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Read Ebook: Up Terrapin River by Read Opie Percival
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Ebook has 1087 lines and 40159 words, and 22 pages
Editor: Sir Francis Burnand
LONDON.
PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICE, 85, FLEET STREET,
AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS
LONDON: BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
VOL. 108.
JUNE 29, 1895.
It was the luncheon-hour at Lord's. Likewise it was exceeding hot, and Mr. PUNCH, after an exciting morning's cricket, was endeavouring to cool himself with an iced tankard, a puggreed "straw," and a fragrant whiff.
"Willow the King!" piped Mr. PUNCH, pensively. "Quite so! A merrier monarch than the Second CHARLES is WILLIAM the very First! And no one kicks at King Willow, even in these democratic days. The verdant, smooth-shaven lawn, when wickets are pitched, is your very best 'leveller'--in one sense, though, in another, what stylish RICHARD DAFT calls 'Kings of Cricket' , receive the crowd's loyal and most enthusiastic homage. But, by Jove, the Harrow boys will want a new version of their favourite cricket song, if prodigy be piled on prodigy, like Pelion on Ossa, in the fashion to which the Doctor during the first month of Summer in this year of Grace has accustomed us."
"The 'Doctor's' throne has never been disputed by anyone outside Bedlam," said a strong and sonorous voice.
Mr. PUNCH looked up, and perceived before him a stalwart six-footer in flannels, broad-belted at the equator, and wearing broad-brim'd silken stove-pipe.
"ALFRED MYNN, quoting 'the Old Buffer,' or I'm a Dutchman," said the omniscient and ever-ready one.
"'And, whatever fame and glory these and other bats may win, Still the monarch of hard hitters, to my mind, was ALFRED MYNN; With his tall and stately presence, with his nobly-moulded form, His broad hand was ever open, his brave heart was ever warm'--
as PROWSE sang pleasantly."
"I see you read what is worth reading," responded the Kentish Big 'Un. "DICK NYREN'S style was as sound and honest and brisk as the English ale he lauded,--'barleycorn, such as would put the soul of three butchers into one weaver.' But the great Gloucestershire gentleman is worthy to bend the bow of Ulysses."
"Or to wear the pads of ALFRED MYNN, which, I believe, were presented to him," said Mr. PUNCH, cordially.
"Hillo, Mr. PUNCH! Wake up, old man! Match over!"
It was the veritable voice of the Gloucester Giant. But where was the Pride of Kent? He came like a shadow in summer slumber, and so departed. But WILLIAM GILBERT was at least satisfactorily solid.
"Where are the Bats of yester year?" murmured the drowsy Sage.
"Oh, still scoring--some of 'em," said the practical smiter, cheerfully. "Keeping up a fair average, too."
"What is yours just now, Doctor?"
"What a season!" exclaimed Mr. PUNCH, preparing to puff.
"Centuries to right of us, | "Centuries all round us, Centuries to left of us, | Volley and thunder!
VOL. 108, JANUARY 5, 1895.
MR. PUNCH WELCOMES THE NEW YEAR.
Aye, fifty-three New Years I've welcomed. This I pray to Heaven in its arms may bear A whole New Yearful of a nation's bliss-- A world without a tear, without a care. 'Tis thus that I have prayed, young Sir, full many years before; But to know how oft I've prayed in vain, would make your young heart sore.
The Year that's dead was better, sure, than some; But even he brought with him strikes and war, Whose ghastly horrors smote the soft heart numb And wrung and chilled it to the very core. 'Twas a villainous attention, this suffering and gore, That we'd rather have dispensed with, from your brother 'Ninety-Four
But even he, my lad, a jest could work, And on occasion smile, and nod, and beck; To England gave--a rising Son of York, And gave to Ireland--Mr. GLADSTONE'S cheque! Thus tickling Mr. BULL from smiles and laughter to a roar. But hearty laughs like these, my friend, were few in 'Ninety-Four.
And you, young shaver, what is it you bring? Razor and soap, like shavers young and old-- The soap to soothe, razor to cut and sting?-- Will wedding-bell be heard, and death-knell toll'd? You see, my lad, we're anxious as to what you have in store, For there's still some things to put to rights bequeathed by Ninety-Four.
PROTEST FROM THE PLAYGROUND.
Your obedient young friend
JACKY.
SPORT IN COURT;
NEW YEAR NOTIONS.
THE MODERN THEATRE LAUGH.
Dear MR. PUNCH,--I crave the hospitality of your columns under the following circumstances. The other night I went to a burlesque. Being a man of modest means, I contented myself with paying half-a-crown, for which sum I was able not only to sit with the plebs in the pit, but to see Society in the stalls.
In any case, I invite letters on "The Seriousness of Laughter."
Yours distressedly,
A DI-TRI-SYLLABIC PITTITE.
NEW YEAR.
"Ring out, wild bells." We hope that you, With '94 that's rung out, Will kindly ring out just a few Of all those things entitled "new" Which plagued us till quite mad we grew As mad as dog with tongue out.
Yes, "things"; for nought of human shape, However strangely bizarre, Is there portrayed; there's not an ape, That feeds on cocoa-nut or grape, Between Morocco and the Cape, So hideous as these are.
For goodness' sake, don't let us see New Art which courts disaster! We much prefer to Mr. B. VELASQUEZ, REMBRANDT, even P. P. RUBENS or VANDYKE, for we Like oldness in a master.
And then "New Humour." Heavens, why It's but a pleasure killer! A cause of weary yawn and sigh, Which makes us almost long to fly To those old jokes collected by A certain Mr. MILLER.
In politics Newcastle, too, With programme was prophetic; And now Leeds leads, and shows who's who. The Grand Old Man--there's age for you!-- Has found much better things to do, Not prosy but poetic.
But all the things, so new in time, Are nothing to the woman, Who now is "new," and seeks to climb To heights which seem to her sublime; She is indeed a rum 'un.
Of course we know that youth is sweet; Old women are not charming; But no old woman we could meet, With featless form and formless feet, This wild New Woman now could beat, She's perfectly alarming.
Ring out, wild bells, wild belles like these New-fangled fancies screaming; Ring in the woman bound to please, A lady, always at her ease, Not manlike woman, by degrees More man that woman seeming.
Old '94, who now has fled, Encouraged blatant boldness In things called "new," as we have said; New '95, now he is dead, Might bring some things which are instead Remarkable for oldness.
"SHOULD CHRISTMAS BE ABOLISHED?"
With what philosophy sublime The institutions are discussed, Which foolish men of olden time Were well content to take on trust! "Is life one great mistake?" we cry, "Our modern teachers deem it so;" "Man's place shall woman occupy?" And now this last--"Shall Christmas go?"
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