Read Ebook: Punch or the London Charivari Vol. 108 January 19 1895 by Various Burnand F C Francis Cowley Editor

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Ebook has 123 lines and 13242 words, and 3 pages

"Yes. He said that you didn't seem to care for it, so he went off to try and sell it."

"Why!" I exclaimed, and my voice, through my deep emotion, dropped almost to a whisper, "it is an Old BOOTS!"

"An Old BOOTS!" cried my better seven-eighths, becoming as excited as myself. "Why, our fortunes are made! An Old BOOTS! Oh, why didn't you tell me! An Old BOOTS! Fancy having an Old BOOTS!"

"We will get it back!" returned my better and more important fraction, with determination.

Whether we did recover our lost treasure, or fail in the attempt, must, owing to the exigencies of space , form the subject of another and concluding contribution. The chase after our Old BOOTS was not without adventures of a distinctly exciting character.

MY PETTY JAYNE!

My JAYNE, my JAYNE, my Bishop JAYNE, O never, never more be sly, You'll meet, you'll meet with no green even in This correspondent's eye. "Charge, CHESTER, charge." Do what you th-i-nk Your di-o-cese will stand. But do not, do not stain with i-n-k Your Gothenburgian hand.

So JAYNE, my JAYNE, my petty JAYNE, O never, never more be sly. You'll meet, you'll meet with no green even in This correspondent's eye.

BONNIE W. G.

A SONG OF THE SNOWY SOUTH.

The G. O. M.'s off to the southward--to meet Not sunshine, but train-stopping snow-drift and sleet. Yet he "pops up" at Cannes as alert as can be, After five hours long snow-block, our W. G. Then fill up the cup to our CRICHTON at Cannes. NESTOR wasn't a patch on our own Grand Old Man; May he come back as bonnie as bonnie can be, For we've not seen the last of our W. G.!

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

THE BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.

MOST APPROPRIATE.--"Gunner J. C. ROCKETT promoted to rank of Chief Gunner in the Queen's Navy." Of course, quite right to send up a Rockett. Only got to present him with a house at Gunnersbury and the thing is complete.

"A DIVIDED DUTY."

Ding-dong the lasses go! My patience it quite passes, O! My brain it turns, though with ROB BURNS, I dearly love the lasses, O!

There's right and wrong on either hand; that's clear to all but asses, O! So hold your whist, drop each your fist, and to me list, fair lasses, O!

Lancashire lass, I like you well. You're buxom, brave, and bonny, O! But do not slight your sense of right in hasty greed of money, O!

But in your wrath you've missed the path of fair and patriot dealing, O! Nay, do not pout. You'll wake, no doubt, to right Imperial feeling, O!

Of bulk and bale your sale won't fail--if you keep up the quality, O! And do not trust to "devil's-dust"--which mars our merchant-polity, O!

Some rascal-muffs, with loaded stuffs, have spoiled the Eastern market, O! Miss INDIA there will tell you where, and when she whispers, hark it, O!

Miss INDIA'S eyes, at the Excise, excitedly are flashing, O! My dusky dear, 'tis hard to steer 'twixt interests wildly clashing, O!

I love ye both, and I were loth to make--or see--ye quarrel, O! But--a divided duty's mine, and that's my homily's moral, O!

And so, my dears, abate your fears, and likewise stint your shindy, O! The Lass of Lancashire should shake hands with the Lass from "Indy," O!

I'll do my best for East and West. Brim high three bumper glasses, O! And let's drink health, and love, and wealth to both my bonny lasses, O!

A Colourable Correction.

"Bored to blues by a Blue-Book"? I fear you are not Up to date in your choice of a tint, my dear fellow. The type of sheer boredom, and dulness, and rot, Is not now the Blue of old days, but the Yellow. As Blue-Stockings now half the sex might be mustered, The New Woman doubtless wears hose hued like custard.

NEXT BEST THING TO THE PERSIAN LOCOMOTIVE CARPET OF EASTERN FABLE.--The "Travelling Rug" of Western fact.

THAT WEDDING PRESENT.

A PSALM OF LIFE.

Tell me not, in Christmas Numbers, Yule is a dyspeptic dream, A tradition that but cumbers What smugs call "the social scheme."

Not mere "sapping," which means sorrow, Is youth's destined end or way: But--to think that each to-morrow Brings us nearer Christmas Day!

Terms are long, and Vacs. are fleeting, And our "tums," though big and brave, Know that there's an end to eating When at lessons we must slave.

Oh, the railway's welcome rattle! Oh, the feeling of fresh life! Oh, the Christmas Show of Cattle! Oh, the fun of fork and knife!

Let us, then, be up and doing, All our tips at tuck-shops blueing, Learn to stodge, ere 'tis too late!

THE CHRONICLES OF A RURAL PARISH.

DUTCH ENTERPRISE.

HOLLAND.--THE FIRST NETHERLAND STEAM MUSTARD and SPICE MILLS, visiting the whole country, wishes to represent a first English house in articles of daily consumption.

It is bad enough to have foreign labourers competing with our people. But if they are going to send over, bodily, their mills and other labour shops, JOHN BULL will be obliged to put his foot down and kick somebody.

SEASONABLE GREETING FOR A CHINAMAN.--A Jappy New Year to you!

With any perfect patriot How bitterly it stirs the bile, This craze for being clothed in what Is thought to be the English style; It makes the language of his heated brain Occasionally verge on the profane.

And now the Exile, armed with red Hot coals of living anthracite, Projects them on his country's head, And more in pity than in spite Bids France that hunted him and his like rabbits Henceforth to execute his daily habits.

A GENTLE HINT TO THE JUBILANT JAP.

There is a Jappy land Far, far away, Where Art they understand; None more than they. Now in fair battle's ring They've pummelled poor PING-WING, All men their praises sing Who've won the day.

Bright in that Jappy land Beams every eye. But, though their pluck be grand, Bar-bar-i-ty Their choicest gifts will mar, Blood stains their rising star, Foul slaughter is not war. Fie, Jappy, fie!

A CABINET SECRET.

There had been an exciting meeting of the Members of the Ministry. The gathering had taken place at noon, and after several angry altercations it had been adjourned. But the objector-in-chief had admirably kept his temper. He came of a gallant and illustrious race, and blood is thicker than water.

"I must not forget the teachings of my Uncle DICK," he had murmured, as it was suggested that two of his favourite projects should be slaughtered, like the infant Princes in the Tower.

Then, when there was an inclination on the part of his colleagues to quarrel amongst themselves, he cleverly fanned the fire, and increased the incipient strife.

"It was the mode adopted by my maiden Aunt, QUEEN ELIZABETH, and it succeeded in her time. Why should the passing of three or four centuries make any difference? After all, human nature is--in fact--human nature!"

And so the dull minutes passed away. The time came for luncheon. Then he smiled a smile full of mystic hospitality.

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