Punch (93.1887)

October 22, 1887.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHAEIVAEI.

189

BRITISH FRENCH.

Emily. " Ask her to give its some moke of her Sacred Music, George !"
George (a linguist). "Oh, Mademoiselle, donnez-nous encore de votre
Sacree Musique."

JOE'S JAUNT.

Off to Ireland .'—At last. Collings with me, of course:—rather grumpy,
because Salisbury's got the credit of passing the Allotments Bill, instead of
himself. Still, Jesse better than nobody. Would create bad impression to visit
-Belfast without an entourage.

In Steamer.—Look up my Irish History—or rather, Jesse's Irish History,
wrich he's borrowed from Birmingham Tree Library. An Alderman can do
that sort of thing. Also examine revolver. Not accustomed to carrying one.
What is the best place for it? Jesse says, "left-hand coat-tail pocket,
decidedly, because then you can whip it out in a twinkling." Jesse's confidence
contagious—he talks as if he had always been in the habit of " whipping-out"
revolvers, like a cow-boy,—or a " three-acres-and-a-cow-boy." Do as he ad-
vises. Very uncomfortable feeling._ Sit down on revolver in a moment of
torgetfulness, and nearly blow Captain's head off. Captain irritated. Asks me
*°r "ransom." Ridiculous!

Belfast— No end of a reception. Drive through the' principal streets.
Enthusiastic populace insist on taking horses out of carriage and.j pulling it
themselves. Gratifying, but shouldifeel safer with the horses. "Why will Col-
lings bow ? I'm the person to bow, obviously. Bad taste, but don't like to
stop him. Believe the mob take him for me—or why do they cheer him so ?

At Hotel— Just found out reason of enthusiasm evoked by appearance of
Jesse. He's got on an Orange tie ! Ask him, reproachfully, why he did this?
pretends it was a mere accident—forgot that orange was favourite Ulster colour.
„on't want a religious riot, so make him take it off. Jesse getting grumpier.
Can't help it.

Evening.— Before going to meeting, had better find out what Belfast chiefly
famous for. Ask Collings. Replies " linen-shirts and handkerchiefs." Try
to Put him in good humour by remarking that " he seems shirty." Is there no
other historical fact connected with place ? " Yes," he replies, "visit of Lord
Randolph Churchill." Wish he hadn't mentioned latter event. Dispiriting.
Reminds one of proposed National Party, with self and Randolph as sole leaders
~~and sole followers, too, it seems. ± i

At Hotel—after Speech.—Great success. Felt horribly inclined to start
Mother Home Rule plan—my fifth—hut fortunately refrained. Instead of

dismemberment of Empire, I offered more Members to
Ulster. Ulster people saw the justice of this arrange-
ment at once. Told 'em there were "two Irelands."
Isn't one Ireland enough, however ?

Coleraine.—A. triumphal arch, with "Welcome to
English Peasant Emancipators " on it. Stupid to bracket
Collings with me in this way. Receive threatening
letter. Reminds me of my revolver. Jesse examines
it with the air of a professional gunsmith, critically.
Appears quite hurt at its condition ; says, " I 've sat on
it so often he doubts if it would go off now," and re-
commends my carrying a "bowie-knife" instead. Am
surprised at Jesse's acquaintance with deadly weapons.
Ask him what historical event took place at Coleraine.
Says he doesn't know and doesn't care. But what's he
here for except to keep me posted up in local details ?
Hint to him that " I hope I may be able to offer him
post of President of Local Government Board in my
future Ministry." Replies (rudely, I think) that " he 'II
wait till I'm asked to form one." Qwery—doesn't air
of Ulster exercise demoralising effect on English politi-
cians? Is this the "Ulster Custom" one's heard so
much about ? Randolph a case in point.

Back again.—Coleraine speech excellent, though I say
it, as shouldn't. Cheered to the echo. So was Jesse,
hang him ! Shan't take him to Canada with me. Now
for a study of the habits of deep-sea fish in the pages of
a Natural Science Primer.

AN AUTUMN LAY.

(By a Belated Oarsman.)

Come, little Maid, to the cracked piano,

The semi-grand in the coffee-room;
We '11 take your harmonies all cum grano.

For the strings vibrate like the crack of doom.

Over the lawn the flat clouds loom,
And when they lighten the rain falls faster";
Like gossips who relish a friend's disaster

The ducks quack loud in the rain-ruled gloom.

L've studied the cracks in the ceiling-plaster,

And the statuettes with their stolid leer,
And the landscape visions of some Young Master,

Who viewed the world through a haze of beer.

We've done as much with the hostel's cheer
As sane men may in corpore sano ;
So come, little Maid, to the cracked piano.

Play us The Battle of Prague," my dear.

The silence clouds, like a potion shaken,

As the limp strings jar to an ancient pain ;
Their light and sweetness no touch can waken,

And only the dregs of a tone remain.

The silk-sewn music with fray and stain
Swoons on the keys at the urgent stages,
And the little Maid, as she props the pages,

Just murmurs, " Bother! " and starts again.

And the streaming window again engages

The thoughts that stray from the field of Prague;
And the moping birds in their gauze-girt cages,

And the wax-work fruits of a genus vague;

And the flies that buzz like a lazy plague
Round the lone lorn jam, as it stands forsaken;
And the varnished pike in the mill-pool taken

About the year that they fought at Prague.

But twilight falls, and its folds encumber

The misty mounds of the patient trees,
And sunset cheers with a touch of umber

The puddles of steel-gray Gruyere cheese.

And, interposing a little ease,
Our frail thoughts dally with false surmises
Of a morning as brilliant as mid July's is

With bravest sunshine and sweetest breeze.

A soothing silence the soul surprises

For the little Maid, like a hero true
Has f ought her fight through its poignant crises,

And shown what practice can dare and do.

And, tearing the moonlight in handf uls through,
A giant arm in the cloudland sombre
Scatters the light on a world of slumber,

Through snowy craters, from gulfs of blue.