Punch (78.1880)

February 28, 1880.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

85


DIVISION OF LABOUR.

Aunt Mary. “Well, Tommy, shall I carry your Bat and Stumps for you?”
Tommy. “No, Aunty, tanks! Me tarry Bat and ’Tumps. ’Oo tarry Me!”

THE “CROON” OF THE KOH-I-
NOOR.

(On the Production of Artificial Diamonds
by Mr. Hanna,y of Glasgow, attested by
Mr. MasTcelyne of the British Museum.)

I was the brightest jewel
In Queen Victoria’s Crown ;

Now Chemistry, too cruel,

My worth would topple down !

I defied the blow impending,

Against Maskelyne’s forecast,

Hoped Mactear would be its ending,
But his mark has now been past.

I ne’er thought “ Crystallisation
Of Carbon ” I should see :

That India’s favoured nation,

And Brazil’s, bowled out should be!

’Tis a Glasgow chiel, one Hannay,

At length has done the trick.

Deil fetch that Scot uncanny !

Awa’ wi’ him, Auld Nick!

Shall his stones in Scotland’s bonnet
Shine out, and make me poor—

Shall Scotch pebbles, plague upon it,
Strike pale the Koh-i-Noor ?

“si monuhentum quhris, circumspice.”

The Lord Mayor announces that sub-
scriptions for the Lord Lawrence Memorial
Fund will be received at the Mansion House.
Those who dissent from the policy now in
the ascendant in Afghanistan cannot better
show their disapproval than by paying their
shot to the Lawrence Memorial Fund.

In Southwark.— The “pint” in Mr.
Clarke’s favour—the Imperial.

A PATRIOTS APPEAL;

OR, A RADICAL CURE FOR THE RADICAL CANKER.

(From the P. M. G.’s point of view.)

Ho! all ye rampant Radicals, who long have raved and roared,

I And on the brow of Beaconseield your fierce invectives poured!

I Ho! hot and heady Hartington ! ho ! traitorous Argyle !
i Ho! Harcourt sour and saturnine, ho! Granville black with bile !

| Ho! Goscken, red republican, subversive Derby ho !

Fierce Forster, furious demagogue, and democratic Lowe !

Ho! frantic Froude, ho! weak Carlyle, bland pander to the Mob,
And ho !—and this most specially—thou sycophantic snob,

; Truth-hating, tyrant-flattering, and England-loathing cad,
Gladstone, whose whole and sole excuse is that thou art half mad!
Ho!—well, in short,—ho! everyone who won’t with us agree,

In magnifying Salisbury, and buttering Lord B.,

Who, whatsoe’er your Party badge, religion, rank, or place,

Are all confounded Radicals, the scandal of your race,—

Give ear! You are a scurvy lot, inspired by spite and hate,

Who to your paltry private gains would sacrifice the State.

The motive of your rant and cant is mere malicious rancour,

Which gnaws your Party’s vitals like a sort of chronic canker.

(At least, so says the P. M. G.,—that charitable print.)

Draw near, lend ear, bend your stiff necks, and take a patriot’s hint!
You mustn’t go and lift your voice against your native land,

Or question the high policy you cannot understand ;

V ou must not cast doubts on her right to do the thing that’s wrong,
In taking part against the weak to shield her from the strong.

You mustn’t nourish yearnings keen to see her calm, and just,
Honest, and true—and all that trash in which the snivellers trust;
You mustn’t go and hotly flush with mawkish maudlin shame
To hear of tricks or meannesses committed in her name ;

You mustn’t call attention, no, not even in advance,

To wrongs she is about to do her power to enhance ;

IN or must you point out her mistakes in policy or war.

Nor blush at sight of blood or mud upon her conquering car ;

Nor make the least inquiry in the mildest kind of manner
Concerning aught that they may do who fight beneath her banner.

For if you do these horrid things, although your numbers swell
To half—the better half—of those who in these islands dwell,

’Tis plain—unto our patriot eyes—you ’re but a faction base,
Inspired by hate of England and a hungry greed for place.

’Twill prove you’d lick the tyrant’s hand, of honour nothing reck,
That you would place the foreign yoke on England’s prostrate neck,
To save your carcasses from scathe, your coffers from. assault,

That curs like you rejoice to prove your countrymen in fault,

That like base God-forsaken ghouls, blind to the brave and good,
You’d grope for paltry party-gain midst British soldiers’ blood. .
You don’t quite see the Q. E. D. ? Ah! that’s because you ’re blind,
Unnaturally cold of heart as impotent of mind.

Take lesson from the Music Hall and from the pothouse bar,

Where roaring Cads and blatant Bungs, more patriotic far.

Than statesmen and philosophers, than scholars, artists, thinkers,
Prove that we have the true Britons,—the tap-talkers and bar-
drinkers:

And that the only recipe for curing your insanity,

Is to cut out your vile canker—care for justice and humanity !

A Heavy Blow and a Great Discouragement.

Farini, we learn from the Diritto, has been elected President of
the Italian Chamber of Deputies. This may be a great thing for
Italy, but it will be a sad blow to the Aquarium. Happily the
Friendly Zulus and Cetewayo’s Daughters will not accompany him
—at least for the present. The former, it is thought, may be reserv-
ing themselves for the Irish, not the Italian, Parliament.

Fanatics and Fagots.

Fagoting in Mid-Lothian or anywhere else can hardly be won-
dered at when practised by a magnate who has a stake in the
country. On the other side it is naturally resorted to in return. In
politics as well as theology there is bigotry on both sides; parti-
cularly when in resorting to the fagot, one against the other, parties
assist on both sides at a political auto-da-fe.