Volume 102 — LADY GAY'S SELECTIONS.
Reading edition
The Look-out, Sheepsdoor, Kent.
DEAR MR. PUNCH,
Ascot has been too much for me! What with the excitement of racing all day, and bézique half the night—(another sign of the times; women no longer "play for love," but "love to play!")—to say nothing of the constant strain on one's nerves as to what the weather was going to do to one's gowns, I have had a severe attack of overwork, with complicating symptoms of my old enemy, idleness!—so that, on my return to town, my Doctor—(he's a dear man, and prescribes just what I suggest)—insisted that I should at once run down to the Seaside to recuperate. Hence my retirement to the little fishing village of Sheepsdoor in Kent, "far from the gadding crowd;" a most delightfully rural and little-known resort, where we all go about in brown canvas-shoes—(russia-leather undreamt of!)—and wear out all our old things, utterly regardless of whether we look "en suite" or not. The only precaution I take is to carry in my pocket a thick veil, which I pop on if I see anybody with evidences of "style" about them coming my way; fortunately, this has only happened once, when I met a certain well-known "Merry Duchess" and her charming little daughter, who both failed to penetrate my disguise!
I am sorry that my selected horse for the Windsor June Handicap did not run—though the word of command was given, "Macready!"—he was not told to be "present!"—being presumably short of a gallop or two, and therefore lacking "fire!" This little series of jokes is proudly dedicated to the Military, and Civilians are "warned off!"—which is another turf expression. The much-needed rain has come at last, and the Heath should be in fine condition, which was more than its namesake at Ascot was, and all for want of a little attention—I am told that the far end was all in lumps, which caused the "Lover" to come down in his race—though that was hardly a surprise, as we know that "the course of true love never did run smooth!"
Now—dear Mr. Punch, if you want a few hours' fresh air, command the special train, which I am told, is kept in readiness for you at every London Terminus, to transport you—(not for your country's good, but your own)—to Sheepsdoor, Kent, where you shall receive a hearty welcome—Lord ARTHUR is not with me, but my French maid will chaperon us—if necessary.
Yours devotedly, LADY GAY.
STUD PRODUCE SELECTION.
To a Circus in Lancashire, once I went, To see a performing dog dance! But, my money in vain I found I'd spent, For I much prefer a "Clog Dance."
THE TWO SARAS OF THE SEASON.—SARA BERNHARDT and SARA SATE.
UNA AND THE BRITISH LION.
A CARTOON FROM A BIRMINGHAM COLLECTION.
Whereto a Brummagem Bard hath set these Spenserian Stanzas.
[Mr. CHAMBERLAIN, in his Election Address, explains how he has co-operated with the Conservative Government in order to maintain the Union between Great Britain and Ireland.]
The lyon would not leave her desolate, But with her went along as a strong gard Of her chast person, and a faithfull mate Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard; And over her he kept both watch and ward, With the assistance of two valiant knightes, Prince ARTHURE, and the Red Crosse Paladin, A pair of brotherlie and doughtie wightes, Though erst had they indulged in mutual flouts and spites. For loe! a divelish dragon didde infest That region, and fair UNA strove to slay. Her to protect from that prodigious pest, The Red Crosse Knight—who lived out Midland way— Didde, with Prince ARTHURE, travel day by day, And prodded up that lyon as they strode, With their speare pointes, as though in jovial play, To holde fair UNA, who her safety owed, Unto the puissant beaste whereon she proudlie rode. Anon they heard a roaring hideous sound That all the ayre with terror filled wyde, And seemed uneath to shake the stedfast ground; Eftsoones that dreadful dragon they espyde, Where stretcht he lay upon the sunny side Of a great hill, himself like a great hill: But, all so soone as he from far descryde Those glistering knights banded in right good will, He rous'd himselfe full blyth, and hastned them untill. Then badd those knightes fair UNA yede aloof, Whiles they attacked that dragon side by side, And put the issue to stern battaille's proof; "We'll give this Big Green Bogey beans!" they cryde, That Red Crosse Knight of Brummagem in his pride, And brave Prince ARTHURE of the shining crest. But if victoriously their blades they plied, Or, baffled by the dragon, gave him beste,— Why, that the barde will sing after the battaille's teste!
"THROUGH DARKEST LAMBETH."
