[Illustration: OWEN MEREDITH, _ALIAS_ LORD LYTTON, TRANSLATED INTO
FRENCH.
_Lord L-tt-n sings_:--]
_Love's Metamorphoses_ I sang of late,
"My Unglenaverilled Glenaveril"
Puzzled the Public's unpoetic pate.
Wit, like my sire's imaginary _Vril_,
Is thaumaturgic. I have served the State
In various ways with elegance and skill;
But _my_ "last Metamorphosis," I opine,
Out of Glenaveril's wholly takes the shine.
From "OWEN MEREDITH," of Servian song,
Translator (who said through the French?) to this!
The course, like my Serb falcon's flight, is long.
The proletariat possibly may hiss.
I scorn the anserine Gladstonian throng,
Whose mouthpiece is the _Gaily Dews_. I wis
That nickname shows a polish and a fire
Of wit well worthy my prodigious Sire.
When I wrote _Aux Italiens_ long ago
(And _Trovatore_ rhymed with purgatory)
I little thought Paris one day should know
The bard in an Ambassador's full glory.
Ah! I shall miss the Oriental show
Of Ind--but that is scarce a pleasant story,
And, after all, I fancy that my _Charis_
Had always, more or less, a touch of Paris.
"_Lucile_," for instance! Well, I've wandered far
From my old _Wanderer_ days; _tout mieux_, perchance.
Better to be a diplomatic star
Than a poetic shade. Beloved France,
To ape thy _jeunesse doree_ will not jar
Upon my spirit, which is all romance:
I love the blend of the sublime and finical,
Of chivalry, choice cookery, and the cynical.
CHAMBERLAIN--_did_ I dub him once a scold,
A leaner, later _Casca_? I was wrong--
Is off to Canada, and BALBO bold
(I called him bilious once, but 'twas in song)
Is with us now, I hope the league may hold.
Who now dubs JOSEPH--though of course he's strong--
"The secret despot of a Cabinet,
That dare not disregard his faintest threat?"
Forgive the thought, _Caecilius_! Whether JOE
_Has_ put his foot in it, and bowed still more
Your "large Olympian forehead," I don't know;
But I can see that it must be a bore
To have your diplomats run wild. I go
With other purpose to a nearer shore;
And soon I hope your confidence to win,
And prove no ass, though in the LYONS' skin!
* * * * *
The "Wild West" finished up rather tamely. Lord LORNE and others, with,
we presume, the Honourable BUFFALO BILL CODY, palavered about an
International Arbitration Court. If the Hon. and Rev. BILL--"Reverend"
because, as he tells us, he once performed the part of a clergyman and
married a couple, pronouncing a formula which, being a close parody on
the words of the solemn rite, need not be repeated here, though they
evidently struck him as a bright idea,--has anything to do with it, we
shall hear of the rules of this new Court (not Earl's Court) being at
once codi-fied.
* * * * *
RESTITUTION WITH RESIGNATION.--M. WILSON gave up 40,000 francs' worth of
postage. Will M. GREVY give up the post altogether?
* * *
ANOTHER MOTTO FOR AUGUSTUS DRURIOLANUS.--He does not say, "Peace with
Honour," but "Piece with MERRITT."
* * *
"THE ROUGH ELEMENT"--last week, was--the Sea.
* * * * *
Jenny Lind.
_Born at Stockholm, October 6, 1821. Married Herr Otto Goldschmidt,
February 5, 1852. Died, November 2, 1887._
"She never lost her interest in the two chief objects of her
life, music and charity."--_Times._
Music and Charity! Of all things mortal,
What sweeteners of our lives may match these twain?
What draweth hearts nearer the heavenly portal
Than mercy's impulse, melody's moving strain?
Well chosen, singer sweet!
Great gifts, and the large love of giving meet,
Well harmonised in JENNY LIND'S career;
These made her life delight, these make her memory dear.
_Punch_, of well-fitting phrases ready minter,
Christened his favourite forty years ago;
Hailed as "The Nightingale that Sings in Winter,"[A]
The Swedish songstress whom the voice of woe
Moved ever, as her own
Moved the applauding multitude; alone,
Amidst the stars of Opera's tuneful quire,
To succour ever prompt as potent to inspire!
"Dear JENNY LIND!" So then his song addressed her
Who still is "JENNY LIND," and still is dear.
Though Genius praised, and Fashion's crowd caressed her,
She sank not, like some stars, below her sphere
Into those darkening mists
Whose taint the true and tender heart resists.
Her nature fame was powerless to soil,
Whom splendour hardened not, and puffery could not spoil.
How the crowd rushed and crushed, and cheered and clamoured,
Forty years syne, to hang upon her song!
Of _La Sonnambula's_ heroine enamoured,
Thrilled by the flute-like trillings sweet as strong
Of their dear Nightingale.
_Amina_, _Lucia_, _Alice_, each they'd hail
With fervent plaudits, in whose flush and stir
Love of her silvery song was blent with love of her.
And each well earned! The crowd would press and jostle
To hear their favourite warbler, from whose throat,
Clear as the lark, and mellow as the throstle,
The limpid melody would soar and float.
Now like a shattered lute,
The Nightingale who sang in winter's mute;
But long remembered that pure life shall be,
To Music dedicate and vowed to Charity.
[A] See _Punch_, Vol. XVI., p. 15.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "THE LABOUR MARKET."
_First East Countryman._ "SHALL YEAOU VOOTE FOR THE DIS'TABLISHMENT O'
TH' CHU'CH?"
_Second Ditto (firmly)._ "No; thar I 'on't, Bo'! Work's scass enow as
'T IS--BUT IF WE WAS TO HEV ALL THEM PARSONS TU'NNED OUT, AN' GOIN'
'BOUT PLOUGHIN', AN' HEDGIN', AN' MOWIN', AN' HARVESTIN', WE SHOULD BE
WUSS OFF THAN WE ARE NOW!"]
* * * * *
"THE BEARING OF IT LIES IN THE APPLICATION."
"Spare no efforts to maintain the magnificent inheritance which has
descended from your forefathers," said Mr. CHAMBERLAIN, when bidding a
temporary good-bye to Birmingham.
Well, it is a magnificent inheritance, and most certainly it is our
duty, as well as our interest, to maintain it. But how? Magnificent as
it is, it has certain incumbrances; memories of wrongs unredressed,
actualities of mismanagement unremoved. To maintain _these_ is not to
improve the inheritance, and enable us to hand it down better worth
maintaining by those who will inherit it from us. As stewards of the
splendid patrimony of empire, we must not only keep it together, but
properly--that is, justly and sagaciously--administer it, which, indeed,
is the only sure and safe way of maintaining it. The accumulated
mortgage of our ancestors' errors and misdeeds is, unfortunately, but
inevitably, a part of our "inheritance." To pay it off may seem a
burdensome duty, but a duty it is, in the resolute doing, not the
haughty ignoring or cowardly shirking, of which we shall be at least as
truly "maintaining our inheritance," as by stroke of sword, or statute
of coercion. _Verb. sap_.
* * * * *
We see a book advertised by Messrs. KEGAN, PAUL & CO., called _Tertium
Quid_. Ask an Eton Boy, about Christmas time, or when he is going back
to school, what is the translation of _Tertium Quid_, and he will
probably hold out his hand and reply, "The third sovereign--but I'll
take one to go on with, or to go off with." Well, you can "owe him one"
for that.
* * *
WHAT'S IN A NAME?--The person who ought to write a weird Christmas story
is, evidently, the Author of _Bootles' Baby, That Imp!_ &c., JOHN
STRANGE WINTER.
* * *