Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 93. September 17, 1887Various
General
Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 93. September 17, 1887
Various
English wit and humor -- Periodicals
I've ony bin here jest a few days, and I've had another startling
adwenture. I never seed such a plaice as this is for adwentures. I had
taken my favorit stroll to Temple Lock, and had my customary chat with
the werry intellegent Lock Keeper there on things in general, and
Locksmen's trubbles in partickler, and was walking gently home, wen I
herd the most unusual report of Guns close by me, on the hopposite Bank;
and jest as I came up to where they was a shooting, I seed three Gents
raise their sanguinary Rifels and haim bang at my dewoted hed! I hadn't
time to shout tout or to run away, so I had to stand it like a traitor
or a dezerter. Luckely they missed me, and, laying down their murdrous
weppons, went into the ouse. I was so prostrated with estonishment that
I remaned fixt on the spot. Luckely my son WILLIAM came by in a Bote, so
I hollowed to him, and, getting in, he pulled me across the foaming
River. I luckely remembered hearing 2 of the Tems Consewatifs a torking
at the LORD MARE'S Bankwet about the Buy Lors, and that one on em was a
fine of 40_s_. for ewerrybody as shot a gun across the River. So, harmed
with this nollidge, I at wunce adrest myself to the estonished Gents
about the enormous sum as they wood have to pay me if as how as I went
and told. I had bin a making the Calkerlashon all the way across, so I
was able to say boldly, eleven shots, at 40_s_. per shot, is twenty-too
pound! One of the gents turned gashly pail, and another sed as they
woodn't do it not never no more, so I kindly promist not to do wot I
might do, and rode away in our Bote with the feeling of a Judge a
pardoning 3 criminals. They did say as they could not have bin a haiming
at me becoz they fired up in the hair, where the birds was; but how was
I to know that, wen the dedly weppens was pinted bang at me, and how,
too, about the falling bullets? They must have bin quite fust-rate
shots, for wen a hole flock of pidgeons flew into their garden, amost
close to 'em, they all three fired at the lot, and acshally wounded one
of 'em, poor thing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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