AN EASTER 'OLIDAY.
Reading edition
Duet ('Arcourt and Harthur sing while being jolted).
"LA-A-ZI-LY LA-A-ZI-LY! DROW-OW-OW-SILY! DROW-OW-OW-SILY!" &c.
MR. PUNCH AT A PICTURE SHOW.
(The Collection of Sir John Tenniel's Drawings at the Fine Art Society's Gallery.)
Air.—"My Old Friend John."
'Tis forty years, my dear Sir John, Since you and I first met. Lord, how the fleeting hours have flown! But we foregather yet, I gaze on this brave show with pride— Fine art, still in full feather! By Jove, it seems but yesterday Since we were "boys" together. Since we were boys, merry, merry boys, At our old Board together! There's gladness in remembrance, John; Your pencil-strokes struck true; Through all the shifts of party life, No pause that pencil knew. We've missed old comrades one by one; Our friendship moults no feather; Can forty years and more have run Since we were "boys" together? Since we were boys, merry, merry boys, At our old Board together! I gaze and proudly ponder, John; I've seen them all before— Gladstone, Bright, Dizzy, Bull!—Well done!!! Fresh as in days of yore The Big Cuts gleam. By sea and stream, Moor, mountain, ice-field, heather. Force, grace, fair fun mark all you've done, Since we were "boys" together.
Chorus all "Round the Mahogany Tree."
Since we were boys, merry, merry boys! So meet we, in full feather, For many sunny years, Sir John, Still boys—at heart—together!
FANCY PORTRAIT.
SIR G-RGE L-W-S.
"Bold of your worthiness, we single you As our best-moving fair solicitor." Love's Labour's Lost, Act II., Sc. 1.
THE LAY OF THE LITTLE MINORITY.
Air—"Little Buttercup."
I'm bumptious Minority—cocky Minority (Though I can hardly tell why), My work is to worry poor weary Majority, Giving him one in the eye. On Board or on Council I swagger and bounce 'll, And badger 'em out of their lives. I claim all the graces, and all the best places; Thus cocky Minority thrives! Majorities little of claim have no tittle To getting their own wicked way; But cocky Minority has such authority, His should be absolute sway. If things are at evens at—well, say St. Stephen's, Spring Gardens, wherever you like, Tis a mere deadlock (like New Woman wedlock), And against Progress we strike. If a Majority (small) claims authority To make the tiniest move, Then to prevent it, obstruct, circumvent it, Must be my labour of love. But a Minority's superiority Is just as clear as the day. Majorities (small) have one duty, that's all, 'Tis—to let the Minority sway! Then yield to Minority—cocky Minority, On Boards or of Council or School! Hooray for Minority—bumptious Minority! Come—let Minority rule!
OUR NEXT LITTLE BATTLE.
(From our Prophetic Reporter, a trifle in advance.)
Nowhar, April 1.—Wett River crossed yesterday in most brilliant style. Dashaway Regiment carried landing at point of bayonet, the Muffs keeping up well-directed fire during the entire operation. However, they seemed to feel effect of our artillery and Maxims.
When landing effected, Sapping Miners constructed iron bridge (with glass covering to protect the troops from the rain) within five-and-twenty minutes. During the construction Muffs fired continuously at working parties. Flag-staffs riddled with shot, consequently colours could not be run up. A round from couple of quick-firing guns cleared heights of human obstructions.
On completion of bridge, two troops of 147th Irregular Prancers charged enemy with much dash. As gallant horsemen approached Muffs (numbering about twenty thousand) concentrated their fire. For few minutes Irregulars had to pass through perfect fog of bullets. This ordeal did not damp their courage; soon came to close quarters with foe. In a moment Muffs were in confusion, flying, before pursuing sabres. Irregulars followed retreating enemy for many miles with complete success.
While these operations being carried out 17th Battalion of Cutandthrust Regiment made assault on fortress protecting right flank of Muffs. Enemy opposed charge with well-sustained artillery fire, which had it been more judiciously directed might have caused considerable annoyance. As it was, many Cutandthrusts lowered their heads to allow of undisturbed passage of shrapnell. On reaching walls redcoats hopped over like birds. Garrison stubbornly defended position. Cutandthrusts extended, advancing in their new formation. With wild cheer they again charged. Although this advance caused Muffs to fall back, they still retained their ground. At this moment machine-guns of battalion were brought into play with best results. A couple of rounds immediately broke up enemy's columns and put them to flight. Muffs were then routed by 53rd Regiment of Indian Tiger Eaters.
