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Read Ebook: Punch or the London Charivari Volume 99 October 18 1890 by Various
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Ebook has 71 lines and 12776 words, and 2 pages
PUNCH,
VOL. 99.
October 18, 1890.
HOW IT'S DONE.
NO. 11.--THE STRAIGHT "TIP."
My prefound estonishment may be more heasily described than conseeved when I says as they was amost all Forreners of warious countries! so that when I handed anythink werry speshal to sum on 'em they would shake their heds and say, "No mercy!" or "Nine darnker!" as the case mite be.
THE SHIELD AND THE SHADOW.
Yes, compassion is due to thee, India's young daughter; The sound of thy sorrow, thy plaint of despair Have reached English ears o'er the wide westward water, And sympathy stirred, seldom slumbering there.
Child-Wife, or Child-Widow, in agony kneeling And clasping the skirts of the armed Island Queen, Her heart is not cold to thine urgent appealing; Considerate care in her glances is seen.
Not hot as the urgings of zealotry heady The action of her who's protectrice and guide. Her stroke must be measured, her sympathy steady, Whose burden's as great as her power is wide.
She stands, AEgis-armed, looked forth calm, reflective, Across the wide stretches of old Hindostan. The plains now subdued to her power protective, Saw politic AKBAR and sage SHAH JEHAN.
If AKBAR was pitiful, Islam's great sworder, Shall she of the AEgis be less so than he? The marriage of widows he sanctioned, his order Three centuries since laid the ban on Suttee.
And she, his successor, has rescued already The widow from fire, and the child from the flood; For mercy's her impulse, her policy steady Opposes the creed-thralls whose chrism is blood.
The child kneeling there at her skirts is the creature Of tyrannous ages of creed and of caste; She bears, helpless prey of the priest, on each feature. The pitiful brand of a pitiless past.
But long-swaying custom hath far-reaching issues, The hand that assails it doth ill to show haste. The knife that would search poor humanity's tissues, Hath healing for object, not ravage or waste.
Not coldness, but coolness, sound policy pleads for, But, subject to that, human sympathies yearn To aid the child-victim the woman's heart bleeds for, For whom a man's breast with compassion must burn.
Poor child! The dark shadow that closely pursues her Means menacing Terror; she sues for a shield, And how shall the strong AEgis-bearer refuse her? The bondage of caste to calm justice must yield.
We dare not be deaf to the voice of the pleader For freedom and purity, nature and right; Let Wisdom, high-throned as controller and leader, Meet cruelty's steel with the shield of calm might!
MY MOTHER BIDS ME DYE MY HAIR.
My Mother bids me dye my hair A lovely auburn hue, She says I ought to be aware It's quite the thing to do.
"Why sit," she cries, "without a smile, Whilst others dance instead?" Alas! no partners ask me while My tresses are not red.
When no one else at all is near, And I am quite alone, I sadly shed a bitter tear To think the Season's gone.
TO ENGELBERG AND BACK.
I don't exactly know how I got mixed up with it, but I found myself somehow "fixed," as our American cousins would say, to join a party who were going to see Old JEPHSON , who had broken "down," or broken "up," or had gone through some mental and physical smashing process or other, that necessitated an immediate recourse to mountain air,--to where he could get it of the right sort and quality with as little strain or tax on his somewhat shattered nerves as might be compatible with a dash into the heart of Switzerland at the fag-end of the swarming tourists' season. "Murren will be too high for him: distinctly too high for him," thoughtfully observed the distinguished specialist who had been called in, and had at once prescribed the "air tonic" in question; "and the Burgenstock would be too low. His condition requires an elevation of about 3500 feet. Let me see. Ha! Engelberg is the place for him. My dear lady," he continued, addressing Mrs. JEPHSON, who had already imbibed the theory that every altitude, from Primrose Hill to Mont Blanc, suited its special ailment, the only thing necessary being to hit on the right one, "My dear lady, get your good husband to Engelberg at once. Write to HERR CATTANI, Hotel Titlis, Engelberg, Unterwalden, asking what day he can receive you , and then, as soon as you can possibly get off, start. I can promise you it will do wonders for our patient."
And now we were whirling along towards Basle in the rather stuffy splendours provided for us by the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons Lits, that reminded one, as much as anything of being fixed into one's allotted place in a sort of gigantic Gladstone Bag--an illusion assisted, no doubt, by the prominence of a deal of silver-plated fittings, in the shape of knobs and door-handles, all somewhat tarnished and dusty. True, the compartment, which gave on to a corridor running the whole length of the carriage, was provided with a table, an inkstand, a large pan for cigar-ash, and a colossal spittoon; but as one had no immediate need of any of these things, and they filled up the already sufficiently limited space, one was strongly disposed, but for the presence of the military official of the Wagons Lits who paced the corridor before alluded to, to pitch them all out of the window then and there. But it was drawing on towards seven o'clock, and the question of feeding naturally came to the fore. How was the Dilapidated One to get his meal at Tergnier, the place where the military official informed us we should find "an excellent repast, 'ot, and ready, with plenty of time to dispose of 'im with every facility," waiting for us.
