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Read Ebook: Punch or the London Charivari Volume 107 October 6 1894 by Various Burnand F C Francis Cowley Editor
Font size: Background color: Text color: Add to tbrJar First Page Next PageEbook has 89 lines and 10952 words, and 2 pagesPunch, or The London Charivari Volume 107, October 6th 1894 edited by Sir Francis Burnand OCTOBER 6TH 1894 THE CLUB; A GRIM STORY OF CHANGE. LORD ROSEBERY IN THE NORTH. "Sir WILLIAM HARCOURT left town for Malwood on Tuesday. Going down in the train the right hon. gentleman played marbles with a fellow-passenger, and discussed generally the virtues of resignation." "Mr. H. H. FOWLER transacted important business at the India Office yesterday. He and his private secretary played a game of trundling hoops, and had an animated talk on the subject of whist." "Mr. A. J. BALFOUR played at golf with a gentleman, with whom he had a very interesting conversation on the sport of chute shooting." "TERRIBLE IN HIS ANGER!" I CAN BE VERY NASTY, WHEN I LIKE! In Nuce. THE pith of LABBY'S caustic elocution Is that long war of words should end in deeds. After the lead of the Leeds Resolution, He wants to feel that Resolution leads! A House of Words but little help affords In a hot contest with a House of Lords. But LABBY, were the issue quite so glorious If--as some fear--the Lords should prove victorious? NEW READING FOR THE NEW ART. THE LUNNON TWANG. I'VE heard a Frenchman wag his tongue Wi' unco din an' rattle, An', 'faith, my vera lugs hae sung Wi' listenin' tae his prattle; But French is no the worst of a' In point o' noise an' clang, man; There's ane that beats it far awa', And that's the Lunnon twang, man. An' yet, tae gie the deils their due, They seem tae ken, I kenna hoo. That I come frae the Nor-r-rth, man! They maun be clever, for ye ken There's nought tae tell the chiels, man: I'm jist like a' the ither men That hail frae Galashiels, man. But oh! I'm fain tae see again The bonny hills an' heather! Twa days, and ne'er a drap o' rain-- Sic awfu' drouthy weather! But eh! I doubt the Gala boys Will laugh when hame I gang, man, For oo! I'm awfu' feared my voice Has ta'en the Lunnon twang, man! Demolition of Doctors' Commons. LYRE AND LANCET. OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. THE BLAMELESS BARON DE BOOK-WORMS. MEM. BY AN OLD MAID.--If you "look over your age," you won't find anyone else willing to do the same. "FOR EXAMPLE!" I worship what I wished to burn?-- The jeer is really most unhandsome! For things have taken quite a turn Since I ran rather wild on Ransom. The House of Lords is our sole hope, Sheet-anchor, lighthouse, aegis, haven; The only power which can cope With the New Rad--that nerveless craven! LIGHT IN DARKNESS. Mighty-voiced MILTON, whose unmurmuring song Rolls yet in organ tones round his loved land, Its saddest strain, with high endurance grand, Unconquerably serene, sublimely strong; Sing in our Statesman's ears! Great HOMER, long His "friend, in youth, in manhood, and in age," Let thy charmed splendours, and thy counsels sage, Calm his large energies to fine content. Be MILTON'S patience his! "God doth not need Either man's work, or his own gifts"--so rang The heroic high reply. But the whole State Wishes its tireless servitor "God speed!" Light in his darkness, hope to illume his rest! "They also serve who only stand and wait." AIRS RESUMPTIVE. Whenas to shoot my JULIA goes, Then, then, how bravely shows That rare arrangement of her clothes! So shod as when the Huntress Maid With thumping buskin bruised the glade, She moveth, making earth afraid. Against the sting of random chaff Her leathern gaiters circle half The arduous crescent of her calf. Unto th' occasion timely fit, My love's attire doth show her wit, And of her legs a little bit. Sorely it sticketh in my throat, She having nowhere to bestow't, To name the absent petticoat. In lieu whereof a wanton pair Of knickerbockers she doth wear, Full windy and with space to spare. Enlarg?d by the bellying breeze, Lord! how they playfully do ease The urgent knocking of her knees! Lengthways curtail?d to her taste A tunic circumvents her waist, And soothly it is passing chaste. Upon her head she hath a gear Even such as wights of ruddy cheer Do use in stalking of the deer. Haply her truant tresses mock Some coronal of shapelier block, To wit, the bounding billy-cock. Withal she hath a loaded gun, Whereat the pheasants, as they run, Do make a fair diversi?n. For very awe, if so she shoots, My hair upriseth from the roots, And lo! I tremble in my boots! A SAFE PREDICTION.--That the New Woman of this decade will be the Old Maid of the next. THE SEVEN AGES OF ROSEBERY. ANOTHER MAN'S EARS. Beautiful ears, indeed, beautiful ears! Had you been wiser in those by-gone years, They might have--heard the lectures lost on mine. I only wish they had! SLOW, AND NOT QUITE SURE. THE COMPLAINT OF THE MODERN LOVER. Say, shall I write to you in verse Of metre strange and frantic, Which by neglect of barriers Proves genius gigantic? Is modern fiction dear to you? In scandal while I grovel, I will endeavour to outdo Its most pernicious novel! REFLECTIONS When chapel bells rang far and wide, Why did I turn upon my side, And sweetly back to slumber glide? I wonder! When zephyrs wafted on their way The fragrance of the new-mown hay, Why did I cut my lectures, eh? I wonder! Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page |
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