DOI issue:
February 6, 1892
DOI Page / Citation link: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17693#0071
February 6, 1892.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHAEIVAEI.
61
1 \l X\XJ* II vA\
A GOOD STAYER."
The Dealer said, "The Mare could Stay for Ever." She seemed inclined to do so when
Jones wished to be after the Hounds.
RECEIPT AGAINST INFLUENZA.
Dear Sir,—I send you. this gratis.
It is for everybody's benefit,
Yours.
GrEORGrE GhjZZLETON, X.M.D.
P.S.—I give " Cccnce prescriptio-
nem" only, as the " Prescrip: pran-
dialis'''' can be taken out of this with
variations.
Ostr: frigid:.........1| doz.
Pise: anima: locus aut ) --- • ,
quid:ali:.......jaaaxvi3
Cum: pom: terr: fervesc: ... f 83
Ad Hoc: bib: sextarium . . . \ tt]x.
Ovem: torrid:.........%$s.
virides: ad. lib.
Per: dix: anas: agrestis: ) f3ij.
Condim: pan: autaliquid: \ fvijss.
Prunosus: botulus:.....aaf3yj.
Condim: prand: aut lact:) f„.
Devonii:......,,...}
Liq. Pomm: et Gr: '84 . . . ) n.
Aut Mo: et Chand: '84 . . . . \ UJ 4
Fiat haust: sec : vel test: qudque
hord: extra hord cozncB: regit-
lariter sumendum.
Si opus sit: Misce: aq: sodas . . 3b*
Misce : ot: grog : h.s.s. Si opus sit
aut noti.
Literary _ Gardening.—A Cor-
respondent, signing himself " Stul-
tus in hortu or HoRT-u-not P "
writes. " Please, Sir, if my boy John
plant ' a slip of a pen,' what will it
come up ? " Answer paid—A Jon-
quill.
TO THE QUEEN.
(From the Nation.)
Queenly as womanly, those words that start
From sorrow's lip strike home to sorrow's
heart.
Madam, our griefs are one ;
But yours, from kinship close and your high
place, [grace
The keener, mourning him in youth's glad
Who loved you as a son.
We mourn him too. Our wreaths of A'otive
flowers
Speak, mutely, for us. The deep gloom that
lowers
To-day across the land
Is no mere pall of ceremonial grief.
'Tis hard in truth, though reverent belief
Bows to the chastening hand.
Hard—for his parents, that young bride, and
Bearer of much bereavement, woman true,
And patriotic Queen ! [pain,
We hear the courage striking through the
As always in your long, illustrious reign,
Which shrinking ne'er hath seen,—
Shrinking from high-strung duty, the brave
way
Of an imperial spirit. So to-day
Your People bow—in pride.
The sympathy of millions is your own.
May Glory long be guardian of your Throne,
Love ever at its side !
Entirely Unsolicited Testimonial. —
"Dartmoor.—Gentlemen,—Two years ago I
wrote somebody else's name with one of your
pens. Since then I have used no other.
Yours faithfully, A. F. Okger.
"To Messrs. Steal, Enters & Co."
vot. cii.
"LA GKIPPE."
("J'm a devil ! Vm a devil I" croaked Barnaby
Budge's Raven 'Grip' : And this is a raven-mad
sort of Edgar-Allan-Poem by Vn qui est Grippe.)
Once upon a midnight dreary
Coming home I felt so weary,
Felt, oh ! many a pain; so curious,
Which I'd never felt before.
Then to bed,—no chance of napping,
Blankets, rugs about me wrapping,
Feverish burning pains galore.
"Oh! I've got it! oh!" I muttered,
" Influenza! ! what a bore ! ! "
Only this!!—Oh!!—Nothing more!!
Oh ! my head and legs are aching !
Now I 'm freezing ! Now I'm baking !
Clockwork in my cerebellum !
Oh! all over me I'm sore !
In my bed I'm writhing, tossing,
Yet I'm in a steamer, crossing.
While Kiralfy's Yenice bossing,
I'm " against " and PcUSSELL " for"
In a case about the Echo,
Somewhere out at Singapore!
It's delirium !! ! Nothing more.
Then a Doctor comes in tapping
Me all over, tapping, rapping.
And with ear so close and curious
Pressed to stethoscope, " Once more,"
Says he, " sing out ninety-ninely,
Now again! You do it finely !
Yes ! Not bigger than a wine lee,
There's the mischief, there's the corps
Of the insect that will kill us,
Hiding there is the Bacillus ;
Only that, and nothing more !"
" Why 's he here with fear to fill us ?
Will he leave me, this Bacillus f
Not one bone do I feel whole in,
And of strength I've lost my store."
Thus J io the Doctor talking,
Ask "When shall I go out walking "?
He, my earnest queries baulking,
Says, " When all this trouble's o'er,"
Monday ? Tuesday ? Wednesday ? Thurs-
Friday ? Saturday ? Sunday P or [day ?
In a week ? " " Urn !—not before."
" Doctor! " cried I, "catch this evil
Fiend! Bacillus!! Microbe!! devil! I
Second syllable in Tem-pest !
Send him to Plutonian Shore.
Send, him back to where he came from,
To the place he gets his fame from,
To the place he takes his name from ;
Kick him out of my front door ! "
So the Doctor feels my pulse, and,
As I drop upon the floor,
Quoth the Doctor, " Some days more J
61
1 \l X\XJ* II vA\
A GOOD STAYER."
