THE MORNING'S REFLECTIONS.
Reading edition
Scene—Breakfast-table of an Illustrious Statesman of stalwart proportions and "Gladstonian" politics. Illustrious Statesman discovered, admiringly perusing three closely-printed columns of leading Morning Paper.
I. S. (soliloquising). Hah! Really reads very well, very well indeed. Points neatly put, hits smartly delivered! They shan't call me the "Champion Slugger" for nothing. American pugilist, named Sullivan, original bearer of that honorific title, I believe. Should like to see Sullivan. A fellow-feeling makes us wondrous—curious. Not kind, always, or Joseph and William—but no matter.
Hm—m—m! Hm—m—m—m! Excellent! Sparklers calculated to illuminate Lewes, startle Sussex, electrify thecountry. Slugging and sparkling my specialities. One or two decent speakers about; "our distinguished leader" can—distinguish, at great length and with considerable verbosi—I mean eloquence. Randolph can rattle, and Morley can pound, and Rosebery twitter pleasantly. But they can't coruscate and crush. The power of the bolt, which at once shines and smashes, is Jovian—not Rhodian, as Dizzy once nastily suggested. "My thunder," and I'm proud of it.
By the way, wonder what the other "Thunderer" thinks of it. Touches a tender chord, the chord of memory. Lost chord now, indeed. But no matter, let's see.
[Turns paper.
Hm—m—m! Hm—m—m—m! Hah! Too bad! "His bludgeon, or—considering his present connection—may we say his shillelagh?" Tut-tut! The Cloud-Compeller as a bludgeon-man, the Titan-queller flourishing a blackthorn like a tenth-rate Theseus, a Hibernian Hercules! Absurd! No sense of keeping whatever. "Swashbuckler," too! Nasty, and not even new!
As to "beating the big drum in Sussex"—why, how often have I done it—to their delight—in their own pages! "Travesty of contemporary history"—this to their own omniscient Historicus!
Shows the "Champion Slugger" has struck home, though. Your hard-hitter—your fellow who smites, as the appreciative rustic (Sussex man, I wonder?) put it, "blooming hard, blooming high, and blooming often," generally scores—even in the cricket-field. I am the Bonnor of debate, the Thornton of the platform. And doesn't the "Ring" like it?
Knocked holes in the "Jubilee Session," I fancy, "Ignorant people who mistake the flush of fever for the bloom of health, the torpor of apoplexy for the tranquillity of sleep," think that blazing Balfour and stertorous Smith are never "a penny the worse" for my repeated poundings. Pooh! "Salted with fire"—my fire—they—not being of the indomitable race of Dizzy—will not "undecaying live" much longer. I prophesy—but no, prophecy, private prophecy at least, is not profitable. Don't suppose a Delphic priest, or even a Derby tipster ever wasted time in prophesying to himself!
Still—still, if Champion "slugging" combined with coruscation does lead to Leadership—as why should it not?—I fancy I know some one who will have what the sporting patterers call, I think, "a look in" one of these days. Parochial shrewdness is all very well, so is philosophical precision combined with Puritan fervour. But the "swashing blow" strikes home, and if the Unionist bucklers are beaten down thereby, let who likes cry "swashbuckler!" As to "shillelaghs"—why is not "blackthorns to the front!" the order of the hour?
[Left smiling.
In Troubled Waters.—Mr. Chamberlain is being praised in some quarters for saying that we should leave Irish affairs, and "attend to our own business." The inference seems to be that "Irish affairs" are not "our business." Is not Ireland as much a part of the United Kingdom as England, Scotland, or Wales? We shall be glad of a line from Mr. Chamberlain—when he gets to his Fisheries.
GOLD AND STEEL: OR, SOMETHING LIKE A "SCIENTIFIC FRONTIER."
The Nizam of Hyderabad (to Britannia). "Here, Madam, is an earnest of my good-will—and my Sword is ready when wanted."
Mr. Punch, as Britannia's Chief Spokesman and First Plenipotentiary, replies to the Nizam of Hyderabad, First of India's Mahommedan Princes:—
Thanks, great descendant of Ghazee-ood-Deen! A gracious gift! It well may move the spleen Of England's enemies—and yours. The Bear Will stir, and growl in his chill Northern lair To see the Indian Tiger arm-in-arm With England's Lion, linked by the strong charm Of mutual confidence and common aim. A generous friendship, Prince, is our best game. Not loyalty alone approves your gift, But wise self-interest, and sagacious thrift. Sage Salar Jung would cordially approve The liberal impulse, the far-sighted move. Punchius, my Prince, is far too great to gush, And fulsome flattery wakens manhood's blush. England's true honour England's hand must hold; Steel for defence, and for equipment gold 'Tis hers to furnish; when that hand shall fail, Auxiliar sword or purse will nought avail To prop her sway, or 'stablish shaken power, Not though she had the more than Danaë dower Of all "the wealth of Ormuz and of Ind." Fear must not shake and softness must not blind The man, the people, who would lead and light Progress's Army in the World's great fight. Each nation finds, when Fate its courage tests, Its last, best frontier is its soldiers' breasts. War's sinews, though, wise captains won't contemn, Loyalty, liberal aid,—who laughs at them Is churl and goose at once. All England's ranks Will hail your generous gift with cordial thanks, Nizam-ool-Moolk! Our Dufferin has Wit, Trust him to make the wisest use of it; Or failing that—which doubtless will not fail— Trust Punch to throw his bâton in the scale, Whose wood, in hands like his, as skilled as bold, Ofttimes outweighs the worth of steel and gold. Nizam, that North-West Frontier, Punch's eye Shall watch henceforth with sharpest scrutiny. The lakhs not lacking, should swift wisdom lack, That bâton will descend with thundering thwack On dolts who dull delay shall cause or suffer;— But there, our Dufferin is not a duffer. Red-tape itself would hardly be so mad As to misread the moral Hyderabad Reads to Calcutta in this princely proffer. Punch—for his Queen—acknowledges the offer Of him who brings, a tribute free as leal, Gold for her peace, and for her war-time steel.