Punch (67.1874)

August 29, 1874.]

PUNCH, OK THE LONDOIN CHAKIVAKI,

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“BAZAINE’S ESCAPE”

(The Mystery made clear in a Talk with Punch.)

By R-B-KT BK-WN-NG.

EUEND Punch ?
The man for
me! Permit
me, Sir.

Let world go
wag what bit
of heard it
boasts ;

To you, old
white wise-
acre, hunch
on back,
This flight
that flusters
France, sets
cocks a-crow
On every mid-
den - muck
’twixt here
and Dan—
(For aptly call
we not this
raw retreat

You know so well—don’t others wish they did ?—

Beersheba ?)—0 to you—incline ear close—

Not nose, old Nincum, now—right ear, I say—

(And prithee prick what sense hath seat inside)—

As plain I mean to make as staff of pike.

Begin, then, at beginning, end at end.

This Isle I fled from . . . nay, but stop a bit . . .
Marguerite it names itself ; what means such name
You know ; what did, or didn’t do, perhaps,

The Serpent of old Nile with pearl and Punch
But mix them both together, drain them down ?

Marguerite the pearl, as Punch the punch ; but how
Get pearl, old Punch, from oyster sunk i’ the slush
O’ the bed that has no bolster, blind as bat ?

You will not tell me F Why should I tell you
What beats all getting out or getting in
Of bed, if that’s your word, on land or lymph—

This flight of mine from Isle Sainte Marguerite ?

Keep chine to chair, though, and I ’ll tell you all,

As Kikero said to Thrasuboulos once,

Or Chawah, Mother of Men, to Khoung-eou -tsee.

—How ’scaped I ? say you, I, no spider-speck,—

Body o’ me, face o’ me, legs o’ me too for that
One monstrous aluteus maximus, fat and flesh,

(Unable out of Metz to bunk or bounce)—

From out those window-bars would squeeze a shrimp,

In that fair island of Sainte Marguerite ?

Nip nose from nod of sleep and you shall hear.

Old Wag, you’ve seen the world, and know, I think,

The little slip o’ the snow, to the finger-tips,

One—so to speak—immaculosity,

On half the window-panes and half the walls
Of churches Catholic and candle-warm,

That hold on spit of spire, so prompt to spin
At touch o’ the blast, the cock o’ the weather—(say
Of France—you catch me there, close all escape)—

You know that little Thing, wool-white, I say-

Whom mean I ? AVhom but our Sainte Marguerite—

(Go read her legend if you doubt my tip)—

On half the window-panes and walls of church
And chapel. Look, I draw the picture thus,

You see there :—One great gape of devil’s gob
Blacker i’ the gulp o’ the gorge than beastliest blot
Of ink e’er spat from cuttle o’er our friend,

That pure pearl-oyster, whom you ’ll not forget,

At cool sea-bottom— to come back to him—

With, right i’ the middle o’ the throat-thing, just a twist,

A curlicue—to call it what it is—

(Can’t spell it for the life o’ me, though, can you ?)—

A kind of curl of calico, so to speak,

Protrudes, last poor rag o’ the robe o’ the Saint,

Just, as it seems, a-swallowed by the Beast,

But perch’d as safe and sweet as swan on stream—

(The Saint, I mean, small curl of calico, no!)—

Right on the kind of head that brings the Brute
To something like an end this side the tail.

Three ’scapes—from oyster, pearl; from devil’s gulp,
Sainte Marguerite; from bars would squeeze a shrimp,

I. And you have it all, from end to end,

Old Punch, as Toby knows, or never trust
Or wink of eye or wag of tail again.

Ta, ta. Tell others ? Whom you will. Ta, ta.

I shall go stroll i’ the square ; you know the name.
Or—don’t know! What’s the odds ? I kiss my hand.

He shuts-to door. Who’s knave now, he or IP

GUN NEWS FROM THE MOORS.

“ Dktjmliegate.—It would almost seem that sport will have to be given
up. Yesterday was worse than Wednesday. Twenty gentlemen have only
got one bird among them. Rain has come down freely, stopping the harvest,
and making the moors all but impassable. There is some talk of giving up
shooting.”

This is about the average of the contents of each (post) bag from
our unhappy friends on the Scotch moors passim! “It would
almost seem ” (one would suppose that you might drop the “ almost”)
“that sport will have to be given up” ! Sport! Well, of all the
bitter things “wrote sarcastic”! “Twenty gentlemen have only
got one bird,” &c., that is, the fortieth part of a brace to each gun.
Mark, too, “only one bird among them.” The presumption is
strong that if there had not been twenty sportsmen on the moor,
that solitary bird would still have survived. Perhaps he was
blazed away at, regularly enfiladed, by twenty double barrels.
How ever did they manage to pick up the pieces ? “ Yesterday was
worse than Wednesday.” Not knowing what Wednesday was, we
can’t say what “ yesterday ” may have been; but probably it was
only to be described as worse than bad. Yet how indomitable is the
spirit of the true British sportsman ! Under all this, there is only
“ some talk of giving up shooting.” “ Talk,” we suppose, will be
reduced to “act” when the moors have become wholly, instead of
“ all but ” impassable, and the shooting absolutely impossible.
Meantime, as things go, one bird per diem to twenty guns is not such
bad “ sport.” At least, it might have been worse. There might
have been none at all!

A LITTLE LAY OF LINCOLN.

{Arrangedfor Two Voices.)

The Very Reverend C. Lincoln to the not in the least reverend

H. Keet.

“ My good Wesleyan friend, you’re extremely obtuse,

And stand sorely in need of an orthodox teacher.

Pray believe me there’s nothing like ‘ primitive use ’ :—

Go to Wesley himself, and he ’ll dub you a ‘ preacher.’ ”

The Generally styled Reverend H. Keet to the Very Reverend

C. Lincoln.

“ Very well, my Lord Bishop ; go back, if you will;—

Since antiquity furnishes matter to think on :—

To that primitive age, when your Grace had fared ill,

If ‘ five thousand a-year ’ be your figure for Lincoln !

“ If since the Episcopate’s primitive dawn
Better salaries wait on Episcopal labour,

A well-paid Right Rev’rend., in purple and lawn,

Might the bare Rev’rend grant to a Wesleyan neighbour.”

So Very Simple!

On your head place a diver’s helmet.

On your hands wear steel gauntlets.

On your feet put spiked fishing-boots.

On your Breast fix a small railway-buffer.

Stand firmly with your back touching a stone-wall.

And then you may fire the Martini- Henry Rifle with some chance
of not finding your shoulder black and blue, your cheek bleeding, or
yourself knocked on your back, from recoil and kick together.

A BRILLIANT IDEA.

How, it is asked, did Fireworks first get associated with Regattas ?
Probably by the idea, with an eye to contrast, that fireworks would
go off well after waterworks. At the Crystal Palace fire and water
work in harmony with most brilliant effect.

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“ Populous Places.”—Ant-hills.