Read Ebook: The Comet and Other Verses by Dix Irving Sidney

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Ebook has 146 lines and 12803 words, and 3 pages

Editor: Francis Burnand

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

Volume 108. MARCH 2nd, 1895.

TALL TALES OF SPORT AND ADVENTURE.

In these awful circumstances, with the night air whistling past me, and with my beloved CHUDDAH and her nurse hurtling upwards beside me, it is scarcely necessary for me to say that I never for an instant lost my coolness and my perfect self-possession. That the situation was dangerous, nay, almost desperate, I fully realised, but it is in these very situations that true courage and resourcefulness are always of the highest value. Again and again in the course of my long life have I plucked safety, aye, and that which is higher and better than all safety, namely, reputation, from the nettle danger. Let fools prate as they will; the brave man must always rise triumphant above the stormy waves of envy and detraction.

These thoughts, I admit, did not occur to me at the moment. Our flight was too perilous and too swift to allow me to think of aught save what concerned the immediate necessities of this truly fearful crisis. Poor little CHUDDAH, I observed, being made of lighter material, was gradually outstripping me in this dreadful and involuntary race. First her head topped me; then her shoulders soared beyond me; at last her feet were on a level with my face. As one of them passed upwards, I was just able by leaning slightly forward, to imprint a kiss upon it. "Farewell, CHUDDAH," I sighed, as the lovely foot left my lips. "Farewell, ORLANDO," she murmured all but inaudibly, and fled up, up, up into the dismal night. I never saw her again.

At this moment I looked down.

BAR NONE!

RE-GILDING THE GOLDEN EAGLE.

"Why, I was a thinking, Sir," returned MARK TAPLEY, "that if I was a painter, and was called upon to paint the American Eagle, how should I do it?"

"Paint it as like an Eagle as you could, I suppose."

"And like a Phnix, for its power of springing from the ashes of its faults and vices, and soaring up anew into the sky!" said MARTIN.

TRANCEMOGRIFICATION.

Now that hypnotism is in the air, our conversation-books will have to be remodelled, as thus:--

Good morning, have you hibernated well?

Yes, I have had a most successful trance this winter. Have you laid up at all?

Only for a few days at Christmas, just to escape the bills. I had a delightfully unconscious Boxing Day.

Well, you take my advice old man, and rent a private catacomb on the three-years' system. It comes much cheaper in the end, and you save all your coal and gas, to say nothing of clothes.

We've started a Nirvana Club in our neighbourhood on the tontine principle. The last person who wakes gets the prize, unless the first who comes to makes off with it.

It is capital, anyway, when you are taking a tour. Saves all the trouble of sight-seeing. You are just packed up and forwarded from place to place, with an automatic Kodak which records everything you visited. Try it!

And I've got a mesmeric dinner-party on to-night. All the bores will be put in glass-cases, and fed mechanically.

Good-bye, then. Sleep well!

OF THE ART OF TOBOGGANING.

If I have asked myself once I have asked myself a thousand times, "Why did I come out here, to this resort of invalids and polar athletes?" My right lung is flawless: my left is very perfect. On the other hand I do not show well on ice; my legs are ill-shaped for bandy; curling I find to be but poor sport after skittles; and I have met one wayfarer only, and that a fool, who did not laugh upon my figure-skating.

In a climate where one must either do or suffer something to justify one's existence, there remained this sole thing--to toboggan. I said, "I will surely toboggan!"

"Good!" they said; "but on an instrument of what sort? 'Swiss' for women and children; ordinary 'Americas' for men; 'Skeleton Americas' for heroes."

"I will choose the last," I said; for if I do anything at all I like to do it passing well, and with the best of tools.

One may add that if a pine-tree, or a telegraph post, or an ascending hay-sleigh opposes your career, you learn by the simple interposition of your head to save the delicate machinery of the toboggan from brutalization. It may be that by inadvertence you have attained an impetus so terrific that you overtake a walking horse in possession of the path. Once again your headpiece will protect the instrument from the fiery choler of the beast's hind hoof. After some two miles of fortuitous descent, diversified by such checks as I have heno longer blow To the thunder's distant drumming In the valley far below; And along the low horizon All the clouds are growing dim, While upon the western hilltops Rolls again the sun's red rim.