Nothing further till Basle, where we halted at 6 A.M. for breakfast and a change of trains, and where I was much impressed with the carrying power of the local porter, whom I met loaded with the Dilapidated One's effects, apparently surprised that that "was all" he was expected to take charge of. Lucerne in a blaze of stifling heat, with struggling Yankee and British tourists being turned away from the doors of all the hotels, so we were glad to get our telegram from Herr CATTANI announcing that he was able to offer us rooms that he had "disponible;" and at 3 P.M. we commenced our carriage-drive to Engelberg. Towards five we quitted the plain and began the ascent.
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
BARON DE BOOK-WORMS.
MR. PUNCH'S DICTIONARY OF PHRASES.
DURING A VISIT.
INCOMPREHENSIBLE!--At the dinner given by the LORD MAYOR, a few days since, to the representatives of Art and Literature of all nations, a linguist, who is believed to understand seventeen languages, made a speech in the eighteenth!
A FAMILY QUESTION.
A SONG FOR THE SITUATION.
MCKINLEY, brave and bold, as the universe is told, Brought forth his Tariff Bill so neat and handy, O! And true patriots, everyone thought the business splendid fun, With their music playing Yankee-doodle dandy, O! Yankee-doodle, Yankee-doodle dandy. O! The patriots came running, and admired MCKINLEY's cunning, In the interests of Yankee-doodle dandy, O!
The fight has scarce begun, and the Yank has seen the fun Of the rush of freighted vessels to be handy, O! Just in time for the old duties; they competed, like young beauties For the smile of some young roving Royal dandy, O! Yankee-doodle, Yankee-doodle dandy, O! They knew there'd be a scare if the ships didn't dodge the Tariff, The New Tariff dear to Yankee-doodle dandy, O!
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
STEAM-ROLLING EXPERIENCES.--That you should have endeavoured to have turned the birthday-gift of your eccentric nephews to account, and made an offer to the Municipality of West Bloxham to "set" the High Street for them by going over it with the seventeen-ton steam-roller, with which your youthful relatives had presented you, was only a nice and generous impulse on your part; and it is undeniably a great pity that, owing to your not fully understanding the working of the machine, you should have torn away the front of three of the principal shops, finally going through the floor of a fourth, and getting yourself apparently permanently embedded in a position from which you cannot extricate yourself, in the very centre of the leading thoroughfare. Your idea of getting out of the difficulty by presenting the steam-roller then and there to the Borough was a happy one, and it is to be regretted that, under the circumstances, they felt no inclination to accept your offer. Their threat of further proceedings against you unless you take immediate steps to remove your machine, though, perhaps, to be expected, is certainly a little unhandsome. Perhaps your best plan will be to try and start your Steam-roller as a "Suburban Omnibus Company," as you propose. Certainly secure that Duke you mention for Chairman, and, with one or two good City names on the Directorate, it is possible you may be successful in your efforts to float the affair.
Meantime, since the proprietor of the premises in which your Steam-roller has fixed itself refuses to allow you to try to remove it by dynamite, leave it where it is. Put the whole matter into the hands of a sharp local lawyer, and go on to the Continent until it has blown over.
HIGHWAYS AND LOW WAYS.
There is evidently all the difference in the world between "The King's Highway"--of song--and the Kingsland highway--of fact. Song says all is equal to--
"High and low on the King's highway."
Experience teaches that a sober citizen traversing the highway unfavourably known as the Kingsland Road, is liable to be tripped up, robbed and thumped senseless by organised gangs of Kingsland roughs. It seems doubtful whether Neapolitan banditti or Australian bush-whackers are much worse than these Cockney ruffians, these vulgar, vicious and villanous "Knights of the Road." Is it not high time that the local authorities--and the local police--looked to this particular "highway," which seems so much more like a "byway" not to say a "by-word and a reproach" to a city suburb?
A CASE FOR THE SURGEONS.--Mrs. Ramsbotham, who has a great respect for the attainments of Members of the Medical profession, cannot understand why Army Doctors should be called "non-competents."
THE MODERN MILKMAID'S SONG.
Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That come in competition's field From reckoning up the Shorthorn's "yield."
Cockneys shall come and poke their noses Into our churns as sweet as roses; And to quiz MAUDLIN in clean kirtle The toffs of Town will crush and hurtle.
You'll see the Queen, of pride chock-full, Take first prize with her Shorthorn bull; Dr. H. WATNEY, of Buckhold, With "Cleopatra" hit the gold.
A medal or a champion cup For cheese to munch, or cream to sup, Are pleasures rural souls to move, So live with me and be my love.
Butter and eggs, milch cows and churns, With cattle foods shall take their turns; If Dairy Shows thy mind have won, Then come with me to Islington.
A LICENCE FOR LORDS.
Come, landsmen, give ear to my ditty, I'll make it as short as I can. There was once--was it London?--a city Which stretched from Beersheba to Dan. Of course that is gammon and spinach, Or, to put it correctly, a joke. It extended from Richmond to Greenwich, This city of darkness and smoke.
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