Punch, or the London Charivari.
by Various.
ICHABOD.
As over London Bridge I went A constable I spied: His head upon his breast was bent, Against the parapet he leant, He gazed upon the stream intent, And as I pa.s.sed he sighed.
"What ails thee, officer?" I cried In sympathetic tone.
"What sorrow in thy soul is bred?
Nay, never shake thy mournful head, But tell me of thy woes instead-- Thou shalt not weep alone."
He eyed me for a moment"s s.p.a.ce In half-suspicious doubt; But reading not a single trace Of aught but pity in my face, He told me of his hapless case And poured his sorrows out.
"Time was, not many months ago"-- His voice began to quiver-- "When, in a stately march and slow, The tide of traffic used to flow In floods as full as that below"-- He pointed to the river.
"From early dawn to dewy night It still blocked up the way: The creaking wain, the hansom light, The gaudy bus, in colours bright, The gilded coach, the buggy slight, And e"en the donkey-shay.
"Amid the throng I took my stand, I watched them come and go.
Anon the serried lines I scanned, Anon I raised a warning hand, And lo! at my supreme command The flood forgot to flow!
"The bus, the cab, the coach, the fly, Were motionless and still.
In all the crowds that pa.s.sed me by Was no one of degree so high That dared my sovereignty defy, Or disobey my will.
"The hansom hasting on her way Paused when she heard my call.
The coster checked his donkey-shay, The gartered lord his prancing bay-- All, all were subject to my sway, My word was law to all.
"Alas! alas! "tis thus no more!
Gone is my pride and power!
Where thousands pa.s.sed in days of yore Across the bridge, we"ve scarce a score, For now the tides of traffic pour Round by the busy Tower.
"And I am left to mourn alone The glories that are fled.
None heed me now--alas! not one!
My life is lived! my day is done!
_Oth.e.l.lo"s_ occupation"s gone-- Ah! would that I were dead!"
He ceased. The manly voice broke down.
I could no longer stay, But, as I hurried off to town, I pressed upon him half-a-crown, And joyed to see the hopeless frown Die for a while away.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE ADVANTAGE OF HIGHER EDUCATION.
_Eton Boy (who has come to see his Brother at Harrow)._ "I SAY, THESE FLOODS ARE STUNNING! WE"RE ALL SENT HOME, FOUR WEEKS BEFORE THE TIME!"
_Harrow Boy (gloomily)._ "I WISH TO GOODNESS THE GOV"NOR HAD SENT _ME_ TO ETON. WE"RE UP ON A BEASTLY HILL HERE, AN" NO CHANCE OF ANY FLOODS!"]
"THE RAIDERS."--Sure as _our_ Raiders know, just one hundred and nine persons, suspected of resorting to the Albert Club, in Bolt Court, Fleet Street, for the purposes of betting,--much as their betters do elsewhere,--were arrested by the police and walked off to Bridewell.
Ominous names for the locality! As they weren"t sufficiently "fleet" to run away they couldn"t "bolt," and so were all "caught!"
NOMINIS UMBRA.
What"s this? Discoloured, left by chance Within this dusty letter-rack-- Dear me! The programme of a dance Which I took part in ten years back!
"The Towers, Rigden," at that date The Denvers" house. Sir CHARLES has flitted Since then to some secluded State Where creditors are not admitted.
There"s not, observe, a single blank; Behold what energy was mine Ten years ago! I used to rank A waltz as something quite divine; All night its mazes I pursued-- At least (this statement more precise is) With but a pleasing interlude For mild flirtation, "cup," and ices.
And then, my partners--twice, I see, I danced with FLORENCE SMITH, who"s wed Sir CROESUS since, and "ETHEL V."-- Ah, poor Miss VIVIAN, yes--she"s dead.
"Miss JOHNSON"--I remember _her!_ She told me man was quite demented, A Sarah-Grand-Philosopher Before "New Women" were invented.
And others follow. Though I"m sure I"m fairly certain as to them, Here is a mystic signature, For who, in wonder"s name, was "M."?
I danced with her four times! My word, What said her chaperon judicial?
"MAY"? "MARY"? "MURIEL"? It"s absurd, I _cannot_ construe that initial!
I wonder, vaguely, where we met, And how it was we came to part, And whether I have left her yet A permanently-injured heart; Well, faded programme, you may go, To tear you up at once were better; But yet--I"d greatly like to know The meaning of that mystic letter!
Parliamentary Aspiration.
(_By Jeremy Micawber Diddler._)
Of the ()300, grant but three, I"ll make a shape for paid M.P.
[Ill.u.s.tration: A LECTURE ON TEMPERANCE.