Punch (99.1890)

50

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[August 2, 1890.

A DREAM OF UNFAIRLY-TREATED WOMEN.

{A Long Way After the Laureate.)

I bead, before
my eyelids
dropt their
shade,
A leader on
weak wo-
men, and
their woe,
In toil and
industry,
in art and
trade,

In this hard
world be-
low.

And for a-
while the
thought of
the sad part
Played by
them,andof
Fate's ill-
balance d
scales,
Moistened
mine eye-
lids, and
made aohe
mine.heart,
Remember-
ing these
strange
tales

Of woman's miseries in every land,

I saw wherever poverty draws breath
Woman and anguish walking hand in hand,
The dreary road to death.

Those pallid sempstresses of Hood's great
sung

Peopled the hollow dark, not now alone,
And I heard sounds of insult, shame, and
wrong,
And griefs sad monotone,

Prom hearts, like flints, beaten by tyrant
hoofs;

And I saw crowds in sombre sweating-dens,
With reeking walls and dank and dripping
roofs—
Pit scarce for styes or pens.
Death at home's sin-stained threshold;
honour's fall [hold pet,

Dislodging from her throne love s house-
And wan-faced purity a tyrant's thrall,

With wild eyes sorrow-wet.
And unsexed women facing heated blasts
And Tophet fames, and flattering tongues
of fire;

And virtue staked on most unholy casts,
And honour sold for hire :

Squadrons and troops of girls of brazen air,

Tramping the tainted city to and fro,
With feverish flauntings veiling chill despair
And deeply-centred woe.

So shape chased shape. I saw a neat-garbed
nurse,

Wan with excessive work; and, bowed
with toil,

A. shop-girl siukly, of (he primal oursa
Each looked the helpless spoil.

A-ion I siw a lady, at night's fall
Stiller than chiseled marble, standing
there;

A daughter of compassion, slender, tall,
And delicately fair.

Her weariness with shame and with surprise
My spirit shocked: she turning on my faoe
The heavy glances of unrested eyes,
Spoke mildly in her plaoe.

"I have long duties; ask thou not my name

Sjme say I fret at a fair destiny.
Many I have to tend ; to make my claim
Some venture : we shall see."

" I trust, good lady, that in a fair field, _
The case 'twixt you and tyranny will be
tried,"

I said; then turning promptly I appealed
To one who stood beside.

Sh9 said, "Poor pay, and plenteous fines,
and worse,
Mide me rebel amidst my mates' applause.
To insubordination I'm averse,

But have I not good cause ?
" We are cut off from hope in our hard place,
Sweet factory ? Ah, well, our sweets are few.
We strike for j ustice. _ Man might show some
grace,

I think, Sir; do not you ? "

Turning I saw, ranging a'flowery pile,

One sitting in an entry dark and cold;
A girl with hectic cheeks, and hollow smile;
Wired roses there she sold,

Or strove to sell; but often on her ear
The harrying voice of stern policedom
struck,

And chased her from her vantage, till a tear
Pell at her "wretched luck."

Again I saw a wan domestic drudge

Scuttering across a smug suburban lawn;
Tired with the nightly watch, the morning
trudge,
The toil at early dawn.

And then a frail and thin-clad governess,

Hurrying to daily misery through the rain.
Toiling, with scanty food, and scanty dress,
Long hours for little gain.

Anon a spectral shop-girl creeping back
To her dull garret-home through the chill
night, _ _ [paid hack

Bowed, heart-sick, spirit-crushed, poor ill-
Of harsh commercial might!

These I beheld, the world's sad woman-
throng,

Work-ridden vassals of its Mammon-god,
Their destiny to creep and drudge along,
And kiss grief's chastening rod.

And then I saw a spirit surface-fair,

A Masnad-masked betrayer, base, impure,
But with sin's glittering garb, and radiant
Gay laugh, and golden lure. [air,

It smiled, it beckoned—whither ? To the
abyss! [drawn
But of that throng how many may be
By the gay glamour and the siren kiss

To where sin's soul-gulfs yawn ?
How many ? Ho response my vision gave.

Make answer, if ye may, ye lords of gain 1
Make answer, if ye know, ye ohiders grave
Of late revolt, and vain!

Dream of Fair Women ? Nay, for work and
want

Mar maiden comeliness and matron grace.
Let sober judgment, clear of gush and cant,
The bitter problem face!

Erin Avesged. — The Irish champions,
Hamilton, Piji, and Stoker, have won the
" All-England" (it shouldbe All-Irish)Tennis
Championship, both Single and Double, beat-
ing the hitherto invincible Brothers Renshaw,
and other lesser Lights of the Lawn. And
now at Bisley the Irish Team have, for the
third time in succession, won the Elcho Chal-
lenge Shield. The old caveat will have to be
changed into "No nore-Irish need apply! "

Quite the Newest Songs.—" Over the
Sparkling Serpentine." By the author and
composer of "Across theSHll Lagoon." "Five
Men in a Cab." By the ditto ditto of " Three
Men in a Boat;" "Bates Copper Night-
mare" to follow "Love's Golden Dream;"
and the " General's Dustpan," also, shortly;
a companion song to the popular " Admiral's
Broom."

" A Gathering of the Clan."—According
to Debrett, the Earl of Clancartt (by the
way, the Patent of Nobility granted to this
family in 1793, is consequently not a hundred
years old) bears on his arms "A Sun in splen-
dour." The authority is too good to imagine
for a moment that this oan be a misprint I