Punch (99.1890)

133 PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. [Septehbeb 20, isso.

YANKEE EXCLUSIVENESS.

Young Britisher. "Your Father's not with you then, Miss Van Tromp?"

Fair New York Millionnairess (one of three). •' Why, no—Pa's much too vuloar I It's as much as we can do to stand Mi l"j

THE QUICKSAND!

Is this the Eagle-hunter,
The valiant fate-oonfronter,
The soldier brave, and blunter

_ Of speech than Bishakck's self ?
This bungler all-disgracing,
This braggart all-debasing.
This spurious sportsman, chasing
No nobler prey than pelf ?

The merest " fly in amber,"
He after eagles clamber ?
Nay, faction's ante-chamber

Were fitter place for him,
A trifler transitory,
To gasconade of " glory " I
He'd foul fair France's story,

Her lustre pale and dim.

Les Coulisses? Ah, precisely!
They suit his nature nicely,
"Who bravely, nobly, wisely,

Can hardly even "act."
Histrio all blague and blather,
Is it not pity, rather,
One Frenchman should foregather

With him in selfish pact ?

In selfish pact—but silly.
His neighbouring, willy-nilly,
Must smirch the Bee, the Lily,

Or stain the snow-white flag.
Wielder of mere stage-dagger,
Loud lord of empty swagger,
In peril's hour a lagger,

A Paladin of Brag !

And now his venture faileth,
And now his valour psdeth;
Et apres ? What availeth

His aid to those who'd use him ?

Imperial or B-oyal,
What " patron " will prove loyal
Unto this "dupe" ? They '11 joy all
To mock, expose, abase him!

But from the contest shrinking,
The draught of failure drinking,
In triokery's quicksand sinking,

Pulls he not others down ?
Will Plon-Plon stand securely,
The Comte pjse proudly, purely,
Whilst slowly but most surely

Their tool must ohoke or drown ?

Indifferent France sits smiling.
And what avails reviling P
Such pitch without defiling

Can "Prince" or "Patriot,"
touch ?
This quicksand unromantic
Closes on him, the Antic,
Whose hands with gestures'frantic

Contiguous coat-tails clutch.

The furious faotions splutter,
Power's oheated olaimants mutter,
And foiled fire-eaters utter

Most sanguinary threats.
" He Freedom's fated snokler ?
The traitor, triakster, truckler! "
So fumes the fierce swash-buokler,

And his toy-rapier whets.

But will that quicksand only
Engulph him lost and lonely ?
The fraud exposed, the known lie,

The bribe at length betrayed,
Must whelm this sham detected,
But what may be expected
From " Honour" shame-infected.

And " Kingship " in the shade ?

THE BAVENSTEIN.

[Vfr. Ravenstein, at the British Association,
considered the question, how long it will be bcfure
tke world becomes over-populated.]

Punch to the Prophet.

Prophet of o'er-population, your ingenious
calculation, [mind

Causeth discombobulation only in the anxious

That forecasts exhausted fuel, or the period
when the duel

Will have given their final gruel to French
journalists; a kind

Of cantankerous, rancorous spitfires, blus-
terous, braggart, boyish, blind,

Who much mourning scarce wou! d find.

Prophet of o'er-population, when the centu-
ries in rotation

Shall have filled our little planet till it tends
to running o'er,

Will this world, with souls o'erladen, be a
Hades or an Aidenn ?

Will man, woman, boy and maiden, be less
oivilised, or more ?

That's the question, Ravenstein! What
boots a billion, less or more,
If Man still is fool or boor ?

"Seek not to proticipate" is Mrs. Gamp's

wise maxim. Great is
Mankind's number now, but " take 'em as

they come, and as they go,"
Like the philosophic Sairey ; and though the

sum total vary,
Other things may vary likewise, things we

dream not, muoh less know,
Don't you think, my Kavenstein, our state

ten centuries hence or so

We may prudently—let go ?