Volume 103 — THE BATTLE OF THE BARDS;
Reading edition
Or, The Lists for the Laurels.
Fytte the Second.
"Wire in, my warblers!" PUNCHIUS cried. "To 'wire,' Though slangy, sounds appropriate to the Lyre." Then forth there toddled with the mincing gait Of some fair "Tottering Lily," him, the great New Bard of Buddha! Grave, and grey of crest. 'Tis he illumes the nubibustic West With the true "Light of Asia"—or, at least, Such simulacrum of the effulgent East As shineth from a homemade Chinese lantern. No HAFIZ he, or SAADI, yet he can turn Authentic Sanscrit to—Telegraphese, And make the Muse a moon-faced Japanese. Leaderesque love of gentle gush and "Caps.," Is blent in him with fondness for the Japs. "Wah! wah! futtee!—wah! wah, gooroo!" he cried, And twanged his tinkling orient lyre with pride.
THE MOANING OF THE BARDS.
No moaning of the bards! A pleasant quip! No manufactured gloom to dim that far light! Of dirge's luxury deprive my lip? So suns might say there shall be no more starlight! Lamping is not required at day's full noon, Lanterns are out of place in dawn's fair flush-light; But when dark night sets in, and there's no moon, There is a chance for stars, or even a rushlight. No moaning of the bards? That were hard lines For minor line-spinners, imperial TENNYSON! Owls only have their chance when day declines, That's why the night-birds crown thee with prompt benison. LEWIS has wailed and warbled—twiddlingly: ALFRED has—rootley-tootlely—wailed and warbled; WILLIAM's young Muse hath wept—then why not Me, Whose brow, not less than theirs, with woe is marbled? ROBERT and AUSTIN (DOBSON) took their turns; There is some talk, too, of Sir THEODORE MARTIN. Seeing my lips, too, thrill, my heart, too, burns, Why the great contest should I take no part in! May be I do not carry guns enough To epically glorify King ARTHUR, But I have penned some reams of rhythmic stuff Concerning (please admire the rhyme!) SIDDÁRTHA. (That, as an "assonance," is quite as good As "sang it," and "began it.") Ornamental And Eastern Mythos draws me; but I'm good At "Poems National and Non-Oriental." I love the Hindoos, I adore the Japs; I'm fond of scraps of Oriental lingo; Yet I'm a patriot, and have hymned, perhaps, As much as most, my native god, great Jingo! I think a Muse with twinkly almond orbs, Would—as a change—in England prove most fetching; Is it not plain Jap Art our Art ahsorbs! Why not in singing, then, as well as sketching? I'm sure my "GEISHA" is as good a girl As Vivien, or Faustine, or e'en Dolores. Is she more frail, less fair, that perfect pearl Of Singing Girls, Xipangu's great'st of glories? Knocks her nice little flat nose on the floor, In Japanese politeness, my "Half Jewel." ALGERNON's nymphs, in song or in amour Are always coarse and generally cruel. "Pearls of the Faith," is a most pious work, Although AL-MUTÂHÂLI is the stringer. But only he who hates "The Unspeakable Turk," On that account would blame the Christian singer! "Lotus and Jewel!" Doesn't that sound nice? My mild Jap Muse may be a roguey-poguey; But there's no stimulus to pleasant vice About a holy Brahman or chaste Yogi. "Land of the Rising Sun," delightful "Third Kingdom of Merry Dreams," of you I'm amorous. Must that exclude me from the Wreath? Absurd! I'm prettily pious, and I'm gently glamorous. My Knighthood proves that I am quite O.K., My dear D.T. will answer for my morals; I'm steeped in Sanscrit lore, and so must say I can't see why I should not wear the laurels! "Quite so," said Punch. "I like your rhyme—and cheek; Still, there be others yet to hear—next week!"
AN ILL-DIGESTED LESSON.
The Governess. "And now, what is a Parable, Effie?"
Effie (who has got rather muddled). "A Parable? Oh, of course, a Parable is a Heavenly story with an Earthly meaning!"
APOLOGIA ARRYGATENSIS.—"'ARRY in Arrygate" was so much sought after everywhere that it was thought Mr. Punch could not possibly supply the great demand for this article with sufficient celerity and dispatch. Hence it happened that the Harrogate Advertiser enthusiastically reproduced the entire article as published in Mr. Punch's pages, without saying "with your leave, or by your leave," to the Proprietors representing Mr. Punch. So, Mr. Punch, always kindly and courteous, was compelled in this instance to "know the reason why." Whereupon The Harrogate Advertiser acknowledged that it did not "harrogate to itself" any sort of right to republish wholesale without acknowledgment anything that has appeared in Mr. Punch's pages, and at once handsomely apologised for this instance of priggishness quite unprecedented in the Harrogate Advertiser's columns (Vide Harrogate Advertiser, October 15). Box and Cox are satisfied. Causa flnita est. Vive 'ARRY! Likewise 'Arrygate! And, know, all men, by these presents, that Mr. P. is quite wide-awake.
ANECDOTAGE.—Said the Old Parliamentary Hand, entering Christ Church, "I prefer this House to the other!" It was the success of the visit.
A COOL HAND.
Irrepressible Pupil. "Poor Stuff, Sir, this Virgil. Don't you think so?"
Suffering Coach (who can scarcely believe his ears). "Poor Stuff, Sir! Virgil—poor Stuff! What do you mean?"
Irrepressible Pupil (unmoved). "Seems to me, Sir, it's merely a Literal Translation of some of the best English Cribs!"