Punch, or The London Charivari | Page 2

BELLAMY said to me, "I've been hearing so much about you from dear Lady PENFOLD. They all have the highest opinion of you. In fact, Lady PENFOLD said she felt quite like a mother to you. And how kind of you to buy so many things from Miss PENFOLD at the Bazaar. What are my father's noble lines?
"True kindness is no blustering rogue that struts With empty mouthings on the stage of life, But, like a tender, timid plant that shuts At every touch, it shrinks from noisy strife."
(And so forth, I've forgotten the rest.) "I love kindness," continued Mrs. BELLAMY, "in young men. By the way, will you excuse a short invitation, and dine with us the day after to-morrow? All the PENFOLDS are coming." I said yes, and made up my mind that I must settle matters with MARY one way or another before complications got worse, or young PENFOLD made any more progress. I felt all the afternoon as if I'd committed a crime.
_Friday, June 13th_.--Three cheers. I've done it. Called on the BELLAMYS to-day. Found MARY alone. She was very sarcastic, but at last I could stand it no longer, and told her I had never loved and never should love anybody but her. Then she burst into tears, and I--anyhow she's promised to marry me. Have to interview Mrs. BELLAMY to-morrow. No time to do it to-day, as she was out till late. Chuck her up!
Mother received the news very well. "Accepted you, my darling boy?" she said. "Of course she did. How could she do otherwise? Bring her to see me soon. She shall, of course, have all the family jewels immediately, and the dining-room furniture too. There'll be a few other trifles too, I daresay, that you'll be glad of." Dear Mother, she's the kindest soul in the world. Carlo has been informed of the news, and is said to have manifested an extraordinarily intelligent appreciation of it, by insisting on a second helping for supper. He's a remarkable dog.
* * * * *
"SEMPER EADEM."
["The position of the Jews in Russia becomes daily more terrible. An order that they are henceforth to work upon their Sabbath and holy festivals is about to be issued and put in force."--Standard.--"A most pertinent illustration of the falsity of repeated rumours and reports representing in some cases a strong disposition, and in others an actual decision, on the part of the CZAR and the Russian Government, to alleviate the miseries of the Jews."--Times.]
Who said the scourge should slacken? Who foretold The goad should cease, the shackle loose its hold? The wish, perchance, fathered once more the thought, Though long experience against it fought. Not so! The CZAR's in Muscovy, and all Is well with--Tyranny! The harried thrall Shall still be harried, though, a little while, The Autocrat on the Republic smile; The Jew shall be robbed, banished, outraged still, Although the tyrant, with a shuddering thrill Diplomacy scarce hides, for some brief days Must listen to the hated "Marseillaise!" Fear not, Fanatic! Despot do not doubt! The rule of Orthodoxy and the Knout Is not yet over wholly. France may woo, Columbia plead, the Jew is still the Jew; And, spite of weak humanitarian fuss, C?SAR be praised, the Russ is still the Russ!
* * * * *
A GROUSE OUTRAGE.--Shooting them before the Twelfth.
* * * * *
"WON'T WORK!"
AIR--"_ST. PATRICK'S DAY IN THE MORNING_." _IRISH SPORTSMAN SINGS_:--
[Illustration]
St. Patrick, they say, Kicked the snakes in the say, But, ochone! if he'd had such a hound-pack as mine, I fancy the Saint, (Without further complaint) Would have toed the whole troop of them into the brine. Once they shivered and stared, At my whip-cracking scared; Now the clayrics with mitre and crosier and book, Put the scumfish on me, And, so far as I see, There's scarce a dog-crayture But's changed in his nature. I must beat some game up by hook or by crook, But my chances of Sport Are cut terribly short On St. Grouse's Day in the morning!
With a thundering polthogue, And the toe of my brogue, I'd like to kick both of 'em divil knows where! Sure I broke 'em meself, And, so long "on the shelf" They ought to be docile, the dogs of my care. O'BRIEN mongrel villin, And as for cur DILLON Just look at him ranging afar at his will! I thought, true as steel, They would both come to heel, Making up for the pack Whistled off by false MAC, As though _he'd_ ever shoot with my patience and skill! To me ye'll not stick, Sirs? What divil's elixirs Tempt ye on the Twelfth in the morning?
Plague on ye, come back! Och! ye villainous pack, Ye slaves of the Saxon, ye blind bastard bunch! Whelps weak and unstable, I only