Public-domain ebook
by Various
Language: en220 downloads on Project Gutenberg
Subjects
In: Punch·Humour·British Literature
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #33036.
The opening · free to read
THE CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER, it is rumoured, a few days since, received a deputation of schoolboys home for the holidays, and other young gentlemen delegated to him with a petition that he would propose a bill for the repeal of the duty now demanded for permission to carry a gun.
The foreboy of the memorialists, Master SMITHERS, in an address premised with "Please Sir," informed the Right Honourable Gentleman of the object of their application. He, and those other fellows, considered the gun-tax an awfully hard impost, he might say imposition--out of school-hours. It denied them a recreation they particularly wanted to enjoy in the holidays, namely, shooting, which was fun for them as good as for Members of Parliament. Shooting was shooting, whether you shot sparrows or grouse. But ten bob duty was more than poor fellows could afford.
JACKSON, Junior, asked why, if the tax on firearms was intended to prevent a chap from carrying a gun, it wasn't charged just the same upon pistols? You couldn't look into a daily paper hardly without seeing an account of a murder committed, or somebody or other shot, or shooting himself by accident, with a revolver, or the revolver going off on its own accord, and killing its owner or someone else. Cads and roughs almost all of them carried revolvers, and so it was that burglars went about shooting policemen. If every revolver had to be loaded with a licence, or the firearm-duty were enforced for all firearms, it would save no end of lives. But if that didn't signify, and everybody was to be free to carry a revolver, what use was there in what you might call fining a fellow for leave to carry a gun?
The CHANCELLOR of the EXCHEQUER said that his young friends appeared to him to have made out a very good case, not so much for the repeal of the gun-duty as for its extension, if necessary, or at any rate its enforcement, as regarded revolvers, upon which the existing duty might require to be increased to an amount which would effectually limit the possession of those dangerous weapons. Meantime he would consult his colleagues, who, he was assured, would give this question their most serious consideration.
The young gentlemen then gave three groans for the CHANCELLOR of the EXCHEQUER, and bolted.
I DREAMT that I gazed at the Marble Arch, King Fog and King Coal at my side, The soot of November, the dust-storms of March Had made it a sight to deride. I said all the foreigners think, I'll be bound, To our City this thing is a shame; But I guess 'twill be found, when next Season comes round, That its state is much the same.
It does want a wash, there's no doubt about that, For the marble's a dull, dirty brown; That is, where it isn't as black as your hat-- Can't they clean it while Swelldom's from Town? Marble? Deft TADEMA, I will be bound, Would say 'tis not worthy the name; But I'd wager a pound, when next Season comes round, We shall find it still the same.
SOME prate of patriotism, and some of cheap defence, But to the high official mind that's all absurd pretence; For of all the joys of snubbing, there's none to it so dear, As to snub, snub, snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!
A patriotic Laureate may bid the Rifles form, And Citizens may look to them for safety in War's storm; But Secretaries, Dooks, and such at this delight to jeer, And to snub, snub, snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!
A semi-swell he may be, but he may be a mere clerk, And he's an interloper, and to snub him is a lark. Sometimes he licks the Regulars, and so our duty's clear, 'Tis to snub, snub, snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!
He hankers for an increase in his Capitation Grant, It's like his precious impudence, and have the lift he shan't. What, make it easier for him to run us close? No fear! We'll snub, snub, snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!
He has a fad for Wimbledon, but that is just a whim, And as eviction's all the go, we'll try it upon him. He's not an Irish tenant, so no one will interfere, When once more we snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!
His targets and his tents and things are nuisances all round, As Jerry-Builders, Dooks, and other Toffs have lately found. Compared with bricks and mortar and big landlords he's small beer, So we'll snub, snub, snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!
The Common's vastly handy, there's no doubt, to chaps in town, And crowds of Cockneys to the butts can quickly hurry down; But what are all Town's Cockneys to one solitary Peer? No; let us snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!
Your Citizen who wants to play at soldiers need not look To have his little way as though he were a Royal Dook. With building-leases--sacred things!--he must not interfere, So let us snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!
If he must shoot his annual shoot somewhere, why, let him go To Pirbright or to Salisbury Plain, or e'en to Jericho. But out from his loved Wimbledon he'll surely have to clear,-- A final snub, snub, snub, snub to the British Volunteer!
She (beaming). "WHAT FIRST ATTRACTED YOU, DEAR? WHAT AGREEABLE CHARACTERISTIC DID I POSSESS TO PLACE ME ABOVE ALL OTHERS IN YOUR SIGHT AND ESTIMATION?"
He. "H-U-M--LE'ME SEE."--(Ponders.)--"H-M--OH, DARLING, I GIVE IT UP. CU'IOUS THING, DEAR--I NEVER COULD GUESS WIDDLES!"]
