DOI Heft:
November 21, 1868
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16882#0220
214
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [November 21, 18G8.
MUSTERING FOR THE MELEE.
ECHOES OE THE ELECTION.
IT ROM Lizard. Point to Jolm o’Groat’s, from Pair Head to Cape Clear,
Tis slogan cry, and brass blown high, chink of metal, flow' of beer;
Por the Great Tilt of the Session, the Electors’ lists are dight,
And, in cognisance and colour, are mustering squire and knight.
Chief of the knights defenders, arrayed to hold the field,
Sir Benjamin D’Israeli on high hath hung his shield;
Party-per-pale its colours, its device a rope of sand,
And the legend—
“ figljtcs at gc bcstc that figljtrs for Jjis ohmc tjantJE.’*
Bound him, in their pavilions, his knights companions see,
Sir John de Pakington-le-Nez, Sir Gaythorne-le-Hardl
Northcote, and Patten, and Ward Hunt, but late a simple squire,
And, tower of strength, Lord Stanley, cool son of heady sire.
What need to tell howto these strengths others bring ancient names.
Manners and Richmond, Ciiandos and Marlborough—here be
claims !
And what if somewhat slackly they sit or rashly ride,
j They charge with weight of ancestry, and acreage beside.
Now shields are hung and gages flung, and armourer-worlc’s complete ;
Targe braced, helm laced, ’tis time, I trow, each knight tvere in his seat;
But oh ! ’tis heavy heaving, aud many a hitch and fall.
Ere, fast and free, in saddle-tree, they are mounted one and all.
Nor then ’tis easy guiding those steeds with bit or spur:
Some fling out viciously behind, and some refuse to stir . . .
Though the dark hand of D’Israeli show the course he’d have them ride,
Some back, some bolt, some, bit in teeth, are circling wild and wide.
Little look these defenders like knights to hold a field,
Spite of broidery on housings and blazonry on shield.
’Tis many men and many minds, there where one mind should rule:
He may be a mighty master, but there’s murmuring in the school.
Not such the show where far below on the tourney’s level field, _
Are mustered the knights challengers to strike the defenders’ shield,
To break their lusty lances, fair England’s grace to win,
As she bows the unhorsed defenders out and the challengers bows in !
Chief of those lusty challengers, grim, gaunt, but blithe of cheer.
Curvets the gallant Gladstone upon his great destrere:
Sat ever warrior in selle so like a tower of steel ?
Trod ever steed so stately, or so answered hand and heel ?
His shield is white, and fair to sight displays a rising sun,
And for legend “ Lucem aff'ero ! ” around, in gold, doth run ;
And his lance is like a weaver’s beam, but, in his stalwart hand,
He sways and sweeps it lightly, as a child a hazel wand.
At Gladstone’s side, feet planted wide, broad-shouldered, square, and
stout,
John Bright, that sturdy swordsman, flings his two-hand blade about:
’Ware swashing blow1, or friend or foe, that comes within its sweep,
It swings wider than he’s ’ware of, and its edge cuts keen and deep.
And there a knot of gallant youths that their spurs have early won,
W ho take no glory from a sire, but will leave it to a son;
Bolster, and Bruce, and Stanseeld, and Childers, good at need,
Bony and bright their coursers, though with no boast of breed.
As the curtain rises, a vast mob is seen in a frantic state of excite-
ment. Wild shouts.
Mr. Gladstone. Economy, Justice, Reform ! (Loud cheers.)
Mr. Disraeli. The Church! The Constitution ! (Loud cheers.)
Mr. Mill. Conin giiam shan’t stand for Brighton !
Mr. Conyngham. Who are you?
Mr. Bouverie. Yes, ask him that!
Mr. Laboucliere. Lord Enfield acts like a sneak !
Lord Enfield. Mr. Labouchere speaks falsely !
Mr. Homer. Beer, beer, any beer ?
Sir John Bakington. Hooray for the Little Bairy Actress !
Mr. Bell. No money-chaDgers in the temple !
Baron Ltolhschild. That bell is cracked!
Mr. Bright. Peace, economy, freedom!
Mr. Lloyd. Who opposed the Pactories Bill, Yah !
Mr. W. LL. Liussell. The Irish want to seize the land !
Mr. Dillce. N one of your Breaks here !
