Punch (7.1844)

38 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

THE GREAT DOG QUESTION

The Dogs have got their committee in the Lower House, but there is
a deep old dog in the Upper House, of whom it is said by many, that
nothing will satisfy him. This is a downright libel, for the cunning old
dog has got nothing and is not satisfied, so that when it is said he will be
satisfied with nothing, a gross untruth is told regarding him. The dog
alluded to labours under the disadvantage of dealing with a crafty old
bird,—one of those who cannot be caught by chaff, and it is well that he
cannot, or he would long ago have fallen a victim to the bowing and
wowing, the pawing and crouching of the dog in question. The manner
in which our artist has drawn him, looking up with a mingled expression
of admiration and entreaty into the face of the bird, is quite equal to any-
thing from the pencil of Edwin Landseer. whose style has been caught
with remarkable felicity.

PUNCH TO DANIEL IN PRISON.

Immured in Dublin's prison base,

Great Daniel, while thou smartest,
'Tis thus thy venerable face

Appeared to Punch's artist.
He reads those weekly bulletins,

Which of your health inform us,
And thus the prisoner paints, who grins

Contented and enormous !

Perhaps the wicked limner shows,

Inclined to laughter spiteful,
That certain patriots' vaunted woes

Are not so very frightful.
Perhaps he would insinuate,

By that stupendous figure,
That those who free are Truly Great,

"When wronged are Doublv Bigger !

I know not which ; but love to read

Each speech of Dan the younger,
Which tells us how your people feed

Their chief's imprisoned hunger.
How matrons cook you soups and broths,

How cakes are baked by virgins,
How weavers weave your table-cloths,

And fishers hook you sturgeons.*

Says Dan, " My father's cheek's as red,

His mood as blithe and merry,
As when at morn his dogs he led

Along the hills of Kerry.
His mighty lungs more free to talk,

His body stronger waxen,
Than when at Tara or Dundalk,

He bullyragged the Saxon."

Amen ! I hope the tale is true,

Thus brought by Irish rumour ;
May each day's prison bring to you

Good health, sir, and good humour!
Amen, cries Lord Chief Justice Punch,

Approving of your sentence,
It is, 1 swear it by my hunch,

A jovial repentance !

No chains shall in his prison clink,

No ruthless jailor urge him,
With lashings of the best of drink

I'd pitilessly scourge him.
'Tis thus that noble Justice Punch

Would treat his Celtic neighbour,
And thus at dinner, supper, lunch,

Condemn him to " hard labour."

Nor you alone but good son John,

And Ray, and Steele, and Duff* ;
Ye dire Repealers every one,

Remorselessly I'd stuff ye !
I'd have you all, from last to first,

To grow such desperate gluttons,
That you should eat until ye burst

Your new Repealers' Buttons !"

•Mr. Daniel O'Connbll, jun., thought the prisoners were looking right weli aad
getting fat, they had just received an enormous c.-ike weighing 45 lbs., a sturgeon from
Limerick, weighing 200 lbs., and table-cloth of Irish manufacture, &c, &C.