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Read Ebook: Punch or the London Charivari Volume 103 October 22 1892 by Various
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Ebook has 104 lines and 11125 words, and 3 pages
IN A GHOST-SHOW.
INSIDE.
COLUMBUS.
COLUMBUS! We read of him every day, In books, pamphlets, magazines, papers; Whilst Italy, Portugal, Spain, U.S.A., Cut constant, consecutive capers.
COLUMBUS, your search for a sort of New Cut Was meant for the best, we don't doubt it; No harm in discovering Continents, but You might have said nothing about it.
Still, had you not found a location for clam, Canvas back, buckwheat cakes, we should sorter Have missed the acquaintance of 'cute Uncle SAM, And his fearless, free, fragile, fair daughter.
COLUMBUS! The newspapers never will drop This subject; we wish, as months roll on, Some common bacillus had put a full stop Long ago to Don CHRISTOBAL COLON!
"ANECDOTAGE."
PITT, the younger, and FOX were both fond of port wine, and lost no opportunity of indulging in their favourite beverage. Meeting at CROCKFORD's one evening, PITT proposed that they should play for a bottle of sherry. "No," said FOX, "if I must lose, I will lose in Claret!" and the rival Statesmen succumbed to intoxication.
WILBERFORCE, the well-known philanthropist, was accustomed to visit the prisons. At Newgate one day he met a well-known forger, and asked him "What he was in for?" "For the same reason that you are out," was the smart, but uncourteous reply.
NEW REGULATIONS FOR THE ENGLISH POLICE.
THE GREAT UNKNOWN.
A Gentleman must be liberal, not to say lavish, to servants, porters, gamekeepers, and others, or he is "no gent." At the same time the Perfect Gentleman is never extravagant.
He must not work. At the same time he must not be an idler.
He is known by his scrupulous attention to the minutiae of personal appearance, while "despising all outside show."
The Perfect Gentleman "never wilfully hurts anybody." No soldier, doctor, or schoolmaster can, therefore, ever be a P.G.
He is always perfectly open and frank. He is also sufficiently artful to conceal the fact that he considers the person he is talking to a mixture of a snob and a blockhead.
When his favourite corn is trodden on by a weighty stranger, he never utters any expression stronger than "Dear me!"
He never loses his temper.
He must know how to treat everyone according to their rank and situation in life, but show special courtesy to those who are his inferiors.
He must be well-born, although there are plenty of "Nature's Gentlemen" in the ranks of day-labourers.
He must be sufficiently wealthy to keep up a good position, while recognising the fact that money has nothing to do with true gentility.
He should also try and remember that no such jumble of contradictions as the Perfect Gentleman ever existed.
"MR. GLADSTONE ON RENTS IN WALES."--What the Right Honble. Mr. G. omitted to say, when speaking on this subject, was that "but a comparatively small rent in Wales would be produced by Disestablishment, whenever that event should happen, and that this would soon be mended."
A USEFUL EXPERIENCE.
I awoke at one in the morning, I had been two hours in bed, When--bang!--without any warning A joke came into my head. 'Twas brilliant, awfully funny, It flashed through my drowsy brain, It was worth--oh, a lot of money!-- I chuckled again and again.
YES OR NO?
Oh, never did lover in fable In such a predicament stand, A letter I wrote to my MABEL, To ask for her heart and her hand, With compliments worded so nicely, A lifelong devotion I swore; She's answered--and left me precisely As wise as before!
It is true that I begged, when inditing My note, a reply with all speed, And MABEL, to judge from the writing, Fulfilled my petition indeed! The drift of this scrawl, so erratic, I am wholly unable to guess-- It may be refusal emphatic, Or can it be "Yes"?
A meeting must needs be awaited To render these mysteries plain; Perhaps in this letter she's stated She never will see me again; On one thing at least I've decided;-- Should she be my partner for life, A type-writer shall be provided For the use of my wife!
