Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 109, September 14th, 1895 |
THE INTERESTING CASE OF MR. BRIEFLESS. TORR-RESTIAL NOTES. "FORTY WINKS!" A BATTLE IN A SODA-WATER BOTTLE. OUR BOOKING-OFFICE. ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT. ROUNDABOUT READINGS.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Volume 109, September 14, 1895.
edited by Sir Francis Burnand
SCRAPS FROM CHAPS. "A-hoy!"—A chance for any person desirous of escaping from the οἱ πολλοι, and making his home upon an island "all to himself." Hoy, one of the celebrated Orkney group of islands, is for sale. This is a healthy spot, in fact it may now be said to be most saleubrious. Information gleaned from the Liverpool Courier shows that "the island comprises 40,000 acres, rises abruptly"—like the angry hero of a novelette—"from the sea, consists of a mountain having different eminences or peaks"—this piques one's curiosity—"is very steep, and has a noble and picturesque effect from all points of view." We trust it may also have a beautifying and ennobling effect upon the purchaser. Besides all these advantages, it possesses a large pillar of rock, 300 feet high, known as "The Old Man of Hoy." The legend attached to this promontory is as follows:— There was an old party of Hoy, Who in life couldn't find any joy, So he sold all his stock, Got transformed into rock, Did this marvellous "broth of a bhoy."
WHAT'S IN A NAME? WHAT'S IN A NAME? Old Gent (lately bitten with the Craze). "And that confounded Man sold me the thing for a Safety!"
Best congratulations to the First Lord of the Treasury on his happy idea of promoting a scheme for the presentation of a testimonial to old Tom Morris, doyen of golf professionals, and keeper of the Green of the Royal and Ancient Club, at St. Andrews. An undeviating devotion of sixty years to the interests of the Scotch sport has won for Tom the thankful admiration of all lovers of the game, and it is sincerely to be hoped that Mr. Balfour's appeal will result in a bunker—we mean a bumper—testimonial to the Grand Old Golfic Gladiator. For the edification of a future generation of golf devotees there should also be constructed a statuette of the veteran, To stand in the Club smoking-room Plain for all folk to see; Tom Morris just about to "putt" A ball across the Dee; And underneath be written, In letters all of gold, How gloriously he kept the green In the brave days of old.
Food for Reflection.—Readers of the Daily Telegraph have become vegetarians. They are subsisting on a diet of lov(e)age.
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