Punch (97.1889)

IV

PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHAPIYAPI.

[December 28, 1889.

’Tis the “flies on the cart-wheels” who prate most of Revolution. Like you, I am “ partout superieur aux evenements, loue
par ceux-ci, blame par cevx-la, aidant au bon temps, supportant le mauvais, se moquant des sots, bravant les mechants.” Yes,

“ aidant au bon temps,” hut not turning the world upside down in search of an Utopian Paradise of Fools.

Figaro. Mr. Punch, I also spake of myself as “faisant la barbe a tout le monde.” But even I could not “ shave ” you !

Mr. Punch {singing). “ My comb and my razor,

My lancet they praise, or
My scissors for trimming stray locks into grace.”

My dear Figaro, your razor, or lancet, and my baton, should be co-operative, not antagonistic. “ Se moquant des sots,
bravant les mediants ! ” There lies our joint function !

Figaro. And how do you fulfil it, Mr. Punch?

Mr. Punch. I, the Figaro of Fleet Street ?

Figaro. That, and much more !

Mr. Punch. Graciously said, but truly withal. My instruments are pan-pipes and drum, yours is the guitar. But I am
Moralist as well as Musician, Sage as well as Shaver, Bard as well as Barber, Warder as well as Wit,—have in fact a whole
world of varied functions that even the Factotum himself never aimed at fulfilling. As you say, yon scene, stretching far and
wide from the foot of this Tower, suggests my Panorama of the Past Year ! A scene of Changes and Chances, of Catas-
trophes and Centenaries, of Revolutions and Royal Flights, of Wandering Princes and Flying Pretenders, of Mighty Reforms
and Brave Rescues, of Social Upsurgings and Great Strikes, of Big Commissions and Colossal Shows ! As my pointer
indicates, so my baton should direct. It is a sort of universal wizard-wand, or cosmopolitan sign-post, conspicuous as this
Titan Tower, sensitive as the fabled Divining-Rod, unerring as the gnomon on the sun-dial of Old Time himself. Sages,
Heroes, and Wits gladly accept its guidance, as Fools, Knaves, and Quacks shrinkingly fear its force. Bismarck, Eiffel,
Stanley, as well as McDougall, Boulanger, and Barnum, recognise, each in his own way, its influence. True as the
j Magnetic Needle, straight as the tail of Tobias, it “rides the whirlwind and directs the storm ” of contemporary events. And
| you, my brave Barbier, would fain know “ how it’s done,” as Dr. Lynn wrould say. Take, then, what will enlighten you
j on that, and on most other points, as well as move you to honest laughter that is not merely a mask for menacing tears.

You hastened to laugh lest you should be constrained to weep. I laugh that the world may not weep, but be merry and wise, i
| Take, my dear Figaro, what will tell you all about it, and make your New Year happy ! Take, in short, my