PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Vol. 109.
October 5, 1895.
THE WHEELING PASSION
Mr. Wheeler. "I don't see what they want to build a great Wheel like thatfor!"
Mrs. Wheeler. "No. Why couldn't they have had a Safety, and geared it upto any height they liked?"
CRYSTALISED PALACE'D FRUITS.
Mr. Punch heartily congratulates the RoyalHorticultural Society on their grand showof British-grown fruit (none "made in Germany"),and the Crystal Palace Company onthe excellent arrangements made for themost advantageous display of these magnificentfruits defendus,—for "forbidden fruit"they certainly are, as, much to the disgust,probably, of the apothecaries and familydoctors, the visitor may not taste any of theluscious specimens attractively set beforehim. They are all "les pommes du voisin,"but though "forbidden" their appearancewas anything but "forbidding." It came toan end last Saturday, when it is reportedthat all the fruits were safely got out ofthe building except one sleepy pear, whomnothing could arouse.
The Ingot and Outgot Silver Case.—Sofar the police are to be congratulated.The detectives have acted with all the readinessand decision of a Sherlock Holmes.Result so far is, that one Henry Bailey—nameof not particularly happy omen in connectionwith a certain Old Bailey—is incustody, as also are four bars of silver.Bailey was taking four bars rest whenarrested and removed.
THE RETREAT OF THE FIFTEENTHOUSAND.
(A British Soldier's View of It.)
["The successful withdrawal, without a shotbeing fired, of the fifteen thousand men who heldthe long line from Peshawur to Chitral is a featnot less remarkable in its own way than theirvictorious advance."—The Times.]
Air—"The Burial of Sir John Moore."
Not a shot was heard, not a stroke we smote,
As we trod our home-journey unhurried.
The papers about us wrote thundering rot,
But Sir Robert kept cool and unflurried.
We'd had heat to encounter, and frost to fight,
Alternately freezing and burning,
And now Umra Khan and his hordes put to flight;
We were quietly homeward returning.
Through the Malakand Pass we as conquerors pressed,
And had vanquished the foe where we found him.
Now, the garrison rescued, the wrong redressed,
Low retired, with his thousands around him.
Few and short are the words he has said,
From palaver no aid did he borrow;
But many a face at their hearing flushed red,
As will millions of others to-morrow.
Six months of hard struggle for heart, hand, and head,
Rough plodding, and comfortless pillow.
Now the foe and the native would stay our home-tread;
There's news to despatch o'er the billow!