THE SEVERE WEATHER.
(From Mr. Punch's Very Special Correspondents.)
Reports from all parts of the country are eloquent of the phenomenal nature of the weather experienced everywhere. By an extraordinary coincidence, of which it is hardly possible to make too much, the intense cold has been accompanied by a lowness of temperature—on the (Fahren) height.
The Oldest Inhabitant has had a high old time, and been in immense form. To prevent the extinction in future years of this interesting individual, oxen have been roasted freely, and, wherever at all practicable, carriages have been driven over frozen rivers. Occasionally irreverent descendants have roasted the Oldest Inhabitant.
It is reported, on the authority of Lord Salisbury, that the Liberal Party intend at once to engage in snowballing the House of Lords. As the ex-Prime Minister has promised to play the game with no lack of mutuality, interesting developments are expected.
A very remarkable occurrence comes from abroad—considerations of an international character make it advisable not to particularise further. A bishop went out in the middle of a raging blizzard. Although the bishop was suitably attired in episcopal dress, so that no mistake as to his identity was possible, it went on blizzarding, and the spiritual dignitary was put to extreme temporal temporary inconvenience.
Ice floes have penetrated to London Bridge. Mr. Seymour Hicks's topical song in the Shop Girl—"Oh, floe! ice and snow, you know"—is received every night with even greater enthusiasm than formerly.
The following letter will NOT appear in an early number of The Spectator:—