Summary

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

Men on strike stream in, tired of "playing." Wonderful their eagerness to get to work again, their keen delight in sound of their own voices, so strangely intermitted. Bartley, Kimber, Fisher, Jokim, and the Woolwich Infant all here again, with Webster (of St. Pancras) wobbling all over the place, like a hen that has laid an egg somewhere and can't for the life of her just at the minute think where she left it.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

For the yellow-man has borrowed from the white-man all that's bad, From shoddy and fire-water, to the costly Ironclad. He will not have our Bibles, but he welcomes our Big Guns, And he blends with the wild savagery of Vandals, Goths or Huns, The scientific slaughter of the Blood-and-Iron Teuton!— A sight that Civilisation would right willingly be mute on. But these armour-plated dragons that infest the Yellow Sea Are worse than the Norse "Dragons" whose black raven flag flew free O'er fiord and ocean-furrow in the valorous Viking days.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

Therefore my heart is like to some Lost ball that nestles on the lea, Because my love has kindly come To halve the round of life with me.
Raise me a bunker, if you can, That beetles o'er a deadly ditch, Where any but the bogey-man Is practically bound to pitch; Plant me beneath a hedge of thorn, Or up a figurative tree, What matter, when my love has sworn To halve the round of life with me?
THE YELLOW AGE.
The poets sing of a Golden Age. Are we trying to start its fellow? The Yellow Aster is all the rage; The Yellow Races in war engage
Source: Gutenberg

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