Public-domain ebook
Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 108, March 2nd 1895
by Various
Language: en330 downloads on Project Gutenberg
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Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #45093.
The opening · free to read
TALL TALES OF SPORT AND ADVENTURE.
(By Mr. Punch's own Short Story-teller.)
I.--THE PINK HIPPOPOTAMUS. (CONTINUED FROM PAGE 81.)
In these awful circumstances, with the night air whistling past me, and with my beloved CHUDDAH and her nurse hurtling upwards beside me, it is scarcely necessary for me to say that I never for an instant lost my coolness and my perfect self-possession. That the situation was dangerous, nay, almost desperate, I fully realised, but it is in these very situations that true courage and resourcefulness are always of the highest value. Again and again in the course of my long life have I plucked safety, aye, and that which is higher and better than all safety, namely, reputation, from the nettle danger. Let fools prate as they will; the brave man must always rise triumphant above the stormy waves of envy and detraction.
These thoughts, I admit, did not occur to me at the moment. Our flight was too perilous and too swift to allow me to think of aught save what concerned the immediate necessities of this truly fearful crisis. Poor little CHUDDAH, I observed, being made of lighter material, was gradually outstripping me in this dreadful and involuntary race. First her head topped me; then her shoulders soared beyond me; at last her feet were on a level with my face. As one of them (I forget which) passed upwards, I was just able by leaning slightly forward, to imprint a kiss upon it. "Farewell, CHUDDAH," I sighed, as the lovely foot left my lips. "Farewell, ORLANDO," she murmured all but inaudibly, and fled up, up, up into the dismal night. I never saw her again.
The Ayah, however, a stout and heavy woman, was still beside me, rising inch for inch as I rose. By turning slightly round I could look at her. I did so. Judge of my horror when I realised by the faint light of the stars that the Ayah was no longer alive! The shock of the sudden ascent must have proved too much for one accustomed to the sedate and comfortable life of an eastern palace, and enfeebled, moreover, by advancing age. The explosion acting on such a constitution had snapped the cords that kept life in her faithful body. The Ayah was dead, and I who tell this tale was alone with a corpse in the encircling atmosphere! As I realised this horrible situation, I confess that for the first and last time in my life I turned faint with a feeling almost amounting to fear. In imagination I saw myself speeding for ever, as the æons revolved in their courses, with only a dead Indian nurse to keep me company. Then, by an instantaneous revulsion, the grim humour of the situation struck me. With only my knapsack of provisions and my brandy-flask, it was unlikely, even under the most favourable circumstances, that I should be able to prolong life for more than a week. At the end of a week, then, I too should be a corpse. I laughed aloud as I thought of the last scion of the WILBRAHAMS, the unconquerable ORLANDO, mated in mid-air to the dusky Ayah, a skeleton to a skeleton, and my sepulchral "Ha, ha," went reverberating through the dim spaces of night. The sound roused me once more. Why, after all, should I die? Life was sweet; much remained to be done; there were wrongs still to be redressed in the world below; millions of the oppressed still waited for a deliverer; countless herds of big game still roamed the prairies or made their lairs in the forests of earth. No, I would live if I could, and prove once more the unquenchable fortitude of my race.
At this moment I looked down.
(To be continued.)
_Monday._--Now that the Law lectures at the different Inns have been "thrown open to the public," any outrage in the way of cringing to the democracy may be expected. They'll be opening Lincoln's Inn Fields next to the mob!
_Tuesday._--They have! And a steam merry-go-round set up within thirty yards of my formerly tranquil Chambers! Oh, why was I ever called?
_Wednesday._--Dinner in Hall to-day. Found two perfect strangers dining at my table! Seems that the Benchers have thrown open dining-hall to the public as well! Asked strangers if they intended being called to the Bar? One of them replied (with a wink) that he didn't--why should he? He could get all the legal training, use of library, &c., without going to expense of a call.
_Thursday._--In Court. Unknown Counsel opposed to me. Seem to recognise his face. Can it be the stranger who dined in Hall last night? It is. New rule has thrown the Courts open to amateur pleaders! What are we coming to? Must say stranger pleads uncommonly well. And Judge so deferential to him!
_Friday._--Wonders never cease. To-day my stranger of yesterday found seated on Bench! Judge ill--has appointed him as Commissioner in his place. New rule allows this sort of thing. What is the reason of this sudden democratising of the Profession?
_Saturday._--Mystery explained. One of the Benchers wants to be made a L. C. C. Alderman! In his Election Address he even stoops so far as to give way to the vulgar delusion that Law is expensive, and recommends a rule that costs should always be "on the lower scale." Perhaps he is right. Everything on the lowest possible scale at Bar nowadays!
"Why, I was a thinking, Sir," returned MARK TAPLEY, "that if I was a painter, and was called upon to paint the American Eagle, how should I do it?"
"Paint it as like an Eagle as you could, I suppose."
"No," said MARK. "That wouldn't do for me, Sir. I should want to draw it like a Bat, for its short-sightedness; like a Bantam, for its bragging; like a Magpie, for its honesty; like a Peacock, for its vanity; like an Ostrich, for its putting its head in the sand, and thinking nobody sees it----"
"And like a Ph[oe]nix, for its power of springing from the ashes of its faults and vices, and soaring up anew into the sky!" said MARTIN.
Martin Chuzzlewit.
BROTHER JONATHAN _loquitur:_--
He was prejudiced, that Mark, a Eur[=o]pian, in the dark, Concernin' of our Glorious Institutions. He paint our Bird o' Freedom? Lots have tried, but we don't heed 'em; And revolvin' years bring curus retributions. We don't care a brass farden! DICKENS had to beg our pardon, And that MAX O'RELL will eat his words one day, Sir! The real Yankee Eagle is as strong-winged as a Sea-gull, With a beak as sharp as any Sheffield razor.
Still, he's been a trifle pippy, and has looked a little chippy-- By the mighty Mississippi yes, Sir!--lately. Kinder moulty as to feathers, as though blizzards and bad weathers Of every blamed big sort had tried him greatly. Good Jee-rusulum! No wonder! for great snakes and buttered thunder! Our blasts have been fair busters for his pinions. In the words of Mister Chollop, all creation he can wallop,-- But tornaders have been sweepin' his dominions!
As to that Mark Tapley's twaddle, why the Peacock ain't the model, Nor the Bantam, nor the Ostrich, I'd be pickin' For the finest fowl in Natur. Better dub him Alligator, A Whangdoodle, or a Cincinnati Chicken! Like the Ph[oe]nix he's immortal, and he soars to the Sun's portal, But--the Ph[oe]nix has sick spells, like lesser poultry. Wants fresh fixing up, I reckon, then the dawn once more he'll beckon, And sprint--from Memnon's statue to Fort Moultrie.
BULL ain't an Eagle builder, but he makes a bully gilder, And I reckon, guess, and calc'late I'll jest try him. If I git from the old fellow a good coat of British Yellow-- A sort o' paint J. B. keeps always by him-- My Bird o' Freedom soaring, where the blizzards are a roaring, And the cloud-bursts are out-pouring, will jest flicker Real rollicking and regal, like a genu-ine Golden Eagle.-- Wal!--you've fixed him real smart, JOHN! Let us liquor!
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