One _Pozdnisheff_ by name
Played the matrimonial game;
Pleased by a little curl,
Which round his heart did twirl,
And taken by a jersey
(Exported from the Mersey);
He felt, poor man, half-witted
When he saw how well it fitted!
The mother, with her jersey-clad young daughter,
Asked the lover to a party on the water.
Soft things he now could say
To the maiden all the way,
Till she caught him--who imagined he had caught her!
Now there came a young musician, _Troukachevsky_,
Who, at Petersburg, resided on the Nevsky;
And to play with him the flighty wife was fated
In the famed duet to KREUTZEE dedicated.
The husband who perceived things were not right,
Home suddenly returned at dead of night.
His boots he'd taken off;
He was careful not to cough;
And his plans so well were woven,
That they still performed Beethoven.
But, neither being deaf,
They at last heard _Pozdnisheff_.
Poor wife! He so affrights her,
That she plays no more the _Kreutzer_.
If on each foot he'd had a slipper
To Troukachevsky (who was saved)
The husband would have p'rhaps behaved
Much in the style of Jack the Ripper.
He put to flight the dilettante
(Who hadn't finished half the _andante_),
But feared the servants' mockings
Should they see him in his stockings,
Racing along the corridor:--
Not that he thought it horrid, or
Harsh to transfix him with a dagger,
(He could not bear the fiddler's swagger),
But felt quite sure so droll a figure
Would make his rude domestics snigger.
And now his wife cries out for mercy
(No more she wears that fetching jersey);
And all in vain she pity claims:
The dagger ruthlessly he aims,
And through the whale-bone of her corset
Tries unsuccessfully to force it.
At last he feels that he's succeeded,
A little more than p'rhaps was needed.
Ah, that by taking out the knife
He now could bring her back to life!
'Twas his habit, when he got into a pet,
Invariably to light a cigarette;
And, having killed his wife, he never spoke
One word until he'd had a quiet smoke.
When he saw that it was time, he called a p'liceman,
And exclaimed, "Oh, I have broken the Tsar's peace, man.
I've killed my wife!--I did it in a fury--
But I wish the matter brought before a jury."
And the jury, after hearing all the case,
Said, "Not Guilty. We'd have done it in his place."
And he lately, in a Russian railway carriage,
Told Count TOLSTOI all the story of his marriage.
* * * * *
"The Law of Arms is such."--Mr. Punch greatly regrets that he was
unable to be present at the Annual Inspection of the Inns of Court
Volunteers, when members were requested to "show every article of
equipment and clothing of which they were in possession." No doubt
the exhibition was as interesting as imposing. It is rumoured that
the display of wigs and gowns (worn in Court) and lawn-tennis blazers
(used in the Temple Gardens) was absolutely magnificent. It is further
reported that the large collection of go-to-meeting hats, frock-coats,
and patent-leather boots extorted universal admiration from all
beholders. To his sorrow, a prior engagement prevented Mr. A.
BRIEFLESS Junior, (who is an Hon. Member of the Corps), from putting
in an appearance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE PROPOSED NATIONAL GALLERY OF BRITISH ART IN DANGER.
_Mr. Henry Tate_. "NO, THANK YOU, MR. RED TAPE, I DON'T WANT MY GIFTS
TO THE NATION TO BE TIED UP BY _YOU_, THEN PACKED AWAY, AND NEVER SEEN
AGAIN!"]
* * * * *