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AT A HYPNOTIC SÉANCE.
SCENE—A Public Hall in a provincial town. The Hypnotist—a tall, graceful, and handsome young man, in well-fitting evening clothes—has already succeeded in putting most of his subjects to sleep, and is going round and inspecting them critically, as they droop limply on a semicircle of chairs, in a variety of unpicturesque attitudes. The only Lady on the platform is evidently as yet in full... more...
"SOME DAY!"
(Latest Egyptian Version of Milton Welling's popular Song.)
Mr. Bull to Miss Egypt, sings:—
I know not when the day shall be,
I know not when we two shall part;
What farewell you will give to me,
Or will your words be sweet or tart?
It may not be till years have passed,
Till France grows calm, young Abbas grey;
But I am pledged—so, love, at last,
Our hands, our hearts must part—some day!
Some day, some... more...
Of the many varieties of keeper, I propose, at present, to consider only the average sort of keeper, who looks after a shooting, comprising partridges, pheasants, hares, and rabbits, in an English county. Now it is to be observed that your ordinary keeper is not a conversational animal. He has, as a rule, too much to do to waste time in unnecessary talk. To begin with, he has to control his staff, the men and boys who walk in line with you... more...
CONVERSATIONAL HINTS FOR YOUNG SHOOTERS.
THE KEEPER. (Continued.)
Is there no way, then, you may ask, in which the Head Keeper may be lured from his customary silence for more than a sentence or two? Yes, there is one absolutely certain method, and, so far as I know, only one. The subject to which you must lead your conversation is—no, it isn't poachers, for a good keeper takes the occasional poacher as part of his programme. He wages war... more...
The Elysian Fields, a flower-gemmed bank, by a flowing stream, beneath the sylvan shade of unfading foliage.Mr. Punch—who is free of all places, from Fleet Street to Parnassus—discovered, in Arcadian attire, attempting "numerous verse" on a subject of National importance—to wit, the approaching Royal Marriage.
Mr. Punch. Propt on this "bank of amaranth and moly,"Beneath the shade of boughs unmelancholy,I meditate on Æstas... more...
A BALLAD OF WEALTHY WOOING.
Ah, why, my Love, receive me
With such tip-tilted scorn?
Self-love can scarce retrieve me
From obloquy forlorn;
'Twas not my fault, believe me,
That wealthy I was born.
Of Nature's gifts invidious
I'd choose I know not which;
One might as well be hideous
As shunn'd because he's rich.
O Love, if thou art bitter,
Then death must pleasant be;
I know not which is fitter,
Not I—(or is't "not me"?)... more...
Being gifted with decent taste and a sensitive eye,
I have never been much beguiled
By advertisements, crude in colour, and ten feet high
(Which, in fact, I rather reviled);
And, as for gigantic signs swinging up in the sky—
They drove me perfectly wild!
II.
Then the lurid posters on paling and chimney-stack
Were the terror of every town—
Till a League was started by Mr. William Black
For the purpose of putting them... more...
THE END OF THE JUBILEE.
I've been to the Abbey, the Naval Review,
The Maske at Gray's Inn and the Institute too;
In fact I feel just like the Wandering Jew,
Or other historical rover:
I've turned day into night and the night into day,
In a regular rollicking Jubilee way,
And now I can truly and thankfully say,
I'm uncommonly glad that it's over.
I've been to a number of Jubilee balls,
And I'm really worn out by the parties and... more...
No. III.—REALISATION.
Scene—Theatre Royal, Blankbury, on the first night of the performance of the well-known Comedy of "Heads or Tails?" by the "Thespian Perambulators." Time, 7:50 P.M. A "brilliant and fashionable assemblage" is gradually filling the house. In the Stalls are many distinguished Amateurs of both Sexes, including Lady Surbiton, who has brought her husband and Mrs. Gagmore (Lady Surbiton's particular friend). The... more...
"Though cold the coxcomb, and though coarse the boor,
Though dulness haunts the rich and pain the poor,
In this colossal city,
Yet London is not Rome, O Shade!" I said.
"A later Juvenal should not find her dead
To purity and pity."
"Satire, of shames and follies in sole quest,
Is a one-eyed divinity at best,"
My guide responded, slowly.
"The tale of Zoïlus hath its moral still.
Such critics are but blowflies, their small skill... more...