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Charivari, Lisa Tang, Malcolm Farmer and the Online
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  PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

  Volume 93, October 8th 1887

  _edited by Sir Francis Burnand_




[Illustration: OUR AMERICAN COUSIN AGAIN TO THE FRONT.]

       *       *       *       *       *

THE BATTLE OF THE WAY.

_A Lay of Lake-land._

  "Now, Lake-men, claim your right of way, and see the business done,
  Come with your crowbar, spade, and pick;--and sure the battle's won,
  For bolts and bars show SPEDDING'S race that you don't care a fig,
  And prove that right's no match for might when rallied round Latrigg."

  So shouted ROUTH-FITZPATRICK, and Lake-men with a cheer,
  To Fawe Park Gates from Keswick's peaceful <DW72>s were drawing near,
  When high upon the topmost wall as if to break the spell,
  There uprose the Solicitor of Mrs. SPENCER BELL.

  He spoke and as his voice he raised his arms he waved around,
  "Beware," he cried, "what you're about, for this is private ground.
  With sundry pains and penalties you'll surely be repaid,
  Who dare to-day set hand to move this lawful barricade!"

  But ROUTH-FITZPATRICK heeded not his protest, nor replied;
  So Mrs. BELL'S Solicitor, he promptly stood aside,
  And watched the next proceedings with a disapproving frown,
  For up went crow-bar, pick, and axe, and gate and bar went down.

  Yes, 'neath the sturdy Lake-men's blows the barriers gave way,
  And lo! in rushed the joyous thronging crowd without delay;
  And some on foot, and some in drags, and some in waggons stowed,
  Held on their way triumphantly down the disputed road.

  So onward towards Silver Hill advanced the active host,
  And cleared each wire fence away, and levelled every post;
  And when with crowbar, pick, and axe, they'd made their purpose plain,
  To Nichol Ending they returned in triumph once again.

  Then Secretary JENKINSON uprose and spoke a word,
  And said how by the sights that day his manly breast was stirred,
  And how that, if on Saturday as they had now begun
  They held their own, they might regard the fight already won.

  And then a telegram from Mr. PLIMSOLL he read out,
  The which the Lake-men greeted with a hearty answering shout;
  And Mrs. BELL'S Solicitor retired from the field,
  But with an ugly look that seemed to say, "We'll never yield!"

  And so commenced the fray that day, and though we know, of course,
  As everybody tells us, there's no remedy in force,
  Still, if the Lake-men's pick and axe this matter sets at rest,
  We must admit how ills to cure at Keswick they know best.

  But which side wins or loses in the still impending fight,
  Whether force of public freedom, or trick of legal right,
  The eager world on-looking may have watched a deadlier fray,
  But none more keen in contest than the Battle of the Way!

       *       *       *       *       *

PARNELLITE PROVERB (_applied to the Baleful Balfour_).--Give him an
inch (of law) and he'll take a (National) League.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE MORNING'S REFLECTIONS.

    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._

[Illustration]

_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 the country. 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."

[Illustration: _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 Danae 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 _baton_ 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 _baton_ 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.

       *       *       *       *       *

ROBERT AT LILLIE BRIDGE.

Well, it does seem rayther rum, I confess, but it's nevertheless true,
that hardly nothink of a singlar and xtraordinary charackter seems to
appen in London that I don't seem to be present. In these dredful dull
days, when there ain't not no great dinners a going on, no not hardly
one Livery Company a dining in their Alls of dazzling light, and the
LORD MARE hisself a injoying of his olliday at Pangburn, what is a
pore Hed Waiter to do to wile away a idle hour or 2; so hearing as two
of the seven Champions of England was about to run a race of ever so
many hundred yards in just a few seconds, at Lilly Bridge, me and
BROWN went there on that now sillybrated Monday, and saw sich a
rewolutionary riot as would have done justice to old Ireland itself.
Determined to be in good time, we went early, and took up our plaices,
and patiently waited. At about 5 o'clock pea. hem. the two galliant
Champions walked on the ground, and took a good look at it. I didn't
think werry much of their pussonal aperance, and shouldn't a thort as
they was Champions if I hadn't bin told, and one was a good deal older
than the other one, which didn't seem quite fare to me. However, I
didn't interfere, as it wasn't no bizziness of mine, and the two
running Champions walked in to dress, or rather praps I should say, to
undress for the race. Harf past 5 came, and no Champions, and 6
o'clock struck and no Champions, and we began to get jest a little
fidgetty; at aquarter-past 6 a wild roomer spread around that we was
all a going to be sold!

There was about a hundred thowsand on us, more or less, a waiting
patiently and quietly for a sight that thousands had cum hundreds of
miles for to see, and we was told as how as the two galliant Champions
had had a jolly row jest as they was a undressing, and then both on em
dressed themselves again, and set off at their werry best speed, in
quite different and rong directions, and never cum back! At this
howdacious swindle our true British pluck begun for to arise, and we
all with one acord began to shout tout, "Give us back our Money!" As
they didn't do it, we all made a rush to the Pay Places, jest to help
ourselves to our several shillings, but the cowardly money-takers had
bolted with our money!

Then we Great Britains, feeling as we had been hartfully swindled,
rose up in our mighty wroth and wowed wengeance! And wengeance we
took! Some of the leading sperits among us who had come hundreds of
miles to see the Recorder beaten, tho why they wanted to beat him I
coudn't at all understand, shouted out "We'll have sum-think for our
money afore we gos back," and quite right too, if they'd ha' stopped
at the beer and lemonade, and the spunge cakes, at which the first
rush was made, but when it came to destruction and fire and rebellyon,
me and BROWN withdrawed our countenances from the hole thing and
remembered our duty to our QUEEN and Country, and seeing as the blue
Gardiens of the Peeple was rayther hard pressed by the raging and
angry Mob, we got two of our friends, as was there, to jine us, and
then them, and me, and BROWN, thinking as perhaps a reserve force
might be wanted, and out of respect to the great Country that begot
us, and bread us, and eddicated us, we stood a long ways off and
formed ourselves into a reserve Corpse accordingly, and from there we
surweyed all the wild and wicked proceedings in peace and quietness,
and, strange to say, wasn't wanted after all!

Ah, if a few more of the few respectable-looking gents as was there
had imitated our bold xample, things might have ended werry different
to what they begun, but so it is, the mere mob is jest as easily led
away to do rong as to do rite, it's only the few who has the moral
curridge to judge for theirselves as