Punch (49.1865)

July 15, 1865.]

PUNCH OR THE LONDON CTTARIVART

13

DIFFERENCE OF OPINION.

Arabella. “Now, Charley, Dear, do have a little courage . . . When I have
a Powder to take, I don’t like it any more than you do ... . but I make

UP MY MIND THAT I WILL TIKE IT, AND 1 DO /”

Charlie. “ And when I have a Powder to take, I make up my mind that I
won't take it, and I don't III "

AURAL EDUCATION.

Mr. Mapleson deserves the thanks of all lovers of good music for his produc-
tion of Medea and the Magic Flute. Such music lifts the nose from the grind-
stone of one’s daily mundane drudgery, and elevates the mind while amusing and
refining it. Ordinary operas are in tneir way a pleasant pastime, and do not need
much stretching of the ears or straining of the mind to comprehend their purport.
But such music as was written by Mozart and Cherubini demands a higher
faculty rightly to enjoy it, and a far more lasting pleasure is derived from its
enjoyment. Men who have the ears of Midas, and whose minds are made to
match, may think that operas are written simply to be yawned through, and may
view them as a proper undercurrent for mere small talk. But a little careful
hearing of the music which Mozart wrote must convince a man with brains that
ideas may reach the mind by other channels than mere words, and that the
mental faculties are bettered by receiving them. Happy is the man who can
derive the greatest pleasure from the various enjoyments this varying world
affords; and men who think that music is only meant to dance to, or be fashion- |
ably chatted through, may, by .attentive hearing of Mozart and Cherubini, soon
learn that a much higher enjoyment may be gleaned from it. By education of j
the ear great pleasure may be gained; and no one is so fit to complete this education j
as one of the old masters. The more good music one hears, the more one learns to j
relish it; and they wdio really do so, when they hear the Magic Flute, are sure to
be enchanted wdth it.

THE DYING PARLIAMENT TO PUNCH.

“ Who’s there ? Is’t Punch? You sat beside my cradle,
You sit beside the death-bed, where I sink,

Your weekly sauce-boat has supplied my ladle
With wholesome sweets or tonic diet-drink:

And now your hand mixes the cooling cup,

The last from which these fevered lips shall sup.

“ I’ve blessed your baton e’en when o’er my knuckles,

It came with sharpest sting and heaviest weight;

I’ve loved your hunch, that cringes not nor truckles.

But with a bold, blank turn, marks scorn or hate.

T knew well how that honest rap I’d earned,

That tell-tale hump right in my face had turned.

“ They might have waited till my breath was gone ;

But to the country all my sons have hurried,

Leaving me here unpitied and alone,

Doglike to die, and dog-like to be buried ;

‘ He’s lived his life. He’s weak, poor, and outworn,’

So I pass hence in solitude and scorn!

“ They say that by base fears I’ve been o’er-awed,
Lavish of promise, impotent of good,

At home donothiug, egotist abroad,

‘Letting I dare not wait upon I would ’—

E’en from ‘ de mortuis ’ no hope I see,

I die, and none has a good word for me !

“ But you will speak that word—you’ll be my friend—
Ask who it was made me what I have been :

Who flattered me, till I drew near my end,

Eor a wise Parliament, discreet, serene :

Holding to solid good, distrusting dreams,

‘ Turning to scorn the falsehood of extremes.’

“ Have I been coward P What were they indeed
Who Counselled, shaped my voice, and hailed my law P
Have I thought most of pelf? Whence sprang the greed,
Quenchless of thirst, insatiate of maw P
Have I stood by, when Might did Right o’erbear,

Who bade me fold my hands, and speak all fair ?

“ Both sides strove to possess my infant senses,

Into one ear the Tories buzzed ‘ Reform,’

The Whigs iu t ’other shouted ‘ False pretences ! ’

Until they took the Treasury Bench by storm.

And then Reform was huddled out of sight,

But nobody complained, except John Bright.

“ 1 ’ve lightened taxes, I’ve freed trade from fetters ;

To Law Reform 1 ’ve given my contribution:

I’ve kept aloof, in spite of Russell’s letters,

From foreign bothers; for the Constitution—•

If I have not re-soled and heeled, I’ve vamped it,

And all must own, at least, I haven’t swamped it.

“ Well, p’raps all this is no great things to boast:

Of bad bills, too, I may own to a bank full;

But I was born when caution ruled the roast.,

And the time’s counsel ran ‘Rest and be thankful;

I may have been too easy, timid, quiet,

But who’d have thanked me if I had run riot ?

“ Yet, here I lie; John Bull, with arms a-kimbo,

Before I’m dead my funeral sermon spouts ;

And coolly sentences me to Dante’s limbo,

Where lie the halters ’twixt desires and doubts.

No one, in death, with bitter hate besets me,

But it’s too clear that nobody regrets me.

“ The moral of my life ? I doubt indeed :

Is money all in all? Is Faith a fiction ?

Is siding with the strongest the true creed ?

Of all I doubt—except of this conviction—

That Parliaments are what the people make ’em,

And if they sleep, ’tis John Bull’s place to wake ’em.

i


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Progress in Political Economy.

A Deputation from the township of Everton had an interview on Monday |
last week with the Right Hon. C. P. Villiers at the Office of the Poor-law j
Board, Whitehall. We understand that the object of the Everton deputation had j
reference to a proposal contemplated by the Poor-law Commissioners, of supplying j
pauper children in workhouses with Everton Toffee. 1

“Now close my eyes: tie up my falling chin :
Fold my arms, Christian fashion, on my bosom:
May my unloving children drop their tin

For their elections, and to new men lose ’em;
May John Bull he more kind to my successor,
Or, of two evils, find the last the lesser 1 ”