Punch (77.1879)

December 6, 1879.]

253

BONDS AND BENEFICES.

OUR venerable friend,
dear old Archdeacon
Denison, the other
day, addressing1 a meeting
of the English Church
Union at Manchester, said
some good things as usual.
Having premised that Lord
Penzance had been
"shoved into a position
he was unfit for," and pre-
dicted that "on Saturday
he would either complete
his character for folly by
sending Mr. Maceonochte
to prison, or fold his hands
and go to bed," the reso-
lute and determined Arch-
deacon declared that:—

" Members of the Church
Union would not deviate a
hair's breadth from their posi-
tion. They could not suffer
death like martyrs of old, but
they could suffer bonds or im-
prisonment-''

That is, for persisting
in Romanesque and illegal
practices. They certainly
can possibly suffer imprisonment; but, if they court it, let us
hope they won't get it, so as not to be enabled to pose as Martyrs
and Confessors. But the truest thing our Archdeacon said was,
that the parties he referred to "could suffer bonds." They not
only can, but do. They are in bondage to Articles which they
ignore, and obligations which they violate; and they could free
themselves at will from these bonds by disendowing and disestab-
lishing themselves, but prefer to remain in them because their bonds
hamper them so little as to allow them morally, or rather immorally,
to dance hornpipes in fetters.

IN MEMORIAM.

Foe, Thirty-six Tears Editor of the "Times."
Bom at Bracknell, Berks, 1817. Died at Ascot Heath, Nov, 22, 1879.

Through the dark hours one sleepless workshop strains,
With strength of busy brain and lightning hand,

Engines of iron hands and all but brains,
To fix in words the whirl of sea and land.

The daily paper—brain-core of our times,
To which Earth's nerves with lightning pulses thrill,

Whence promptings to all classes, creeds, and climes
Speed to take shape in action good or ill.

"Work still finds man or makes him ; need provides

The central pivots of this central toil,
Brains of this brain-stuff, guiders of these guides,

Eresh under their night's load, calm through its coil.

If all these centres, brains, guides had been asked
To name one centre, brain, guide of them all,

For many a year the answer had not tasked
Long time or thought; one name had had the call—

His name, who, from his schoolboy days, was marked

By wise eyes for the work he was to do ;
Who—youth still—mate first, master soon, embarked

On the great ship, that, with him, greater grew.

The old salts saw, and bent a scornful brow;

At "Waiter's 'three-year-olds' " the laugh went round.
Youth at the helm, not Pleasure at the prow—

The good ship Times sailed, on bold venture bound.

And from that time The Times was John Delane,
Till e'en that iron frame was warped and worn,

And those tense brain-springs slackened 'neath the strain
Of such toil as man's strength has rarely borne.

For thirty years and six, think of his life !

To keep a wary eye and ready tongue,
With blithe cheer for all sides, let party-strife

Rage ne'er so bitter, 'mid the missiles flung

From hand to hand, hatred to hatred, still
To feel no hate, and own no captain's beck:

To wield power with soft word but iron will,
Correct class-claims, and pen-presumptions check.

Wooed, welcomed, worshipped, to be stone to smile;

To list the pretty prayer, and yet not yield;
To be all things to all with honest guile,

Frank behind mask, and open under shield.

Awake while we slept, his day was the night.

Beside the shaded lamp his tireless eye
Through the dark hours was watchful still and bright,

To focus the world's face as it swept by.

E'en Science taxed him, brought him larger load,

Harder to trim, and heavier to bear :
When through the unsleeping wires unresting flowed

The tide of news to winnow, sift, and share.

Still he found strength and spirits, Nature's balm,
Tear after year, till those who watched him knew

Blanks in his blitheness, rufflings of his calm,
And slower speech for thought that flagged, not flew.

And the strong hand, for the hard helm too weak,
Was fain to rest, first for brief spell, and then

Still longer rest and longer had to seek,
Till we knew this born Captain among men

Had handed over charts and signal-book,
And sailing-orders and all captain's gear,

For leisure and repose hard by the nook
Where he drew breath, to watch green leaves and sere,

And tend his garden and his stock, and live
Among the country squires a country squire.

Alas ! he had but little time to give
To that late idyl—not e'en time to tire.

Death finding him, unwontedly, at rest,

Smote him who, till now, seemed too swift and strong
For dart or scythe, too prompt and labour-stressed

To hear the summons all must hear ere long.

Rest in thy grave, that knew no resting here,

Editor without equal, strenuous soul,
Staunch friend, despising favour, scorning fear,

Far-seeing, forward-cleaving to thy goal.

He left a different scene from that he found,
And had a large part in all change he saw.

Nor slave, nor leader, of his time, but bound
Abreast of it to keep its glass from flaw.

And not a hostile hand is raised to throw
A black stone at his name, who in his place

Had need to fight and fling so many a foe,
But ne'er fought false, nor struck but at the face.

'Tis one who served him twenty years who writes
This tribute to his memory. Those that read

May well be proud of him, and pray our fights
In Freedom's cause breed men like him at need.

The Pacific Main.

It appears that the Pacific Republics, two to one, Peru and Bolivia
against Chili, now for some time at war, originally fell out for the
possession of nitrate and guano beds; so that, in fact, _ they have
been fighting over fertilising material. In this particular the
belligerents may be thought to exhibit some resemblance to poultry-
yard combatants ; though it may be doubted whether on either side
they have signalised themselves by any display of valour analogous
to that of the gamecock as compared with the less noble barn-door fowl.
However, at Iquique there has recently been some warm work,
wherein Chili, nevertheless, got the advantage. This, it is to be
hoped, may lead to a termination of a struggle which certainly does
not "beat cock-fighting," however analogous it maybe to battles
between feathered champions, each on his own dunghill.

Doomed to be Blown-txp {by Anti-rent Agitators or Cabul
incendiaries.)—A Balla-Hissar.

vol, ixxvrr.