DOI Heft:
April 9, 1892
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17693#0186
April 9, 1892.]
177
PLEASANT!
Six Miles from Home, Horse dead lame, awfully tender Feet, and
ceiling—" shall we not beat the dastard foe from Camford
to-morrow?" A roar of applause sprang from the
smoking mouths of his seven companions.
But at this moment the Duchess of Avadrynke and
Lord Podophlin rose unobserved and quitted the room.
In another minute the sound of hurrying wheels, gradu-
ally growing fainter in the distance, was heard by no one
in the avenue. And the dance went on, and revelry rose
to its maddest pitch. But no one, who, as has been re-
corded above, had heard the sound of the wheels, gave a
thought to the Duke of Avadrynke, as he sat tearing
his hair in the violet bedroom, having learnt from the
faithful Seneschal the terrible news of the Duchess's
elopement with the heir to the house of Podophlin.
Chapter III.
The morn of the race dawned clear and sparkling. Far
as the eye could reach, the banks of the river were rich
with Millions, and firm enough to bear any run upon
them however heavy. But Sir Welforard Long stroke
was ill at ease. His No. 5 had fled leaving no trace, and
he had no one to fill the vacancy. He looked the very
model of an aquatic hero. His broad chest was loosely
clad in a pair of blue satin shorts, and his fair hair fell
in waving masses over his muscular back. His thoughts
were bitter. The Camford crew had started on the race
some ten minutes ago, and the Oxbridge craft still waited
idly in the docks for want of a No. 5.
"Surely," Sir Welforard thought to himself, " Po-
dophlin might have postponed the elopement for one
day." A confused noise interrupted his meditations.
Some ten yards from him a man roughly clad, but with
the immense muscular development of the Arri Furnese
Apollo, was engaged in fighting three bargees at once.
As Sir Welforard stepped forward, this individual
struck a terrible blow. His ponderous fist, urged by the
force of a thirty-inch biceps, crashed through the chest
of his first foe. severed the head of the second from his
body, and struck the third, a tall man, full in the midriff,
propelling him through the air into the middle of the river.
''That's enough for one day," he said, as with an air
of haughty melancholy he removed his clay-pipe from
his mouth. His face seemed familiar to Sir Welforard.
Who could he be ? All doubt was removed when he
advanced, grasped Sir Welforard by the hand, and, in
tones broken with emotion, said, "Don't you recognise
horribly tight Boots._^ |me? I am your old College chum, Viscount Stonybroke."
ME. PUNCH'S BOAT-RACE NOVEL.
STONYBROKE.
Chapter I.
It was the eve of the University Boat-Race. In the remote East
the gorgeous August sun was sinking to his rest behind the purple
clouds, gilding with his expiring rays the elevated battlements of
Aginanwater Court, the ancestral seat of His Grace the Duke of
Avadrynke, K.C.B., G.I.N., whose Norman features might have
been observed convulsively pressed against the plate-glass window
of his alabaster dining-hall. There was in the atmosphere a strange
electric hush, scarcely broken by the myriad voices of hoarse betting-
men, raucously roaring out the market odds of "Fifty to one.
Oxbridge!" or "Two ponies to a thick 'un, Camford!" Well
would it have been for the Duke of Avadrynke had he never offered
the hospitality of his famous river-side residence to the Oxbridge
Crew. But the Duke had the courage of his ancient boating-race
whose banner waved proudly upon the topmost turret, bearing upon
its crimson folds the proud family motto, " Dum Vivo Bibo."
And the sun went down, and within Aginanwater Court the sounds
of wild revelry shook the massive beams.
Chapter II.
The Oxbridge Crew still sat in the marble supper-room, amid the
debris of the feast that the Duke's Seneschal had laid out for them.
The fioor was paved with Magnums and Maximums of the best
Heidanseekerer champagne, most of them as empty as the foolish
head of the Duchess of Avadrynke, which was at that moment
reposing upon the brawny chest of Lord Podophlin, the celebrated
No. 5 of the Oxbridge Crew. On a raised dais at the end of the
room the ladies of the Tarara corps de ballet were performing the
final steps of the Sinuous Shadow-dance, specially dedicated to the
Oxbridge Crew by the chef d'orchestre of Tarara's Halls.
"May I be jiggered," observed the Oxbridge President, Sir
Welforard Longstroke , as he selected his fourth regalia from the
Duke's pearl-encrusted box, and lit it with all the abandon of a
Society darling, "may I be jiggered if this is not ripping ! What
say you?"he continued, addressing young Puly'er Wright, the
Coxswain, and tossing him playfully four times to the raftered
Chapter IV.
Saved ! Saved! " shouted Sir Welforard, joyously—"there is
yet time!" Then, rushing into
rhyme, he asked, "Will you
row in the race, In Podoph-
lin's place ? "
"Will I row in the race?"
repeated Lord Stony-
rroke—"just won't I!"
And, without removing his
hobnails, or his corduroys, he
sprang lightly into the Ox-
bridge racing-boat. The rest
is soon told. In less time
than it takes to narrate
the story, the
Camford lead was
wiped out. The
exertion proved
too much for
seven men in the
Oxbridge Crew,
but the gigantic
strength of the
eighth, Lord
Stonybroke, was
sufficient of itself
to win the race by
fifty lengths.
And that night,
when the Prime
Minister handed
to him the reward
rr i • -Q- , of victory in the
Touching Finale. ghape of
gold dessert service, he was also able to announce that the Stony-
broke estates and the Stonybroke title had been, by the Monarch's
command, restored to their original possessor, as a reward of con-
spicuous valour and strength. [the end.]
