Punch: Punch (21.1851)

230

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

CHURCH AND STATE.

LAW INTELLIGENCE, WESTMINSTER HALL.

{From our own Reporter.)

New Trials.—There being nothing immediately before the Court,
the Chief Justice said their Lordships were ready to proceed with the
New Trials; and a new trial was immediately made of the warming
apparatus, that had been sent in for the use of the Court, and had not
been satisfactory.

It having been intimated that their Lordships were now ready to go
on wiih whatever was in the paper,—the Times was handed up to

them.

In the course of the day, a rule was applied for by a Carpenter, who
had left it behind when measuring one of the windows of the Court,
on the day preceding.

Chief Justice. You may take your rule.

The rest of their Lordships concurred. Rule Granted.

Sittings in Error.—Their Lordships having been given to under-
stand that Counsel would be ready to move during the afternoon,
remained in Court all day ; but no learned gentleman having appeared,
the learned Chief intimated that it must be considered as the first of
their Sittings in Error.

After some delay, the following conversation ensued between the
Bench and an emime.nt Queen's Counsel:

The Bench {to the Q. C). " I fancied you intimated, just now, that you
were about to move."

Q. C. " No, my Lords, I did not intend to move. It was only my
foot slipped."

Their Lordships then adjourned.

All Vegetable, and Entire Animal.

An advertisement, recommending Pannus Corium Boots, is headed—
"To Vegetarians—No Animal Substance." What next ? We shall
save Vegetarians not only objecting: to saddles of mutton, but to saddles
of leather; and refusing to handle reins, unless the reins are real
ribbons. Though, certainly, the rejection of animal substance as a
clothing for the feet may be said to be carrying Vegetarianism to
extremities.

coming to the point.

The practice of "pricking for Sheriffs" is not very complimentary
to the individuals chosen to fill the shrieval office, for it would seem
that there is only a pin to choose between them.

THE VOICE OF THE EXILE.

On a red sword her ill-knit bulk up-propping,

The Anarch Force I saw;
Across her knees was laid a Knout, blood-dropping;

Beneath her feet was Law.

Each with his heel upon a nation's forehead,

Her armed guards stood round ;
Nations—that, stripp'd of all wherein they gloried,

Were lying gagged and bound.

There, Italy, still lovely through her anguish,

Bled, but disdained to weep ;
Her cheeks were sunk and white, like theirs who languish

For years in dungeons deep.

Germany, with her kind face, made for loving,

Now writhen, sharp, and sour,
Lay, ever and anon her large limbs moving,

Half conscious of their power.

Passionate Poland her chained hands was clenching,

While her full Eastern eye
With fires of hate, perennial and unblenching,

Glared upwards to the sky.

And like a war-spent soldier, faint and breathless,

Hungary, prostrate there,
Lay, seeming wounded to the death; but deathless

Was her defiant stare.

At first, the seat where Anarch Force was sitting,

Seemed set in living stone,
And all those mail-clad guards, supporters fitting

For such a firm-based throne.

But, lo! the clamps which chair to base did fasten

Were almost eat away;
And the blood dropping from the knout did hasten

A change of rock to clay;

And those huge guards, whose firm and even treading

Seemed proof 'gainst overthrow,
On foot-hold wet with gore of their own shedding

Slipped, swaying to and fro.

Then she and they, with jubilant acclamations,

Their song of triumph sung—
An impious Te Deum o'er the nations

That 'neath their feet were flung.

But all at once that song did check and waver,

Then stopped with sudden jar,
As a voice came, low first, but swelling ever—

A voice, heard, from afar,

Singing like a caged bird, in spite of chains,

And calumny, and wrong—
Singing like one who, looking from the plains,

Sees morning strike along

The mountain-tops, and tells how with the day

The sunlight will descend,
And chase the mists that choke the valley gray,

Muffling it, end to end.

Anon, from hope rising into defiance,

It spoke with trumpet 'one,
Calling mankind to holiest alliance

'Gainst Brute Force on her throne.

And, though in a strange tongue, with wondrous power

That deep voice filled 'he land,
Till Anarch Force upon h*r throne did cower;

Her sword shook in her hand ;

And her huge guards were sudden terror-stricken,

With dull brows ashy-white ;
While those down-trodden Nations seemed to quicken

With new-awakened might,

Thrilled by the power that in their half-numbed members

Aroused t he pulse of men,
Like the seer's word that kindled life's dead embers

In the dry bones again.