Alderman Lusk. I don’t think much of the Elgin marbles !
Mr. Cox. W'ho spent £8,000 on his election ?
Sir LL. Bulwer. 1 saved you from three wars !
Mr. Salisbury. Charge, Chester, charge !
Lord Stanley. Let well aloue !
Sir B. Carden. Gladstone’s motive is jealousy of Disraeli 1
Mr. Coleridge. Abolish the flogging of soldiers and sailors !
Sir LL. Hoare. I wish I was Hoare the Banker!
L,ord George Hamilton. I shall get older every day !
Mr. C. Waring. 1 have nothing to do with the Doulton affair!
Mr. Merewether. Never tamper with grand institutions !
Mr. LLarvey Lewis. Hooray for a National Rate !
Mr. Goschen. Who’s that shying Beans ?
Lord Mayor Lawrence. I do desire a divided duty !
Mr. Miall. Sever Church from State !
Sir John Trelawny. Mitigate the Game Laws !
Mr. Llenry James. Be just and fear not!
Sir George Bowyer. Hurrah for the Pope and the Queen !
Mr. Bradlaugh. Down with all religions !
Mr. Layard. Dizzy is a great Artful Dodger!
Sir Rouudell Baimer. Oxford’s too bigoted for me!
Mr. Odger. The swells won’t let a workman stand !
Mr. Buxton. There will be no more wars !
Mr. Hardman. Who persecuted Governor Eyre ?
Mr. Whalley. Everybody’s a Jesuit except me !
Jj)rd Amberley. No large families !
Mr. Mill. Bravo ! they are crimes!
Lord John Manners. I cleaned the Regent’s Park lake !
Capt. Sherard Osborn. Reform in the N avy !
Mr. Vernon Harcourt. Choose no cuss but Historicus !
Mr. LL Osborne. Plog Garotters! Pull libellers’noses!
Mr. Reardon. Who ’ll have a donkey ?
Mr. Roebuck. No ingratitude. No ratteners !
Mr. Beales. Choose the Tribune of the People !
Mr. Torrens. Better homes for workmen !
Mr. Eerrand. All Liberals are scoundrels !
Dr. Sandwith. I doctored at Kars !
Mr. O'Beirne. Reform your Dockyards !
Mr. Torn Hughes. Educate everybody !
The Speaker. Teach Latin, but not Greek !
Sir S. Walerlow. Build model lodging-houses !
Mr. Clay. Moderation—toleration—progress !
Mr. A. Trollope. Irish Church. Can You Porgive Her ? No !
Mr. Merry. Nine to one on Gladdy in ponies !
Mr. Bunch. Go it, my boys, and may the best men win !
And with these youth are veterans, seamed with old battle-scars,
'Whose delight is tilt and tourney, aud talk of ancient wars :
Aud philosophic heads are here that in helmets strangely show—
Mild Mill, and Pawcett needing uot eyes’ help to find the foe.
N ow speed you, lusty challengers, for God and your good cause,
The ennobling England’s statecraft, and amending England’s laws.
The lists are clear, the hour is here— the hour and eke the man!
Charge, gallants, charge, on either part, and let him win who can!
None so Blind as Those that Won’t See.
W E are informed that inquiries into alleged levyings of blackmail
and other acts of connivance of the police, in connection with the
night-houses and other kindred iniquities of the Haymarket, have
caused the removal to other beats of three Inspectors and several
constables of the C. Division.
These delinquents, we presume, have been found to belong, not so
much to the C, as to the wont-see division, which grumblers say, is
gradually getting to be the largest in the Mayne-Porce.
Books not Yet in the Press.
A Spendthrift Tight. A Novel, by the Author of A Screw Lope.
Fish all Alive. A Tale of thrilling interest, by the Author of Dead Sea
Fruit.
Hate the Forgiver. A Romance, by the writer of Love the Avenger.
Gone to See. A Sensation Story, by the Author of Run to Earth.
The Death Struggle. A Sequel to A Fight for Life.
candidates for the county crop.
Cads, intending to satirise chignons, have taken to insult ladies in
the street by crying, “ 1 ’ll have your hair ! ” It never occurs to them
that their own hair will, perhaps, be shortly taken by the shaver to
the House of Correction.
Toast of Pemale Suffrage.—The Chignon at the Poll.
