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قراءة كتاب Punch, Or the London Charivari Volume 107, November 17, 1894
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Punch, Or the London Charivari Volume 107, November 17, 1894
class="poetry">
Juvenis. Oh! thanks, so much! Only——
Senex. It won't take ten minutes. Listen!
[Tunes up and sings.
Ad Roseberiam.
My chos'n successor, though so young!
"You, 'midst Olympian dust delight
To whirl the chariot's rapid flight.
I'll watch your glowing axles roll
Nicely around the close-grazed goal.
You hold the palm of wondrous worth
Which late I wore upon the earth:
The Commons, now, sole crown desire,
And to un-veto'd power aspire.
You'll have enough to rule the deep
And Gaul placate, and Libya keep.
I'm now a swain who loves his toil,
To tune his pipe, and tend his soil.
Not Asia's wealth tempts me to sail
O'er faction's deep, and brave the gale.
Some say, though now, in love with ease,
I shun the storms of party seas;
That soon I'll summon the old crew,
And rig our shattered bark anew.
Too much I love this ancient wine,
Pressed from the old Venusian's vine!
Lo my free limbs at leisure laid!
The old instruments that once I played,
The harp, the banjo, hung aloft!
Hibernian airs, though sweet and soft,
And Ethiopian minstrelsy,
No longer have much charm for me.
Now I prefer the Lydian lyre,
And of bland Horace never tire.
You youngsters like a martial life—
The trumpet-challenge and the strife;
With ardour seek the tented plain.
Your "gauntlet's down"! Good may you gain!
For me, another line I choose,
And, late in life, I court the Muse,
Unmindful of Bellona's charms,
And the old stir of War's alarm.
Ah! once in full tilt I had borne
Against Cæcilius full of scorn;
But Music now seems more divine!
With ivy-wreaths my temples shine.
Far from the world's tumultuous throng,
The nymphs seduce me with their song;
Here in cool grove I'm going to dwell.
Like Horace, with "the sounding shell."
I feel a wish—sweet leisure's fruit—
To tootle on Euterpe's lute;
With Polyhymnia I desire
To twangle on the Lesbian lyre.
If, late, to lyric fame I rise,
My brow indeed shall strike the skies."
There! What think you of that—for an impromptu?
Juvenis (rousing himself). Oh, excellent—most excellent! How do you do it? And now, my dear Gladstonius, with your kind permission, we will go——
Senex (promptly). To dinner! Exactly, my dear Primula.
Pulsanda tellus, nunc Saliaribus,
Ornare pulvinar deorum
Tempus erat, dapibus, sodales.
Come along, my boy!!!
[Skips away, followed slowly by his guest.
A POLITICAL CONFERENCE.
"Gladstonius parvam rem Horatianam compositionis suoe ad Roseberium recitans."
A GOOD GUESS.
First 'Arry (who has been reading City Article). "I say, what's 'Brighton A's' mean?"
Second 'Arry (of a Sporting turn). "'Brighton 'Arriers,' I s'pose."
WONDERFUL WHAT AN ADJECTIVE WILL DO.
Brown (newly married—to Jones, whom he entertained a few evenings previously). "Well, what did you think of us, old Boy, eh?"
Jones. "Oh, pretty Flat. Er—awfully pretty Flat!"
FASHION AND FELONY.
Mr. Punch, Sir,—Magistrates are beginning, not a moment too soon, to protest against the ridiculous pockets in ladies' dresses, which afford such a temptation to the felonious classes! I should like to draw attention to an invention of my own which, I think, quite meets the difficulty. It is called the "Patent Unpickable Electrical Safety Pneumatic Combination Purse-Pocket," and it does not matter in the least in what part of the dress this pocket is placed. No sooner is the thief's hand in contact with the purse than a powerful voltaic circuit is at once formed, and by the principle of capillary attraction, coupled with that of molecular magnetisation, the hand is firmly imprisoned. Scientific readers will readily understand how this happens. In his efforts to release his hand the thief touches a button, when an electrical search light of five thousand candle-power is at once thrown around, a policeman's rattle of a peculiarly intense tone is set going, several land torpedoes discharge simultaneously from all sides of the dress, while the voice of a deceased judge issuing from a concealed phonograph pronounces a sentence of seven years' penal servitude on the now conscience-stricken depredator.
Yours,
John Walter.
Born 1818. Died November 3, 1894.
["The unique characteristic of Mr. Walter's life was his relation to The Times."—Obituary Notice in the Times Newspaper.]
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