Punch (55.1868)

104

PUNCH, OE THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[September 5, 1868.

“ CLOVER!”

Landlady {to old Gustleton, who has come down to that nice quiet place, Wobbles-
wick, for the sea-air). “Good Claret, Sir? Oh, yes. Sir, we’ve excellent
Claret, Sir, of every description, from ‘Vang Ordinaire,’ Sir, at Nine
Shillings the Dozen, to Shatterlerfeet,* at Eighteenpence a Bottle,
Sir ! ! ! ”

* Ha ! ha! Very good. Very good. But port wine is the real Shatter ler Feet.—

A Casual hut Gouty Contributor.

LIMITED LIABILITY OF HOUSEHOLDERS.

A Massachusetts newspaper relates that, in a recent trial at Boston, the jury for
a long time not being able to agree on their verdict, at length, on their foreman,
a “ minister,” praying that they might, returned one instanter. There is a secular
aspect to this incident. It is a pity that clergymen of all denominations are exempt
from service on juries, with the exception only of dissenting preachers in business.
This arrangement practically excludes from the jury-box all ministers but those
who are also small tradesmen. So much the worse, this exception, for persons
sued for refusing to pay for articles which they have been cheated in, or which
unauthorised servants, wives, or children, have ordered in their names.

Respectable parsons of any variety would be very serviceable on juries if they
were liable to serve; but there is one consideration which has probably procured
their exemption from liability. The likelihood of their having to attend to sick
calls, of course F Not at all, innocent friend. The Chaplain of Little Bethel, like-
wise little tailor, has clearly as much right to be excused on that ground as his
fellow-Protestant divine, Rector and Ritualist. A correspondent of the Times lately
proposed that briefless barristers should be empanelled as jurors, instead of sitting
in court and doing nothing. They have no professional calls ; yet they are exempt
from a task wkicii they are specially qualified to perform. Clergymen, pure and
simple, have been exempted, doubtless, because considered ex officio swells, as not
having to labour in a vocation wherein their daily labour is their bread. The little
preaching tailor, who lives principally by tailoring, must serve—and suffer loss.
So must the artist, author, and others who subsist by their own personal, cerebral,
or manual work. The otiose and sumptuous classes are practically free from an
obligation which might afford them amusement, and would exonerate many a busy
worker from grievous hardship, if it were altogether imposed upon reverend and
other gentlemen who have nothing material to do.

ECLIPSE IN INDIA.

To note the same eclipse full fain.

Which native minds is shocking,

To Ganges’ banks and Deccan’s plain
Astronomers are flocking;

To see Sol out and in again,

Their saucy Cameras cocking !

While De la Rue each change of hue
Tracks with those lynx-eyed, lenses,

And Spectrum-analysts pursue
His Light through all defences,

Phoebus may well look black and blue.
Mobbed out of his seven senses !

Poor Sun, that once in worship prone,

(As Morn’s bright chariot bore him
Each day to take his radiant throne)

Saw Faith and Fear adore him ;

While, when he hid his face, a groan
Earth gave, and bowed before him !

Now, a vile drudge and hireling, let
By horn-, for meanest chares ;

For chemists, gardeners, to fret
And fag on their affairs,

Nay worse—doomed to the carte, and set
To draw us, and our airs !

No wonder thou should’st hide thy face,
Poor slave, and turn away
From those who doom to such disgrace
The fallen King of Day:

But why on Eastern realm and race
Thy blackest looks dost lay ?

’Tis but the savage now gives heed
Unto thy darkened brow;

Still type, in the crude native creed,

Of Good and Power art thou.

For us, the civilised, what need
To these, or thee, to bow ?

But see the dark has passed from day,

Thy brow is bright once more;

The chemicals are packed away;

Analysis is o’er:

And wdsdom, on its homeward way,

Feels wiser than before.

Why is poor India crouching still ?

Her light and limber form,

With terror’s quivering throb and thrill,
Bowed, like a birch, by storm;

To Lawrence, strong of frame and will.
Close cowering—oak and worm !

She shrinks, she shrieks, as darkening tails
Across her white saree,

A shadow, that her soul appals,

How cast, she cannot see !

Nearer it comes, and wild she calls,

“ Sahib, what can it be !

“ The veil is drawn that hid with black
Great Indra’s shining face ;

You told us it would not come back,

To terrify our race !

Lo now, across his radiant track,

What shadow fills the place! ”

The strong man, gentle in his might,

Lays on her head his hand,

Strokes the long tresses, black and bright.
And calms to his command
The frame, that ’neath its robe of white,
Shakes like an aspen-wand.

“ Control the fear that thrills thy frame.
And bloodless leaves thy lips ;

Think not on Indra’s eyes ot flame
Again the shadow dips.

The light in Heaven is still the same,

And yet there is eclipse.

Ominous Name for a Race-Course.—“ Knavesmire.”