Punch, or The London Charivari | Page 8

dread the light, do those dismal things, Its gleam they dare not face. Their snaky writhings, their bat-like wings, Their quaking menace of fangs and stings Make horror of the place.
All things should be so bright and fair In a land so glad and free; But the Search-Light layeth dark secrets bare, And shows how loathsomeness builds a lair In a land of Liberty.
Push on, brave bearer of piercing Light, Through pestilential gloom, Where crawls the spawn of Corruption's night! Deal out, stout searcher, to left and right, The cleansing strokes of doom.
That fair lithe form in that fleet frail bark Is a comely Nemesis, Before whose menace 'tis good to mark The reptile dwellers in dens so dark Driven with growl and hiss.
The saurian huge and the lizard slow, Foul shapes of ruthless greed, And the stealthy snake of the sudden blow, All owl-like shrink from the Search-Light's glow, Or fly with felon speed.
Corruption's spawn must be chased and slain, Scourged from the wholesome earth. It clingeth else like the curse of CAIN. Smite, smite like flail upon garnered grain, These things of bestial birth!
* * * * *
OLD DOGGEREL RE-DRESSED.
(_AFTER READING CERTAIN CRITICISMS ON CERTAIN NOVELISTS, CERTAIN COMMENTS ON THOSE CRITICISMS, AND CERTAIN REJOINDERS TO THOSE COMMENTS_.)
Little novelists have little critics, Like little gnats, to bite 'em; Those little critics have lesser critics, And so _ad infinitum_!
* * * * *
LINES BY A LEWISHAM WITLER.
The PENN is mightier than the sword-- Of any Red-Rad whipster. I said he'd win--doubted my word; But I'm the O.K. tipster. Rads roughed on me and called me "Bung;" I've bunged them up--a corker-- At the result their heads they hung. They whip the Witler? Walker! We're the PENN-holders. For their man That One-Six-Nine-Three nicked him, Witlers warmed up "Old Warmingpan;" PENN gave him odds, and licked him. "Villadom" did its duty--game; Rads jeered it; that's their mania. Lewisham? No, we'll change the name, And call it--PENN-Sylvania!
* * * * *
TIP BY A TORY.--The _Star_, talking of "HODGE's Political Salvation," says that Mr. GLADSTONE has given the Liberal country programme in a sentence. I will give it in a word. It is all "Hodge-podge!"
* * * * *
UNATTRACTIVE COMBINATION.--If a young woman is "fast," and uncommonly ugly, wouldn't she make a great mistake were she to combine the two qualities, and be "fast-'idious"?
* * * * *
NAME FOR A CERTAIN SECTION OF THE ILLUSTRATED PRESS.--The Nude Journalism.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE CANADIAN "SEARCH-LIGHT."]
* * * * *
THE COQUETTE OF THE PERIOD.
[Illustration]
You vowed you loved me, but your eyes Said just the same to dozens, The music of your low replies, Was heard by several cousins. Forgive me if I could not cope, With charms so comprehensive; And scarce believed a love whose scope, Was really too extensive.
The fashion of the age you'll say, But I've a predilection For girls who in the olden way Retain one man's affection. You favoured me with witching smiles, You gave me frequent dances; But other men that I wished miles Away, enjoyed your glances.
Man loves as men loved in old times, And as in legends hoary, We celebrate a maid in rhymes, Is that too old a story? But still man loves one girl alone, And flies when he discovers-- That she he thought was all his own, Has half a dozen lovers.
You sighed and said that you felt hurt, And prettily you pouted, When anybody called you flirt, A fact I never doubted. And yet such wheedling ways you had, Man yielded willy-nilly; And half your swains were nearly mad, And all of us were silly.
Youth's first illusions fly apace, And now one man confesses He scarcely can recal your face, Or colour of your dresses. And whether you were false or true, Or what fate followed after, Remembrance only keeps of you The echo of your laughter.
* * * * *
PROVERBIAL PRAYER FOR A PAUPER-HATING BUMBLE.--Give me neither poverty nor Ritchies!
* * * * *
A CREDIT
ABLE INCIDENT IN THE NEXT WAR.
(_AN ADVANCE SHEET FROM MR. PUNCH'S PROPHETIC HISTORY OF EUROPE._)
["Italy is bound to maintain abroad the appearance of a great and rich country, while at home she ought to conduct herself as if in straitened circumstances."--Daily Paper.]
The Italian Army had been completely victorious. There was but one drawback to the entire satisfaction of the Commander-in-Chief--one of his favourite Generals was under arrest, and was being tried by court-martial. The accused had refused the assistance of Counsel, and had insisted upon pleading "Guilty."
"But," urged the Commander-in-Chief, "you surely have some excuse. To sack a private house belonging to your own countryman was unpardonable. It was an aimless piece of Vandalism! For your own reputation--for the sake of your ancestors--on behalf of your descendants--some explanation should be afforded."
"Surely this is no time for levity," murmured a