Punch (55.1868)

September 5, 1868.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

105

“ ’Tis my successor’s shade that falls
On thee, thus lowly knelt,

And shrouds the floor, and veils the walls.

With broad’ning, black’ning, bell:
Within thy hamlets and thy halls,

A darkness to be felt!”

India! As Indra’s shining face.

To Indra’s shrouded brow,

Is he who goes to take that place
To him who holds it now.

Not his—his master’s—the disgrace ;

The sufferer by it, thou !

A JOLLY WELSH POET.

All that Mr. Punchh&s ever said about the Eisstteddffodd (he hopes
he has given all the consonants) he hereby retracts absolutely and, with
one small reservation, unconditionally. The object of the meeting was,
as explained to him, to encourage Welsh Poets. He did not think that
the encouragement had produced a very satisfactory result. But he
has changed his mind. The operation of the process of bringing the
■Cambrian violets from under the leaves has been slow, but it has
been triumphant.

“ Diu parturit lerena catulum—sed Leonem.”

A Welsh Poet has been fostered, and he writes in English. Mr. Punch
rejoices to vindicate his own conversion by showing how it has been
■effected.

Sib. Ivor Guest, having recently wedded, brought home his bride to
his native place, Dowlais. Rejoicings greeted the happy couple, to
whom Mr. Punch also wishes all happiness. But nothing could have
given the bride and bridegroom so much delight as a poem that was
addressed to them by the Reverend Thomas D. Matthias, Baptist
Minister, 6, Lower Thomas Street, Merthyr Tydfil (we ’ll have a
memorial slab on that house one of these days) who poured out his joy
in stanzas of which we subjoin a specimen.

“ Welcome to Cambria, ‘ ladye faire,’

And to Glamorganshire,

Where, midst our hills, the Taff and Dare
Flow down through vales of fire.

With joy the festive board we spread,

And deck our spacious hall,

That the worthy may he honoured
By a grand and splendid ball."

Now we like this Baptist Minister. He does not take a fanatic
view of things, and like the Record, denounce a harmless and inspiriting
dance as a Satanic orgy. He knows that young folks, not to say old
ones, may go through the Lancers and Sir Roger de Coverlet/, and
yet not be utterly depraved and lost, and if it had been necessary to
bespeak our good nature for his straightforward and simple strain, this
line would have assured it. He proceeds to say something about
Cambria’s harp—changing his metre, as a facile bard can do if he likes.

“ Now that harp of mighty mem’ries—

Cambria’s harp of silvery strain—

Cambria’s harp that hath, for ages,

Held her peerless sovereign reign,

Hither greets the courtly chieftain,

Good Sir Ivor, to his home,

To the land of flood and mountain,

To his loved ancestral dome.”

But now we get jollier than ever, and our jovial Baptist Minister
declares that we shall make a night of it. We dare say that we have
often done so with duller fellows.

“ Fill the bowl with spic’d metheglin—

Wreath a garland fresh and fair—

Sing of Ivor Hael and Elaine—

’ Till the morn we ’ll banish care ;

Rose and lily, pansy, pink,

Violet, primrose, pimpernel,

From forest, field, and river’s brink,

From lofty mount and lowly dell,

Cull them.” “In a chaplet.” We have not the least objection to their
being culled, but somebody else must go after them. We prefer stopping
to drink metheglin (or, if we might put a name to our own choice,
rum-and-water; with our glad bard, Mr. Matthias. We thought he
would not miss his little joke about Guest, and why should he ?

“ Cull them-—a chaplet bright to weave
For our bonny bridal pair,

No honours too high to ‘ a Guest ’ can we give—

To a bridegroom so bright—and a bride so fair.

God speed, we wish you, and length of years,

And household gifts, both rich and rare,

And the King of Heaven in yonder spheres
At last receive you to reign with him there.”

