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    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, April 15, 1893
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, April 15, 1893
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, April 15, 1893
    Ebook87 pages40 minutes

    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, April 15, 1893

    By Various Various and F. C. (Francis Cowley) Burnand

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    Read preview
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, April 15, 1893

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      Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, April 15, 1893 - Various Various

      The Project Gutenberg eBook, Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, April 15, 1893, by Various, Edited by Francis Burnand

      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.org

      Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 104, April 15, 1893

      Author: Various

      Editor: Francis Burnand

      Release Date: November 24, 2007 [eBook #23604]

      Language: English

      Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

      ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI, VOL. 104, APRIL 15, 1893***

      E-text prepared by Lesley Halamek, Juliet Sutherland,

      and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team

      (http://www.pgdp.net)

      PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

      Volume 104, April 15th 1893

      Edited by Sir Francis Burnand

      PERILOUS POSITION OF A GALLANT OFFICER OF VOLUNTEERS.

      On a recent March, who (ever thoughtful for the comfort of his hired Charger) chooses the cooling waters of the Ford in preference to the Bridge.

      Here! Hi! Help, Somebody! Hold on! I mean Halt! He won't come out, and he wants to Lie Down, and I believe he's going to Rear!

      POLITICAL MEETINGS.

      A Crowded, gas-lit, stuffy hall,

      A prosy speaker, such a duffer,

      A mob that loves to stamp and bawl,

      Noise, suffocation—how I suffer!

      What is he saying? "Mr. G.

      Attacks the British Constitution,

      It therefore—er—er—falls to me

      To move the first—er—resolution:

      "That—er—the Shrimpington-on-Sea

      United Primrose Habitations

      Pronounce ('Hear, hear!') these Bills to be

      Iniquitous (cheers) innovations."

      I'll bear this heat and noise no more;

      My constitution would be weaker.

      I hurry out, and find, next door,

      Another meeting and its speaker;

      Another crowded, stuffy hall,

      A frantic shouter, greater duffer,

      A mob more prone to stamp and bawl,

      Noise, suffocation still I suffer.

      What is he saying? "Mr. G.,

      Despite drink's cursed coalition,

      Dooms publicans (groans), as should be,

      On earth, as elsewhere, to perdition!

      "I move, the Shrimpington-on-Sea

      United Bands of Hope, with pleasure,

      Pronounce the Veto Bill to be

      A great (cheers), good (shouts), just (roars) measure."

      Enough! O frantic fools who rave

      And call it Temperance! This body

      Would drive me to an early grave;

      I'll hurry home and get some toddy.

      ADVICE TO A YOUNG PARTY SCRIBE.

      You may, an it please you, be dull,

      (For Britons deem dulness respectable);

      Stale flowers of speech you may cull,

      With meanings now scarcely detectable;

      You may wallow in saturnine spite,

      You may flounder in flatulent flummery;

      Be sombre as poet Young's "Night,"

      And dry as a Newspaper Summary;

      As rude as a yowling Yahoo,

      As chill as a volume of Chitty;

      But oh, Sir, whatever you do,

      You must not be witty!

      Plod on through the sand-wastes of Fact,

      Long level of gritty aridity;

      With pompous conceit make a pact,

      Be bondsman to bald insipidity;

      Be slab as a black Irish bog,

      Slow, somnolent, stupid, and stodgy;

      Plunge into sophistical fog,

      And the realms of the dumpishly dodgy.

      With trump elephantine and slow,

      Tread on through word-swamps, dank and darkling;

      But no, most decidedly no,

      You must not be sparkling!

      Be just as unjust as you like,

      A conscienceless, 'cute special-pleader;

      As spiteful as Squeers was to Smike,

      (You may often trace Squeers in a leader.)

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