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Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, October 22, 1892   By:

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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

VOL. 103

OCTOBER 22, 1892

IN MEMORIAM.

WILLIAM HARDWICK BRADBURY.

BORN, DEC. 3, 1832. DIED, OCT. 13, 1892.

Large hearted man, most loyal friend, Art thou too gone too early lost? Our comrade true, our tireless host! Prompt to inspire, console, defend! Gone! Hearts with grateful memories stored Ache for thy loss round the old board.

The well loved board he loved so well, His pride, his care, his ceaseless thought; To him with life long memories fraught; For him invested with the spell O'er a glad present ever cast By solemn shadows of the past.

That past for him, indeed, was filled With a proud spirit retinue. Greatness long since his guest he knew. Whom THACKERAY's manly tones had thrilled; Who heard keen JERROLD's sparkling speech, And marked the genial grace of LEECH.

What changes had he known, who sat With our four chiefs, of each fast friend! And must such camaraderie end? Shall friendly counsel, cordial chat, Come nevermore again to us From lips with kindness tremulous?

No more shall those blue eyes ray out Swift sympathy, or sudden mirth; That ever mobile mouth give birth To frolic whim, or friendly flout? Our hearts will miss thee to the end, Amphitryon generous, faithful friend!

Miss thee? Alas! the void that's there No other form may hope to fill, For those who now with sorrow thrill In gazing on that vacant chair; Whither it seems he must return, For whose warm hand clasp yet we yearn.

Tribute to genius all may give, Ours is the homage of the heart; For a friend lost our tears will start, Lost to our sight, yet who shall live, Whilst one who knew that bold frank face At the old board takes the old place.

For those, his closer kin, whose home Is darkened by the shadow grey, What can respectful love but pray That consolation thither come In that most sacred soothing guise Which natural sorrow sanctifies.

Bereavement's anguish to assuage Is a sore task that lies beyond The scope of friendship or most fond Affection's power. Yet may this page, True witness of our love and grief, To bowed hearts bring some scant relief!

"ANECDOTAGE."

COMPANION PARAGRAPH TO STORIES OF THE SAME KIND.

CURRAN, the celebrated Irish Patriot, was a man of intense wit and humour. On one occasion he was discussing with RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN the possibility of combining the interests of the two countries under one Crown. "It is a difficult matter to arrange," observed the brilliant author of the School for Scandal , "Right you are, darlint," acquiesced CURRAN, with the least taste of a brogue. "But where are ye to find the spalpeens for it? Ye may wake so poor a creature as a sow, but it takes a real gintleman to raise the rint!" Then, with a twinkle in his eyes, "But, for all that, ma cruiskeen, I'm not meself at all at all!"

THE LAY OF A SUCCESSFUL ANGLER.

[Illustration]

The dainty artificial fly Designed to catch the wily trout, Full loud laudabunt alii , And I will join, at times, no doubt, But yet my praise, without pretence, Is not from great experience.

I talk as well as anyone About the different kinds of tackle, I praise the Gnat, the Olive Dun, Discuss the worth of wings and hackle; I've flies myself of each design, No book is better filled than mine.

But when I reach the river's side Alone, for none of these I wish. No victim to a foolish pride. My object is to capture fish; Let me confess, then, since you ask it A worm it is which fills my basket!

O brown, unlovely, wriggling worm, On which with scorn the haughty look, It is thy fascinating squirm Which brings the fattest trout to book, From thee unable to refrain, Though flies are cast for him in vain!

Deep gratitude to thee I feel, And then, perhaps, it's chiefly keen, When rival anglers view my creel, And straightway turn a jealous green; And, should they ask me "What's your fly?" "A fancy pattern," I reply!

SWORD AND PEN;

OR, THE RIVAL COMMANDERS... Continue reading book >>


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