Punch (52.1867)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

] 78

[May 4, 1867.

THE COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON (ART).

Porter. “Now, then, if you don’t give over saying I hang Pictures just
like a R.A., I’ll come down, and Punch your Head ! ”

THE DEMAGOGUE’S DITTY.

If you want to get your rights,

There is no way like Jack Bright’s.

0, a monster demonstration never fails !

In your thousands march the streets.

All the barriers your will meets
Will go down before you just like Hyde Park rails.

Tell the Government, for you
Their Reform Bill will not do ;

It is clogged with some conditions that are shabby.
Let the House know what you mean.

Go and fill the space between
Charing-cross, boys, and the venerable Abbey.

But you won’t suppose, of course,

I advise the use of force.

Oh dear no ! but, just a physical display,

So imposing, and so grand,

(I dare say you understand,)

As to show them you intend to have your way.

So good care be sure you take,

Any windows not to break,

I particularly hope you won’t throw stones.

Pray don’t fling dead dogs and cats
At the proud aristocrats.

I should weep if you broke anybody’s bones.

The Bright and Beales Junction.

A political line, supposed to have been abandoned by
its promoters last summer has been suggested as eligible
for affording the shortest cut to Reform, by Mr. Bright,
at Birmingham. This line, of which the honourable gen-
tleman appears to be one of the principal Directors, is the
Hyde Park Railway.

A Serious Undertaking.

“ We are informed,” says the Pall Mall Gazette, “ that
the ‘Evangelization Society’ wishes ‘to co-operate with
Christian friends’ who can assist it ‘in opening fresh
ground without interfering with existing efforts.’ ” If that
is what they want, they had better apply to one of the
Cemetery Companies.

PEACE AGAINST PRESTIGE.

To Monsieur Jacques Bonhomme.

Monsieur,

Certain scribes and spouters want you to go to war with
Prussia about Luxemburg. They tell you that if you don’t you will
lose your prestige. Well; suppose you do P I shall say, Brother in
calamity, come to my arms !

They are continually telling me that I have lost mine. Very possibly
I have. I lost it, they say, because I wouldn’t fight Prussia to prevent
her from robbing Denmark of Schleswig-Holstein. What should I
have got by an attempt at fighting Prussia with unconverted Enfields P
I don’t know. Very likely a deuced good licking ; small addition, at
any rate, to my prestige. But I know what I should have lost. I
certainly should have lost many millions of money, and many thousands
of men; and might have had less prestige than none to show for
them.

Monsieur, the truth is, I can’t afford to keep a prestige. Trying to
do so has cost me above eight hundred millions sterling. I don’t feel
the loss of my prestige at all. If I have lost it, indeed, I should say
that I feel better without it. What is prestige, after all? The word is
a piece of diplomatic and political slang. It is yours, and of course I
need not tell you originally meant illusion caused by sorcery, or the
effect of imagination. Preestigia means simply a trick. Prestige, even
in its slang sense, is a word whose significance includes something
illusory, deceptive ; somewhat, in fact, of humbug; the humbug of the
charlatan. It expresses a halo of renown, so to speak, which is more
or less of the nature of moonshine. Who are they whom prestige
chiefly influences ? The unreasoning and the impressible.

What is the use of prestige, Monsieur ? It may make people who, if
you had it not, would not regard you, mind what you say—for a time.
But at last some people don’t mind what you say, for all your pres-
tige, and then you must either lose it or fight them—as the scribes and \
spouters are^now instigating you to do, and tried to make me; but
they couldn’t. Consequently, no doubt, people sometimes don’t mind

what I say to them—which they may live to repent. Their contempt
does not hurt me; they may despise me as much as they please so long
as they leave me alone. At last, too probably, some of them will do
something that I can’t stand. Then, and not till then, I shall fight,
and I shall fight with a will. By that means I shall get back my pres-
tige fast enough; in as far as I am able to win prestige by fighting.

Monsieur, is prestige worth smashed skulls, shattered limbs, exen-
terated bodies ? Is it worth driving thousands and thousands of men
to death, to torture, to mutilation, and wretchedness for life ? And oh,
Monsieur, is it worth the millions and millions of francs which, if you
fight for it, you will have to pay for it ?

Wait, like me, Monsieur, till you are menaced. You will have to
wait a long time. Anybody would think twice, and more, before
resolving to quarrel with such a great fellow as you.

The scribes and the spouters will represent me to you as talking
about prestige like the fox in the fable who had lost his tail. But in
the first place, I don’t know that I really have lost my prestige. Per -
haps 1 am told so only to vex me. Besides, a fox’s tail is a substantial
thing, and prestige is another thing. It is not like any tail, except the
tail of a comet, which is lighter than vapour and astonishes weak
minds. Even if I were convinced that I actually had lost it, I would
not afford my ill-wishers, who taunt me with its loss, the satisfaction
of seeing me go about whining and blubbering—Boo-hoo-oo-ooo, I’ve
lost my prestige!

I intend. Monsieur, to limit my care about my prestige to the
requisite provisions for making any who, on the presumption that I
have lost it, may think they can bully me, find out their mistake.
Permit me to advise you to content yourself with practising the same
moderation.

In the hope of seeing and hearing less and less in future of that
humbugging word, prestige, which I dislike as much as I do that other
humbugging word, glory, I entreat you, Monsieur, to accept the
assurance of my distinguished consideration. John Bull

An Old Joe and a New One.—The Shoemaker’s Last.