Punch (85.1883)

September

1883.

PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHAPIVAPI.

109


OUR GUIDES.

Tourist [with enlarged “Bradshaiv,” Supplement to “Baedeker," dec.) sings

“ Now I’m Furnished !
Now I’m Furnished !

Now I’m Furnished !

For my Flight ! ”

Song in “Macbeth.”

LOYE AMONG THE PARTRIDGES.

September’s first, the day was fair,

We sought the pleasant stubble,

The birds were rising every-
where,

The old dog gave no trouble.

And still my friend missed
every shot,

While I ne’er fired in vain.

I said, “ Perchance the day ’s
too hot ? ”

He cried, “Amelia Jane!”

We shot throughout the live-
long day,

We always shoot together,

And yet in a disgraceful way,

He never touched a feather.

I said, “ How is it that you muff
Your birds, my boy ? Explain.”

He sighed and said, “ I know it’s rough ;
But, oh, Amelia Jane ! ”

Quoth I, “ Amelia J ane may be
As plump as any partridge,

But that’s no reason I can see
Why you should waste each cartridge.”
He shot the dog, then missed my head,

But caused the’keeper pain ;

Then broke his gun and wildly fled
To join Amelia Jane !

Blade Game.

Bamsbothamiana.—Miss Lavtnia reads the news-
papers aloud to her Aunt regularly. Last Saturday she
read out the heading of a paragraph in the Times, “ The
Lord Mayor’s Court ”—when Mrs. Ramsbotham gave a
tremendous start and exclaimed, ‘ ‘ Caught, my dear ! I
had no idea that he had run away! What on earth’s he
been doing ? ”

New edition of “ Handley Cross ’’—might have been
seen in Rutlandshire when Mr. James W. Lowther—-
James the Second—came in by a large majority. It was
plucky of Mr. Davenport Handley to fight at all.
Sorry he’s out, as it is both useful and ornamental to
have a Davenport handily placed in the House.

LAYS OE A LAZY MINSTREL.

THE MINSTREL’S RETURN.

M Moore or Less Melody.

Farewell, oh farewell to the Holiday Season !

(Thus murmured a Minstrel just back from the sea.)

I ’m glad to return unto rhyme and to reason ;

In London once more I’m delighted to be !

Ah ! sweet were the days in the Upper Thames reaches,

How happy the doing of nothing at all!

And sweet, too, the flavour of ripe sunny peaches,

That dropped in our hands from the Rectory wall.

But long shall I cherish, through dreary December,

The thought of that even we drifted away :

The twilight, the silence, I long shall remember,

The flash of the oar and the perfume of hay.

And still, when “ My Queen ” the street-organ is playing,

Or “ Patience ” is blown by cacophonous bands,

I smile on the discord, I nod to the braying,

And muse with delight upon Scarborough Sands.

The young laughing maids, with their salt-sprinkled tresses,
Let artfully down on their shoulders to dry ;

I see, on the Spa, in their pretty pink dresses :

Maud, Mabel, and Dolly, and Daisy, and Vi.

Nor did Cook and his coupons a moment forget me ;

Yy passeport was vise the length of my flight;

While Murray and Hr adshaiv aid aid and abet me,

And Coutts with the circular notes was all right.

Farewell—when at bedtime I sink on my pillow
I dream of my toil up the snow-covered steep,

And mules, vetturini, and boats on the billow,

And polyglot waiters embitter my sleep !

Ah, me ! oft at night how I painfully worry
To think where on earth I have possibly been ?

Of towns, half-forgotten, I saw in a hurry,

And ghosts of the “ lions ” I ought to have seen !

And now, when the Club becomes cheerful and crowded,
And men are returning all hearty and brown ;

While the room with the vesper tobacco is clouded—

’Tis pleasant, most pleasant to get back to town !

Farewell, oh farewell, for dear London is pleasant,

No longer I feel inclination to roam:

I think, as I stir up the coals incandescent,

I ’m awfully glad to be once more at home !

“ Shall Shakspeare have a Burlesque ? ” A propos of this ques-
tion a Correspondent, who only signs initials, writes to us to say, that
“in Robson’s time, Mr. Frank Taleourd wrote a burlesque on The
Merchant of Venice, and another on Macbeth, and, no doubt, were
this clever Author now living, he would burlesque any other of
Shakspeare’s plays admirably, because he had such Shakspearience
in this sort of work.” (Oh! oh !)

The Bishop of Liverpool preached in a Scotch Presbyterian
Church. He wore no gown, but only his ordinary costume. This
conduct will puirlyryle some of the High Kirk folk, whose objections
will, after all, be only pure-ryle.