Punch (37.1859)

SONG OF THE IMPRISONED MEMBER.

My hack is tired of Park and Square :

My kennelled pointers pant for air;

My trees at home are fresh and green;

My Highland bothy’s swept and clean;

The grouse are crowing on the hill;

The red-deer crouching in the gyll—

The sun is hot, the Thames is strong,

The House is drear, the Session long.

Oh, would I were by Solent’s side,

Where white-winged yachts at anchor ride;

Oh, would I were beside the pool,

Beneath the hazel shadows cool,

With rising trout and circling fly,

And soft. west wind in cool grey sky!

Not stifling, in St. Stephens’ here,

Debaters’ prosing in my ear!

For country air I pant and pine;

I have no appetite to dine:

E’en iced gin-twist can cool no more.

And sherry-coblers are a bore:

The smell of Thames is in my nose:

The flags, are hot beneath my toes—

Fly, Session, fly: dissolve, 0 House,

And speed me to the sacred grouse !

Hadfield of Sheffield.

“A Lamp upon a dinner-table is objectionable,” said an eminent
diner-out, at the Reform Club; “in the first place, it takes up room,
and. in the second, it prevents your seeing your opposite neighbour.
Bely upon it, there is nothing like a hanging light.” “Yes,” said
Me, Hadeield, “ or what is called in Latin, Pendente liteP

Me. Rarey’k Exhibitions.—Entertainment both for Man and Horse.

IS IT “J.?”

Mr. Punch, writing nobly himself, can afford to enjoy noble writing
by others, and so far from possessing any of that meanness of spirit
J which leads some folks to detract from the merits of their rivals, he
delights to bring forward with honour and glory anything that deserves
applause. In that beautiful spirit, he extracts from the Leicester
Guardian the following exquisite account of a fete in Bradgate Park,
good-naturedly lent for the purpose by the Earl oe Stamford and
Warrington

“ The day was the Queen of Summer’s fairest, not a cloud obscured the sky,
whilst a refreshing breeze gently wafted through the studded slopes and glens, and
as the happy gatherings, exuberant with mirth in the plenitude of their gambols,
their innocent pastimes and recreations, luxuriated well-nigh to satiety, their cup
of joy was filled to overflowing by the soul-stirring strains of the band, which con-
tinuously poured forth from the venerable ruins with magic grandeur and sublimity.”

Isn’t it sweet?

The same lofty and lovely style is preserved in personal narrative,
for we are next apprised that—

“ The Countess of Stamford and Warrington, who, with the Noble Earl, was
engaged in piscatorial pursuits Oiroue/hout the day, kindly forwarded to Mr. H.
Nicholson, the handsome sum of £25,”

which was very kind of her Ladyship. It would have been vulgar,
when a Countess was being spoken of, to say that she was fishing.; and
Mr. Punch makes his best compliments to the Editor of the Leicester
Guardian, and congratulates him upon the charming contributor whose
services he is happy enough to have at command. Our friend the
Post has long since got rid of its old taint of Jenkinsism; but—a
thought strikes us!—has the ostracised Jenkins taken refuge in
Leicester ?

Hapsburg.

This celebrated House, which has lately received such a severe
shaking, is about to change its name. So subject has it been to
crosses and reverses lately—so much so that its foundation is by no
means so sound as it used to he—that for the future it is to be called
“ The House oe Mishafsburg.”

July 30, 185U.J PUNCH, CR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 43

THE TURCOS, AND THEIR MODE OF FIGHTING. FROM THE LATEST FRENCH ACCOUNTS AND SKETCHES.