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Read Ebook: Punch or the London Charivari January 12th 1895 by Various Burnand F C Francis Cowley Editor
Font size: Background color: Text color: Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page Prev PageEbook has 122 lines and 12321 words, and 3 pagesShe had abjured each female folly, Hygienic dress she always wore, With stern, determined melancholy The universe she pondered o'er. Of man in all respects the equal, At last her heart's desire was hers. Only, like every other sequel, Her sequel proved a touch perverse. She sighed, "My mind with facts is loaded, No golden vision it retains. Even Nirvana is exploded, And, save the Atom, nought remains! "Each ray of light a mental prism Must needs determine and arrest. My life is one long syllogism, Without a parenthetic jest. "I who was wont to kneel revering, In manly chivalry confide, Am all alone my vessel steering-- And yet I am unsatisfied! "The gingerbread has lost its gilding That from afar appeared sublime. I for eternity am building-- 'Twas not amiss to build for time! "The pilgrimage was long and painful, Cheerless and cold the heights I win-- About me hangs a shadow baneful Of that Eternal Feminine. "Alas, I have not learned my lesson! I feel a frantic, mad despair. I'd like to put an evening dress on, And many roses in my hair! "My heart desires the old romances, The fictions dear all facts above, The flowers, the ices, and the dances, The days of youth, the days of--Love. "That giddy whirl, that senseless splendour, Was dear, although I said it bored, Agnosticism I'd surrender Once, once again, to be adored! She woke. A subtle sense pervaded Her mind of being someone great; But very speedily it faded, Her brain regained its normal state. She said: "I'd beat them all at college If I could have those ounces back; Only--I should not like my knowledge To make me cleverer than--JACK!" ODYLLIC FORCE. Odyllic Force! O mystic power divine! O greater than magician's might!--of course You know the virtues of this gift of mine, Odyllic Force! I can command the vasty deep. I say Unto the elemental storm--"Be still!" It may be that the sea will not obey, But what of that? Deny it if ye may, Still I command; still, still by night and day Despite all scorn, I exercise my will And on the troubled surface of the main Fresh from my soul, fresh from its limpid source, I pour my subtle influence--I rain Odyllic Force. I say unto the weather--"Be thou fine!" And straightway, if it be not foul, 'tis fair. Nay, at my word the very sun will shine If it should haply chance no clouds are there. And should the temperature not fall below The freezing point, until the twenty-first Frost shall be all unknown, and ice and snow, And plumbers; and the taps shall freely flow, Nor shall the leaden pipes presume to show The shadow of a tendency to burst. Nay, if the weather be not somewhat cold It shall be warm. The budding gems of gold, Should they appear, we shortly may behold, Flashing amid the prickles of the gorse. So for the good of man, and beast, and flower I diligently use my mystic power, And ever exercise from hour to hour; Odyllic Force. Thus do the elements obey my call. Thus do I influence the Seasons' course Thus do I exercise for great and small, The king, the lord, the beggar, one and all, Odyllic Force. "WHO SAID--'ATROCITIES'?" OR, "THERE'S LIFE IN THE OLD DOG YET." Retirement? Oh, rubbish! Tykes currish or cubbish May curl up in kennels, or snug up in straw, But dogs of right mettle to rest will not settle, While sight's in the eye, and while snap's in the jaw. A bed in a basket? Mere mongrels may ask it. A couch and a cushion? They're lap-dog delights. But pluck and true breeding, such comforts unheeding, Desert laps and hearth-rugs for frolics and fights. On rats he's still ruthless! They may think him toothless, Those red Turkish rodents who once felt his fangs. Ah! eighteen years earlier his coat was much curlier, Now white and whispy sparse-scattered it hangs. But years though they roughen his hide, seem to toughen The muscles and nerves of this rare sporting tyke. The rattling old ratter is still game to scatter A pitful of vermin, of what breed you like. The Istamboul sort are his favourite sport, Rabid rodents who raven, red-fanged, in foul hordes, Turco sewer-bred legions, who earth's fairest regions Would ravage like TAMERLANE'S Tartar-swung swords. Terrors untameable, horrors unnameable, Mark their maraudings and hang on their track. Now in fresh numbers they swarm, whilst he slumbers Who once was the plague of the pestilent pack. "BON JOUR, PHILIPPINE!" THE VESTRYMAN. A COMIC SONG FOR SERIOUS CONSIDERATION. Come, gather round me, ratepayers, So full of fun and glee; New Bumble's going to play the fool To please the L. C. C. They swear that he is able Improvements for to plan; I love to hear Progressives say, "Hush! The New Vestryman!" TRAVELS IN TAFFY-LAND; OR, WALES BLOWING. Would you tell me, Porter, if the next train is the one for Aberystwyth? I am really very much obliged for your reply, but as I have not a Cymric dictionary at hand, I am totally unable even to guess at your meaning. As the man points to the train which is now at the platform, and nods vigorously, I suppose he means me to get in. Still, the fact that it has "Llanrhychwyn" on it makes me a little doubtful whether I shall ever reach Aberystwyth if I enter it. I am grateful for your attention, Guard, but it was a foot-warmer that I asked for, not the newspaper-boy. As I have just been hurled down an embankment and find myself sitting much bruised in a shallow pond in a field close to the line, I really fancy that the Welsh-speaking signalman at the adjoining cabin has failed to understand the message wired to him in English from our last stopping station. I should be glad, Stationmaster, if you would kindly have a telegram sent to my friends saying that I have only four ribs broken. As you do not appear to understand what I say, and as I suppose there is nobody who knows English in this desolate Welsh valley where the sufferers from the accident are lying, perhaps you will kindly have us all sent back to Shrewsbury as soon as possible. The man lying next to me, whose arm is hurt, says that the train was not going to Aberystwyth at all. So perhaps it is as well that circumstances have prevented my proceeding further in it. We should undoubtedly have been much better off if this accident had happened to us in France or Germany, because then we should have been able to secure the services of the railway interpreter. OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS. NEW YEAR REFLECTION. "Goodwill to man!" the dear old carol saith. Ah me! Then why so much mean personal pother? We're credulous of aught that means the scathe Of a sad sister, or a stumbling brother. Men are like stout JOHN BUNYAN'S "Little Faith,"-- Save in believing evil of each other! There faith indeed is strong; but 'tis a rarity That such strange Faith is found combined with Charity! TO JULIA'S POCKET. My JULIA'S chaste and winsome cheer, Her comely lip, her coral ear, And eke her knickerbocker gear,-- These be the theme of rhyming folk, Whereof the skill I here invoke In malediction of her poke; Though JULIA'S self therein dispose' That napkin with the which she blows For sorry rheum her Greekish nose, Not if she search with heavy pain Shall she by taking thought attain To look upon the thing again; To him alone of mortal clay That picketh pokes beside the way Their deeps are open as the day. Whenas her alms she would disburse, In vain she probeth for her purse, Whereat the beggars shrewdly curse; Even so their teeth do felons gnash That lightly lift her ready cash, Which he that stealeth stealeth trash. Oft-times she doth full bravely hold Her breezy reticule of gold Within her digits' dainty fold; As certain maids, I well believe, Do wear th' affections on their sleeve For any worthless wight to reave. But though her purse not suffer rape, Mischance is like in other shape To put on her a saucy jape;-- Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page Prev Page |
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