Punch: Punch (23.1852)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

229

ODE TO THE GREAT SEA-SERPENT ON HIS
WONDERFUL REAPPEARANCE.

Pbom what abysses of the unfathom'd sea
Turnest thou up, Great Serpent, now and then,

If we may venture to believe in thee,
And affidavits of seafaring men ?

What whirlpool gulf to thee affords a home ?

Amid the unknown depths where dost thou dwell P
If—like the mermaid, with her glass and comb—

Thou art not what the vulgar call a SelL

Art thou, indeed, a serpent and no sham P

Or, if no serpent, a prodigious eel,
An entity, though modified by flam,

A basking shark, or monstrous kind of seal ?

I Ml think that thou a true Ophidian art;

I cannot say a reptile of the deep,
Because thou dost not play a reptile's part;

Thou swimmest, it appears, and dost not creep.

The Captain was not Walker but M'QuH^i,
I '11 trust, by whom thou some time since wast seen ;

And him who says he saw thee t'other day,
I will not bid address the corps marine.

Sea-Serpent, art thou venomous or not ?

What sort of snake may be thy class and style ?
That of Mud-Python, by Apollo shot,

And mentioned—rather often—by Carlyle P

Or, art thou but a serpent of the mind ?—
Doubts, though subdued, will oft recur again—

A serpent of the visionary kind,
Proceeding from the grog-oppressed brain ?

Art thou a giant adder, or huge asp,

And hast thou got a rattle at thy tail ?
If of the Boa species, couldst thou clasp

Within thy folds, and suffocate, a whale P

How long art thou ?—Some sixty feet, they say,
And more—but how much more they do not know:

1 fancy thou couldst reach across a bay
From head to head, a dozen miles or so.

Scales hast thou got, of course—but what's thy weight P

y n either side 'tis said thou hast a fin,
A crest, too, on thy neck, deponents state,

A saw-shaped ridge of flabby, dabby skin.

If I could clutch thee—in a giant's grip—
Could I retain thee in that grasp sublime ?

Wouldst thou not quickly through my fingers slip,
Being all over glazed with fishy slime ?

Hast thou a forked tongue—and dost thou hiss
If ever thou art bored with Ocean's play ?

And is it the correct hypothesis
That thou of gills or lungs doBt breathe by way ?

What spines, or spikes, or claws, or nails, or fin,
Or paddle, Ocean-Serpent, dost thou bear ?

What kind of teeth show'st thou when thou dost grin ?—
A set that probably would make one stare.

What is thy diet ? Canst thou gulp a shoal
Of herrings ? Or hast thou the gorge and room

To bolt fat porpoises and dolphins, whole,
By dozens, e'en as oysters we consume?

Art thou alone, thou serpent, on the brine,

The sole surviving member of thy race ?
Js there no brother, sister, wife, of thine,

But thou alone afloat on Ocean's face ?

If such a calculation may be made,
Thine age at what a figure may we take ?

When first the granite mountain-stones were laid,
Wast thou not present there and then, old Snake ?

What fossil Saurians in thy time have beenP
How many Mammoths cum bled into mould ?

What geologic periods hast thou seen,
Long as the tail thou doubtless canst unfold ?

As a dead whale, but as a whale, though dead,
Thy floating bulk a British crew did strike;

And, so far, none will question what they said,
That thou unto a whale wast very like.

A flock of birds a record, rather loose,
Describes as hovering o'er thy lengthy hull;

Among them, doubtless, there was many a Goose,
And also several of the genus Gull.

THE DUKE'S LAST HONOURS.

The Duke has been buried in honour—in so far as he could be
buried, which was merely as to the outer-shell and under-uniform of the
Great Man and Soldier. He has been entombed with all the pomp
and circumstance—if not with the pride—of military ceremony and
heraldic show; in all the solemn magnificence that could be devised,
without regard to expense, which will be enormous.

Now parade, in itself, demonstration of gilt and silver, uniforms and
liveries, emblazoned carriages, and regiments marching in state, is a
questionable thing; and, it may be asked, " Was all this right P—was it
wise ? " The Duke of Wellington deserved more respect than we
could show him; our ostentation, after all, fell short of our purpose;—
was it rational, was it good ?

Yes.

May existing peace be ever unbroken! But now, when Liberty over
all Europe is extinct, what would not Continental despots and bigots
give to tread out its fire conserved and still blazing in this little
island ? It was well and judicious to advertise them and the world
with what enthusiasm we jet honour military heroism: that if we have
abjured the love of strife, we have not renounced the spirit of valour.

Very fit and proper also, just at this time, was it that the nation should
declare at how much it values the principles of the extreme Pacificators;
preachers of meek submission to foreign chastisement: well meaning,
doubtless; and therefore all the harm that we wish Ma. Ery and
Mr. Bright is, that they witnessed last Thursday's ceremony, and
had good places.

But for these considerations, the pageantry of sepulture would be
pageantry simply more absurd than any other. Better, indeed, would it
have been, if possible—but it was not possible—that the remains of the
Duke should have descended into the tomb amid the silent reverence
of his countrymen. May it be long before we lose another great man
—when we have one to lose—but then may his burial be that of Sir
Robert Peel.

PLEA.SING ECCLESIASTICAL INTELLIGENCE.

UK opinion is
that "there's
a good time
coming " for
the Estab-
lished Church
—perhaps. In
Convocat i on,
the other day,
the Bishop
of Exeter is
related by the
Times to have
thus spoken:

"But, my lords,
this i know, that
there are many
in this Church,
very,very many,
who, if the time
should ever come

that the Church should declare itself incompetent to its essential duties and its vital
action, will leave it. i, for one, will leare this Church if that time should ever come."

As the Bishop oy Exeter stands in a considerable minority on the
question of what the vital action and essential duties of the Church are,
there is really some hope that the declaration which he alludes to will,
one of these days, appear to him to have been made. The Bishop adds,

" i will not go to Rome."

For the best of all reasons. Virtually, has he not already gone P

The French Schoolmaster.

The Minister of Public Instruction has been received at Lille with
all the honours of war. It is quite right that Louis Napoleon's
schoolmaster should teach the young idea how to shoot. The
Lancastrian plan gives writing-lessons in sand; the schoolmaster at
Lille improves on this—turning the sand into gunpowder.