Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 147, July 29, 1914 — John Shaqi
Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 147, July 29, 1914Various
General
Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 147, July 29, 1914
Various
English wit and humor -- Periodicals
_Mr. Punch_ ventures to hint to the gentlest among his readers that,
while there are excellent methods of insuring against the disturbance
of their holidays by accident or bad weather, the best way for them to
insure happiness is to offer a share of it to those who cannot afford
a holiday of their own. The very easy sum of TEN SHILLINGS means a
Fortnight among green fields or by the sea for one poor child, if
the gift is sent--and now is the moment--to the Earl of ARRAN, Hon.
Treasurer of the Children's Country Holiday Fund, 18, Buckingham
Street, Strand, W.C.
* * * * *
THE CRISIS.
["Lord Macaulay's prose seems to be finding favour again."
_Oshkosh Sentinel._]
The place, too, was well fitted for such a gathering. Memories of
departed monarchs spoke from the rich hangings of the room in tones
that were not less eloquent for being silent. Here the FIRST GENTLEMAN
OF EUROPE had displayed the rounded symmetry of those calves which
had defied the serried legions of the French and, in their lighter
moments, had captured the wayward fancies of the fair or mitigated the
harshness of a statesman. This was the chamber where the SAILOR KING,
bluff but not undignified, had jested with his intimates, had smoothed
a frown from the rugged brow of WELLINGTON or held his own against the
eagle glance of GREY; the chamber where the great QUEEN, conscious of
her august destiny, had consecrated to grief such moments as could
be spared from the needs of Empire; the chamber where her son had
laboured for peace and extended the bounds of friendship; the chamber
where a DISRAELI, repaying scorn with scorn, may have spread his
snares, and a GLADSTONE, overwhelmed by the torrent of his own
eloquence, may have fallen into them.
Nothing was wanting to complete the solemnity of the spectacle.
Outside, the scarlet-coated sentries paced rigidly on their accustomed
rounds, and the populace, hemmed in by the strong arms and the panting
forms of the constabulary, cheered to the echo its favourites or
exchanged with one another the harmless sallies that give pleasure to
a crowd. Within, the KING himself, his face now clouded with anxious
thought, now lit with hope, gave a cordial welcome to the more
unwonted of the guests he had summoned to his presence, while busy
courtiers filled the corridors with an importance which lost nothing
in weight from being unwarranted by knowledge or experience. Lackeys
in the gorgeous liveries of the most brilliant Court in Europe were
in attendance, ready to minister to those whose failing strength might
need refreshment, or to execute with intelligence and despatch the
humbler duties pertaining to their office.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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