Punch (99.1890)

December 6, 1890.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVAKI.

267

MANNERS OF THE BAR.

A Sketch in the Law Courts, showing the Patient and Respectful Attention of the Counsel foe the Plaintiff dubing

the Speech of Counsel foe Defendant.

" Inoins is Snakes!" And from its lair
This snake seems stirring. Who cries
" Scare I» ?

Well, they who hear the rattle
Close at their heels, its spring will dread,
And wary watch and cautious tread,

And arm as though for battle.

Even to drive the keen-fanged snake
From its old home in swamp or brake

Irks sensitive humanity;
But they who know the untamed thing,
Have felt its fang, have seen its spring,
Hold mercy mere insanity..

Untamed, untameable, it hides,
Anguis in herbd, coils and glides,

And strikes when least expected,
And who shall blame its watchful foe
Who stands prepared to strike a blow,

When the swift death's detected ?

In the dark jungle dim and damp
It lurks, and Civilisation's tramp

Disturbs its sanctuary.
Hard on the snake ? Perchance, perchance !
But Civilisation, to advance,

Must ruthless be, as wary.

" Vindictive spirit" of the wild,

'Twixt you and Progress' pale-faced child,

Tated vendetta rages,
And Pity's self stands powerless
To help you counter with success

The onset of the ages.

Long driven, lingeringly you lurk ;
Steel and starvation ply. their work

Of slow extermination.
Armed once again Columbia stands,
And who'd arrest avenging hands,

Must challenge—Civilisation.

The Archbishop of Canteebuby's learned
judgment in the Linooln Case was very much
after the style in which His Grace parts
his hair. It was a first-rate example of^the
Via Media.

A PACE FROM A POSSIBLE DIARY.

(Written in the Wild West.)
Monday.—Well, here I am. Guess I have
got together a pretty tidy Army, that should
beat Baentoi into small potatoes. The Arabs
from Earl's Court will soon go along straight
enough. They seem to miss the Louvre
Theatre over yonder, where they were on the
free list. Rather a pity I can't start a Show
here, but I calculate the country is too dis-
turbed.

Tuesday.—Nothing much doing. Sent along
to Small Bite, and he has promised to come
round along with a few of the Ghost-Dancers
to let me see what I think of them. Fancy
the ballet has been done before. That clever
cuss Gus, must have used it at Covent Garden
when he put up Robert the Devil. It
seems like the Nun Ballet—uncommonly.

Wednesday— Small Bite is here. He's
friendly enough, but his terms are too high.
Fancy they must have been trying to annex
him for the Aquarium. The Ghost-Dance is
a fraud. Nothing in it. Might fake it up a
bit with national flags and red fire. But it's
decidedly disappointing. Altogether small
pumpkins.

Thursday.—Settlers want to know when
I am going to begin. They are always in
such a darned hurry. They ought to know
I am the hero of a hundred fights (see my
Autobiography—a few copies of which may
still be had at the almost nominal price of
half-a-dollar) and should rely on me accord-
ingly. Am to visit the Indian Camp to-
morrow.

Friday.—Terms agreed. Small Bite and
fifty braves engage themselves for six months
certain, sharing terms, travelling exes, and
one clear benefit. I find front of the curtain
and advertising, they provide entertainment,
which is to include Ghost-Dance (with ban-
ners and red fire) religious rites, war-dance,
and scalping expedition with incidentals
(Small Bite says he knows " some useful
knockabout niggers ") and procession in and
out of towns. Think I can boom it.

Saturday.—My connection with war ended.
Calculate I start to-morrow with the Show
across the herring-pond, to wake up the
Crowned Heads of Europe!

TO THE BIG BACILLICLDE.

0 Doctoe Koch, if you can slay

Those horrid germs that kill us,
You '11 be the hero of the day,

Great foe of the Bacillus!
What champion may we match with you

In all the world of fable ?
St. George, who the Great Dragon slew,

The Knights of Aethue's Table,
E'en gallant giant-slaying Jack,

The British nursery's darling ;
Or Jennee, against whom the pack

Of faddists now are Bnarling,
Must second fiddle play to him

Who stayed the plague of phthisis,
And plumbed a mystery more dim

And deep than that of Isis.
For what are Dragons, Laidly Worms,

And such-like mythic scourges,
Compared with microscopic germs

'Gainst which the war he urges ?
Hygeia, goddess, saint, or nymph,

We trust there's no big blunder,
And hope your votary's magic lymph

May prove no nine days' wonder.
We dare not trust each pseudo-seer

Who 'd powder, purge, or pill us ;
But pyramids to him we '11 rear

Who baffles the Bacillus.

Steanoe Teansfoemation. — From the
Times Correspondent, U.S., we learned, last
week, that somebody who had been " a Bull,"
was now " a Bear." What next will he be ?
—A donkey ? Or did he begin with this, and
will he end by being a goose ?

Pbospect foe Cheistmas.—"Tuck," i.e.,
Raphael of that ilk. The " Correct (Christ-
mas) Card."