Punch: Punch (76.1879)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [July 5, 1879.

My self-congratulations were interrupted by Cetewayo springing nimbly to the front, and clashing his assegai against
his shield by way of enforcing attention.

" Speak, oh Punch ! " exclaimed the sable monarch. " What should Cetewayo do ? "
" Cetewayo should listen to the Missionaries England has sent him."

" England is very kind. But why send all to Cetewato ? Why not keep some at home ? "

" We have not left ourselves altogether without reverend counsellors of the same cloth," I replied, " if not the same

name."

"But if you have Missionaries left at home, why do they not teach you the same things they teach me? They tell
me I must not invade Englishman's country. Englishman invade mine. They forbid me to wash my 6pears in Boers'
blood. Englishman wash his bayonets in Zulus'. They teach me I must not keep up my army of young men. English-
man keep up his army of younger men than mine. They say I must not kill Zulu. Englishman kill Zulu. I must not
take your cattle. You take mine. I must not settle on Englishman's or Boer's land. Englishmen and Boers settle on my
young men's."

" Hear! hear ! " rang loud from the delighted Representatives of hostile or aggrieved Nationalities, who had hung on
the thick lips of the sable Sovereign.

" Ditto to Cetewayo ! " they cried, as with one voice. " Do as you would be done by, and you will not do as you
have done."

I found it harder to answer the naked Savage's argument than I had expected; and felt that to go into a detailed
reply would be hopeless. But I at once saw my way to a short cut—like our own High Commissioner.
" You will find my answer there !" I answered, pitching

right in the face of the Zulu Monarch. It took him unawares ; broke down the feeble guard of his cowhide shield, and laid
him on his back, prostrate and helpless.

Seizing my opportunity, I leapt on the Volume, and executing a wild war-dance, strove, with emphatic entrechats, to
drive its contents into the prostrate Zulu. In the violence of this exertion, I awoke—and lo ! it was a dream ! And the
sound I had heard waa the clamour of the Printer's Boy craving " copy " for the Preface of