Punch (71.1876)

202 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [November 11, 1876.

THE LAST TRIBUTE OF RESPECT.

n 'sb trumpets, and roll drums, for
this Lord Mayor's Show above all
its predecessors. Besides San-
ger's Elephants and the Prime
Minister's speech, and the
presence of the Arctic heroes at
the Banquet, Lord Mayor's Day
•will this year possess another
source of interest, and that of a
deeply pathetic character. There is a mournful probability that this is the last
time the great State Civic Procession will pass beneath Temple Bar. Such
being the. case, it has very properly been resolved to treat the venerable barrier
with every possible mark of respect. The Joint Committee to whom has been
entrusted the painful duty of making suitable'arrangements on this melancholy
occasion, have issued the following programme^:—

On the 9th of November, Lord Mayor's Day, Temple Bar, which the utili-
tarian spirit of the age has doomed to a speedy destruction, will be draped in
black, with the word "Farewell" inscribed. in;silver letters on the facade.

The windows of Child's Bank will be carefully closed, and a black flag
hoisted, bearing the motto—" For the last time."

When the procession arrives at the Bar, the military escort will present
arms, and the various bands will play a solemn Funeral March.
The Banners of the City Companies will be lowered and furled.
The Bells of the City Churches will cease ringing.

The Lord Mayor will rise up in the State Coach and say a few appropriate
words.

The Sheriffs will hide their emotion in their pocket-handkerchiefs.

The Aldermen and Common Councilmen will deposit wreaths of Immortelles
all round the base and on the tops of the gates.

_ At the Banquet in the evening, touching allusions will be made by the Prime
Minister and other Speakers to the only drawback to the festivities of the day.
The Waiters will be affected to tears. The late Lord Mayor will recite his
" Elegy on Temple Bar." Many of the guests will go home and dream of the
dear old Bar transported to the Embankment, or South Kensington Museum, or
Salisbury Plain.

Physicians and Feemales.

Women are now eligible for the licence of the King and Queen's College of
Physicians, Dublin, and other licensing medical bodies are expected likewise
to admit candidates of the gentler sex. There are some amongst the brother-
hood of Physic who contemplate the admission of sisters with disfavour. Let
us hope this does not arise from a feeling of mean jealousy and a fear of
competition with women such as that which possesses trades-unionists. What
medical man, that is a man, can be afraid of a medical woman? Breathes
there the physician, in any considerable practice, who apprehends that the
rivalry of females could'ever possibly diminish his fees ?

One Pole Russia will never succeed in coercing—the North.

WELCOME BACK !

{A Home-Coming Hail to our Arctic Explorers.)

"When commiserated with on their frost-bitten cheeks and
fingers, Lieutenant Eawson jovially replied, ' "Well, at last we
feel that the cheers from Southsea Beach have been fairly
earned.' "—Story of the Expedition.

Well earned indeed! And as our cheers
Pang high and hopeful in your ears,
When echoing from white Albion's shore,

Went forth our Vale,
So, hailing your return, they rise,
As, clear through chill October's skies,
With Ave glad old England's roar

Greets you right gaily !

From Ancient Ice-Sea's silent lip.
From bergs' and floes' death-dealing grip,
Our Arctic Argonauts return,

Though foiled, spoil-laden.
On many a coming winter night
Tales of their long and well-waged'fight
Shall make eyes glitter and,cheeks burn
r Of youth and maiden !

Northward, where earth no longer lifts
Her barren rock through deep-down rifts
Of the Ice-realm, they pushed their quest,

Elate, undaunted!
Northward, where neither Polar Bear
Ventures to make his lonely lair,
Nor Seal his bed, nor Knot her nest,
Mid wastes death-haunted!

All through that six-months' Arctic night,
Whose watches are slow weeks, whose light
Is the rare moonshine, they withstood

Their Frost-foe stoutly;
And with the first reluctant gleam
Of the pale Spring's returning beam,
Hope's fitful light of promise wooed
Once more devoutly.

In vain! Those grim Ice-ridges rose
Phalanxed athwart the frozen floes :
The Polar Sea's stern outworks mocked

Their best endeavour.
And back, with steps now fain to lag,
They turned ; but left the old Country's flag
On the Globe's northmost bastion, locked
In ice for ever !

" The pole impracticable P " Well
Another day, perhaps, may tell
Another tale. 'Twill ne'er deny

The meed now given.
Skoal.' to our Northmen—Nares's band!
Though from that white and wondrous land
To wrench its heart of mystery
In vain they've striven.

Welcome ! Well done ! Whoe'er they be
Who o'er that Pateocrystic Sea
Strive further Pole-wards, none, be sure,

Will faineants find you:
Though lubbers funic, and prigs deride,
Bull hails his Arctic lads with pride,
And prays good rest to the brave four
You left behind you !

aweul thought.

School-Boards are, we know, a necessary accom-
paniment of our condition here, but who would have
dreamt of their necessity hereafter ? Yet it is plain
that " Allie " (Mrs. Slade), who spells " shown
" shone," would not pass our dictation standard.

The Standard announces, in its largest type, "The Last
Conspiracy in Spain." We are delighted to hear it.

The Great Duke asserted that an Army fought on its
Stomach. The Servians evidently have no stomach to
fight on.