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
PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Vol. 109.
September 7, 1895.
THAT POOR PENNY DREADFUL!
["Is the 'Penny Dreadful' and its influence so very dreadful, I wonder?"—James Payn.]
They say if a boy gets his head-full
Of terrors and crimes,
He turns pirate—sometimes;
Or of horrors, at least, goes to bed full.
Of Beaks one would not be a mocker,
But do many lads
Turn thieves or foot-pads,
Through reading the cheap weekly Shocker?
But does it make urchins turn stealthy
Depleters of tills,
Destroyers of wills,
Or robbers of relatives wealthy?
I've heard of Don Pedro the Cruel:
Heart pulsing at high rate,
I've read how my Pirate
Gave innocent parties their gruel.
For stabbing, or robbing, or burning.
No highwayman clever
And handsome, has ever
Induced me to take the wrong turning!
When reading of robbing and killing
May feel wish to do so;
But Sheppard—like Crusoe—
To your average boy's only "thrilling."
And yet not of crimes got a head-full.
Let us put down the vile,
Yet endeavour the while,
To be just to the poor "Penny Dreadful"!
George. "Eh—he's a big 'un; ain't he, Jack?"
Minister (overhearing). "Yes, my Lad; but it's not with Eating and Drinking!"
Jack. "I'll lay it's not all wi' Fastin' an' Prayin'!"
FOR WHEEL OR WOE.
The Rural District Council at Chester resolved recently to station men on the main roads leading into the city to count the number of cyclists, with a view to estimating what revenue would accrue from a cycle tax. Extremely high and public-spirited of the Chester authorities to take the matter up. These dwellers by the Dee ought to adopt as their motto, "The wheel has come full cycle."
"Who is Sylvia?"—An opera, from the pen of Dr. Joseph Parry, the famous Welsh composer, entitled Sylvia, has been successfully produced at the Cardiff Theatre Royal. The libretto is by Mr. Fletcher and Mr. Mendelssohn Parry, the maestro's son, so that the entire production is quite parry-mutuel.
THE RAILWAY RACE.
A new British sport has arisen, or rather has, after a seven years' interval, been revived within the last week or so, and the British sporting reporter, so well-known for his ready supply of vivid and picturesque metaphor, has, as usual, risen to the occasion. That large and growing class of sedentary "sportsmen," whose athletic proclivities are confined to the perusal of betting news, have now a fresh item of interest to discuss in the performances of favourite and rival locomotives. More power has been added to the elbows of the charming and vociferous youths, who push their way through the London streets with the too familiar cry of "Win-nerr!" (which, by the way, has quite superseded that of "Evening Piper!"). And the laborious persons who assiduously compile "records" have enough work to do to keep pace with their daily growing collection. Even the mere "Man in the Street" knows the amount of rise in the Shap Fell and Potter's Bar gradients, though possibly, if you cross-question him, he could not tell you where they are. However, the great daily and evening papers are fully alive to the occasion, and the various sporting "Majors" and "Prophets" are well to the fore with such "pars" as the following:—
Flying Buster, that smart and rakish yearling from the Crewe stud, was out at exercise last evening with a light load of eighty tons, and did some very satisfactory trials.
Invicta, the remarkably speedy East Coast seven-year-old, made a very good show in her run from Grantham to York yesterday. She covered the 80½ miles in 78 minutes with Driver Tomkins up, and a weight of some 120 tons, without turning a hair. She looked extremely well-trained, and I compliment her owners on her appearance.
Really something ought to be done with certain of the Southern starters. I will name no names, but I noticed one the other day whose pace was more like thirty hours a mile than thirty miles an hour. I have heard of donkey-engines, and this one would certainly win a donkey race.
These long-distance races are, no doubt, excellent tests for the strength and stamina of our leading cross-country "flyers," but I must enter a protest against the abnormally early hours at which the chief events are now being pulled off. A sporting reporter undergoes many hardships for the good of the public, but not the least is the disagreable duty of being in at the finish at Aberdeen, say at 4.55 A.M. The famous midnight steeple-chase was nothing to it.
There was some very heavy booking last night at Euston, and Puffing Billy the Second was greatly fancied. He has much finer action and bigger barrel than his famous sire, not to mention being several hands higher. It is to be hoped that he will not turn out a roarer, like the latter.
There are dark rumours abroad that the King's Cross favourite has been got at. She was in the pink of condition two days ago; but when I saw her pass at Peterborough to-day, she was decidedly touched in the wind. The way she laboured along was positively distressing. Besides, she was sweating and steaming all over.
I will wire my prophecies for to-day as soon as I know the results.
