Abraham Lincoln And The London Punch Part 3

Two amusing bits of doggerel appeared in the same number, one representing the British nation's view of the international episode.

MRS. DURDEN ON THE AMERICAN DIFFICULTY

"Them there nasty good-for-nothing Yankees!" cried old MRS. DURDEN, "Worrits me to that degree, it makes my life almost a burden.

Board our mail and seize our pa.s.sengers, the ribbles! Goodness, gracious!

Like their imperence to be sure; 'tis that what makes 'em so owdacious.

"What next now I wonder, Captain?" Answer CAPTAIN SKIPPER made, "Well Ma'am, our next move, I fancy, will be breaking their blockade."

"Blockhead! Ah!" exclaimed the lady. "Truer word was never spoken.

Drat the blockheads, all says I; may every head on 'em be broken!"

The other is a bit of broad fun, in mockery of the profuse volumes of smoke and sound which were emitted by Yankee fire-eaters.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE NEW ORLEANS PLUM.

BIG LINCOLN HORNER, UP IN A CORNER, THINKING OF HUMBLE PIE; FOUND UNDER HIS THUMB, A NEW ORLEANS PLUM, AND SAID, WHAT A CUTE YANKEE AM I!]

A VOICE FROM WAs.h.i.+NGTON

_From our Special Correspondent_

We Yankees ain't given to brag; JOHN BULL, we expect, has no notion Of going to war; but his flag If he does, we shall sweep from the ocean And when the old vagabond lies In a state of teetotal prostration, Old Ireland in glory will rise, Independence to win as a nation.

Our breadstuffs from England kept back, The sequel must be dest.i.tution.

Her famis.h.i.+ng millions, in lack Of food, will force on revolution.

VICTORIA will have to retire; Aristocracy, friends of Secession, Will be hurled down, and trod in the mire; No more for to practise oppression.

Rebellion we'll bring to an end, The slaves 'mongst our heroes dividing, Or arms to the n.i.g.g.e.rs we'll lend, To give their darned masters a hiding.

Work up all our cotton at home, Let not one more bale be exported, Have the world at our feet, like old Rome, By the kings of the airth as was courted.

Want money? I reckon not we; A national debt we'll create, Twice as heavy as yourn, which will be, For SAMSONS like we air, no weight.

On Government bonds we shall borrow Any money in Europe with ease.

Why London and Paris, to-morrow Will lend us as much as we please.

Foreign goods we shall purchase with paper, Which let foreign usurers hold; The British may swagger and vapour, At home whilst we keep all our gold.

As BELMONT to SEWARD has written, Any stock may in Europe be "placed,"

And the chance, if the ROTHSCHILDS ain't bitten, Will be by the BARINGS embraced.

We've twice before whipped all creation, We've now got to whip it again.

We air a remarkable nation Of modest, but resolute men.

JOHN BULL, then, allow us to kick you, And don't go resenting the act, Or into a c.o.c.ked hat we'll lick you, Yes, Sir-ree, you old hoss, that's a fact.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE "SENSATION" STRUGGLE IN AMERICA.]

The manly and tactful apology which represented the feeling of the better sort of folk in America, and which was wrung from a reluctant cabinet by Abraham Lincoln, softened for a moment the asperity of our old antagonist. The following rather amiable verses were written in antic.i.p.ation of the amicable settlement which already (January 11, 1862), seemed probable:

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE LATEST FROM AMERICA; Or, the New York "Eye-Duster," to be taken Every Day.]

A FAIR OFFER FROM JOHN BULL TO MISS COLUMBIA

Shall we kiss and be friends? Why not? Sister COLUMBIA, No more ugly faces let you and me pull; Though we both have our tempers, our worries and troubles, Let "bygones be bygones" for me, says JOHN BULL.

You must own that you've given me a deal of bad language, And have been far too free with your bunk.u.m and brag; _That_ I'll pocket, if now, like a sensible woman, You'll disclaim your friend WILKES, and salute the old flag.

Fools may sneer and call family feelings all humbug, But I feel that one blood in the veins of us flows: Our tongues are the same, though I don't like your fas.h.i.+on Of talking, (as you'd make _me_ pay) through the nose.

We snarled and we scratched, in the days of our folly, When you wanted to leave me and start for yourself; To think of those times makes me quite melancholy---- The blood that we wasted----the temper and pelf!

When I vowed that I'd tame you, and make you knock under, And you dared me and bit, like a vixen as well; I did think by this time we had both seen our blunder; Meant to live as good friends and in peace buy and sell.

But of late I can't think what the deuce has come o'er you: First, you turn your own house out of window, and then, Declare that _I_ want to o'erreach you and floor you, Stop my s.h.i.+ps, seize my pa.s.sengers, bully my men!

I can stand a great deal from my own blood-relations, And I know that your troubles your temper have soured; But I can't take a blow, in the face of all nations, And consent to see law by brute force overpowered.

Only own your friend WILKES is a blundering bully, And make over MASON and SLIDELL to me, And all that is past, I'll condone, fair and fully, Kiss you now, and in future, I _do_ hope, agree!

[Ill.u.s.tration: ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER.

OLD ABE. "WHY I DU DECLARE IT'S MY DEAR OLD FRIEND SAMBO!

COURSE YOU'LL FIGHT FOR US, SAMBO. LEND US A HAND, OLD HOSS, DU!"]

Yet Lincoln, the peacemaker of the occasion, got little credit from _Punch_, which, indeed, began now to pursue him with unremitting invective.

The gorilla-like caricature of Lincoln's features makes its first appearance in a cartoon wherein this repulsive face is joined to a racc.o.o.n's body.

The "c.o.o.n" is shown up a tree, Colonel Bull, standing below, has drawn a bead on him with his gun.

"Air you in earnest, Colonel?" asks the c.o.o.n.

"I am," replies the mighty Bull.

"Don't fire," says the c.o.o.n, "I'll come down."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "NOT UP TO TIME;"

Or, Interference would be very Welcome.]

Even Lincoln's proclamation emanc.i.p.ating the slaves in the seceding states did not soften the asperity of the old-time anti-slavery advocate. _Punch_ feigned to see in this message only the ruse of a wily combatant driven to a last resource. This idea is put into a quatrain, as follows:

THE AMERICAN CHESS-PLAYERS