. Punch . evies his Income-Tax not only on theliving, but on those who are no longer such. The executor of adeparted gentleman publishes his complaint, that nine months Income-Tax in advance is demanded from the estate of a party who died ashort time ago. The subject, neither financially nor socially, is one formuch levity, and Mr. Punch shows his due appreciation of it by print-ing the grimmest joke that has ever been sent to him by an respected Mute says, that it is clear a tomb-stone is not a Glad-stone. Ho! liquids to the Mute! The Little Annual. We had intended to say somet
. Punch . evies his Income-Tax not only on theliving, but on those who are no longer such. The executor of adeparted gentleman publishes his complaint, that nine months Income-Tax in advance is demanded from the estate of a party who died ashort time ago. The subject, neither financially nor socially, is one formuch levity, and Mr. Punch shows his due appreciation of it by print-ing the grimmest joke that has ever been sent to him by an respected Mute says, that it is clear a tomb-stone is not a Glad-stone. Ho! liquids to the Mute! The Little Annual. We had intended to say something upon the subject of that elegantlittle bijou annual the Post Office Directory, but as we make a point ofnever reviewing a book which we have not thoroughly read through,and as at present we have only got through the first thousand pages,we must suspend our judgment. As far as we have gone, the work isfascinating in style and full of indispensable information. VOL. XL. 7 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON [January 5, 1861. A VALUABLE RECOMMENDATION. Seedy Party. Says he worCt let you1ave the Dorg, eh? Well, youjust tell him you are a Friend of MINE. WHY I LOVE THE ISLE OE WIGHT. I Love, I love the Isle of Wight, ... But tis not because its skies are bright, Nor yet for its TJndercliff so fair, Nor the pretty girls who in crowds repair To its sheltered strand and its balmy air, Though in height of the fashion they trip about, And under each piquant pork-pie hat,The bright eyes glance, and the red lips pout,And the netted tresse3 the breezes flout,And pretty Balmorals, shapely though stout,From blazing linsey-woolseys peep outâ Oh, no, it isnt for that. Tis not for its fowl, and tis not for its fish, Eor by trial I ve learnt that to get a dish Of whitings or flounders, of turbot or sole, In Freshwater, Ventnor, Cowes, or Ryde, Is a harder and costlier thing on the whole,â Though you re planted close by the blue seas side,â Than in any inland town I eer tried. Tis not for its
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1840, booksubjectenglishwitandhumor
