Punch (103.1892)

fAugust 13, 1892.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 69

foolish, I know, but I always do break down
ust here. I—I think I can go on now.

" Had sped,
Each buccaneer would have kept his bunk,
with a bandage about his head ! "
\Here a fresh diversion is effected by The
Chirpy Man, who suddenly achieves
unpopularity by becoming aggressively
ill, and causing a genera} stampede from
his neighbourhood.
The ReciUr—
"We wouldn't have boarded her, after that,

for all the treasure on earth,
So we sailed away—to the sweet salute of a
peal of childish mirth !"
The Chirpy Man {resuming his seat, much
relieved, and almost as chirpy as ever, to his
neighbours, confidentially). I'm all right
agen now. It was takin' a glass o' stout on
top of black currant pudden done it, yer
know!

[This piece of information is coldly received,
which evidently both surprises and pains
him ; the Pirate brings his experiences
to an end by relating how he realised his
effects, and retired from business on a
modest competence, and the " Daisy"
regains the Pier.

'WITH THE HONOURS OF WAR."

After long fight and strenuous defence,
Tenacity tremendous, toil immense,
The garrison surrenders!

'Tis the doom
Of desperate war; and though a sombre gloom
Sits on each brow, each brow is lifted high,
No petulant pusillanimity
Makes poor this last parade of stout defenders,
Or shames this most unwilling of surrenders.
Six lingering years, and more, of hot attack,
By confident cool valour beaten back !
Six baffling years of sortie, and of sally,
Sudden alarum, stubborn stand, stout rally !
How the besiegers in their bannered host
Banded at first around this bastion'd post,
In sanguine, fierce assault, and shook their

spears, [fears.
Strong hopes derided, mocked at fancied
The Citadel's defence was all in vain,
They vowed; a year should end the brief

campaign;

Yet year to year succeeded slow, and still
The garrison held out. Strategic skill
And hot impetuous onset nought availed;
The battering-ram and scaling-ladder failed.
Brief breaches scarcely made were swift re-
paired,

United still all deadly arms they dared,
Those linked defenders who, aforetime foes,
Their lately-banded ranks could firmly close
Against old friends, now common enemies.
Black Cecil was Commander, Balfour brave
The Union Standard in his wake would wave,
The Reiter Joachim, of German breed,
And the Scot swordster Ritchie, good at
need,

"With him, the fox-eyed Freelance, Joe de
Brum,

Brave with the trumpet, valiant with the
drum.

Proud to be capped and curled with Cava-
liers,

The Gentlemen of England, now his peers,—
These, and a many more good men and true,
The ramparts manned, the warning clarion
blew;

Stood in the breach, and to the bastion
swarmed,

Whene'er loud blares that citadel alarmed.

SO MATTER-OF-FACT.

Jones {who prides himself on his French). " Desole, mon Cher, not to be able to

accept your hospitality", but to-night I am bining en Ville."

Brown {who is so matter-of-fact, and never will understand, Jones's French). "Dining 'on
Veal,' are you? Well, there's not much difference; if you come to Me, you'll
have a Leg o' Mutton 1"

So long together, feel the touch of fate, Bates not a jot of courage; that stark fighter

Bow to its bidding. Calm though not elate, ; And shifty swordsman, Joachim the Reiter,
Swart Cecil yields him at discretion. So i Snuff's the air proudly; with his nose a-cock
The garrison marches forth ! But e'en the Steps Joe be Brum, and, steady as a rock,

foe ; Strides forth Chief Cecil ! _

Gives chivalrous salute to beaten men Hail the beaten band,

Unshamed by forced surrender. Hail them,
then,

With sympathetic cheers! The white-haired
Chief

Lifts hat in greeting. He, all brawn and

You Grand, and grey-haired, Old Cam-
paigning Hand;
For you have seen good fighting, and you
know [glow
Game foemen when you see them. Conquest's

beef, ; Mantles that pallid cheek. After long strain,

William of Mai wood, bears the banner high, ! Yictory at last is yours, nor all in vain,
But scarce looks fired with conquest's Perchance, although its fruits precarious be.

ecstasy.

John of Newcastle, reins a restive horse;
He's none too eager for another course.
The one-armed Irish Chief looks pale and
grim;

E'en cheery Labby, of the cynic whim,
Hath a less careless chuckle than his wont.

"Beshrew me! but they bear a gallant Maxe it" Hot.—Dean Kttchin says that
front!" one of his reasons for voting for the Glad-

What you will do with it, we wait to see.
Meanwhile you 11 own the foes you've put to
rout.

With all war's honours unashamed march
out.

But now slow sap and steady siege have
wrought

The conquest long delayed. The Chiefs that

fought sound !— I tradiction in terms

Mutter the pikemen ranged in order round. stonians is that he is "a warm Liberal."
Sore-battered Ritchie,—may he soon be i Quite so. A cold Kitchin would be a con-