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [November 21, 18G8.
MUSTERING FOR THE MELEE.
ECHOES OE THE ELECTION.
IT ROM Lizard. Point to Jolm o’Groat’s, from Pair Head to Cape Clear,
Tis slogan cry, and brass blown high, chink of metal, flow' of beer;
Por the Great Tilt of the Session, the Electors’ lists are dight,
And, in cognisance and colour, are mustering squire and knight.
Chief of the knights defenders, arrayed to hold the field,
Sir Benjamin D’Israeli on high hath hung his shield;
Party-per-pale its colours, its device a rope of sand,
And the legend—
“ figljtcs at gc bcstc that figljtrs for Jjis ohmc tjantJE.’*
Bound him, in their pavilions, his knights companions see,
Sir John de Pakington-le-Nez, Sir Gaythorne-le-Hardl
Northcote, and Patten, and Ward Hunt, but late a simple squire,
And, tower of strength, Lord Stanley, cool son of heady sire.
What need to tell howto these strengths others bring ancient names.
Manners and Richmond, Ciiandos and Marlborough—here be
claims !
And what if somewhat slackly they sit or rashly ride,
j They charge with weight of ancestry, and acreage beside.
Now shields are hung and gages flung, and armourer-worlc’s complete ;
Targe braced, helm laced, ’tis time, I trow, each knight tvere in his seat;
But oh ! ’tis heavy heaving, aud many a hitch and fall.
Ere, fast and free, in saddle-tree, they are mounted one and all.
Nor then ’tis easy guiding those steeds with bit or spur:
Some fling out viciously behind, and some refuse to stir . . .
Though the dark hand of D’Israeli show the course he’d have them ride,
Some back, some bolt, some, bit in teeth, are circling wild and wide.
Little look these defenders like knights to hold a field,
Spite of broidery on housings and blazonry on shield.
’Tis many men and many minds, there where one mind should rule:
He may be a mighty master, but there’s murmuring in the school.
Not such the show where far below on the tourney’s level field, _
Are mustered the knights challengers to strike the defenders’ shield,
To break their lusty lances, fair England’s grace to win,
As she bows the unhorsed defenders out and the challengers bows in !
Chief of those lusty challengers, grim, gaunt, but blithe of cheer.
Curvets the gallant Gladstone upon his great destrere:
Sat ever warrior in selle so like a tower of steel ?
Trod ever steed so stately, or so answered hand and heel ?
His shield is white, and fair to sight displays a rising sun,
And for legend “ Lucem aff'ero ! ” around, in gold, doth run ;
And his lance is like a weaver’s beam, but, in his stalwart hand,
He sways and sweeps it lightly, as a child a hazel wand.
At Gladstone’s side, feet planted wide, broad-shouldered, square, and
stout,
John Bright, that sturdy swordsman, flings his two-hand blade about:
’Ware swashing blow1, or friend or foe, that comes within its sweep,
It swings wider than he’s ’ware of, and its edge cuts keen and deep.
And there a knot of gallant youths that their spurs have early won,
W ho take no glory from a sire, but will leave it to a son;
Bolster, and Bruce, and Stanseeld, and Childers, good at need,
Bony and bright their coursers, though with no boast of breed.
As the curtain rises, a vast mob is seen in a frantic state of excite-
ment. Wild shouts.
Mr. Gladstone. Economy, Justice, Reform ! (Loud cheers.)
Mr. Disraeli. The Church! The Constitution ! (Loud cheers.)
Mr. Mill. Conin giiam shan’t stand for Brighton !
Mr. Conyngham. Who are you?
Mr. Bouverie. Yes, ask him that!
Mr. Laboucliere. Lord Enfield acts like a sneak !
Lord Enfield. Mr. Labouchere speaks falsely !
Mr. Homer. Beer, beer, any beer ?
Sir John Bakington. Hooray for the Little Bairy Actress !
Mr. Bell. No money-chaDgers in the temple !
Baron Ltolhschild. That bell is cracked!
Mr. Bright. Peace, economy, freedom!
Mr. Lloyd. Who opposed the Pactories Bill, Yah !
Mr. W. LL. Liussell. The Irish want to seize the land !
Mr. Dillce. N one of your Breaks here !