And away across the valley In the heavens arching high, Like a bed for fairy flowers Swings the rainbow in the sky-- Swings until the shadows gather And the sun sinks out of sight, Seemingly to whisper softly To the world a fond good night.

Jim, the Newsboy

Jim, the newsboy, died today, So the evening papers say-- And the funeral will be In the afternoon at three-- "Please" "a flow'r Bring for Jim before the hour-- Any color that you deem A true token of esteem, If you would remember him-- The newsboy, Jim.

At his corner near Broad street, Jim, tho' lame, would smiling greet With a merry, winning call All his patrons, great and small, And his fellow newsboys say That they miss him much today, And they have a tablet bought, And upon it this is wrought: "In memory of Newsboy Jim, We all liked him."

Little toilers on Life's road To yon visionless abode, There was much of good in Jim Or the boys had disliked him; There was something in his heart That drew patrons to his mart, Something noble, something true-- Strive that it be said of you As in eulogy of Jim, "We all liked him."

March Wind Blow

Bitter March-wind, blow and blow; Drive away the drifting snow; Toss the tree-tops to and fro; Kiss the ice-bound lakes and streams And arouse them from their dreams.

Happy March-wind, blithely blow, Winter's heart is full of woe, Winter's head is lying low; Bring, O bring the melting rain Back unto the earth again.

Weeping March-wind, blow and blow Till thy tears of sorrow flow Down thy dying cheeks of snow-- Weep away! for man must wait Till those tearful winds abate.

Merry March-wind, softer blow, Let the little children know Where the sweetest flowers grow; Let thy tender accents ring From the joyous harp of Spring.

All ye wild-winds, blow and blow, Drive away the drifting snow, Bend the bushes, bend them low; Breathe upon the trembling sod Springtime's messages from God.

The Rime of the Raftmen

The Delaware above the Rift Each bank is fast o'erflowing, And sweeping onward dark and swift, Wild and still wilder growing It hurls a heavy raft along Upon its rocking way, While the Captain's call the hills prolong At dawning of the day: Pull, lads, pull!--to Jersey side, The Rift is near! Pull, lads, pull!--for the high floods hide The ragged rocks like an ocean tide, And the river's rush I hear.

Safely the Rift is left behind, A careful stearsman stearing; Swiftly we speed, only to find A dizzy eddy nearing, Where rolling in the river-lake, And whirling round and round A dozen rafts the circle make, And warning cries resound: Pull, lads, pull!--Sylvania's shore! The Eddy's near! Pull, lads, pull!--till the sweeping oar Bends like a bow and you hear the roar Of the river in the rear.

The luring eddy lies behind Where the dizzy rafts are whirling, And we speed along with the cutting wind, The foam like suds up-curling, When ahead a sharp curve comes in sight And we hear the Captain call As the raft swerves sudden to the right And the ridges tower tall: Pull, lads, pull!--to Jersey side! The Bend I fear! Pull, lads, pull!--and soon we'll ride On the rolling wave to Trenton's tide With river calm and clear.

The Bend is past, but the Water-gap Of the Delaware up-rearing, Looms far ahead like a narrow trap As fast our raft is nearing, And calm and deep the waters grow, And scarcely comes a sound Till the Captain's calling, to and fro Re-echoes far around: Rest, lads, rest!--a little while! Be of good cheer! Rest, lads, rest! till yonder isle We safely pass--a few more mile And all our course is clear.

Along the wave we smoothly glide Until the island clearing, When down we speed as with the tide, Now here, now there a veering, Until a great bridge lifts its form Against the evening sky, When like the rolling of a storm The crew repeats the cry: Pull, lads, pull!--Sylvania's shore! The Bridge is near! Pull, lads, pull!--the for'ard oar, And soon our dangerous task is o'er, And little need we fear.

A Child's Elegy

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