By midday position secured. At invitation of bugles exploring party "ceased firing," and prepared for mess.
Later.—I have just received a return of killed and wounded on both sides, which I here give:—Muffs.—Killed, about 20,000; wounded, twice as many more. British.—Killed, none; wounded, No. 35,604,821 Private Smith (Cutandthrust Regiment), slight scratch on fourth finger of left hand.
New Name for It (by Brother Bung).—Local Hop-shun!
ALL THE DIFFERENCE.
If half the things that Chloe says to me, If half the pretty kindnesses she shows, By Phyllida were shown or said, Without a tremor I would stake my head That I securely might propose That she my bride would be. Yet why? I know full well that Chloe means Nothing at all. 'Tis but her buoyant way, Her frank "The best of friends, that's all." And yet the stricter Grundy 'twould appal To hear the tender things we say Between our quarrel-scenes. If one full-leaping pulse's beat Beyond the coldest courtesy's demand I trespass on sweet Phyllida's coy hand, The thrill is shivered by her quick retreat, Her fingers stiffen like a fossil fin, And I again, a Sisyphus, begin The task of charming her reserve austere, Palsied by Love's false fear, Which drives the lover's chances down to zero. While some cadaverous and long-chinn'd hero Talks from a height rais'd by his own conceit, And my white goddess listens at his feet.
PREHISTORIC PEEPS.
There were Seasons (corresponding to our Easter, &c.) when the Inhabitants of one accord gave themselves up to Relaxation and Amusement!
LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES.
THE LAND OF DREAMS.
There's a wondrous fairy kingdom Whither all may take a trip— Quite an inexpensive journey, It is not by rail or ship— For it lies just where you fancy, And a pleasant thing it seems For a man to sojourn sometimes In the land of dreams. 'Tis the land where man attaineth To the end of his desire, Where the minor poet warbles And the laurel crowns his lyre: It is there the sucking statesman Works out Machiavellian schemes, And young Briefless is a leader In the land of dreams. 'Tis the land of fur and feather, 'Tis the paradise of sport, Where the runs beat all recounted O'er the walnuts and the port: It is there the pheasant rockets, It is there the covert teems, And your powder's always straightest In the land of dreams. There with ease the patient golfer Plays a record medal-round, And the batsman get his hundred, Hitting clean all round the ground; There old Izaak's keen disciple Thrashes quite ideal streams, For he angles most "compleatly" In the land of dreams. 'Tis a land where someone meets you You may never meet elsewhere, 'Tis a land where words are whispered You may whisper only there; 'Tis the home of youth and sunshine Where you taste of joy's extremes, For, of course, there's someone loves you In the land of dreams. 'Tis a land of peace and quiet, Free from yelling paper-boys, And from Germany's musicians, And offensive kinds of noise: There the organ-grinder grinds not, There no restive infant screams. Oh, to spend one's whole existence In the land of dreams! 'Tis a land where rates and taxes Never need be brooded on, And the cupboard is unfurnished With the homely skeleton: There the roses all are thornless, Life is destitute of seams, And, in short, its worth the living In the land of dreams.
TO A PRETTY GIRL.
(Who accepted some verses.)
You take my lines, and say that you Appreciate my humble verses. That's more than editors will do, Or publishers, with bloated purses. To gain your thanks in such a way, I'd write you verses night and day. You don't return them, saying you Regret you cannot now accept them. Or, scrawled with marks in blatant blue, To show that, ruined, you have kept them. If you would pay me with a smile, I'd write you verses by the mile. If you could only say that you Would like me for my admiration, To sing your charms till all was blue Would be delightful occupation. If I could hope to win a kiss, I'd write you fifty miles like this.
First Boy. "Give us a Bite of your Apple, Bob." Second Boy. "Shan't."
First Boy. "What for?" Second Boy. "'Cos yer axed me!"
(After a pause.)
Small Boy. "Gi' me a Bite, Bob. I never axed yer!"