Punch: Punch (76.1879)

300 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [June 28, 1879.

AWFUL DEFECTION.

H dear, Jacob

Bright !
= Vivisection out-
right !
You cutting
Cat's tails oft,
Night after
night!

FROM BAD TO
WORSE.

We read of
great excite-
ment in Virginia
owing to the
ravages of the
" army-worm,"
winch devas-
tates grass
farms. Thou-
sands of the
worms can he
seen with the
naked eye, as
they advance to
the scene of
their devasta-
tions. Behind them is a'desert'without a blade of grass. This is
the,form7the detestable ravage of the army-worm takes in the New
World. In the Old World,'especially in Germany and Russia, the
army-worm not only eats up the hay, but the cereals, and every-
thing, in fact, that supports human life ! If this pestilent worm be
a serious nuisance on the other side of the Atlantic, on this side it
is a curse which threatens to be destructive to human industry and
progress altogether.

"WISHES AT THE 11.A.

I wish that all the works could be labelled with their titles and
the names of the Artists.

If this accommodation is not practicable, I wish that the numbers
could be made more conspicuous, and not put on tickets so twisted
as to be illegible from below. The long struggle of short visitors to
make out the present figures is exhausting, as well as tantalising.

I wish myself a Master of Foxhounds, or a Chairman of a Railway,
or a Bishop, or a Sheriff, or a Lieutenant-General, or a Colonel of
Rifles, that I might be painted for nothing, be presented with my
own portrait, and be handed down from generation to generation as
a precious heirloom—even if ultimately, as an enormous bore.

I wish it was not so hot.

I wish I had come earlier.

I wish I could find a seat.

I wish I had come later.

I wish I could get up betimes in the morning, and be here when
the doors open.

I wish that the Academy would depute some of its Members to
go round the Galleries and point out the best works by outsiders,
and that the principal outsiders would perform the same useful
office for the Academicians and Associates.

I wish I had visited the Exhibition without reading beforehand a
single line of all that the critics have written.

I wish that some of the pictures could have had better places, and
others worse, and others—none at all.

I wish the Catalogue would vouchsafe a little information about
" the Chantrey Bequest."

I wish I knew more about the Due D'Anjotj, and the Due
D'Enghien, and the Gordon Riots, and "the Studholme Chapter,
Rose Croix," and Boreas and Orithyia, and Charlotte Corday,
and Marat, and Nausicaa, and Catherine Douglas, and Francesca
Da liraint, and William the Silent, and Callicles, and Bent and
Wrack, and the Cottabo, and the Circulation of the Blood, and dry
point.

I wish Mr. Millais many happy returns of success like his portrait
of Mr. Gladstone.

I wish that the Academy would revive the order of female Acade-
micians, too long in abeyance, and enrol in its ranks the Painter
of Nos. 20 and 582.

I wish the Academy would appoint me one of its Honorary
Members—say, Professor of Ancient Mythology, or Philology, or
Stenography.

I wish that there could be some indication in the Catalogue of the
proper pronunciation of such distinguished, but perplexing names, as
Alma-Tadema, Boehm, Botjghton, Calderon, Vicat Cole, Fildes,
Herkomer, Otjless, Riviere, and Yeames. (Perhaps a little gui-
dance to the orthoepy of Nausicaa would not be unacceptable.)

I wish I had money to buy a landscape or two.

If they can do it without risk of bankruptcy, I wish the Refresh-
ment Contractors would charge something less than sixpence for a
cup—and that not a large cup—of tea.

Finally, I wish the Royal Academy an endless succession of years of
ever-increasing vigour, prosperity, and success, millions of annual
shillings in its coffers, long life to its accomplished President,
lucrative and constant Commissions to each and all of its Members
—in a word, Floreat JRegia Accidentia Artium !—for hath it not
abolished the obligation to deposit sticks, umbrellas, and parasols,
before entering its penetralia f

THE LOST SEASON.

A Lay of the Future.

" Yotj are old, Father William! " the Young Man cried.

" Just a hundred and one," Father William replied,

And he waggled his beard with a sapient smile.

" Bless me ! " said the Youth, " that's a jolly long while

To have lived, and you just must remember a lot."

"No end," quoth the Aged One, sipping his "tot."

" I'm a hundred and one, come the tenth of September,

And 'twould take a big book to hold all I remember.

I remember steam-engines, and 'busses, and gas,

And the days when a lass was just dressed like a lass ;

I remember when women had charms and no votes,

When men wore white chokers and swallow-tailed coats ;

I remember the times of the Toothpick and Crutch,

When Cabmen existed and charged you too much ;

I remember when men used to travel by rail,

Play cricket, and ' strike,' and drink fourpenny ale ;

When game was preserved, and folks cared about fun,

And stared at that trifle, a hundred-ton gun ;

I remember when Kings and kid-gloves were the thing,

And—ah, yes, above all, I remember the Spring! "

" What was that t" cried the Youth. Said the Old 'Un, " Oh dear !

You have never read up your old poets, I fear,

Or you wouldn't ask that, though the name, it is true,

Could have but traditional meaning for you.

Why, the Sprina: was a Season, bland, genial, gay,

Beginning with March, Boy, and ending with May;

Just the time, as you know, when our North-easters blow,

And the country lies under six inches of snow ;

But then—ah, you'll doubt me !—but then 'twas a time,

Such as very old bards celebrate in their rhyme,

When the sun used to shine-" Cried the Youth,'' That's absurd! "

" And the flowers-" " Come, come!" said the Boy, "my old bird,

You 're a bit off your head." Said the Sage, " Ribald youth,

Pray shut up. 1 am telling you nought but the truth.

Then the skies were bright blue, and the fields were bright green,

And the primrose, and lilac, and maybuds were seen—

Now extinct as the Dodo—and birds used to sing.

Oh, a jolly nice Season, my lad, was the Spring."

The Youth shook his head. " Father William," he said,

" I'm afraid it is time that you took to your bed !

You 're a jolly old chap—I respect you as such—

But the yarn you now pitch is a leetle too much.

March, April, and May, the worst months of the year,

When colds are most common, and coals are most dear,

Ever such as you picture them, flowery, fine,

All sweetness, and song-birds, and sparkle, and shine ?

Oh, Walker ! Get home, Father William, get home !

For your wits, I am sure, are beginning to roam.

Why, June is now ending, with rain, rain, still rain!

And Summer has followed Spring's suit, 'tis too plain! "

Troops by Train.

It is of course a fact interesting to Mr. Bright that the Canadian
Legislature has passed a resolution to ask the co-operation of the
Imperial Government in constructing the Pacific Railway. Hope,
at the outset of Railway enterprise, told the flattering tale that all
Railways would prove pacific.

Israel in England.—In the window of a shop in Paternoster Row
is placarded a lately published pamphlet, entitled Are Englishmen
Israelites f Probably not, though Disraelites are said to be numerous.

IS' To CoBSTispotrDBifTS.—The Editor does not hold himself bound to acknowledge, return, or pay for Contribution*. In no case can these be returned unless accompanied by a

stamped and directed cnvclopt. Copies should be kept.