The Dealer said, "The Mare could Stay for Ever." She seemed inclined to do so when
Jones wished to be after the Hounds.
RECEIPT AGAINST INFLUENZA.
Dear Sir,—I send you. this gratis.
It is for everybody's benefit,
Yours.
GrEORGrE GhjZZLETON, X.M.D.
P.S.—I give " Cccnce prescriptio-
nem" only, as the " Prescrip: pran-
dialis'''' can be taken out of this with
variations.
Ostr: frigid:.........1| doz.
Pise: anima: locus aut ) --- • ,
quid:ali:.......jaaaxvi3
Cum: pom: terr: fervesc: ... f 83
Ad Hoc: bib: sextarium . . . \ tt]x.
Ovem: torrid:.........%$s.
virides: ad. lib.
Per: dix: anas: agrestis: ) f3ij.
Condim: pan: autaliquid: \ fvijss.
Prunosus: botulus:.....aaf3yj.
Condim: prand: aut lact:) f„.
Devonii:......,,...}
Liq. Pomm: et Gr: '84 . . . ) n.
Aut Mo: et Chand: '84 . . . . \ UJ 4
Fiat haust: sec : vel test: qudque
hord: extra hord cozncB: regit-
lariter sumendum.
Si opus sit: Misce: aq: sodas . . 3b*
Misce : ot: grog : h.s.s. Si opus sit
aut noti.
Literary _ Gardening.—A Cor-
respondent, signing himself " Stul-
tus in hortu or HoRT-u-not P "
writes. " Please, Sir, if my boy John
plant ' a slip of a pen,' what will it
come up ? " Answer paid—A Jon-
quill.
TO THE QUEEN.
(From the Nation.)
Queenly as womanly, those words that start
From sorrow's lip strike home to sorrow's
heart.
Madam, our griefs are one ;
But yours, from kinship close and your high
place, [grace
The keener, mourning him in youth's glad
Who loved you as a son.
We mourn him too. Our wreaths of A'otive
flowers
Speak, mutely, for us. The deep gloom that
lowers
To-day across the land
Is no mere pall of ceremonial grief.
'Tis hard in truth, though reverent belief
Bows to the chastening hand.
Hard—for his parents, that young bride, and
Bearer of much bereavement, woman true,
And patriotic Queen ! [pain,
We hear the courage striking through the
As always in your long, illustrious reign,
Which shrinking ne'er hath seen,—
Shrinking from high-strung duty, the brave
way
Of an imperial spirit. So to-day
Your People bow—in pride.
The sympathy of millions is your own.
May Glory long be guardian of your Throne,
Love ever at its side !
Entirely Unsolicited Testimonial. —
"Dartmoor.—Gentlemen,—Two years ago I
wrote somebody else's name with one of your
pens. Since then I have used no other.
Yours faithfully, A. F. Okger.
"To Messrs. Steal, Enters & Co."
vot. cii.
"LA GKIPPE."
("J'm a devil ! Vm a devil I" croaked Barnaby
Budge's Raven 'Grip' : And this is a raven-mad
sort of Edgar-Allan-Poem by Vn qui est Grippe.)
Once upon a midnight dreary
Coming home I felt so weary,
Felt, oh ! many a pain; so curious,
Which I'd never felt before.
Then to bed,—no chance of napping,
Blankets, rugs about me wrapping,
Feverish burning pains galore.
"Oh! I've got it! oh!" I muttered,
" Influenza! ! what a bore ! ! "
Only this!!—Oh!!—Nothing more!!
Oh ! my head and legs are aching !
Now I 'm freezing ! Now I'm baking !
Clockwork in my cerebellum !
Oh! all over me I'm sore !
In my bed I'm writhing, tossing,
Yet I'm in a steamer, crossing.
While Kiralfy's Yenice bossing,
I'm " against " and PcUSSELL " for"
In a case about the Echo,
Somewhere out at Singapore!
It's delirium !! ! Nothing more.
Then a Doctor comes in tapping
Me all over, tapping, rapping.
And with ear so close and curious
Pressed to stethoscope, " Once more,"
Says he, " sing out ninety-ninely,
Now again! You do it finely !
Yes ! Not bigger than a wine lee,
There's the mischief, there's the corps
Of the insect that will kill us,
Hiding there is the Bacillus ;
Only that, and nothing more !"
" Why 's he here with fear to fill us ?
Will he leave me, this Bacillus f
Not one bone do I feel whole in,
And of strength I've lost my store."
Thus J io the Doctor talking,
Ask "When shall I go out walking "?
He, my earnest queries baulking,
Says, " When all this trouble's o'er,"
Monday ? Tuesday ? Wednesday ? Thurs-
Friday ? Saturday ? Sunday P or [day ?
In a week ? " " Urn !—not before."
" Doctor! " cried I, "catch this evil
Fiend! Bacillus!! Microbe!! devil! I
Second syllable in Tem-pest !
Send him to Plutonian Shore.
Send, him back to where he came from,
To the place he gets his fame from,
To the place he takes his name from ;
Kick him out of my front door ! "
So the Doctor feels my pulse, and,
As I drop upon the floor,
Quoth the Doctor, " Some days more J