,
According to his judgment and desire;
Who comprehends his trust, and to the same
Keeps true with stolid singleness of aim;
And therefore does not stoop nor lie in wait
For beery guerdon, or for bribery's bait;
Thieves he must follow; should a cab-horse fall,
A lost child bellow, a mad woman squall,
His powers shed peace upon the sudden strife,
And crossed concerns of common civic life,
A constant influence, a peculiar grace;
But who, if he be called upon to face
Some awful moment of more dangerous kind,
Shot that may slay, explosion that may blind,
Is cool as a cucumber; and attired
In the plain blue earth's cook-maids have admired,
Calm, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law,
Fearless, unswaggering, and devoid of "jaw."
Or if some unexpected call succeed
To fire, flood, fight, he's equal to the need;
—He who, though thus endowed with strength and sense,
To still the storm and quiet turbulence,
Is yet a soul whose master bias leans
To home-like pleasures and to jovial scenes;
And though in rows his valour prompt to prove,
Cooks and cold mutton share his manly love:—
'Tis, finally, the man, who, lifted high
On a big horse at some festivity,
Conspicuous object in the people's eye,
Or tramping sole some slum's obscurity,
Who, with a beat that's quiet, or "awful hot,"
Prosperous or want-pinched, to his taste or not,
Plays, in the many games of life, that one
In which the Beak's approval may be won;
And which may earn him, when he quits command,
Good, genial, Sir John Bridge's friendly shake o' the hand.
Whom neither knife nor pistol can dismay,
Nor thought of bribe or blackmail can betray:
Who, not content that former worth stand fast,
Looks forward, persevering, to the last,
To be with Partridge, ex-detective, class'd:
Who, whether praised by bigwigs of the earth,
Or object of the Stage's vulgar mirth,
Plods on his bluchered beat, cool, gentle, game,
And leaves somewhere a creditable name;
Finds honour in his cloth and in his cause,
And, when he dips into retirement, draws
His country's gratitude, the Bow Street Beak's applause:
Whom every Man in Blue should wish to be.
"TWENTY MINUTES ON THE CONTINENT."
(By Our Own Intrepid Explorer.)
"I tell you what you want," said my friend Saxonhurst. "You find your morning dumb-bells too much for you, and complain of weakness—you ought to get a blow over to France."
The gentleman who made the suggestion is a kind guardian of my health. He is not a doctor, although I believe he did "walk the hospitals" in his early youth, but knows exactly what to advise. As a rule, when I meet him