PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Vol. 109.
July 27, 1895.
(The Wail of a Wiped-out Wheelman.)
Air—"The Lost Chord."
Reading one day in our "Organ,"
I was happy and quite at ease.
A band was playing the "Lost Chord,"
Outside—in three several keys.
But I cared not how they were playing,
Those puffing Teutonic men;
For I'd "cut the record" at cycling,
And was ten-mile champion then!
It flooded my cheeks with crimson,
The praise of my pluck and calm;
Though that band seemed blending "Kafoozleum"
With a touch of the Hundredth Psalm.
But my joy soon turned into sorrow,
My calm into mental strife;
For my Record was "cut" on the morrow,
And it cut me, like a knife.
A fellow had done the distance
In the tenth of a second less!
And henceforth my name in silence
Was dropt by the Cycling Press.
I have sought—but I seek it vainly—
With that Record again to shine.
Midst crack names in our Cycling Organ,
But they never mention mine
It may be some day at the Oval
I may cut that Record again,
But at present the Cups are given
To better—or luckier—men!
CONCLUSIVE.
Scene—Hibernian Table d'hôte.
Guest. "Waiter! I say—this is Pork! I want Mutton!"
Waiter (rather bustled). "Yes, Sorr, it's Mutton yewant,—but it's Pork ye'll have!"
Of Course.—Directly it was known that Sir WilliamHarcourt had accepted an invitation to contest West Monmouthshire,and that Mr. Warmington had generously offered to retirein his favour, there was a rush for the evident joke of stylingthe self-effacing Q.C. "Mr. Warmingpan." It is uncertainwhich paper was the first to get the Warmingpan into its sheets. SirWilliam did not find the vacated seat too hot to hold him.Just nice.
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