BEHEMOTH AND THE LION; OR, SPEARS AND QUILLS.
A Fable for Pseudo-Philanthropists.
Philanthropist Press-Man. "Oh stop, stop, Mister Lion! Wait a bit! Perhaps the pretty Creature means no harm!"
Leo (curtly). "Look at his Teeth!"
[Mr. Rider Haggard (writing to the Times) remarks that a considerable section of the English Press seems to be of opinion that Lobengula is an innocent and worthy savage, on whom a quarrel is being forced by the Chartered Company for its own mercenary ends. He suggests that the appearance of an armed Matabele impi in Mayfair might alter their views.]
"Behemoth is big and black, and monstrous-mouthed and toothfull,
But to say he is carnivorous were cruelly untruthful!"
So quoth the Querulous Quillman, or Pen-armed Philanthropist,
Whose intellect seems ever in a sentimental mist.
Now Leo, little given to read books on Natural History,
Was watchful of Dame Nature's facts. "It seems to me a mystery
My querulous Press Porcupine," observed the wary Lion,
"That what you've set your heart on, you can never keep clear eye on.
Look at his teeth!" "Oh, nonsense!" cried the Querulous Quillman, quoting
From a book on Big Mammalia, to which he'd been devoting
All his odd moments recently. "Those tusks may look terrific,
But the monster's graminivorous, and pleasant, and pacific.
They're solely meant for cutting grass! Huge uppers and big lowers,
Though threatening as ripping-saws, are harmless as lawn-mowers.
As weapons of offence they're seldom used, so here 'tis stated,
'Unless the creature's wounded sore, or greatly irritated.'
He is innocent and worthy, this Titanic-jawed Colossus.
Those gleaming tusks won't 'chump' you, he won't trample us, or toss us,
Unless we interfere with him. He likes to stand there grinning,
With those terrible incisors, in a way which mayn't be winning,
Still, 'tis but his style of smiling, and it's not his fault, poor fellow!
If his maw's a crimson cavern, and his tusks are huge and yellow."
Behemoth meanwhile snorted in his own earthquaky fashion,
And yawned, and lashed and trampled like a tiger in a passion.
By the gleaming of his optics, and the clashing of his tushes,
He seemed to be preparing for the Ugliest of Rushes.
Quoth Leo, "Good friend Porcupine, you may be quite prophetic,
And I a bit 'too previous.' Your picture's most pathetic;
But I've seen your pachydermatous Poor Innocent when furious,
And for a gentle graminivorous creature, it is curious
How he'll run amuck like a Malay, and crunch canoes and foes up,
With those same tusks, which might have made a Mammoth turn his toes up.
So if you please, friend Porcupine, your quills I shall not trust again
To meet those spears, which hate would wash—in blood, 'ere they should rust again.
Mere quills won't quell an Impi, or make Behemoth good-neighbourly.
Leo must guard this spot, where British enterprise and labour lie,
The Monster seems to meditate attack, if I may judge of him,
So let me have the first slap at, whilst you keep on scribbling fudge of him!
Moral.
It may appear superfluous to point this fable's moral;
But—teeth that could crush chain-mail seem scarce shaped for mumbling coral!
