MOltE IRISH MELODIES.
The Payin’ op the Bent.
Oh, have you heard, the shameful news that comes from
Ireland’s shore ?
The noble sun of Erin’s set—and set to rise no more.
The land is filled with skulking curs, on sneaking mis
chief bent, Who maim the harmless cattle if their owners pay their
rent.
If honesty dares show itself, and struggles to do right,
These cowards shoot behind stone walls at feeble girls at
.night;
’Tis the most disgraceful country that e’er to ruin went, For there’s a cursed law against the payin’ of the rent.
{More to follow—“ The Harp that Once. )
The harp that once through Tara’s halls, The soul of music sent,
Is buried ’neath the rotten walls, Of farms that pay no rent.
WHO KILLED COCK PIGEON P
Those who journeyed to Little Chickenden yesterday, in anticipation of witnessing the long-expected match
between Dr. Cutter and Mr. Dooit Hurtley, did so in miserable weather. This was much to be regretted, as the match between these magnificent pigeon-shots was looked, forward to with immense interest by a number of pigeons. Those, however, who braved the elements were rewarded by one of the finest and manliest contests on record. We noticed among those present at this almost historic tournament, Cabinet Ministers, Bishops, Diplo
matists, all the leading members of the Society for Suppressing Cruelty, and most of our eminent philanthro
pists, who had been attracted by the placards promising “ A Happy Day at Little Chickenden.” Unfortunately, the damp atmosphere had the effect of making the birds fly sluggishly, so that they did not seem to leave the trap with, that amount of “dash” which might reasonably have been expected from them.
The “ sport ”—for a contest involving such an amount of fatigue and actual danger amply justifies that title being applied to it—was happily free from all mercenary considerations. It was pure, manly, legitimate “ sport, ’ and “nothing but it,” as Mr. Samuel Weller once remarked on a different occasion. The mere fact that £500 a-side was thrown in, does not in any way alter the real character of the proceedings, or assimilate them in the slightest degree to a trial of skill for a wager. All, wo are glad to say, went merry as a Passing Bell, and gave universal satisfaction, especially to the pigeons.
Mr. C-l-m and the Arohbishop of 0-NT-kb-ry kindly consented to act as referees in case of any dispute arising, but, fortunately, their services were not required.
Exactly at 12 45 a commencement was made to an accompaniment of a flourish of trumpets and a salvo of artillery. Mr. Dooit Hurtley led off with a very satisfactory kill from the left-hand corner trap. Dr. Cutter at his first missed a good bird with a bad shot.
At the 15th shot Mr. Dooit Hurtley was five birds to the good, but, unfortunately, he failed to score his next bird, though hard hit with both barrels. Dr. Cutter
grassed his 16th. Then the great American marksman made nine splendid kills amid immense enthusiasm. He was unfortunate with his 27th bird; he brought
it down apparently settled, but recovering itself, it got over the hoarding. What happened to it there is, of course, of no interest whatever. Poor Mr. Dooit Hukt
ley then had a bit of bad luck with his 33rd pigeon. It was hit very hard, but managed to get over the fence. ‘ Who saw it die ? ” “I,” said the Fly, “ with my little eye.” All then adjourned to luncheon, which was immensely enjoyed.
After the interval, both marksmen, though naturally much fatigued by the terrible exertions of the morning, continued to exhibit the heroic endurance which makes English sport so deservedly famous. At his 60th shot Dr. Cutter was fairly beat by Alow-flying rock, and Mr. Dooit Huktley missed his 65th, a straight-away clinker. The latter sportsman only just touched his 89th bird, while Dr. Cutter considerably touched up his 93rd, which, however, had the bad taste to fall, in a dying
condition, just outside the enclosure. Ninety-three each was now the score, and the excitement became intense. We noticed one Eminent Philanthropist stand
ing on the shoulders of aiStilTMore Eminent Diplomatist; to catch a sight of
the shooting. Dr. Cutter’s 99th bird fell outside „the boundary, amid much hooting: and as both killed their 100th bird, this memorable contest ended in a tie. All concerned may be congratulated on so splendid a vindication of the noble and chivalrous nature of English Sport.
Explanation of Phenomenon.
“‘Late Birds!’ All my eye’and Betty Marten !” exclaimed our Young Man about Town when somebody read to him the recent newspaper article on the subject. “But,” he added, after a moment’s unusual reflection, “if two late birds were seen at Windsor on the 7th of December, they must have been a couple of ‘ Windsor Strollers ’ who didn’t leave after the performance.”
The Material op Materialism.—Dynamite.
PUNCH’S PRIZE MEDALS.
Medal struck in honour of the Noble Sport of Pigeon Match Shooting generally.
Medal struck in commemoration of modern Murderous Lunacy Theories. Dedicated to
Humane Hanwillian Protection Society.
Medal to commemorate the Smoke Abatement Exhibition. Dedicated to the Grate
Coles (without smoke), of Kensington.
