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    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, November 21, 1891
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, November 21, 1891
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, November 21, 1891
    Ebook88 pages43 minutes

    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, November 21, 1891

    By Various Various

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, November 21, 1891

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      Book preview

      Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, November 21, 1891 - Various Various

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, Or the London Charivari, Volume 101,

      November 21, 1891, by Various

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

      Title: Punch, Or the London Charivari, Volume 101, November 21, 1891

      Author: Various

      Release Date: December 1, 2004 [EBook #14229]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH ***

      Produced by Malcolm Farmer and the PG Online Distributed Proofreading

      Team

      PUNCH,

      OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

      Vol. 101.

      November 21st, 1891.

      CARS, IN HONOUR OF THE WELSH LORD MAYOR,

      STRANGELY ENOUGH OMITTED FROM THE PROCESSION ON THE NINTH.

      CANCEL, OR RECALL.

      The World last week sounded a note about the compulsory retirement, by reason of age, from one of the large Revenue Departments, of a gentleman who has the great honour to be the son of the most distinguished Irishman of this century. If this sentence has really been passed authoritatively, which Mr. Punch takes leave to doubt, then said Authority will do well to recall it in favour of the son of the Liberator, which his name is also DAN. And, to give the well-known lines so often quoted,—

      When DAN'L saw the writing on the wall,

      At first he couldn't make it out at all."

      And the sooner the official writing on the wall—if it exists—be obliterated, the better for the public service, as, when the public, like the Captain in the ballad of "Billy Taylor, Comes for to hear on't, the said British Public will werry much applaud what has been done in suppressing, not issuing, reconsidering, or revoking the order. So says Mr. P., and the B.P." will agree with him.

      THE ANCIENT MILLINER.

      (His Reminiscences of the Recent Gale.)

      PART I.

      IT was the Ancient Milliner

      Stood by his open door;

      The tale he told was something like

      A tale I'd heard before.

      * * * *

      I called forthwith a Hansom, and

      Now, Cabman, drive! I cried;

      "For I must get this bandbox home

      Before the eventide.

      Raining Cats and Dogs

      "The bride a-pacing up the aisle

      Mad as a dog would be,

      Without this sweet confection of

      Silk and passementerie."

      Westward the good cab flew. The horse

      Was kick-some, wild, and gay;

      He tossed his head from side to side

      In an offensive way.

      He tossed his head, he shook his mane,

      And he was big and black;

      He wore a little mackintosh

      Upon his monstrous back.

      I mused upon that mackintosh,

      All mournfully mused I;

      It was too small a thing to keep

      So large a beastie dry.

      And on we went up Oxford Street

      With a short, uneasy motion;

      What made the beast go sideways I

      Have not the faintest notion

      But we ran into an omnibus

      With a short, uneasy motion.

      All in a hot, improper way.

      The rude 'bus-driver said,

      That them what couldn't drive a horse

      Should try a moke instead.

      Never a word my cabman spoke—

      No audible reply—

      But, oh, a thousand scathing things

      He thought; and so did I.

      "What ails thee, Ancient Milliner?

      What means thy ashen hue?

      Why look'st thou so?—I murmured, Blow!"

      And at my word it blew.

      PART II.

      The storm-blast came down Edgware Road,

      Shrieking in furious glee,

      It struck the cab, and both its doors

      Leaped open, flying free.

      I shut those doors, and kept them close

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