PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Volume 108, February 9, 1895.
edited by Sir Francis Burnand
TO LUCENDA.
(Who had made "Copy" of Me.)
The bright September when we met
My prospects were not over healthy,
Though you were, I do not forget,
Extremely wealthy.
I know not why it chanced to be,
But this I recollect most clearly—
It never once occurred to me
To love you dearly.
'Twas not your fault, so do not vex
Yourself, for I admired your beauty,
Since admiration of your sex
Is Man's Whole Duty.
And thus it came to be our lot
To part without a sign or token;
I went upon my way, but not
The least heart-broken.
My "fatal pride" does not object
At your fair hands to be made verse on;
But p'raps next time you will select—
Some other person!
Unanswerable.—The Archbishop ofCanterbury, speaking at Folkestone lastweek, said that "The Disestablishment Bill does not need anyanswering: it answers itself." An' it please your Grace, if it does"answer," and answers its purpose, what more can be required of thisBill or any other?
The New Weather Proverb.—It neverrains—but it snows!
BRAVE GIRL!
Millicent (from the country). "Now, Mabel! let's make a Dash!!"
QUEER QUERIES.
Freezing the Vertebræ.—I am in the laststage of bronchitis, complicated with pneumonia, influenza, andasthma, and a friend has advised me to try the new French cure ofapplying ice to the spine. Will some obliging physician tell mewhether he considers such a course safe? None but a recognisedspecialist need trouble to reply; and if he does so, I shall have thesatisfaction of feeling that I have saved his fee, as well as my ownlife. My boy advises me to go skating, and "I shall be sure then tohave my back applied to the ice," which he says is the same thing asapplying ice to my back. But is it? A nephew who is staying in thehouse also kindly offers to "shy hard snow-balls at my spine," if thatwould help me in any way. It is a pity that the newspaper (from whichI derived this medical hint) was not clear as to details; forinstance, when I have applied the ice, what is to prevent itsmelting and trickling all over me?
Meteorological Moralising.
'Tis an ill-wind which blows nobody good,
And one man's meat another's poison is.
What is disaster to one man or mood,
Is to another mood or man "good biz."
What to your dramatist means love's labour's lost,
Your would-be skater craves—"a perfect frost!"
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
By