THE SEQUEL OF A FABLE.
(See "The German Fox and the British Lion," Punch, November 17, 1888.)
"When Fox with Lion hunts, one would be sorry
To say who gains—until they've shared the quarry!"
Such was the Moral
Of the first chapter of our modern Fable.
Is the co-partnership still strong and stable,
Or are there signs of quarrel
More than mere querulous quidnuncs invent
To break companionship and mar content?
Reynard has settled down into that latitude,
Pilgrim, perhaps, but certainly a Trader.
Does he not show a certain change of attitude,
Suggestive rather less of the Crusader,
Eager to earn the black-skinned bondsman's gratitude,
Than of the Bagman with his sample-box?
Ah, Master Fox!
Somehow the scallop seems to slip aside,
And that brave banner, which, with honest pride
You waved, like some commercial Quixote—verily
'Tis not to-day so valorously flaunted,
And scarce so cheerily.
You boast the pure knight-errantry so vaunted,
Some two years since,
Eh? You unfeigned Crusading zeal evince?
Whence, then, that rival banner
Which you coquet with in so cautious manner?
Hoisting it? Humph! Say, rather, just inspecting it.
But whether with intention of rejecting it,
Or temporising with the sly temptation
And making Proclamation
Of views a trifle modified, and ardour
A little cooled by thoughts of purse and larder.
Why, that's the question.
Reynard will probably resent suggestion
Of playing renegade, in the cause of Trade,
To that same Holy, Noble, New Crusade.
"Only," he pleads, "don't fume, and fuss, and worry,
The New Crusade is not a thing to hurry;
I never meant hot zealotry or haste—
Things hardly to the solid Teuton taste!"
And Leo? Well, he always had his doubts,
Yet to indulge in fierce precipitate flouts
Is not his fashion.
The Anti-Slavery zeal, with him a passion,
He knows less warmly shared by other traders;
But soi-disant Crusaders
Caught paltering with the Infidels, like traitors,
And hot enthusiast Emancipators
Who the grim Slavery-demon gently tackle,
Wink at the scourge, and dally with the shackle,
Such, though they vaunt their zeal and orthodoxy,
Seem—for philanthropists—a trifle foxy!
Réclame (Gratis).—Where is the Lessee of the Haymarket? He ought to have been in India. He was wanted there. The Daily News, last week, told us in its Morning News Columns that "at a place called Beerbhoom"—clearly the Indian spelling of Beerbohm—"there was a desirable piece of land lying waste"—the very spot for a theatre—"because it was reputed to be haunted by a malignant goddess,"—that wouldn't matter as long as the "gods" were well provided for. Then it continues, "They" (who?) "did all they could to propitiate her, setting apart a tree—." Yes; but it wasn't the right tree: of course it ought to have been a BEERBHOOM TREE. His first drama might have shown how a Buddhist priest couldn't keep a secret. Thrilling!