Punch: Punch (76.1879)

138

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[March 29, 1879.

/ESTHETIC DISENCHANTMENTS.

Lucy has posed the little Rustic Model, and Mart, Maud, and Madeline sit, pencil in hand, heady to catch and
transfer to paper the child's expression of wonderment and delight as it listens, for the flrst tlme in its life, to
the Murmur of the Shell.

Lucy. "Now, Darling, put the Pretty Shell to your Ear, and hark to what it. says ! "

Rustic Model. "Lor ! Is that all! Why, a Beer-Jug can do that!'"

THE OLD SWORD.

I little thought to take you down, old Sword, from well-earned
rest,

Under the brave old banner, beside the old " back and breast "—

"Weapons at once and trophies of well-fought fields of old,

When hair was dark, and blood was hot, that now are grey and cold.

There 's your armour, my old Captain and comrade brave and true,
With the dints of fight upon it, bidding old days live anew,
When side by side, and sword by sword, we smote their men of war,
And drove Protection's serried ranks before us fast and far.

The Free Trade flag above our heads, our good blades strong of sway,
That through the foemen's fence and force sheared on their forth-
right way,

Bore down their facts and figures, and their fallacies clave through,
And o'er the strong set up the weak, and o'er the false the true.

Till their Captains called a parley, and their garrisons gave in,
And through the land there seemed for us no victory left to win;
And when the great Chief, that had led their battles long, came round,
And was proud to wear our colours, and took up our fighting ground—

And when not only England through, but far across the sea,
All used our watchwords, flew our flag, and swore our men to be,
No wonder that we deemed our cause was won, our warfare o'er,
And no need to buckle breast-plate, or handle broadsword more !

But lo, now the malignants lift up their heads again,
I always said the serpents were only scotched not slain.
Hark ! far and near their hiss I hear, their rattle sounds afar;
They have hoarded up their venom, and their cry again is war.

And he is gone, my Captain, my comrade true and tried,
That with me bore the burden of those battles side by side,

And he, too, the great Chieftain, that to our cause came in,
While still was many a stroke to strike, and many a hold to win.

And I am left alone, and old, and my blood keeps no more

The hot and heady current that it kept in days of yore ;

The sword is sharp as ever, but the arm is not the same,

That through the foemen's thickest cloud let daylight where it came.

But old or young, and strong or weak, for the fight I still am fain ;
And my sharp sword, clear of rust and dust, in front shall gleam
again,

While there are lies to level and fallacies to floor,—

Up, fair old flag ! out, brave old blade! - our warfare was not o'er.

The Ends of Cremation.

The deputation of the Council of the Cremation Society that
bespoke the Home Secretary, the other day, on behalf of the process
which they propose to substitute for interment, informed the Right
Honourable Gentleman that their objects were purely sanitary,
social, and scientific. A suitable legend, therefore, for the Crema-
tionists would be the " Three S's."

Tempora Mutantur.

With tilt and tourney Kings of old
Graced cities on their journeys ;

But now see Belgium's king enrolled
In Turners' ranks—not tourneys' !

wut for scotch wags.
Some call the Law of Hypothec the Scottish Lien. Should it not
rather be called the Scottish Bore ?