Public-domain ebook
Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 107, September 29, 1894
by Various
Language: en311 downloads on Project Gutenberg
Subjects
In: Poetry·Humour·Plays/Films/Dramas
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #46738.
The opening · free to read
By some stordinary mistake on the part of some wery hemenent taker of Poortraits, I was last week requested for to go to him and set for my Picter.
He told me in his letter that his reason for wanting me to set to him was, becoz he wanted to have the Picters of all the Members of the Copperation, and of course they wood not be complete without mine, for tho of course he knew that I was not a real Common Counseller, still, he thort that I had left sitch a mark among them by my ten years constant service and unwarying atention to em, that the hole matter woud be wanting in completeness if my Picter was omitted, even if it was only as "Mr. ROBERT the City Waiter" a leading off the presession or a bringing up the Reer! I remembers werry well when the other City Picter was printed, about a year ago, when the LORD MARE'S three Footmen, all in their werry hansumest uniforms, was placed exactly in the front, and all being fine hansum fellers, as they undowtedly is, they were thort to have taken the shine out of the hole Picter, but that was in course quite a diffrent thing, and this new one is to be quite werry diffrent from that one, and carried out in quite another style altogether, and will, I shoud think, atract such uniwersal admiration as will quite cut out the Picter Gallery as was shown at Gildall last summer.
Sum few of the werry hansumest of the hole Court as has bin and got taken already, has bin and stuck theirselves up in the Reading Room, and werry proud they is of their apperience, and BROWN and Me has got sum of the Atendents to let us go in before the Members comes, and see em privately. BROWN says as how as he's quite sure as there must be sum mistake about me, becoz as he carn't at all see how I shoud fit in with the rest. But there's werry little dout in my mind that it's all a case of gelosy with BROWN, who woud werry much like to have sitch a chance.
I had my chance of going yesterday, and werry kind the Gennelman wos who took me, and he took me three times, to make sure of me. He said as I was a werry good Setter, and that everybody woud know who I was by my likenesses in Punch, and lots of peeple woud like to git my Picter, as it was a werry good likeness.
ROBERT.
Oh, polychromatic postillion, Who scoureth the Scarborough plains, And beareth the travelling million For infinitesimal gains; Oh, butterfly, picture thee--there is the rub!-- Developing backwards to worse than a grub!
It fills me with doldrums and dolour. To picture thy scarlet and blue Becoming so sadly "off colour," Descending to bumblebee hue; To dandy-grey russet; dunducketty dun! Oh, PAYN, this is painful. You must be in fun!
A fly-driver frumpy and fusty? You might as well just be a fly, All fuzzy, and buzzy, and dusty, A horror to ear and to eye, A-booming about and fly-blowing the crockery, No, no, gentle PAYN, this is surely mere mockery.
Would DARWIN were here to demolish "Development" turned upside down. Yon urchin in pink and high polish Degraded to rain-beaten brown? A butterfly turned a blackbeetle were sad, But nought to the fate of our postboy, poor lad!
A Hansom may sink to a "Shoful," A racer descend to the rank; But this metamorphosis woeful Is fortune's most pitiless prank. Smart urchin in emerald, cobalt, vermilion, Turn fly-driver? Far better die a postillion.
"Ye little birds that sit and sing" Outside my window when the day is dawning. How I should like your little necks to wring, I fain would sleep, with weariness I'm yawning. Although for rest you may not feel inclined, Do cease, I beg of you, that aimless twitter: Try without noise the early worm to find. Why should you seek my rest-time to embitter?
No doubt you think your maddening cheep Sweeter than song of nightingale or linnet, But, tossing here with imprecations deep, I do declare I find no sweetness in it. "Higher up! move on!" or stay and hold your tongues, Had I a gun, the twig you'd quickly hop it; I wish you'd exercise your little lungs A thousand miles from here. In mercy stop it!
Discuss the question,--"_Why_ Cycle?" Purchase a roadster,--Buy Cycle! Mount it, and tumble off--Try Cycle! Home bruised and shivering,--Icicle! Read the Lancet, am horrified,--Shy Cycle! Sell off at a sacrifice,--Fie Cycle! And that was the end of my Cycle!
