Punch (67.1874)

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64

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [August 1, 1874.

SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.”

(A RECOLLECTION OF GOODWOOD.)

SUMMER MANOEUVRES.

Lady Rusay has commenced a series of manoeuvres to get herself and girls
invited to the balls of Lady Haut Ton.

Captain Slyboots is manoeuvring every morning in the Park to get a chair
beside the charming widow Mbs. Moneybagge.

Mb. Snobling may be seen manoeuvring every night to place himself era
evidence among his swell acquaintance.

Miss Slasher is manoeuvring with all her might and main to persuade papa
to treat her to a pair of trotting ponies.

Mr. Sponge has just begun his yearly course of stale manoeuvres to get invited
| to the Moors, and afterwards to Norfolk, for the coming shooting season.

Captain Crackshot is manoeuvring to get a pot of money laid against his
gun in the match with Ensign Dufferton.

Tommy Tufthunt has for weeks been manoeuvring at his Club to get invited
to a drive upon the drag of his old college chum Lord Swellborough.

Mr. Harduppe is manoeuvring to keep his tradesmen tranquil until the
Long Yacation.

Miss Prettipet goes on manoeuvring at every croquet party to play in the
same set with the Reverend Mr. Rubricon.

Mr. Dodger, is engaged in some political manoeuvres to get the promise of a
place for his wife’s nephew, Mr. Rattenham.

Mr. Prattlewell may he found manoeuvring, wherever he may dine, to get
an opportunity for telling his old stories.

Charley Spoonley is engaged in manoeuvring day and night to get asked to
halls or dinners where he thinks he has a chance of meeting Clara Sweetlippes.

Lady de Montmorency Skynflynt is now actively manoeuvring a battalion
of her daughters, with a view to storm the heart (and loot) of Colonel Croesus.

Between Dog and Man.

That tale of a fight between dwarf and hull-terrier,
As the Telegraph lately received it,

Did Greenwood invent it, to make his news merrier ?
No: green would he he who believed it.

East and West.—■“ Wot ’s all this here bother about turning East ? ” said an
ex-Churchwarden of the old school. “ I thought the difference was all about
Westments.”

LUSK ET LUX.

(Letters and Arts feasted by the Lord Mayor at the
Mansion House, July 21st, 1874.)

Letters and Arts asked to taste civic turtle !

Rich grains of mind clean winnowed from the husk!
The poets’, painters’, singers’ hays and myrtle

Twined with your civic laurels, Lord Mayor Lusk !
’Tis well one hard, with not too many a wrinkle,

Of lettered statesmanship the flag could bear,

Telling how Vivian Grey, M.P., could twinkle,

To shine, “ Premier des Premiers,” as Lothair.

But Houghton—Punch feels doubts about the title
By which he on Sir Andrew’s right appears—

Is that high place of honour the requital
Of Peer ’mong poets—Poet among peers ?

Why ask ? All own he plays well either part,

Sustains both ranks—still cordial, good at, need;

Who never lets the hand gainsay the heart
Ready to crown kind word with kinder deed.

He knew Great Alfred in his dawn at Trinity,

And heard the prelude of his glorious chimes :

Lives to be startled from his equanimity
By Swinburne’s loose Muse, sans reproche—for
rhymes:

From boyish memories he can give description
Of Catalani’s trumpet-tones at York,

To the strange concert, for the Hall Egyptian,

Of Titjen’s, Nilsson’s, Patti’s knife and fork !

Wondrous conjunction ! Three such stars bid glow
In one night and one heaven, yet bode no dread,

No earthquake shaking operas here below !

So Lora Mayors rush where Lessees fear to tread.

And lesser lights were there, names known of men,
Each a great planet in its proper sky
Of verse or prose, form, colour, or sweet sound,

Gathered to make up Lusk a galaxy !

The crafts the Times once cuffed they now caress ;

Grub Street ’sgone, with its scribes, tattered and lean,
The bulk their bed, the blanket oft their dress—

Cave’s beef to Johnson thrust behind the screen.

Now Arts and Letters defy bankrupt’s dockets—

Are paid and pay : i’ the City sit at ease :

Men, in good coats, with money in both pockets :

Ladies, with diamonds as big as peas !

What fogy asks has Art risen with the price of it ?

If “ lejeu vaut la chandelle ” hints a doubt:

Were the cake in his reach he’d take a slice of it:

’Tis not from one of the well-paid, that flout.

Art ne’er had so much honour, so much money,

So many diamonds, since ’twas first a sinner;

Never had so much treacle, sugar, honey—

All sorts of sweet things—ending with Lusk s dinner!

0 yes, the City loves Art—is possessor

Of a large stock-in-trade of works of mind.

But who’s this out-at-elbows Art-professor
Whom I hear yonder, grumblingly inclined ?

“ What is your money to my untold treasure,

By me, Paul Penniless, bought for a song,

A verse, a picture—wealth, yours cannot measure,

To whom both Easts—London’s and Earth’s—belong ! ;

“ Money is good, and Lord Mayors’ invitations, j

Well meant, well given, and kindly ta’en as offered ; :
But there’s no gold-gauge for mind-mensuration,

Nor is Art paid for when cash-price is proffered:
Money, the saw says, will make Mayors to go ;

Mayors it may, but not Artists nor their Arts ;

Or with the cash now Art-wards bid to flow.

More of Art’s life-blood would run in our hearts.

“ Men talk of merchant-princes, cities fair
Where Art and Commerce once walked hand m hand,
Serene and stately sisters, in warm air,

By sapphire sea, on marble-terraced, strand.

Alas ! no Venice, Florence,, here can rise,

For all our money, Mansion House, and Mayor
Money-grubs you, we money-butterflies,

Who buzz to-day—to-morrow shall be where r