PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Volume 108, May 25th, 1895.
edited by Sir Francis Burnand
STUDIES IN ANIMAL LIFE.
Uncle Toby and the Widow Wadman, as they might have been.
["Uncle Toby and Widow Wadman." C. R. Leslie, R.A. Exhibited atthe Royal Academy in 1831.]
A Mark against Denmark.—At thebeginning of last week it was midsummer weather,and not to have cast off winter clothingand donned light attire would have been deemed "Midsummermadness." But by Thursday "on a changé toutcela," except the clothes, and we werein midwinter! The Daily Telegraph'sweather-clerk observed, that all "thisresulted from a deep depression in Denmark."It certainly caused deep depressionhere; and there must be "somethingrotten in the State of Denmark" whichought to be looked to immediately. Erethese lines appear we hope—sincerely hope—thatwe shall have retraced our steps towards summer.
Query Suggested.—Weread in the Financial Timesthat "A corner in camphor is, it isstated, being arranged."Is to be in "a corner in camphor"as good as being "laid up in lavender"?
A CENTURY OF CENTURIES.
[By scoring 288 in the match Gloucester v.Somerset at Bristol, on May 17, Mr. W. G. Grace,now nearing his 47th birthday, made his hundredthinnings of 100 runs or over in first-class matches.]
"O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
Sang Punch on the seventeenth instant May,
With a true Jabberwockian chortle,
As he saw the swipe, on the Bristol ground,
Which worked Grace's hundred of centuries round;
A record ne'er equalled by mortal.
"My beamish boy"—of nigh forty-seven—
There isn't a cheerier sight under heaven
Than W. G. at the wicket.
When your "vorpal" bat "goes snicker-snack,"
Punch loves to lie, with a tree at his back,
And watch what he calls Cricket.
And now, as a topper of thirty years,
After many hopes, and a few faint fears.
(Which Punch never shared for a jiffy.)
You've done the trick! Did your pulse beat quick
As you crept notch by notch within reach of the nick?
Did even your heart feel squiffy?
Punch frankly owns his went pit-a-pat
While he followed the ball and watched your bat
As the nineties slowly tottled;
And the boys of the Bristol Brigade held breath,
In an anxious silence as still as death.
But oh! like good fizz unbottled,
We all "let go" with a loud "hooray"
As the leather was safely "put away"
For that hundredth hundred. Verily,
Now you're the "many centuried" Grace!
And for many a year may you keep top place,
Piling three-figure innings ri