Punch: Punch (22.1852)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

15

THE SUPPOBTEES OF THE POPE.

(To m. le comte de montalembert.)

" m. le comte,

" Yotj, and M. D arras, and
the rest of your party, who believe
the Popedom to be the Lord Lieu-
tenancy of Heaven, and who there-
fore desire to see it co-extensive
with this planet, (if you admit the
earth to be a planet, and do not
believe it to be the centre of the
universe,) proclaim that Louis Na-
poleon has saved France. He has
saved his bacon for the present;
whether he will ultimately save that
or anything else, remains to be seen.

" Your affection for the President
of the French Republic—or what-
ever, by the time this comes to hand,
he may call himself—has, you will
own, been earned by the bayonets
which maintain the Pope at Rome,
and the bullets that have cleared
the way for the Jesuits at Paris.
" Is it not a maxim of that confederacy which you are pleased to call ' the Church,' that
he who flanks the priesthood with artillery, covers a multitude of sins ? At least he covers
not a few sinners, some one might say—some heretic who ought to be roasted; a punishment
than which, as your organ, the TJnivers, says, 'nothing is more natural-.'—a tigerly growl,
this, from your Popish organ.

"Your Pope's kingdom is not of this world—and therefore his servants fight. This
is the right reading, is it not ? ' Put up thy sword,' signifies 1 Charge bayonets ?'

" Why not preach this religion to the eye, M. le Comte ? Why not fortify every pulpit
with a couple of howitzers—plant field-pieces between the candlesticks on each altar ?

" Such might have been the appointments of a church in which a solemn thanksgiving
was offered for a successful act of perjury. A fitting incense for such a sacrifice would
have been the fumes of gunpowder.

" And so your Church militant is a Church that militates with lead and iron, and her
burning and shining lights are cartridges and rockets ? And the Propaganda of your
Gospel is a masked battery ?

" You will still have your martyrs, but now they will be not yourselves, but those who
stand in your way. And these enemies annihilated or down-trodden, your clergy will possess
the mind of Young France in peace. Will they be content with the subjugation of
Young France ? Do not the friars of all Europe thirst for the conquest of Old England ?
Would they not—if they could—instigate a crusade for that holy purpose ? The sword of
your truly militant Church exterminated the Aibigenses. In dealing with us Anglican
heretics, also, your motto, perhaps, would be, ' Kill or Cure.'

" Having suggested a motto for you—a truer legend than any other you can boast of—
accept, M. le Comte, the assurance of the distinguished consideration with which I am,
" One who keeps a sharp look-out upon you and your confederates,

" And may therefore subscribe himself your constant

" Inspector."

Our Adhesion to Mr. Bonaparte.

The French have formally kissed the iron rod with which Louis Napoleon proposes
to rule them. They like the taste of it. Every nation to its liking. Nothing, then, remains
but for Mr. Punch, respecting the choice of an independent people, to give in his adhesion
to Mr. Bonaparte, as President of the French Republic—or, in more correct language, of the
French what-d'ye-cali-it ?—durante beneplacito: that is, as long as his subjects, or constituents,
or whatever they may be styled, will stand him. Punch repeats that he gives in his adhesion
to Louis Napoleon; and whilst Louis Napoleon continues to merit Punch's notice, Punch
will certainly stick to him.

a nation that can pay, and won't pat, should be made to pay.

The Portuguese Government will not pay its debts. If it is insolvent, we recommend it
to go through the Insolvent Debtor's Court. In fact, from the shortness of its means, we
should say that the Capital of Portugal was in Portugal Street, and the Insolvent Debtor's
Court was placed there expressly out of compliment to its Government.

Something Like a Staff !

The "Reduced Staff" of the Commissioners of Sewers is £18,321 a-year. If this is the
Staff in its reduced state, what must it have been before it was cut down ? It must have
been so tremendously long, that we wonder they ever got anyone to balance it.

The Law op Might.—The retirement of Lord Palmerston will, it is expected, give rise
to proceedings nominally of a legal character. A mandamus will be issued by the different
Continental Courts, and in every one of them the rule will be made absolute.

New Naval Order.—It is said that a new Naval Order is about to be instituted,—namely
the Order of Modesty. Of course Sir Charles Napier insists upon being the very first
decorated.

ALARMING INCIDENT ON THE GREAT
WESTERN RAILWAY.

Tum.—" The Bay of Biscay, 0!"
(See Bath Journal.)

On vapour's pinions flying,

The wind behind we leave,
From London westward hying,

Upon last Christmas-eve,
When—why we knew not—lo !
Our pace fell slack and slow,
Till we lay.
Stopped midway,
On the Western Railway, O !

Hallo ! what's this—a station ?

Is several tongues' demand :
Another's observation

Is, " Here we 're at a stand ! "
" Well, yes," is the reply,
" But what's the reason why ?
This delay—
Wherefore—eh ?
On the Western Railway, 0 ! "

The minutes slowly roll on,

And yet we don't proceed ;
Says one, "This ain't a colon—

A full stop this, indeed ! "
We heard the horrid pun,
The drear attempt at fun,
As we lay,
In dismay,
On the Western Railway, 0!

Now danger's ugly spectres

Upon our fancy throng;
We blame the line's Directors
In language rather strong:
" Confound those stingy souls !
No doubt we 're out of coals,"
Some did say,
As we lay
On the Western Railway, 0 !

We knock, and stamp, and clatter,

Upon the carriage floor,
And asking what's the matter ?

The guard and stoker bore ;
Till both men closed their jaws,
And would assign no cause
Why we lay,
At a stay,
On the Western Railway, O!

Collision wisely fearing,

Our seats we quit outright;
And piles of hedgesticks rearing,

To warm us, bonfires light.
And hampers some unpack,
Lest supper they should lack,
If we lay
Till next day,
On the Western Railway, O !

Three mortal hours we waited,

In fidget and in stew,
Upon the line, belated;

The down mail nearly due !
Oh! what a smash there '11 be,
Unless it stops ! thought we,
Whilst we lay,
Pale as whey,
On the Western Railway, O !

Our hearts almost despairing

At last of Christmas beef,
Down with two engines bearing,
The goods train brought relief.
Ours their spare engine steers;
We start, with sundry cheers,
At her tail,
'Fore the gale,
On the Western Railway, 0!