Punch (14.1848)

182

HOW. TO TREAT A FOREIGN PROPAGANDIST.

We are glad to find tbat the dirty long-bearded roreign Propagandists
are coming in for the sort of treatment they deserve. Even body
knows the story of the French revolutionist lamenting the other day in
Trafalgar Square the want of pluck of the British people, when a
British butcher boy, taking off his coat, gave the brave republicain such
ft sound thrashing that its echo might have been heard half way down

Charing Cross. This treatment of a foreign Propagandist may have
been a little too summary, perhaps; but at all events there can be
no harm in our expressing a hope that the hint will be good-humouredly
followed up ; and should any foreisner of any description begin to prate
his revolutionary stuff, or doubt English pluck, why—

AN AFTER-DINNER CONVERSATION

Colonel Sibiiv, fin EngHsh Gentleman and Member of Parliament. i Mr. Y. Doodle, a Gentleman from Philadelphia.

Mr. Benjamin Dizzy, Ditto Ditto. I_ Mr. Cuffee, a Delegate.

Gentleman from Philadelphia. That cider we had at dinner was

tarnation good, but d-your pickles, Colonel. Why, the stones on

'em's fit to choke a body.

Colonel. Cider ! Pickles ! The cider was champagne, and the pickles
are olives, Mr. Yankee. [Aside."] What an ignorant son of a gun it is !

Mr. Benjamin. I never could understand, Mr. Cuffee, whv an olive
tree should have been selected as an emblem of peace. It has an
ungamly trunk, a scanty foliage, and a bitter fruit. It grows where no
other trees will grow; I have seen it, Sibby, lining the bleak hill sides
of my native Syrian hills, and speckling the mangy mounds which they
call hills in Attica. Brougham cultivates oil yards at, his place in
Provence—a comfortable box enough, where he and I have speared a
* boar many a time. But the Greeks were fools in their choice of
imagery. They call an olive tree peaceful, which neither gives shade
nor fruit fit to speak of; as they call an owl wise, which only knows
how to whoop in the dark, and is a beast unfit for day-light. Peace is
a palm tree, Wisdom is the sun.

Colonel. What the deuce are you a driving at, about suns, palm trees,
owls, and emblems of peace ? Pass round the claret, Dizzy, and give
Mr. Cuffee a glass.

Cuffee. Thank ye, Colonel; I stick to Port. And yours is uncommon
rich and strong, to be sure. My service to you, gents. I suppose
now vou ave a reglar fish and soup dinner, as we ad, and wine every
da j ?

Colonel. Ha, ha! Here's Mrs. Ctjffee's health.

Cuffee. Thank ye, gents. She's gone out engaged professionally,
with Miss Martin, or I'm sure she would like to ave ad her legs
under this maogany. What's the use of keeping the cloth on it ? You
ain't, ashamed on it, Colonel, are you ?

Colonel. Good for washing, you know. Ha, ha! had him there.
How are you off for soap ?—Has your mother sold her mangle ? Good
for trade, don't you see ?

Mr. Dizzy. We wrap up everything in this country, my worthy
Cuffee. We put a wig on my Lord Chancellor's head as we do
powder on the pate of that servant at whom I saw you winking at
dinner. We call a man in the House an honourable gentleman; we dish
up a bishop in an apron. We go to Court dressed in absurd old-
fashioned bags and buckles. We are as lavish of symbols as the
Papists, whom we are always abusing for idol worship. And we grovel
in old-world ceremonies and superstitions of which we are too stupid
to see the meaning, the folly, or the beauty. Do you apprehend me,
Cuffee ?

Cuffee. I'll take a back-hand at the Port—hey, neighbour?
American Gentleman {shrinking back). I wish that man of colour would
know his place.

Mr. Benjamin. You complain that the cloth is left for dessert; why
was it on at dinner ? The Colonel's soup would have been just as good
on a deal-table.