Punch: Punch (82.1882)

May 6, 1882.]

PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHARIVAEL

207

A MODEKN PASTEUE-AL.

I haye found out the germs in the air,

I have learned where the bcicilli breed ;

The parasite-world, I’ve laid bare
A detestabie kingdom, indeed.

'Vitality’s lowest abyss, _

Ihaveplumbedinpursuitof my germs,

Whose unpleasantness mortals may miss,
In the darkness of technical terms.

I have watched all the things that ferment,
I have sat at decay’s vampire feast,

I can scarcely convey the extent

Of myknowledgeof “mould,” andof yeast.

To suffering man I impart

Information of comfort and cheer;

I can help devotees of high art,

And the makers of wine or small beer.

I know every parasite pest,

I can draw it in section and plan ;

And explain if the nuisance infest
The bodies or vineyards of man.

I could show you most hideous things,

But that is not Science’s scope_;

She doesn’t shriek horrors, but sings
The practical poems of hope.

Her object is lengthening life,

And giving humanity ease;

Her pryings and porings mean strife
With the powers of death and disease.

Those powers that lurk in the dark,

That skulk in the realms beyond sight,

It is Seience’s business to mark
It is Science’s pleasure to fight.

Vast vistas expand to her view,

But she may not dally with dreams ;
j Bhe must trace out the tracks of the true
j All heedless of phantasy’s gleams.

Believing ’tis Knowledge’s light
j That raiseth the man from the clod,

| And that they are preparing for flight
j Who first are contented to plod.

“ AMONGf MY NEWSPAPERS.”

(A Sequel to “ Amoyig My BooTcs.'”)

“ Are we still as far off from Freedom as
ever ? Are we for all ages to be trodden
down hy the oppressor’s hoof ? Are we,
the descendants of men who were kings
when the G-uelphs were unknown and the
, Hapsburgs unborn, to clank the chains of
slavery for all eternity? It seems so. At
; the present moment there are languishing
I American patriots in the foul dungeons and
J the noisome cells of Kilmainham. Why?
j Because Our Minister, the man Lowell, to
'that benighted and rotten country called
J England, is pampered by an effete aristo-
j cracy on the slopes of St. James’s Castle,
j and is fed by a decaying monarchy off
1 golden plate in the Round Towers of Buck-
| ingham Palace. His recall is demanded at
once.”—The Ohio Shamrock.

“ Has the inconceivable idiot, whom the
ineomprehensible folly of what we once
thought a free and enlightened Republic
. has thought fit to send as Ambassador to a
1 country which is the laughing stock of
France, the contempt of Spain, the sneer
of Italy, and the object of derision and
j scorn on the part of grand Old Ireland,

! no system of articulate speech? For weeks
we have fulminated in these columns against
; the brutal detention— against their will,
mark you—of those American gentlemen,
'O’Blather, O’Hedgeside, and O’Bullet,
j in an English gaol. Of these remarks no
j notice has been taken. Well, well, other
men have acted as haughtilv, and have

SHOCKING !

Ao-

Mrs. B. (lately biiten). “ Fond o’ Bric-a-Brac ?

BEC'OMING QUITE AN AETHEIST ! !”

PMlistine Visitor (under his breath). “ Ger-acious Heavens !

H ! Aw—f’ly. Brown says I 'm

despised the freedom of the subject as much as Mr. Lowell. How did they end? Ask
J ulius Ciesar ! Ask Charles the First ! Ask Henry the Fourth ! If these men
were alive, they could return answers which might deter even Mr. Lowell from his
fawning feeding of the British Lion on sweet-meats, when he should be beating it over
the head.”—The Kentucky Irishman.

“ Lowell is a man, if we can call such a thing a man, of such despicable and bestial
ignorance, that he is probably unaware that the United States possess both an armv and
a navy. And despite Lowell’s blarney, if the American Suspeets are not immediately
released, the thunder of our navy’s guns will be heard from Rutlandshire to Salisbury
Plain, and our army will be intrenched around Dover and Liverpool. We’ll cut the Lion’s
claws.”—The New Jersey Harp of Tara.

“ So, 01d Lowell, who says he wrote the Bigloiv Papers, when everyone knows they
were written by a young and gifted Irishman, named Murphy, whom Lowell never paid,
has been to Windsor. Windsor is where the English make soap. Lowell wili want a lot.
His hands are dirty enough in all conscience over this Suspect affair.”— The New York
Irish Wit.