File:Punch (1841) (14771994234).jpg

Identifier: punchv40lemo (find matches)
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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n named Mad en lost a cause because his wife choseto proclaim in court that she did not believe in a future state of rewardsand punishments. So a host of sympathisers have subscribed torealise a present state of rewards for the dis-believing lady by givingher a pianoforte and a soiree. The whole proceeding must have beenexquisitely amusing, and Mr. Punch regrets that he has not beenfavoured with a report of the speeches. But why a pianoforte ? Musicwas the last thing that should have been offered to a lady of suchopinions, for while on the one hand we know, on the authority ofShakspeare, or his improvers, that Angels ever bright and fair,indulge in music, we also know on that of the late Mr. Burns thatanother spirituality came fiddling through a town in order to pick upan exciseman. The appropriateness of the gift is on a par thereforewith the good taste that suggested it. However, if the unbelievinglady is in the entertainment line, she can now Rave, Recite, and Maden round the land.
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April 20, 1861.) PUNCH, Oil THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 165 THE LAY OF THE LAST STATUE. Midnight had struck from the new Clock Tower,And Wizard Punch had gone to his Bower—His Bower that was guarded gainst snob and swell—Truncheon and Toby shield it well!No living wight, save Punch alone,Had dared to cross the threshold stone!, Of noble race the Wizard came:His lineage numbered sires of fame On either side the sea.He had learned the art that crowned his name In Atella—of ancient Italie.And such his power, that men avow He entered every where,And to plain utterance could bow The voices of the air.And now he sits in his secret Bower,In the shade of Westminsters tall Clock Tower,And listens to a heavy soundThat moans the gilded vanes around.Is it the roar of Londons tide,Still surging on by Thames black side?Is it the wind within the clock ?Is it Big Ben begins to rock ?What may it be, the heavy soundThat moans the lofty Clock Towr round ? At the sullen moaning sound The cats shriek and

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