Punch (99.1890)

December 20, 1890.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

291

TIT-WILLOW.

(A New Version.)

[" Last year I fed the tomtits -with a cocoamit, suspended on
a stick outside my window, and they came greedily. This
year I forgot all about it, but, hearing a clamour in a fuchsia-
bush. outside my study window ... I found myself besieged by
an army of tomtits . . . "Was it memory, or association of ideas,
or both ?"—Bev. F. 67. Montague Powell, in the " Spectator,"]

On a bush in a garden a little Tomtit
Sang "Willow, Tit-willow. Tit-willow!"

And I said to Mm, " Dicky-bird, why do you sit
Singing 1 Willow, Tit-willow, Tit-willow' ? "

" I've had nothing to eat for three days," he replied,

" Though in searching for berries I've gone far and
wide,

And I feel a pain here in my little inside,

0 Willow, Tit-willow, Tit-willow I "

Now his poor little cheeks had grown haggard and thin,

0 Willow, Tit-willow, Tit-willow !
And his self was a shadow of what it had been,

0 Willow, Tit-willow, Tit-willow!
" By the kind Mr. Powell last year was I fed
With a cocoanut stuck on a stick," so he said,
" And without this again I shall shortly be dead,
0 Willow, Tit-willow, Tit-willow 1"

So he gathered an army who twittered all day

" 0 Willow, Tit-willow, Tit-willow I"
But a cocoanut soon made them all cease to say

" 0 Willow, Tit-willow, Tit-willow! "
And the truth of my story you must not assail,
For the dear old Spectator has published the tale.
Though those who will read it can scarcely well fail
To say " Willow, Tit-willow, Tit-willow! "

"ThePassingofAbthub."—After Ivanhoe, Sir Abthub
Sullivan's new Opera, has appeared at Mr. D'Otlt
Caste's new theatre, the Knightly and Daily oomposer
will rest his musical brain for a year, and will place his
Savoy throne at the disposal of Prince Edwakd Solomon,
direct descendant of the wisest monarch ever known, save
for one amiable weakness. The successor to King Abthtjb
has plenty of " Savoy Faire," and a good choice has been
made. The Carte will now be drawn along merrily
enough, and, no doubt, it will be a brilliant time when
Sol, in all his glory, comes out and shines at the Savoy.

New Ibish Political Pabty Name.—For the fol-
lowers of Mr. Pabnell, the best name in future would
be "The .Fattz-Par-nellites."

TRUE FEMININE DELICACY OF FEELING.

Emily (who has called to take Lizzie to the great Murder Trial). "What beep
Black, deakest 1"

Lizzie. "Yes. I thought it would be only decent, as the pooe Wbetch
is sure to be found Guilty."

Emily. ''Ah! "Wheke I was Dining; last night, it was even betting

which way the verdict would go, so I only put on MALF moubning 1"

A PORTIA A LA EUSSE.

[" I repeat that a great military Power, having
at her disposal an army of two millions of well-
disciplined and drilled soldiers, whom no European
country dares to attack single-handed, can face
calmly, and even good-humouredly, both the wild
attacks of unscrupulous publicists, and mistaken
protests of philanthropic meetings, though these
be as imposing and brilliant as the Lord Mayor's
Show itself."—Madame Novihoff's Letter to the
" Times," on " The Jews in Russia."]

The quality of mercy is o'erstrained,
It droppeth twaddle-like from Lord Mayor's
lips

Upon a Russian ear: strength is twice
scornful,

Scornful of him it smites, and him who prates
Of mercy for the smitten: force becomes
The throned monarch better than chopped
logic;

His argument's—two millions of armed men,
Which strike with awe and with timidity
Prating philanthropy that pecks at kings.
But Mercy is beneath the Sceptre's care,
It is a bugbear to the hearts of Czars.
Force is the attribute of the "God of Battles ";
And earthly power does then show likest
heaven's

When Justice mocks at Mercy. Therefore,
Jew,

Though mercy be thy prayer, consider this,
That in the course of mercy few of us,
Muscovite Czars, or she-diplomatists,
Should hold our places 'as imperious Slavs
Against humanitarian Englishmen,
And Jews gregarious. These do pray for

Mercy, _ [render

Whose ancient Books instruct us all to
Eye for eye justice! Most impertinent!
Romanist Marquis, Presbyterian Duke,
And Anglican Archbishop, mustered up
With Tabernacular Tubthumper, gowned

Taffy,

And broad-burred Boanerges from the North,
Mingled with Pantheist bards, Agnostic Peers,
And lawyers latitudinarian,—
A Lord Mayor's Show of Paul Pry pageantry,
All to play Mentor to the Muscovite!
Master of many millions! Oh, most monstrous!
Are we Turk dogs that they should do this

thing?
In name of Mercy!!!

I have writ so much,
As Adleb says, with " dainty keen-edged
dagger,"

To mitigate humanity's indignation.
With airy epigram, and show old friends,
Gladstone, and Westminsteb, Maccoll and
Stead,

That Olga Novikoff is still O.K.

A Portia—a la Russe ! Have I not proved it ?

DIAMONDS ARE TRUMPS !

[The ladies, who are learning Whist in New York,
do not, says the Daily News, worry much about the
rules, but rather use the old-fashioned game as an
opportunity for exhibiting their diamond rings, &c.j

I played the other day at Whist,

My partner was a comely maiden,
Her eyes so blue, her pretty wrist

With bracelets and with bangles laden,
She wore about ten thousand pounds,

Each finger had its priceless jewel,
She was, in fact, ablaze—but zounds!

Her play, indeed, was "something cruel, '

I called for trumps, and called in vain,

At intervals I dared to mention
How much her conduct caused me pain,

Yet paid she not the least attention.
I very nearly tore my hair,

I begged of her to play discreetly,
But no—the tricks I planned with care

Without exception failed completely.

Jewels, I have no doubt, are grand,

But even they are sometimes cloying.
I found at length her splendid hand

(Of shapely fingers) most annoying.
When next I'm playing, I confess

I 'd like a girl (and may I get her!)
Who shows her hands a little less,

And plays her cards a little better.