Punch (43.1862)

72

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

[August 16, 1862.

AN AMERICAN LYRIC.

The American organ in London (we don’t mean the London American,
Northern, or the Index, Southern Journal) has re-printed some verses
which it says are by Mu. Bbyant, the poet. We rather hope that it
is misinformed. Mu. Bryant has written so many admirable things
that he can afford to write a few of another kind, but we hate to see a
really clever man make a mistake. However, Mr. Bryant’s or not,
here they are, and we don’t like them.

TO ABRAHAM LINCOLN,

On his Demand for 300,000 men.

We’re coming, Bather Abraam, we’re coming all along,

But don’t you think you ’re coming it yourself a little strong F
Three hundred thousand might be called a Dretty tidy figure.

We’ve nearly sent you white enough, why don’t you take the nigger ?

Consider, Father AbraaM, and give the thing a thought.

This war has just attained four times the longitude it ought;

And all the bills at Ninety Days as you have draw’d so free,

Have been dishonoured, Abraam, as punctual as could be.

We’ve fought, old Father Abraam, and fought uncommon bold.

And gained amazing victories, or so at least we ’re told;

And having whipped the rebels for a twelvemonth and a day,

We nearly found ’em liquoring in Washington in May.

Now, really, Father Abraam, this here’s the extra ounce,

And we are almost sick, you see, of such almighty bounce ;

We ain’t afraid of being killed at proper times and seasons,

But it’s aggravating to be killed for Mac’s strategic reasons.

If you’d be so obliging, Father Abraam, as to write
To any foreign potentate, and put the thing polite,

And make him loan a General as knows the way to lead,

We’d come and list. Jerusalem and snakes ! we would indeed.

But as the matter stands, Old Abe, we’ve this opinion, some,

If you say Come, as citizens of course we ’re bound to come,

But then we want to win, you see; if Strategy prevents.

We wish you’d use the nigger for these here experiments.

Hereditary bondsman, he should just be made to know
He’d convenience us uncommon if he’d take and strike a blow.

The man as will not fight for freedom isn’t worth a cu&s,

And it’s better using niggers up than citizens like us.

So, Father Abraam, if you please, in this here game of chess,

You’d better take the black men against the white, I guess.

And if you work the niggers off before Rebellion’s slain,

Which surely ain’t expectable,—apply to us again.

OUR OWN CORRESPONDENT.

There is an old saying to the effect that extremes meet, and it is
certain that rencontre takes place in the International Exhibition.
When John Bull is tired of his machinery he rushes off to the gallery
of pictures. With a patriotism which I do not care to disavow, I in-
spected our own collection first. True there are hundreds of works here
which we have seen before, but who can say they have less interest on
that account ? Why are Norma and La Sonnambula and Don Giovanni,
and II Barbiere sure of drawing houses ? Because we know their
music by heart: because Ah perche is the same plaintiff appeal that we
heard twenty years ago, and when Figaro begins his tol de roling we
recognise an old friend. Leslie, Laxdseer, Hunt, and Millais have
long been favourites of the British public, and our eyes return again
and again to their canvas with pleasure. Here is “ Sancho Panza ” the
friend of our youth, and there is good “Sir Roger on his way to Church.”
We are in “ Bolton Abbey” feasting prospectively on savoury venison,
or “ Shooting deer in the forest of Glenorchy.” Seven years have not
robbed “ Autumn Leaves ” of their luscious colour, and our “ Apple
Blossoms ” are still in flower. In the comer there is a little crowd
which is eager, but does not jostle, which admires, but in no noisy
mood, for we are standing before “ The Light of the World,” perhaps
the most famous picture of our school in Sacred Art.

But there are two names in our Fine Art Catalogue, the fame of
which is not confined to England or to Europe—two men who will be
remembered as long as the limner’s art exists. Hogarth and Rey-
nolds died before the age of Exhibitions, but their works would be an
acquisition to any gallery in the Universe. Between the stem satire in
the “ Marriage a la Mode” and the charming simplicity in the “ Age
of Innocence,” there is a great hiatus; but how wonderfully true to

nature is each in its way. Hogarth taught Englishmen how to paint,
and, let us hope, how to live with honesty. Reynolds first showed us
how our women and children might be admired, without being deified,
on canvas.

Look at the incidents in Hogarth’s “Strolling Actresses ” the
truth, the fun, the humanity of the picture. The pretty tragedian to
the left learning her part, and the vixen to whose caresses even pussy
will not submit. There is another lady anointing her hair with a tallow
candle before a broken glass, while she clutches the flour dredger to
complete her toilet. There is Cupid mounting a ladder to get a pair of
stockings, and here is the scaly dragon feedingababy (St. George’s?) with
a pap-spoon. Such scenes have passed from among us now. Even
Richardson is on the wane, and hair powder only lingers on the heads
of lacqueys ■ but as we look at this picture, we feel it is no made-up
subject, no hacknied composition; and we sympathise with the sturdy
little painter and his contempt for the grand school, when he struck out
in a line of his own, even if it were not that line of beauty of which
he fondly prated.

Oh, that our modern portrait painters would take a hint from good
Sir Joshua, who when he had to paint a lady, did not forget that she
was a woman and not a milliner’s doll! Here is the Duchess of
Devon with her baby romping and crowing on her knee ; and the first
thing we learn about her is, not that she wears a coronet, but that she
is a mother. That is what I call a portrait; and with some few
exceptions, we have not limned the like since 1792.

By one of Reuter’s Telegrams from New York we are informed
that—

“The popular confidence in General M'Clellan appears shaken by the late
events before Richmond, and many of his admirers now assert that he is not the
man of action.”

None but the admirers of M‘Clellan, however, could, we should
think, make that assertion. M'Clellan was for a long time a man of
inaction; but he has now gone into action only too often. Fighting
is action and running away is action, and M'Clellan has both fought
and run away. It is absurd to say that a general who executes a
strategic movement is not a man of action, although the action is that
of retreating. Whilst General M'Clellan remained inactive, his
countrymen called him the young Natoleon, in anticipation of the
victories which he had not achieved. They would have had better
reason for calling him the young Fabius ; but events have shown that
the latter name is as inapplicable to him as the former. It has not been
the lot of M‘Clellan “ to win like Fabius by delay; ” for the cunc-
tation of M’Clellan Cunctatgr has ended in a stampede on the
Chickahominy.

“ Muggy Weather.”

To most persons this particular kind of weather is most oppressive,
not fit to do anything upon, but a photographer takes a very different
view of it. He calls that weather “ mugsy ” which is the best adapted
for taking a person’s “ mug.”