THE GERMAN AND HORSE-TRYING RIDE.
Pity the sorrows of a worn-out horse, Whose trembling limbs support him 'gainst a wall; Who asks you,--fearing future trials worse-- To kill him with a sudden shot,--that's all.
A CORRESPONDENT signing "INNOCENTIA DOCET," wants to know if "the Hub of the Universe" is an official appointment that can only be held by a Mahommedan or a Mormon?
CONVERSATIONAL HINTS TO YOUNG SHOOTERS.
SHOOTING-LUNCHES
in their relation to talk:--
Be extremely careful, unless you know exactly the ways of your host with regard to his shooting-lunch, not to express to him before lunch any very definite opinion as to what the best kind of lunch is. If, for instance, you rashly declare that, for your own part, you detest a solemn sit-down-in-a-farmhouse lunch, and that your ideal is a sandwich, a biscuit and a nip out of a flask, and if you then find yourself lunching off three courses at a comfortable table, why you'll be in a bit of a hole. Consistency would prompt you to abstain, appetite urges you to eat. What is a poor talker to do? Obviously, he must get out somehow. Here is a suggested method. Begin by admiring the room.
CHALMERS will say, "It's not a bad little hole. Old Mrs. NUBBLES keeps things wonderfully spruce. This is one of the cottages I built five years ago."
"Ah, my boy," says CHALMERS, "you'll find there's nothing like a stew out shooting."
"Of course," you say, "nothing can beat it, if you've got a nice room to eat it in, and aren't pressed for time; but, if you've got no end of ground to cover, and not much time to do it in, I can always manage to do myself on a scrap of anything handy. Thanks, I don't mind if I do have a chunk of cake, and a whitewash of sherry."
Thus you have fetched a compass--I fancy the phrase is correct--and have wiped out the memory of your indiscretion. Of course the thing may happen the other way round. You may have expressed a preference for solid lunches, only to find yourself set down on a tuft of grass, with a beef sandwich and a digestive biscuit. In that case you can begin by declaring your delight in an open-air meal, go on to admire the scenery, and end by expressing a certain amount of judicious contempt for the Sybarite who cannot tear himself away from effeminate luxuries, and the trick's done.
But this subject is so great, and has so many varieties, that we must recur to it in our next.
TO OUR GUERNSEY CORRESPONDENTS.
LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.
Yours devotedly, LADY GAY.
ORLEANS NURSERY SELECTION.
MY SEASON TICKET.
Ever against my breast, Safe in my pocket pressed, Ready at my behest, Daintily pretty Gilt-printed piece of leather, Though fair or foul the weather, Daily we go together Up to the City. Yet, as I ride at ease, Papers strewn on my knees, And I hear "Seasons, please!" Shouted in warning: Pockets I search in vain All through and through again; "Pray do not stop the train-- Lost it this morning. No, I have not a card, Nor can I pay you, Guard-- Truly my lot is hard, This is the reason, Now I recall to mind Changing my clothes, I find I left them all behind,-- Money, cards, 'Season.'"
WRITTEN A HUNDRED YEARS HENCE.
Yours truly, A STUDENT OF THE LORE OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.
DEAR MR. PUNCH,--It is time for a protest! One of the most beautiful erections of the nineteenth century is to be removed! Instead of the picturesque iron roof, we are to have some abomination in stone! Can this be? It is said to be falling to pieces under the ravages of Time. If this be really the case, why not let it be restored? There was no more picturesque outcome from the nineteenth century than these pretty arrangements in metal. The last generation swept them away by scores, by hundreds, by thousands--they did not even spare the Brompton Boilers! Let not such a reproach be applicable to us. We pride ourselves upon our love of Art and veneration for the antique and the beautiful, and yet we would pull down a building that for a century has been the admiration of all with a soul for Art and a mind for appreciating the sublimest efforts of genius in its highest sense! This must not be.
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