Volume 156 — THE DRINK OF THE GODS.
Reading edition
A PROHIBITIONIST'S CANTICLE.
Let meaner souls make merry O'er cups of ruby wine, With claret, port or sherry Their tunes incarnadine; Let little boys emphatic Become o'er ginger b. Myself I grow ecstatic About a drink called "Tea." Tea elevates one's pecker, Rejuvenates the mind, Enriches the exchequer, Yet never makes men "blind"; When footsore and effete I'm From every ache set free, And not alone at tea-time I thank the Lord for "Tea." It tells of balmy breezes That blow "o'er Ceylon's isle" (While HEBER mostly pleases His accent here is vile)— Of some far-flung plantation Where Hindus bend the knee; And would my occupation Were prefixed (ah!) by "Tea"! 'Tis told in classic fable The nectar served to Zeus At his Olympic table Was just a vinous juice; That such is purely fiction I heartily agree, Having the sound conviction 'Twas nothing less than "Tea."
"PARIS, Saturday.
The Conference will be held in the imposing Salle de la Grande Horloge. The 'hall of the great clock' is about 30in. long by 15in. wide."—Liverpool Echo.
"Imposing," indeed.
"Manchester's £6,000,000 scheme for obtaining water supplies from Haweswater was approved last night at a meeting of ratepayers in the Town Hall. The annual increased consumption of water had been a little over a million gallons per head per day."—Daily Dispatch.
The new slogan of the temperance enthusiasts—What Manchester drinks to-day England will drink to-morrow.
Visitor. "BUT THOSE ATTACKS OF MALARIA DON'T LAST LONG, DO THEY?"
Tommy. "MINE ISN'T ORDINARY MALARIA. THE DOCTOR CALLS IT 'MALINGERING MALARIA.'"