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Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, November 21, 1891   By:

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

VOL. 101.

November 21st, 1891.

[Illustration: CARS, IN HONOUR OF THE WELSH LORD MAYOR,

STRANGELY ENOUGH OMITTED FROM THE PROCESSION ON THE NINTH.]

CANCEL, OR RECALL.

The World last week sounded a note about the compulsory retirement, by reason of age, from one of the large Revenue Departments, of a gentleman who has the great honour to be the son of "the most distinguished Irishman of this century." If this sentence has really been passed authoritatively, which Mr. Punch takes leave to doubt, then said "Authority" will do well to recall it in favour of the son of the Liberator, which his name is also "DAN." And, to give the well known lines so often quoted,

"When DAN'L saw the writing on the wall, At first he couldn't make it out at all."

And the sooner the official writing on the wall if it exists be obliterated, the better for the public service, as, when the public, like the Captain in the ballad of " Billy Taylor ," "Comes for to hear on't," the said British Public will "werry much applaud what has been done" in suppressing, not issuing, reconsidering, or revoking the order. So says "Mr. P.," and the "B.P." will agree with him.

THE ANCIENT MILLINER.

( His Reminiscences of the Recent Gale. )

PART I.

It was the Ancient Milliner Stood by his open door; The tale he told was something like A tale I'd heard before.

I called forthwith a Hansom, and "Now, Cabman, drive!" I cried; "For I must get this bandbox home Before the eventide.

"The bride a pacing up the aisle Mad as a dog would be, Without this sweet confection of Silk and passementerie."

Westward the good cab flew. The horse Was kick some, wild, and gay; He tossed his head from side to side In an offensive way.

He tossed his head, he shook his mane, And he was big and black; He wore a little mackintosh Upon his monstrous back.

I mused upon that mackintosh, All mournfully mused I; It was too small a thing to keep So large a beastie dry.

And on we went up Oxford Street With a short, uneasy motion; What made the beast go sideways I Have not the faintest notion But we ran into an omnibus With a short, uneasy motion.

All in a hot, improper way. The rude 'bus driver said, That them what couldn't drive a horse Should try a moke instead.

Never a word my cabman spoke No audible reply But, oh, a thousand scathing things He thought; and so did I.

"What ails thee, Ancient Milliner? What means thy ashen hue? Why look'st thou so?" I murmured, "Blow!" And at my word it blew .

PART II.

The storm blast came down Edgware Road, Shrieking in furious glee, It struck the cab, and both its doors Leaped open, flying free.

I shut those doors, and kept them close With all my might and main; The storm blast snatched them from my hands, And forced them back again,

It blew the cabman from his perch Towards the hornéd moon; I saw him dimly overhead Sail like a bad balloon.

It blew the bandbox far away Across the angry sea; The English Channel's scattered with Silk and passementerie.

The silly horse within the shaft One moment did remain; And then the harness snapped, and he Went flying through the rain; And fell, a four legged meteor, Upon the coast of Spain.

First Voice. "What makes that cab move on so fast Wherein no horse I find?"

Second Voice. "The horse has cut away before; The cab's blown from behind."

Then just against the Harrow Road I made one desperate bound A leprous lamp post and myself Lay mingled in a swound!

And cables snapped, and all things snapped; When the next morn was grey, The Telegraph appeared without Its "Paris Day by Day... Continue reading book >>


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