This conclusion, put into a still longer metre, shows that the Reverend
Mr. Matthias, spite of ball and metheglin, and not going home till
morning, is mindful of his sacerdotal character. We believe him to be
a very good fellow, and very likely he is a capital and devoted minister,
and we hope that he has liberal deacons, who do not take the liberty of
lecturing him. We hinted at a condition. We 'will never say anything
more against the Eisteddfod, if it will annually turn out as jolly a poem
as Matthias’s welcome to Sir Ivor and Lady Guest. It has nevei
done so yet.

OUR FISH, FLESH, FOWL, AMD NATURAL HISTORY

COLUMN.

in fishing. Did you ever see the Scotch
Yours, Mac-Keel.

Macbeth? Nonsense, dogs can be taught,
Don’t try that on Londoners. Go bock

Sir,-—I am interested
Salmon Act, 1868.

[What do they act, eh ?
perhaps, but not salmon,
agen.—Ed.]

Sir,—I have just arrived from Africa and can corroborate all Mon-
sieur Du Ciiaillu’s stories. I have brought over a Gorilla. He is
six feet high, covered with hair, and with the strength of twenty men.
He is not a bit afraid of a gun, nor indeed will any but a peculiar
bullet, made for the purpose, pierce his horny hide. They say (at
least the natives do, who were glad enough to get rid of him, calling
him Gerangdar-squaslieeboo, or the Marauding Murderer) that he can.
be tamed. If so you are the man for the task. He will shake down
the strongest door, climb to any height, and is most uncertain-tempered,
the difficulty being to know when he is in play. Hoping you will
succeed with him, I am, Yours ever, Bouncer, R.M.

[We’ve just got the above letter, and regret to say that we shall not
be at home to receive the specimen, which must indeed be valuable :
so valuable, indeed, that we wouldn’t deprive you of it for the world.
We are going out of town for some days, and as the Clerk asked, we
couldn’t refuse him a holiday.—Ed.]

*** The packets, parcels, and hampers of fleas, mosquitoes, scorpions,
hornets (an entire nest, opened out of curiosity by the shop-boy, who
is rather a curiosity himself in consequence), frogs, lizards, toads,
beetles, snakes, hedgehogs, rats, mice, and Angola cats have been re-
ceived, and all turned into the Junior Clerk’s room ; they will be duly
attended to when he has opened them all, as he is bound, to do by the
terms of his agreement.

Reverendus says he knows it isn’t correct for a Parson to hunt;
but surely there would be no harm in a clergyman having a run with a
pack of Beadles ?

[Beagles, you-

-oh, you-!—Ed.]

(in unpaid letters) as “ Do
a fryingpan, or saucepan,

We shall not answer such questions
Cock-Salmon crow ? ” “ Is doing eggs m
poaching ? ”

“ Isn’t it,” asks A True Sportsman, “ the safest way to load with
small shot and a bullet ? Something must be killed, because if you miss
with the first you ’ll hit with the second, and vice versaa”

[True Sportsman’s a fool.—Ed.']

From the Moors.—We have heard no _ reports from the Moors,
owing either to the reports not being sufficiently loud, or to our being
still in London, which is some considerable distance from Scotland.—-
August 20th.

The Moors, August 'Find.—Unfavourable accounts received. Captain
Schottische writes to say that he is sorry he can’t send us any game
this year, having promised it all.

The Marquis of Shute begs to inform us, in answer to ours of the
17th, requesting a hamper of grouse, that he doesn’t intend giving any
away this year, as, being rather hara up, he finds the London and pro-
vincial-town markets infinitely more profitable.

[All right. Wait till you make a speech in the House. We ’ll
grouse you.—Sp. Ed.]

The Hon. Augustus Wadd is glad to say that his moor is most
prolific, but he is going to keep all himself, either for sale (which is the
fashion now, and a very good one, too), or for friends among the influ-
ential portion of his constituency. None for you.

[You will find, Mr. Wadd, that we are among the most influential
portion of any constituency. Better to dare the terrible Polypus hi his
shell (probably you don’t know anything about the Polypus, or of
your Horace, either) than us in our sanctum by not sending grouse.—
Sp. Ed.]