The Payin’ op the Bent.
Oh, have you heard, the shameful news that comes from
Ireland’s shore ?
The noble sun of Erin’s set—and set to rise no more.
The land is filled with skulking curs, on sneaking mis
chief bent, Who maim the harmless cattle if their owners pay their
rent.
If honesty dares show itself, and struggles to do right,
These cowards shoot behind stone walls at feeble girls at
.night;
’Tis the most disgraceful country that e’er to ruin went, For there’s a cursed law against the payin’ of the rent.
{More to follow—“ The Harp that Once. )
The harp that once through Tara’s halls, The soul of music sent,
Is buried ’neath the rotten walls, Of farms that pay no rent.
WHO KILLED COCK PIGEON P
Those who journeyed to Little Chickenden yesterday, in anticipation of witnessing the long-expected match
between Dr. Cutter and Mr. Dooit Hurtley, did so in miserable weather. This was much to be regretted, as the match between these magnificent pigeon-shots was looked, forward to with immense interest by a number of pigeons. Those, however, who braved the elements were rewarded by one of the finest and manliest contests on record. We noticed among those present at this almost historic tournament, Cabinet Ministers, Bishops, Diplo
matists, all the leading members of the Society for Suppressing Cruelty, and most of our eminent philanthro
pists, who had been attracted by the placards promising “ A Happy Day at Little Chickenden.” Unfortunately, the damp atmosphere had the effect of making the birds fly sluggishly, so that they did not seem to leave the trap with, that amount of “dash” which might reasonably have been expected from them.
The “ sport ”—for a contest involving such an amount of fatigue and actual danger amply justifies that title being applied to it—was happily free from all mercenary considerations. It was pure, manly, legitimate “ sport, ’ and “nothing but it,” as Mr. Samuel Weller once remarked on a different occasion. The mere fact that £500 a-side was thrown in, does not in any way alter the real character of the proceedings, or assimilate them in the slightest degree to a trial of skill for a wager. All, wo are glad to say, went merry as a Passing Bell, and gave universal satisfaction, especially to the pigeons.
Mr. C-l-m and the Arohbishop of 0-NT-kb-ry kindly consented to act as referees in case of any dispute arising, but, fortunately, their services were not required.
Exactly at 12 45 a commencement was made to an accompaniment of a flourish of trumpets and a salvo of artillery. Mr. Dooit Hurtley led off with a very satisfactory kill from the left-hand corner trap. Dr. Cutter at his first missed a good bird with a bad shot.
At the 15th shot Mr. Dooit Hurtley was five birds to the good, but, unfortunately, he failed to score his next bird, though hard hit with both barrels. Dr. Cutter
grassed his 16th. Then the great American marksman made nine splendid kills amid immense enthusiasm. He was unfortunate with his 27th bird; he brought
it down apparently settled, but recovering itself, it got over the hoarding. What happened to it there is, of course, of no interest whatever. Poor Mr. Dooit Hukt
ley then had a bit of bad luck with his 33rd pigeon. It was hit very hard, but managed to get over the fence. ‘ Who saw it die ? ” “I,” said the Fly, “ with my little eye.” All then adjourned to luncheon, which was immensely enjoyed.
After the interval, both marksmen, though naturally much fatigued by the terrible exertions of the morning, continued to exhibit the heroic endurance which makes English sport so deservedly famous. At his 60th shot Dr. Cutter was fairly beat by Alow-flying rock, and Mr. Dooit Huktley missed his 65th, a straight-away clinker. The latter sportsman only just touched his 89th bird, while Dr. Cutter considerably touched up his 93rd, which, however, had the bad taste to fall, in a dying
condition, just outside the enclosure. Ninety-three each was now the score, and the excitement became intense. We noticed one Eminent Philanthropist stand
ing on the shoulders of aiStilTMore Eminent Diplomatist; to catch a sight of
the shooting. Dr. Cutter’s 99th bird fell outside „the boundary, amid much hooting: and as both killed their 100th bird, this memorable contest ended in a tie. All concerned may be congratulated on so splendid a vindication of the noble and chivalrous nature of English Sport.
Explanation of Phenomenon.
“‘Late Birds!’ All my eye’and Betty Marten !” exclaimed our Young Man about Town when somebody read to him the recent newspaper article on the subject. “But,” he added, after a moment’s unusual reflection, “if two late birds were seen at Windsor on the 7th of December, they must have been a couple of ‘ Windsor Strollers ’ who didn’t leave after the performance.”
The Material op Materialism.—Dynamite.
PUNCH’S PRIZE MEDALS.
Medal struck in honour of the Noble Sport of Pigeon Match Shooting generally.
Medal struck in commemoration of modern Murderous Lunacy Theories. Dedicated to
Humane Hanwillian Protection Society.
Medal to commemorate the Smoke Abatement Exhibition. Dedicated to the Grate
Coles (without smoke), of Kensington.