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Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 100, May 2, 1891   By:

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"Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 100, May 2, 1891" is a humorous and satirical magazine that provides a fascinating glimpse into Victorian-era England. The variety of cartoons, articles, and poems included in this volume showcase the wit and cleverness of the writers and illustrators of the time.

One of the strengths of this publication is its ability to touch on a wide range of topics, from politics and society to everyday life and current events. The sharp commentary and clever wordplay make for entertaining reading, and the illustrations add an extra layer of humor to the content.

While some of the jokes may be specific to the time period in which they were written, many of the themes and issues addressed are still relevant today. This makes "Punch" not only an enjoyable read for those interested in history, but also a thought-provoking look at the similarities between the past and present.

Overall, "Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 100, May 2, 1891" is a delightful and entertaining collection that offers a glimpse into the humor and social commentary of Victorian England. It is a must-read for anyone interested in satire, history, or simply a good laugh.

First Page:



VOL. 100.

May 2, 1891.



I know not how that Dustman stirred my ire: He may have failed to call when due: but he My breast being charged with economic fire, Was mulcted of his customary fee. I was informed, at first he did not seem To grasp the cruel sense of what he heard, But asked, "Wot's this 'ere game?" as if some dream Of evil portents all his pulses stirred; Then, muttering, he turned, and went his way Dejected, broken! I had stopped his beer! Ah! from that Dustman who, alas! can say I did not wring a sad and silent tear!

I thought the matter o'er. I vowed no more, That I with grief would moisten any eye; Henceforth, whene'er that Dustman passed my door, Upon his beer he knew he could rely! Nay more! For never heeding if my bin Were full or empty, I that Dustman hailed; His grateful smile my one desire to win; I felt I could not help it if I failed. Twice every week he came, his twopence drew: That Dustman seemed to brighten with his beer. And, if he wept, thank Heaven, at least I knew With joy, not grief, he shed his silent tear!

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