Punch: Punch (60.1871)

February 4, 1871.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

49

NEAT, BUT ALSO GAUDY.

Punch has more than
once signified his
opinion of his con-
temporary called
Public Opinion, '' A
gatherer and dis-
poser of other men's
scraps," it usually
empties a wallet of
acceptable matter,
and is especially to
be commended for its
extracts and trans-
lations from foreign
papers. Even the
Turkish and Arabic
organs, the Pah at el
Halkam, and the
Mafesch, are looked
after, by some eru-
dite member of the
staff, and their Ma-
hometan mumblings
are translated for us.
Thus far we have
only praise for P. O.
But it has a depart-
ment devoted to the
lucubrations of amateur correspondents, and truly we wish that
these articles could be eliminated, and their place filled with
something readable. For of all the bumptious bores who afflict
the public, P. O.'s correspondents are the biggest. They are ex-
ceptionally a nuisance. Yet to the exceptionals there is exception.
If the following letter has not slipped from under its proper head-
ing "Amusing," the vigilant sub-editor must have been at fault
in sticking it amid the pretentious dulnesses of other correspondents.

Sib,—The bombardment of Paris is a piece of savagery which it is the
sacred duty of neutral Cabinets possessing an ounce of manliness to prepare
themselves to avenge by a compact coalition against the brutal and thievish
stratocracy of Germania, led on by the accursed blood-spiller and lying blood-
hound of Prussia—now the mushroom Emperor of Teutons—and his Chan-
cellor Bismarck, the most unmitigated scoundrel and blackguard that ever
called himself, or was called, a statesman.—Tour faithful servant,
Stratford, E. Edmund Neate.

If this style is after the present school of Stratford atte le Bow,
we hope that academy will long prosper, for the diversion of man-
kind. And if our friend P. O.'s other correspondents were a tenth
part as entertaining as the impetuous Mr. Neate, we should not
recommend the editor (as we respectfully do) to '' reform them
altogether." See what disturbance such a writer causes in Europe.
"We know that in consequence of his letter, the German Emperor
has abdicated, Count von Bismarck has gone into a monastery, and
all the " Teutons" are preparing to emigrate, under assumed name?.

A GEM OF A WITNESS.

We admire Testimonials, whether presents or letters, and we
believe implicitly in all the merits which they reward or proclaim.
Here is a lovely one, of the literary kind. We take it from a
chiropodist's advertisement.

"Four or five years ago, Mr. ***** successfully extracted several corns
from my feet, without pain, as also a member of my family, which have not
returned since that time."

We have not the least idea as to what has happened to this
gentleman, but whatever it is we believe it, and especially con-
gratulate him on the non-return of a member of his family. For
one's relations are often as much bother as one's corns—and won't
always be cut.

The Present Art of Poetry.

Write a profusion of rhythmical and melodious nonsense, amidst
which, at distant intervals, here and there introduce an intelligible
line. The dullest idea therein expressed will shine like a star amid
surrounding darkness.

a want in the statute-book.

A xaw should be passed without any further delay, early in the
coming Session, if possible, making the importation into this afflicted
country of foreign street musicians—contraband.

" CALL OFF THE DOGS ! "

"... At his heels
Shall Famine, Sword, and Fire, leashed in like hounds,
Crouch for employment."

Shakspeare, Henry Y., Chorus Act I,

Count-Huntsman, wind a mort—Tahaut, tahaut!

The stubborn quarry stands no more at bay :
With blood-fleck'd sides, great eyes of pride and woe,

That half disclaim the pity which they pray,
Faint and fore-spent, he strives, in spite of wounds,

To bear a brave show of defiance still,
And to the onset of these eager hounds

Opposes barrier of a desperate will.

Had royal hunter e'er more royal game.

Than this that these trained war-dogs have pulled dows.
While his hosts crowned their master, by the name

Of Kaiser, with the Reich's Imperial Crown ?
Was e'er great hart more staunchly run to death,

After long agony of hopeless fight,
Than this, that now draws agonising breath,

With draggled skin, and eyes of tearful light ?

A thing it seemed for pleasance of a Queen,—

Formed to add loveliness of moving life
To the still beauty of some woodland scene ;

Daintily nurtured, for no sterner strife
Than that of white hands, vying which should wreathe

The stately crest or stroke the glossy side ;
No ruder breath than summer 's wont to breathe,

Nor worse chace than fair- ladylove's to bide—

Not fit to face these war-dogs, chested deep,

Strong-limbed, steel-sinewed, silent, tough and true;
Whose ranged jaws spring-like shut and vice-like keep ;

Muzzled and eyed to hunt by scent or view :
And the more wonderful, that, war's work o'er,

More docile beasts ne'er guarded house or herd ;
More patient drudges ne'er all labour bore

That masters' cunning has to dogs transferred.

But nought save war-dogs' training now they show,

With hot breath and hoarse bay and savage bound
Circling their over-matched and out-worn foe,

That rests a torn flank on the bloody ground,
Betraying what defiance fain would hide,

That strength no more can wage unequal strife,
Yet to ill-fortune scarce can conquer pride,

And unto hounds or huntsmen sue for life.

Well has the quarry striven, and, lacking skill

Of fence, yet done its best to use its tines,
With thrusts too short, yet swift and sharp to kill,

But baffled by the hunter's cunning lines,
Tripped and entangled in the toils it lay,

And the fierce dogs leapt on it, one and all,
Which, blind and bleeding, still 'twould shake away,

Stagg'ring to feet again, again to fall.

Till the strength wasted, and the raw wounds chilled,

All the more, when to aid the war-dog Sword
Came his fierce fellows, Fire that is not filled,

And Famine, hound of Hell, lean and abhorred :
And for the task that shot and steel defied,

Famine and Fire out of the leash were sprung,
And fixed their fangs in the sore-wounded side,

And on the bleeding flanks and fore-hand hung.

And now the work is wrought—the hunt is done :

Hunter and hunted both may count the cost;
They, what the strength or glory they have won,

It what the worth of all that it has lost.
Call off thy dogs, 0 huntsman stern and strong,

With life, at least, let up thy bleeding prey ;
Couple thy war-hounds—who knows for how long,

Or what the chace that next shall hear their bay !

There have been hunters, famous ones of old,

Rent by their own dogs, by a master rash
Aroused to strange wrath under too tight hold

Of leash, too savage smiting of the lash.
Kaiser for King thou art; but they that gave

Imperial robe and crown can take away ;
Strength based on fraud or force still finds its grave

Dug by the hands that vied its base to lay.