English:
Identifier: punchv40lemo (
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Title:
Punch
Year:
1841 (
1840s)
Authors:
Lemon, Mark, 1809-1870
Mayhew, Henry, 1812-1887
Taylor, Tom, 1817-1880
Brooks, Shirley, 1816-1874
Burnand, F. C. (Francis Cowley), 1836-1917
Seaman, Owen, 1861-1936
Subjects:
English wit and humor
English wit and humor, Pictorial
Publisher:
(London) : (Punch Publications Ltd., etc.)
Contributing Library:
Lincoln Financial Foundation Collection
Digitizing Sponsor:
The Institute of Museum and Library Services through an Indiana State Library LSTA Grant
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se who ve passed from your diocese, And that, rather, on effort your Lordship determines To wake those you still can afflict with your Sermons. An Example that is Set us by our Setters. There go the pigeons \ exclaimed with delight young Bob,after the great race had been run, as the birds went circling beautifullythrough the air. Yes, my boy, said an oldster, who had apparently made in histime as many books as Alexandre Dumas, only perhaps not all ofthem so full of interest, look at them well; for 1 can tell you it isnot often that you will see a pigeon that is let off on the Turf. HEAT OF TEMPER PRODUCIBLE BY THE HEAT OP THE WEATHER. Hot weather frequently has the effect of making many good-temperedpersons extremely choleric, for which due allowance should be made;for is it not natural that a person who has been for hours exposed to abroiling hot sun, should evince the strongest desire at the first oppor-tunity to take umbrage ? 228 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. (June 1, 1861. v)A^
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DAY BEFORE THE DERBY. Costermonger (loq.) Ax yer pardon, Miss, but I must get yc to take a double Uowance o greens to-day, as to-morrows the Derby. HAVELOCKS HUMBLE PETITION. What I have done is done : my countrys gratitude—Amply has been expressed to me and mine;In every form of paraphrase and platitudeEmployed where Englishmen in public dine. ~\ My birth-place is recorded in topography; In print and out of print I have been moarned;Done, overdone, in pietist biography,My moral pointed, and my tale adorned. A grey-haired subaltern the Horseguards left me,Too poor to purchase, too proud to despair;Of all save faith and fight years had bereft me,When sunset glory lit on my grey hair. , And I, whose long day passed in the cold shade,Went to my grave, at last, in dazzling light:Happier that I had served my countrys need.Than in the fame which came so close on night. Respect my modest life, and leave my nameWhere my own hand has set it—on the rollOf Indian war: at least, let meddling
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