Punch (73.1877)

September 22, 1877.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON

CHARIVARI.

123

EX FUMO DARE LUCEM.

At the Smoking Tub. "H.M.S. Twizzler."
Irish Naval Surgeon {on the Wrongs of his Profession). "Bed ad! thin it's

JUST THIS—THEY'kE THRYIN' TO GET US as chape AS THEY can—and they
CANNT DO ut ! "

CADS IN KENT.

There is generally something in what the divine Williams says, or makes
his characters say. In the Second Part of Henry the Fourth a personage
remarks that—

" Kent, in the Commentaries C^sar writ,
Is term'd the civill'st place of all this isle."

The suggestion that Kent might still retain the character given it by C^sae,
follows. Perhaps the Kentish people still excel in civility, as a rule. But the
reception given to passengers arriving from Boulogne appears to prove the folk,
or a portion of the folk, of Folkestone an exception. Can it be that they are
distinguished by their deficiency in this respect from the inhabitants of Dover ?
It is truly said that civility costs nothing. The converse also is true, and it is
possible to lose by rudeness. Unfortunately, too, it is possible to make others
lose. Hotel-keepers and tradesmen are interested in a question which concerns
travellers, and may have a material interest in determining choice of route. Is
it impossible that a public meeting conld be held at Folkestone to take measures
for deterring the Cads of that town from brutal behaviour ?

LATEST THUNDER FROM THE VATICAN.
Oh, my gracious, Mr. Punch, do just look at this!

" Bishop O'Connell, of California, has announced to his congregations that, according
to instructions received from Rome, no Roman Catholic can participate in round dances,
under pain of mortal sin."

Goodness! Only fancy being wicked if one -waltzes! How thankful
one should be that one is not a Roman Catholic, at least if one is fond of
"participating in round dances!" If such instructions come to London, as
well as California, I guess the Cardinal will not make many converts here next
season, at least among young Ladies, like, Yours, truly,

Angelina.

P.S. What a lovely phrase for a Gentleman to use!—"May I have the
pleasure of participating in a round dance with you ? "

mm*

War's horror at its worst, the seeds of change
Darkly at work for Nations, Churches, Kings,

What is there in an old man's death so strange
To give it rank among eventful things ?

Nor King is he, nor President, nor Pope ;

He holds nor sword of strength, nor keys of power ;
Hangs on his life nor world-wide fear nor hope ;

H'Jie was e'er " The Man," long past his Hour.

Yet but one Statesman's exit, and no King's,
Could give such theme for thought, and tongue, and

.Pen'

As this small eighty-years-old bourgeois's brings
The lightest hearts, and quickest wits, of men.

France, save the fraction that flings filth for flowers,

Utters one voice of sorrowing regret
O'er him who gave her his long manhood's powers,

Whom Death, at eighty, found her soldier yet,

Unbowed beneath the burden of fourscore,
Donning his armour for the self-same fight

In which, a stripling, erst the flag he bore
Of Might enthroned in Power, with Law-based Right.

What wonder France should sorrow so for him
Who scorned what she scorns, held what she holds
dear;

Whose quick sense saw no truth, while it was dim,
Content to rest in half-truth, while 'twas clear,

The sharpest-shaping, keenest-biting wit
That kept alive the memory of Voltaire ;

Most French of Frenchmen, apt with phrase to fit
The unspoke sentiment that filled the air,

So giving it the concrete life that moulds
A Party's purpose, People's mood, to Act;

Finding, at need, the wanted word that holds
A Nation's fancy, till it turns to fact.

Against such gifts, what was it that his pen
At times postponed harsh truth to happy phrase ?

If, when he ministered as chief of men,
The Statesman grasped at times the meaner praise

Of winning cleverly, than on the square ?

The Jury he appealed to were his peers ;
His history was their legend, written f air ;

His spice of false won for his truth their ears.'

Nor only France he glassed, in fleck and flaw;

From youth he was the soldier-sworn of Right
Set in the adamantine bounds of Law,

For that was first, would have been last, to fight.

And therefore France, once more upon the verge
Of that sad war 'tis still her fate to wage,

'Twixt Might with Power, Right with but Law to urge,
Took him for champion even in his age.

Prone as she is good service to forget,

And fickle in her favour, as they say,
Still in her heart she bore the man who set

Weakness aside, and cast old age away,

Posting the world to raise her up a fri* nd;

Then, harder task, subdued his wr; th aid shame,
His conquered country's interest to dtfe id,

And melt her conquerors to milder frame.'

Who, when concession's utmost boon was wrung,
Despaired not of his country, stricken low,

Beaten and bleeding, but her nerves re-strung
In tune to his, weak wailing to forego,

With hardness to endure, War's debt to pay,
And Peace's work with heart and hope set to,

To earn the ransom she had wealth to pay,
And envy of her conquerors thereto.

For this she mourns him—lays upon his bier,
Tribute of common grief, the Civic Crown ;

And holds this little Bourgeois, henceforth, dear,
Among her Great Ones to the dead gone down.