Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93. August 6, 1887.Various
General
Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93. August 6, 1887.
Various
English wit and humor -- Periodicals
THE question as prayed on my mind during the long waits at the Rewiew on
Saturday, and which not ewen the Marines couldn't anser, and for which I
dessay as I shall have to wait till the next Jewbilly afore I gits it
sattisfactoryly xplained, is, why must these sillybrations be all begun
so uncommon hurly? There may be sum werry singlar peeple as likes hurly
rising. Having probberbly nothink werry pertickler to do of a heavening,
they natrally goes to roost hurley, like powltry, and plowmen, and such
like, and having probberbly nothink werry pertickler to do in the
morning, they natrally gits up hurley to do it, like the powltry
aforesaid. But to Waiters in gineral and to Hed Waiters in pertickler,
nothink is so hawful as hurley rising. As late as you like at nite and
as late as you likes in the morning. Them's my sentiments and I means to
stick to 'em. And I suttenly thinks as I never seed sitch a
sleepy-looking set of gents as assembled at Warterloo Stashun at about
arf-past seven, Hay. Hem. on Saturday Morning. However, we most of us
had a nice refreshing slumber on the way down, and then pulled ourselves
together for the gorgeous specktacle.
My werry fust thort was, how about the foaming billows? and I'm bound to
say as they behaved theirselves uncommon steady. There was no playfool
game of pitch and toss, but they were as quiet as Chelsea Reach. The
number of great big ships as we seed was enuff to make ewen an Hed
Waiter proud of his country, but I confesses that I carn't say much as
regards their beauty, for I thinks they was about as hugly a lot of
black-looking monsters as ever tried to rule the waves.
Having propperly attended to my offishal dooties, I learned from a most
respectable-looking Marine that it wood be at least two hours afore the
QUEEN came, so I thort I wood seize the hoppertoonity of increasing my
nolledge of ships and shippery by arsking my frend a few naughtical
questions. Of course I begun with the Anker, and arkst him when it was
last weighed--he said, about a week ago. How much did it weigh? Just 2
tun, 4 pound, 6 ounces. Why did they weigh it so offen? To see if it
wood stand the shivering of our timbers when we fired our big gun. Had
he spliced his mane brace lately? Not during the last fortnite. Having
got on so well with him, I thort I woodn't not arsk him no more
questions, for fear of betraying my hignorance, and I seed him
afterwards a pinting me out to sum grinning Sailers, ewidently as the
werry rewerse of a mere Land Lubber.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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