Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, July 9, 1887.Various
General
Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 93, July 9, 1887.
Various
English wit and humor -- Periodicals
Curiosity, which is the Waiter's weekness, makes me inquire, why so many
Cow Boys when there aint not no Cows? We wound up with a Bufferlow hunt,
but as the animals was jest as uncurry-combed and as dirty as afore, I
gammoned Mrs. ROBERT, who was with me, that it was ardly a site for a
reel dellycat lady to witness, so we went off to see the Toboggening,
and grate fun it was to look at. But, to my extreme estonishment nothink
wood do but Mrs. ROBERT must try it, and, in spite of all my
remonstrances, I presently found myself a seated with my bitter arf on
the top of an high hill, about to be launched hedlong on our wild career
with ony a piece of rope to guide us and nothink to stop us. Oh, that
dedly moment of hezitashun! and then the rush through the hair with
sitch litening speed as made Mrs. ROBERT give jest a little squeal. How
any sane person having wunce tried this new game, which recalled to fond
memory the sensashun of my fust swing, can wish to repeat the dose, I
carnt understand. He suttenly ought to have the stummuck of a
Horsestrich rather than of a Halderman. The fond partner of my fate
having a little hedake after her rash xperryment, which she insisted
upon declaring was owing to the rifle-shooting, I adwised her to leave
the noisy scene and seek the cumfort of her quiet home, promising to
jine her hurly, so she went. I was afterwards asked to try the
Switch-back Railway, but learning from a prewious wictim as how the
sensation reminded him of the fust time as he crossed the Channel, I
declined with thanks.
Hoping to meet with the Kernel who had promised to introduce me to the
Hon. Mr. WILLIAM BUFFERLOW, Esquire, wulgerly called BUFFERLOW BILL, I
sauntered round to the Injians encampment, but was there told he had
gone to dine with some other Savages at the Savage Club, so I coudn't
see him. Howsumever I fell into conwersation with one of the tip-top
managers, and he introduced me to sum of the principal Braves, as they
calls 'em, and their Squaws, and porposes. They was worry affable and
perlite, as I'm told as all reel savages is, but I carnt say much for
their hartistick taste. There was one savage lady with a savage dorter
and a pickaninny about rising four, as grately surprised me. The yung
lady wood have bin werry good looking if her Ma had let her alone, but
she had painted her two cheeks such a brite skarlet that skarlet runners
is nothing to 'em, and as for the pore little chap his hole face was
painted a greenish yeller, like a werry bad case of jarndice, and all
his air a brite green. But such is my natral perliteness, that when his
fond Ma held him up to me and said, "Lookee, lookee, ain't him Booty?" I
said, "Oh! yessee, yessee!" I didn't dare to kiss it, for fear its face
wood have stuck to mine, witch woudn't ha bin nice.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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