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

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"Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 103, October 22, 1892" is a fascinating collection of satirical and humorous articles and illustrations that truly capture the spirit of the time. The sharp wit and clever commentary on politics, society, and culture provide a window into the Victorian era in England. The magazine covers a wide range of topics, from current events and social issues to lighthearted jokes and cartoons. Overall, this volume offers an entertaining and enlightening glimpse into the past, making it a valuable resource for anyone interested in history or satire.

First Page:

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... Continue reading book >>


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