Alderman Lusk. I don’t think much of the Elgin marbles !
Mr. Cox. W'ho spent £8,000 on his election ?
Sir LL. Bulwer. 1 saved you from three wars !
Mr. Salisbury. Charge, Chester, charge !
Lord Stanley. Let well aloue !
Sir B. Carden. Gladstone’s motive is jealousy of Disraeli 1
Mr. Coleridge. Abolish the flogging of soldiers and sailors !
Sir LL. Hoare. I wish I was Hoare the Banker!
L,ord George Hamilton. I shall get older every day !
Mr. C. Waring. 1 have nothing to do with the Doulton affair!
Mr. Merewether. Never tamper with grand institutions !
Mr. LLarvey Lewis. Hooray for a National Rate !
Mr. Goschen. Who’s that shying Beans ?
Lord Mayor Lawrence. I do desire a divided duty !
Mr. Miall. Sever Church from State !
Sir John Trelawny. Mitigate the Game Laws !
Mr. Llenry James. Be just and fear not!
Sir George Bowyer. Hurrah for the Pope and the Queen !
Mr. Bradlaugh. Down with all religions !
Mr. Layard. Dizzy is a great Artful Dodger!
Sir Rouudell Baimer. Oxford’s too bigoted for me!
Mr. Odger. The swells won’t let a workman stand !
Mr. Buxton. There will be no more wars !
Mr. Hardman. Who persecuted Governor Eyre ?
Mr. Whalley. Everybody’s a Jesuit except me !
Jj)rd Amberley. No large families !
Mr. Mill. Bravo ! they are crimes!
Lord John Manners. I cleaned the Regent’s Park lake !
Capt. Sherard Osborn. Reform in the N avy !
Mr. Vernon Harcourt. Choose no cuss but Historicus !
Mr. LL Osborne. Plog Garotters! Pull libellers’noses!
Mr. Reardon. Who ’ll have a donkey ?
Mr. Roebuck. No ingratitude. No ratteners !
Mr. Beales. Choose the Tribune of the People !
Mr. Torrens. Better homes for workmen !
Mr. Eerrand. All Liberals are scoundrels !
Dr. Sandwith. I doctored at Kars !
Mr. O'Beirne. Reform your Dockyards !
Mr. Torn Hughes. Educate everybody !
The Speaker. Teach Latin, but not Greek !
Sir S. Walerlow. Build model lodging-houses !
Mr. Clay. Moderation—toleration—progress !
Mr. A. Trollope. Irish Church. Can You Porgive Her ? No !
Mr. Merry. Nine to one on Gladdy in ponies !
Mr. Bunch. Go it, my boys, and may the best men win !
And with these youth are veterans, seamed with old battle-scars,
'Whose delight is tilt and tourney, aud talk of ancient wars :
Aud philosophic heads are here that in helmets strangely show—
Mild Mill, and Pawcett needing uot eyes’ help to find the foe.
N ow speed you, lusty challengers, for God and your good cause,
The ennobling England’s statecraft, and amending England’s laws.
The lists are clear, the hour is here— the hour and eke the man!
Charge, gallants, charge, on either part, and let him win who can!
None so Blind as Those that Won’t See.
W E are informed that inquiries into alleged levyings of blackmail
and other acts of connivance of the police, in connection with the
night-houses and other kindred iniquities of the Haymarket, have
caused the removal to other beats of three Inspectors and several
constables of the C. Division.
These delinquents, we presume, have been found to belong, not so
much to the C, as to the wont-see division, which grumblers say, is
gradually getting to be the largest in the Mayne-Porce.
Books not Yet in the Press.
A Spendthrift Tight. A Novel, by the Author of A Screw Lope.
Fish all Alive. A Tale of thrilling interest, by the Author of Dead Sea
Fruit.
Hate the Forgiver. A Romance, by the writer of Love the Avenger.
Gone to See. A Sensation Story, by the Author of Run to Earth.
The Death Struggle. A Sequel to A Fight for Life.
candidates for the county crop.
Cads, intending to satirise chignons, have taken to insult ladies in
the street by crying, “ 1 ’ll have your hair ! ” It never occurs to them
that their own hair will, perhaps, be shortly taken by the shaver to
the House of Correction.
Toast of Pemale Suffrage.—The Chignon at the Poll.