Yes, "Knickers" are the proper dress Wherewith a Cycle's seat to press; Convenient, and--should you be thrown-- Making less re-ve-la-ti-on; There's less of danger, aye, and dirt. Attending the divided skirt. I will not say I wholly like To see my JULIA on a "bike": I will not say that I should choose To see CORINNA don the trews; But yet, if either beauty feel That she is bound to cycle-wheel, (Like to a she-Ixion) then, Since ladies aim to ride like men, 'Tis clear that all experience teaches That it is best to wear knee-breeches, And drop the prejudice that doth dote On the tempestuous petticoat. A skirt that catcheth here and there, And leaves a stretch of stocking bare, Raiments that ruck, and cause thereby The wheels to move confusedly;-- All these be awkward follies, sure, Compared with dual garmenture. Knickers and leggings, by-and-by, With their unfeigned simplicity, Will more bewitch us--on a "bike"-- Than flowing skirts we now do like!
_Average "Honest Man" loq.:_--
Put a penny in the slot? That is simply tommy-rot! If I want a cigarette, Or some butter scotch, you bet, If I put a penny in, 'Tis a bad one! Bits of tin, Workmen's tickets, discs of zinc, Aught that's rounded and will chink, Chips of copper filed to size, Tokens, counters--all I tries. Takes a lot o' trouble, too, To fake up a reglar "do." So for nix I often get Butter scotch or cigarette. Oh! it is a splendid joke! I should like to see the bloke When he turns 'em out! Oh lor! Twenty per cent. are shams--or more! Honest? Wot? To a machine? You must think me jolly green! The machine can't cop or blow! Automatics do not know. If I pop a "Frenchy" in, Or a lump of brass or tin, Who's to tell that I do not Put a penny in the slot?
SCENE--_The "Gothenburg Arms," under new (Municipal) Management, licensed for the sale of liquors for the public profit only._ Mr. G., an elderly but cheerful and chatty customer, and Miss JOSEPHINE, a smart barmaid, discovered conversing across the counter.
Miss Joe (aside). Why, here is that chirpy old josser again! I wonder, now, what is his little game here?
Mr. G. (aside). Aha! there she is, looking smart as fresh paint! (Aloud.) Good morning, Miss JOSEY! How are you, my dear?
Miss Joe. Ah, tha-anks. I'm all right.
Mr. G. Which you look it indeed! Just a glass of the usual, my dear, if you please.
Miss Joe (drawing it). Oh, I thought you'd turned total abstainer or something.
Mr. G. Dear no! That's your chaff; you were always a tease.
Miss Joe (bristling). A tease, Mr. G.? Why, I wouldn't demean myself. What can it matter to me what you take?
Mr. G. Come now, Miss JOE, don't be raspy this morning.
Miss Joe. Me raspy, indeed! Well, you do take the cake!
You've been awfully down on the Bungs for a long time, have you and your friends, that Miss HARCOURT and such.
Mr. G. Don't call her my friend, if you please, dear Miss JOSEY.
Miss Joe. Oh, come!--I say!--this is a trifle too much!
Were not you and that LAWSON, and others, fair pals; Local Optioners down to the ground, and all that?
Mr. G. (airily). Oh, now I am "freer" and much less "responsible." Makes such a difference!
Miss Joe. What are you at?
Mr. G. Why, my dear girl, this new Gothenburg system always has struck me as quite the sole chance
Of escape from predicament truly contemptible--only fair promise of real advance.
So glad to see you so active in aid of it!
Miss Joe (coquettishly). Oh, Mr. G.! if Miss H. could but hear----!
Mr. G. (pettishly). Bother Miss H.! Local Option's her fad, and I'm friendly, of course, to it, only, my dear,
The mere limitation of numbers--her idol and Parliament's also for twenty years past--
Is all tommy-rot as a remedy!
Miss Joe. Really, my dear Mr. G., you are getting on fast.
Don't mean to say you mean "chucking" Miss H. and the rest of the Vetoers, WILFRID and all?
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