LORD SALISBURY agrees with Lord BEACONSFIELD that Asia is large enough for both Russia and England. Quite so. And unlimited space is large enough for all the galaxies of Worlds,--until two of them want to occupy one portion of it. Then comes Chaos or a Cosmical Boundary Question. The "room enough" theory is a genial one, which would have commended itself to Uncle Toby. But it does not carry us practically very far on the road to a settlement. The world was presumably "large enough" to accommodate the ambitions of OCTAVIUS and MARK ANTONY. Only they did not happen to think so. Collision terrestial or celestial does not come from the narrowness of limits, but from the crossing of courses.
_August 20._--Heavy downpour commences. Thirty-six inches of rain fell in as many minutes. The Clerk of the Weather catches cold.
_August 27._--Heavy downpour continues. The entire audience at the Gaiety, being unable to get home without getting drenched, decline to leave the Theatre, and, after a riot, pass the night there, in the face of the protests of the Management.
_September 3._--Heavy downpour shows no signs of abating. Several leading Umbrella Manufacturers make rapid fortunes, and are raised to the Peerage.
_September 15._--Heavy downpour still continuing, the Serpentine overflows its banks, and runs southwards. Salmon-fishing commences in the Brompton Road.
_September 27._--Downpour heavier than ever. The Underground Lines flooded, and the traffic carried on by penny steamers.
_October 8._--Downpour steadily continuing, the Albert Hall is opened as a National Swimming Bath, and Battersea Park as a Rice Plantation.
_October 19._--Downpour still on the increase. The Hippopotamus from the Zoological Gardens is washed in a torrent down Portland Place, and left high-and-dry on the steps of the Langham Hotel.
_October 28._--Downpour as heavy as ever. Gondolas seen in Piccadilly. A well-known Duke endeavouring to drive a bathing-machine in Belgrave Square, upsets it, and is only rescued with difficulty by drags from his own balcony.
_November 3._--Downpour still continuing and London being now under water, wild-duck shooting commences in Chancery Lane.
_November 9._--Downpour at its height. In consequence of the flooded condition of the Guildhall, the Lord Mayor's banquet is given under a water-proof tent on Primrose Hill, his distinguished guests approaching it across the Regent's Park in coal-barges. Prime Minister, in his speech, commenting upon the weather, describes it "as the worst he ever remembers."
COME into Bulgarian Lands, We stretch our hands; 'Tis a chance not to be miss'd. When we have kiss'd Your hand in loyal fealty there, The Crown's sweet burden you may bear. Hark! Hark!
Burden. Bow-wow! (Dispersedly.) Let the Russ bark!
Burden. Bow-wow! (Dispersedly.) Hark, hark! I hear The strutting Gallic Chanticleer Cry Cock-a-doodle-doo!
Ferdinand. Where should this music be? In th' air, or th' earth? It sounds once more, and sure it waits upon My forward footsteps. Sitting all alone, Musing upon Prince ALEXANDER'S wreck, This music crept upon me unawares, Stirring my hope, and rousing Russia's passion, With its sweet air. Thence have I followed it, Or it hath drawn me rather:--but 'tis gone. No, it begins again.
Full fathom deep BATTENBERG lies, Of his chance chaos is made; But you'll see, if you have eyes, Your hopes ripen as his fade. You may suffer a great change Into a young King. Is't strange? Fate which rings poor SANDY'S knell Sounds your coronation bell. Hark! dost hear it?--ding-dong-dell!
[_Burden._ Ding-dong!
Ferdinand. This ditty doth decoy, yet fright me,--rather. This is no common chance. A golden crown Fate proffers me:--I see it,--shall I wear it? [_Left considering._
THE summary given in an evening paper last week of a well-known suit, now happily at an end, is instructive. Four years ago the plaintiff was absolutely without means, and apparently utterly friendless. The man who had wronged her offered her (amongst other infamous actions) a miserable pittance to expatriate herself and to cease to "annoy" him. She called in the assistance of the Press; and now she retires with provision for herself and innocent child, her character re-established, and a sum of money that our grandfathers would have called a "plum." The paper that championed her was plucky, and as the result has proved, in the right. Praise to whom praise is due. Acknowledgment is due to the P. M. G.
TREVELYAN swears he trusts the Grand Old Man, And follows him in playing fast and loose. Well, we have heard of Leda and the Swan, But here's a case of Leader and the Goose!
To those about to travel viâ Dover and Calais.--Ask when The Empress makes the journey. Something like a boat, and the day our party went by her she did the crossing in the hour, and I won't positively swear it wasn't a minute or so under that time. There's a crossing-sweeper for you! The Empress of the Sea! Mind you it was a fine day, and what I should say would be considered a calm sea, though there were several sufferers.
If not in a hurry--and who can hurry in such weather?--the easiest travelling is by the 11 A.M. from Victoria; admirable Empress for the crossing; and a good twenty-five minutes or more for one of the best buffet-luncheons in France. Stay the night in Paris, and off to your Royat, your Aix, or wherever it may be, as early as possible.
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