177
PLEASANT!
Six Miles from Home, Horse dead lame, awfully tender Feet, and
ceiling—" shall we not beat the dastard foe from Camford
to-morrow?" A roar of applause sprang from the
smoking mouths of his seven companions.
But at this moment the Duchess of Avadrynke and
Lord Podophlin rose unobserved and quitted the room.
In another minute the sound of hurrying wheels, gradu-
ally growing fainter in the distance, was heard by no one
in the avenue. And the dance went on, and revelry rose
to its maddest pitch. But no one, who, as has been re-
corded above, had heard the sound of the wheels, gave a
thought to the Duke of Avadrynke, as he sat tearing
his hair in the violet bedroom, having learnt from the
faithful Seneschal the terrible news of the Duchess's
elopement with the heir to the house of Podophlin.
Chapter III.
The morn of the race dawned clear and sparkling. Far
as the eye could reach, the banks of the river were rich
with Millions, and firm enough to bear any run upon
them however heavy. But Sir Welforard Long stroke
was ill at ease. His No. 5 had fled leaving no trace, and
he had no one to fill the vacancy. He looked the very
model of an aquatic hero. His broad chest was loosely
clad in a pair of blue satin shorts, and his fair hair fell
in waving masses over his muscular back. His thoughts
were bitter. The Camford crew had started on the race
some ten minutes ago, and the Oxbridge craft still waited
idly in the docks for want of a No. 5.
"Surely," Sir Welforard thought to himself, " Po-
dophlin might have postponed the elopement for one
day." A confused noise interrupted his meditations.
Some ten yards from him a man roughly clad, but with
the immense muscular development of the Arri Furnese
Apollo, was engaged in fighting three bargees at once.
As Sir Welforard stepped forward, this individual
struck a terrible blow. His ponderous fist, urged by the
force of a thirty-inch biceps, crashed through the chest
of his first foe. severed the head of the second from his
body, and struck the third, a tall man, full in the midriff,
propelling him through the air into the middle of the river.
''That's enough for one day," he said, as with an air
of haughty melancholy he removed his clay-pipe from
his mouth. His face seemed familiar to Sir Welforard.
Who could he be ? All doubt was removed when he
advanced, grasped Sir Welforard by the hand, and, in
tones broken with emotion, said, "Don't you recognise
horribly tight Boots._^ |me? I am your old College chum, Viscount Stonybroke."
ME. PUNCH'S BOAT-RACE NOVEL.
STONYBROKE.
Chapter I.
It was the eve of the University Boat-Race. In the remote East
the gorgeous August sun was sinking to his rest behind the purple
clouds, gilding with his expiring rays the elevated battlements of
Aginanwater Court, the ancestral seat of His Grace the Duke of
Avadrynke, K.C.B., G.I.N., whose Norman features might have
been observed convulsively pressed against the plate-glass window
of his alabaster dining-hall. There was in the atmosphere a strange
electric hush, scarcely broken by the myriad voices of hoarse betting-
men, raucously roaring out the market odds of "Fifty to one.
Oxbridge!" or "Two ponies to a thick 'un, Camford!" Well
would it have been for the Duke of Avadrynke had he never offered
the hospitality of his famous river-side residence to the Oxbridge
Crew. But the Duke had the courage of his ancient boating-race
whose banner waved proudly upon the topmost turret, bearing upon
its crimson folds the proud family motto, " Dum Vivo Bibo."
And the sun went down, and within Aginanwater Court the sounds
of wild revelry shook the massive beams.
Chapter II.
The Oxbridge Crew still sat in the marble supper-room, amid the
debris of the feast that the Duke's Seneschal had laid out for them.
The fioor was paved with Magnums and Maximums of the best
Heidanseekerer champagne, most of them as empty as the foolish
head of the Duchess of Avadrynke, which was at that moment
reposing upon the brawny chest of Lord Podophlin, the celebrated
No. 5 of the Oxbridge Crew. On a raised dais at the end of the
room the ladies of the Tarara corps de ballet were performing the
final steps of the Sinuous Shadow-dance, specially dedicated to the
Oxbridge Crew by the chef d'orchestre of Tarara's Halls.
"May I be jiggered," observed the Oxbridge President, Sir
Welforard Longstroke , as he selected his fourth regalia from the
Duke's pearl-encrusted box, and lit it with all the abandon of a
Society darling, "may I be jiggered if this is not ripping ! What
say you?"he continued, addressing young Puly'er Wright, the
Coxswain, and tossing him playfully four times to the raftered
Chapter IV.
Saved ! Saved! " shouted Sir Welforard, joyously—"there is
yet time!" Then, rushing into
rhyme, he asked, "Will you
row in the race, In Podoph-
lin's place ? "
"Will I row in the race?"
repeated Lord Stony-
rroke—"just won't I!"
And, without removing his
hobnails, or his corduroys, he
sprang lightly into the Ox-
bridge racing-boat. The rest
is soon told. In less time
than it takes to narrate
the story, the
Camford lead was
wiped out. The
exertion proved
too much for
seven men in the
Oxbridge Crew,
but the gigantic
strength of the
eighth, Lord
Stonybroke, was
sufficient of itself
to win the race by
fifty lengths.
And that night,
when the Prime
Minister handed
to him the reward
rr i • -Q- , of victory in the
Touching Finale. ghape of
gold dessert service, he was also able to announce that the Stony-
broke estates and the Stonybroke title had been, by the Monarch's
command, restored to their original possessor, as a reward of con-
spicuous valour and strength. [the end.]