Punch (67.1874)

November 7, 1874.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

191

FOX VERSUS PHEASANT.

Hunting Man. “ Going Home ? Yes. If they can’t Kill him Running, I don’t want to Sit here an Hour, while they

DIG OUT AND MURDER HIM ! ”

Shooting Man (owner of Coverts). “ O, nonsense! Invited Hounds to-day on purpose to Kill Foxes. Want to find
Pheasants to-morrow, you know.”

BARE SPORT POR SHARPSHOOTERS.

Describing a day’s partridge shooting which was recently enjoyed
by the Prince of Wales .near Paris, an eyewitness informs us in
his Special Correspondence that the game was driven by the beaters
to where the sportsmen had been posted behind a belt of trees, and
although at first some shots were missed at the birds flying overhead,
“ the rifles (sic) brought them down at a surprisingly long distance.”
This idea of shooting partridges with rifles has so tickled our fancy,
that we have composed a little song for sharpshooters, which sport-
ing riflemen are at liberty to warble when they chance to be invited
to la Chasse :—

Up ! up! ye bold Sportsmen, arise with the morn,

Awake to the sound of the far-clanging horn :

Quick, quick, ye Sharpshooters, your rifles prepare
To slay the swift partridge whilst cleaving the air !

See,, the beaters, arrayed in the blouse of fair France,

In line semicircular, screaming, advance ;

Hark ! a shout of. le voila ! ” good gracious, what’s there ?
’Tis that Brave with his baton has started a hare.

Now louder and louder the shrill keepers cry,

Still as mice, see, in ambush the sharpshooters lie ;

Mark, that covey, high-soaring, flies fast overhead,

Crack, crack go the rifles: the birds topple—dead!

See that snipe in the distance a half mile or more,

’Twould be a rare shot now that bird to knock o’er ;

But hardly “ Jack Robinson! ” out you can cry,

Ere, pierced by a bullet, it ceases to fly.

“ Vive la chasse ! Vive le breech-loading rifle ! ” I say,

’Tis the surest of weapons all wing’d game to slay :

And for riflemen surely no sport is more fair

Than to shoot the gay partridge whilst cleaving the air !

WHY AND BECAUSE.

People who like to philosophise upon other people’s vices may
have been entertained by hearing the latter of the undernamed
lectures, delivered, according to a newspaper, by—

“The Rev. F. R. Young in Liverpool.—Mr. F. R. Young, late editor
of the Christian Spiritualist, gave two interesting discourses in the rooms of
the Liverpool Psychological Society, on Sunday last. The subject in the
afternoon was ‘ Dreams, and what they teach,’ and in the evening, ‘ Why
do people get drunk ? ’ ”

No doubt people get drunk principally because they abandon
themselves to spirits. This, probably, was the argument held by
the late Editor of the Christian Spiritualist. But, perhaps, he
omitted to add that the same influence as that of spirits in producing
intoxication is also apt to be exerted by fermented liquors on those
who take too much of them. Why do they ? That is the question
for your true sage to consider. On this head Smeleungus observes
that drunkenness is commonly the effect of a remedy for depression
taken in an overdose. The cynical old wretch adds, that when
people get drunk by themselves, it is because without drink they
cannot Dear their own company; and that they get drunk together
because, while sober, they cannot endure each other’s.

More New Music.

We are enabled, by the help of a musical clairvoyant, gifted with
a sight into the middle of next week, to announce that the new song,
“ I built a Bridge of Fancies,” will be followed very shortly by
“ I built a Fancy Cottage,” and to this will come the sequel,
“ There's a Slate loose in my Roof.” From the same source we may
mention, among other vocal novelties, that the sentimental song,
“ I wait for thee, my only Love,” will ere long be succeeded by a
serio-comic ditty, bearing the quaint title of “ Won't you Wed the
Waiter ? ”