Punch: Punch (75.1878)

294 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [December 28, 1878. Q

"AU PIED DE LA LETTRE."

Free-Kirk Minister' (to his "Elder"). "John, I should like you to intimate that on Monday next I piiopose paying
Pastoral Visits in the High and North Streets, in which I also hope to embrace all the Servant Girls of the Congre-
gation in that District ! "

His Wife (wJwm he Jd lately married from the South). " You shall do nothing of the kind, Sir ! Let me see you dare to-! "

\_Goes into hysterics!

AN ARDUOUS QUEST.

" Peace and Goodwill! " The pleasant words

For eighteen hundred years have sounded
In human ears midst clashing swords

Of foes by hate to contest hounded.
" Strange ! " sighs the Jester, and the jest

Dies on his lips while watching sadly
Ton genial greybeard urge his quest

For what all hearts should hail so gladly.
Strange ! Yet these words he '11 echo still:
"Peace and Goodwill!"

" Peace and Goodwill! " They something jar

With other sounds this sad sore season,
"Whilst foolish rufflers, shouting: " War ! "

Drown the calm voice of steadfast reason:
When patriot wisdom, firmly poised

On principles as Atlas stable,
Is shamed by windy watch-words noised

Abroad by babbling imps of Babel.
Patience ! The words re-echo still:
" Peace and Goodwill! "

" Peace and Goodwill! " In sooth it seems

Poor Peace as a pale traitor's flouted,
A sickly birth of coward dreams,

By loyal manhood much misdoubted.
And for Goodwill!—a weakling's whim,

The cant of sentimental pleaders
For that stale doctrine preached by Him

Under the solemn Syrian cedars.
And yet His words do echo still:—
"Peace and Goodwill!"

" Peace and Goodwill! " Our Yuletide mirth

Is marred by sounds of wrath and sorrow,
Whilst War and Hate divide the earth,

And Ruin menaces the morrow.
Yet sober Sense must ply its task,

And Charity its sacred mission,
And Wit still strive to tear the mask

From each fresh face of Superstition,
Hearing the words that echo still :
"Peace and Goodwill! "

" Peace and Goodwill! " The cynic smile

Might mock a hope deferred so often ;
But wiser souls will scarce revile

The season's dreams which soothe and soften.
All round the year, sans halt or fear,

Satire must war with specious seeming;
But when the Christmas-tide draws near,

Wit lends a wing to hopeful dreaming
Of times to come, with less to chill
" Peace and Goodwill! "

Blackwood for December.

Black-wood indeed! The Cottage by the River is a tele, for the
blackest wood that ever was. No connection with the " Cottage by
the Sea," or the old " Cottage Near a Wood." But—

" If you want to shudder and sMver,
Bead The Cottage by the River."

Blades but too Sharp set.—What Sheffield used to be famous
for, but wants sadly now—Wittles.