Punch (41.1861)

255

December 28, 1861.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.


OUR ARTIST WAS ON THE SPOT.

MR. PUNCH’S APOLOGY.

Magna culpa nostra ! Cox is in
for Pinsbury ! We did it—it was
our fault, and we frankly and hum-
bly confess it. We neglected our
duty. We stopped Cox last time,
shut him out, shut him up, ana
could have done so this time with
a single paragraph. And we didn’t
write that paragraph. We admit
our laches, we avow our guilt. Bur
be not hard upon us. Everybody
must look a little after his own
interests in these days, and—come,
the truth must be told.—we wanted
Gox. We wanted him in Parlia-
ment. Sebthorp is gone, and
Williams has turned sensible, and
Scully is such very small game.
We wanted Cox, and there is an
end of the matter. Please, generous
and kind world, please to forgive
us that we let him in for Einsbury.
We’ll make it up to you one way
or another. The great Apiileius
himself had a similar need, and see
how cleverly he treated the sub-
ject.

Come, it is Christmas time, and
we must insist on being forgiven.
You don’t know what fun there is
in Cox ? Come, shake hands, and
absolve us. That is right, hooray,
let’s liquor!

The Best Christmas Box.

The Despatch-Box, which is ex-
pected to arrive from America a
little after Christmas, will turn out
to be without comparison the very
best Christmas Box this year, if it
is found to contain an honourable
submission to England’s demands,
and a hearty profession of peace
and good will, as becoming the
season, from Jonathan towards
his old friend John Bull.

A SORRY CHRISTMAS.

I come again—your hoary King!

My crown of ivy green and beaded holly,—

My wonted crown—behold I bring,

My wonted Christmas-Carol sing,

Wooing to joy e’en blackest melancholy;

I lift my wassail-cup

With spiced drink mantling up—

But ah, my crown looks sere,

My Carols grate upon the ear,

My wassail-healths sound wantonness and folly.

A blight lies on the iron earth,

A dark cloud hides the lowering heaven:

’Tis not the thought of winter-dearth,

Huddled beside a fireless hearth.

Hushing its thin brood till the bread is given:

To woes and wants like these
I can bring ready ease,

With good-will and good-cheer
Can warm and raise the dying year,

But this is gloom not all my mirth can leaven.

“ Peace upon Earth, good will to man,”

My charter who among you but remembers ?

I that should bless, how shall I ban ?

I that the fires of love should fan.

How shall I stir to flame hate’s smouldering embers ?
How dye with deeper red
The holly round my head.

How change my carol sweet
To. war-cry, for my throat unmeet,

How bid war’s horror wed with drear December’s ?

“ Peace upon Earth, good will to all,”

And if good will to all what to our brother ?

Oh, may the lifted weapons fall,

And Peace’s gentle call

Pierce through the trumpets that her pleading smother P
May better thoughts ensue.

Wrong-doers wrongs undo.

Till breaks the war-cloud aun,

And bursts God’s blessed winter sun,

To show two hands, disarm’d, clasping each other.

The Prussian Crown and Cushion.

The Kreuz Zeitung reports a speech made the other day by the King
of Prussia, in which his Majesty said“My basis wifi, however, be
the same, and will be inviolable. I have received my crown from the
altar.” What has King William’s receipt of his crown from the
altar to do with the inviolability of his basis ? What relation does his
basis bear to his crown ? Is not the one the direct opposite to the
other P If the King op Prussia puts his crown upon his basis, what,
we should like to know, does he put his hat upon?

Lincoln's Brag.

Adapted from Macbeth.

Lincoln. We’ve got three million
John Bull. Geese, villain ?
Lincoln. Soldiers, Sir !

jTAVE YOU SEEN BLONDIN? Well, we really don’t much care
L J. whether you have or not. The question of the day in which we feel most
interest is—Have you purchased Punch’s Almanack ? and unless you can say “ Yes,
Pussy,” we hereby authorise your wife to pull your whiskers wed for you.