Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 99, August 23, 1890

by Various

THE JACKDAW.

(Imitated from Edgar Poe, by an Indignant "Obstructive.")

"That (the defeat of our measures) was all due to Obstruction.... It appears that Crown and Parliament are alike to be disestablished, and that in their stead we are to put the Obstructive and the Bore.... I should like to ask them what kind of Government they think best, a Bureaucracy or a Bore-ocracy?"—Mr. Balfour at Manchester.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a dry and dusty volume of Blue-Bookish lore,—

While I nodded nearly napping, suddenly there came a yapping,

As of some toy-terrier snapping, snapping at my study door.

"'Tis some peevish cur," I muttered, "yapping at my study door,—

Only that,—but it's a bore."

Ah! distinctly I remember, it was drawing nigh September,

And each trivial Tory Member pined for stubble, copse, and moor;

Eagerly they wished the morrow; vainly they had sought to borrow

From their SMITH surcease of sorrow, or from GOSCHEN or BALFOUR,

From the lank and languid "miss" the Tory claque dubbed "Brave BALFOUR,"

Fameless else for evermore.

Party prospects dark, uncertain, sombre as night's sable curtain,

Filled them, thrilled them with fantastic funkings seldom felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of faint hearts, they kept repeating

Futile formulas, entreating Closure for the "Obstructive Bore"—

With a view to Truth defeating, such they dubbed "Obstructive Bore,"

As sought Truth, and nothing more.

Presently my wrath waxed stronger; hesitating then no longer,

"Cur!" I said; "mad mongrel, truly off your precious hide, I'll score;

Like your cheek to come here yapping, just as I was gently napping;

You deserve a strapping,—yapping, snapping at my study door.

I shall go for you, mad mongrel!" Here I opened wide the door.

Darkness there, and nothing more!

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there nothing hearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams of Spooks, Mahatmas, Esoteric lore;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token.

Hist! there were two words soft spoken, those stale words, "Obstructive Bore."

Bosh! I murmured, and some echo whispered back, "Obstructive Bore":

Merely that, and nothing more.

Back into my study turning, with some natural anger burning,

Soon again I heard a sound more like miauling than before.

"Surely," said I, "surely that is a grimalkin at my lattice.

Let me see if it stray cat is, and this mystery explore;

Where's that stick? Ah! wait a moment: I'll this mystery explore;

It shall worry me no more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a smirk and flutter,

In there popped a perky Jackdaw, yapping, miauling as before

(Queer mimetic noises made he), for no introduction stayed he,

But, with plumage sleek, yet shady, perched above my study door,—

Perched upon a bust of GLADSTONE placed above my study door,—

Perched, and croaked "Obstructive Bore!"

Then this mocking bird beguiling my tried temper into smiling

By the lank lopsided languor of the countenance it wore.

"Though you look storm-tost, unshaven, you," I said, "have found a haven,

Daw as roupy as a raven! Was it you yapped at my door?

Tell me your confounded name, O bird in beak so like BALFOUR!"

Quoth the bird, "Obstructive Bore!"

Much I wondered this ungainly fowl to hear speak up so plainly,

Though his answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no sober human being

Ever yet was blessed by seeing bird above his study door—

Bird or beast upon the Grand Old bust above his study door,

With the name, "Obstructive Bore."

But the Jackdaw, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spake only

That one word, as though in that his policy he did outpour.

Not another sound he uttered, but his feathers proudly fluttered.

"Ah!" I mused, "the words he muttered other dolts have mouthed before.

Who is he who thinks to scare me with stale cant oft mouthed before?"

Quoth the bird, "Obstructive Bore!"

Startled at the silence broken by reply so patly spoken,

Doubtless, mused I, what it utters is its only verbal store,

Learnt from some unlucky master, whom well-merited disaster

Followed fast and followed faster, till his speech one burden bore—

Till his dirges of despair one melancholy burden bore,

Parrot-like, "Obstructive Bore!"

But the Jackdaw still beguiling my soothed fancy into smiling.

Straight I wheeled my easy-chair in front of bird, and bust, and door;

Then, upon the cushion sinking, I betook myself to linking

Memory unto memory, thinking what this slave of parrot-lore—

What this lank, ungainly, yet complacent thrall of parrot-lore

Meant by its "Obstructive Bore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, strange similitude confessing,

'Twixt this fowl, whose goggle-eyes glared on me from above my door,

And a chap with long legs twining, whom I'd often seen reclining

On the Treasury Bench's lining, Irish anguish gloating o'er;

This same chap with long legs twining Irish anguish chuckling o'er,

Tories christened, "Brave BALFOUR."

Then methought the air grew denser. I remembered stout Earl SPENCER,

And the silly pseudo-Seraph who "obstructed" him of yore;

I remembered Maamtrasma, faction, partisan miasma,

CHURCHILL—CHURCHILL and his henchman, lank and languorous BALFOUR.

"What," I cried, "was ARTHUR, then, or RANDOLPH, in those days of yore?"

Quoth the bird, "Obstructive Bore."

"Prophet!" said I, "of things evil, prophet callous, cold, uncivil,

By your favourite 'Tu quoque' how can you expect to score?

Though your cheek may be undaunted, little memory is wanted,

And your conscience must be haunted by bad memories of yore,

When you were—ah! well, what were you? Tell me frankly, I implore!"

Quoth the bird, "Obstructive Bore."

"Prophet," said I, "of all evil! that we're going to the devil

All along of that 'Obstruction'—which of old you did adore.

Ere you won official Aidenn—is the charge with which is laden

Every cackling speech you make—if you do represent BALFOUR,

That mature and minxish 'maiden' whom the PATS call 'Miss BALFOUR,'"—

Quoth the bird, "Obstructive Bore!"

"Here! 'tis time you were departing, bird or not," I cried, upstarting;

"Get you back unto the Carlton, they on parrot-cries set store.

Leave no feather as a token of the lies that you have spoken

Of the Man, Grand, Old, Unbroken! Quit his bust above my door.

Take thy claws from off his crown, and take thy beak from off my door!"

Quoth the bird, "Obstructive Bore!"

And the Jackdaw, fowl provoking, still is croaking, still is croaking,

On the pallid bust of GLADSTONE just above my study door,

And his eyes have all the seeming of a small attorney scheming;

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And the shape cut by that shadow which lies floating on the floor,

Looks (to me) OBSTRUCTIVE BORE!

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