Homepage
Login
Profile
BookClubs
dmBox
Read Ebook: Punch or the London Charivari Vol. 109 September 7 1895 by Various Burnand F C Francis Cowley Editor
Font size:
Background color:
Text color:
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page Prev Page
Ebook has 169 lines and 15003 words, and 4 pages
And crossed concerns of common civic life,
A constant influence, a peculiar grace;
But who, if he be called upon to face
Some awful moment of more dangerous kind,
Shot that may slay, explosion that may blind,
Is cool as a cucumber; and attired
In the plain blue earth's cook-maids have admired,
Calm, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law,
Fearless, unswaggering, and devoid of "jaw."
Or if some unexpected call succeed
To fire, flood, fight, he's equal to the need;
--He who, though thus endowed with strength and sense,
To still the storm and quiet turbulence,
Is yet a soul whose master bias leans
To home-like pleasures and to jovial scenes;
And though in rows his valour prompt to prove,
Cooks and cold mutton share his manly love:--
'Tis, finally, the man, who, lifted high
On a big horse at some festivity,
Conspicuous object in the people's eye,
Or tramping sole some slum's obscurity,
Who, with a beat that's quiet, or "awful hot,"
Prosperous or want-pinched, to his taste or not,
Plays, in the many games of life, that one
In which the Beak's approval may be won;
And which may earn him, when he quits command,
Good, genial, Sir JOHN BRIDGE'S friendly shake o' the hand.
Whom neither knife nor pistol can dismay,
Nor thought of bribe or blackmail can betray:
Who, not content that former worth stand fast, Looks forward, persevering, to the last,
To be with PARTRIDGE, ex-detective, class'd:
Who, whether praised by bigwigs of the earth,
Or object of the Stage's vulgar mirth,
Plods on his bluchered beat, cool, gentle, game,
Finds honour in his cloth and in his cause,
And, when he dips into retirement, draws
His country's gratitude, the Bow Street Beak's applause:
This is the happy "Copper"; this is he
Whom every Man in Blue should wish to be.
"TWENTY MINUTES ON THE CONTINENT."
"I tell you what you want," said my friend SAXONHURST. "You find your morning dumb-bells too much for you, and complain of weakness--you ought to get a blow over to France."
The gentleman who made the suggestion is a kind guardian of my health. He is not a doctor, although I believe he did "walk the hospitals" in his early youth, but knows exactly what to advise. As a rule, when I meet him he proposes some far-a-field journey. "What!" he exclaims, in a tone of commiseration; "got a bad cold! Why not trot over to Cairo? The trip would do you worlds of good." I return: "No doubt it would, but I havn't the time." At the mere suggestion of "everyone's enemy," SAXONHURST roars with laughter. He is no slave to be bound by time. He has mapped out any number of pleasant little excursions that can be carried out satisfactorily during that period known to railway companies as "the week's end." He has discovered that within four-and-twenty hours you can thoroughly "do" France, and within twice that time make yourself absolutely conversant with the greater part of Spain. So when he tells me that I want "a blow over" to the other side of the Channel, I know that he is proposing no lengthy proceedings.
"About twenty minutes or so on the continent will soon set you to rights," continues SAXONHURST, in a tone of conviction. "Just you trust to the London, Chatham and Dover Railway and they will pull you through. Keep your eye on the 9 A.M. Express from Victoria and you will never regret it."
On board I find a goodly company of lunchers. Mr. Recorder BUNNY, Q.C., sedate and silent--once the terror of thieves of all classes, and ruffians of every degree, now partly in retreat. Then there is the MACSTORM, C.B., warrior and novelist. Foreign affairs are represented by MM. BONHOMMIE and DE CZARVILLE, excellent fellows both, and capable correspondents in London. Then there are a host of celebrities. DICKY HOGARTH, the caricaturist; SAMUEL STEELE SHERIDAN, the dramatist; and SHAKSPEARE JOHNSON COCKAIGNE, the man of literary all-work.
"It is very fine this to me when therefore I come out why," observes an Italian explorer, who has the reputation of speaking five-and-twenty languages fluently, and is particularly proud of his English.
"Therefore maybe you find myself when I am not placed which was consequently forwards." And with this the amiable explorer from the sunny south, no doubt believing that he has been imparting information of the most valuable character, relapses into a smiling silence.
In the course of the voyage I find that, if I pleased, I could wait until a quarter to four, and then return to my native shores. This would give me more than three hours in Calais. But what should I do with them?
"You might go to the Old Church," says Mr. Recorder BUNNY, Q.C., "which was an English place of worship in the time of Queen MARY. Some of the chapels are still dedicated to English Saints, and there are various other memorials of the British occupation."
The trusty ship gets to England at 2.30, the equally trusty train arrives at Victoria a couple of hours later. I am in capital time for Mrs. ANYBODY'S "last Any-day."
"How well you are looking," observes my kind hostess, pouring out a cup of tea.
"And I am feeling well," I return; "and all this good health I owe to twenty minutes on the continent."
Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page Prev Page