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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 98, March 1, 1890, by Various This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 98, March 1, 1890 Author: Various Editor: Francis Burnand Release Date: September 14, 2009 [EBook #29992] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PUNCH, CHARIVARI, MARCH 1, 1890 *** Produced by Neville Allen, Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOLUME 98. MARCH 1, 1890. * * * * * UNTILED; OR, THE MODERN ASMODEUS. "Tres volontiers," repartit le demon. "Vous aimez les tableaux changeans: je veux vous contenter." _Le Diable Boiteux._ [Illustration:] XXI. "Though cold the coxcomb, and though coarse the boor, Though dulness haunts the rich and pain the poor, In this colossal city, Yet London is not Rome, O Shade!" I said. "A later JUVENAL should not find her dead To purity and pity." "Satire, of shames and follies in sole quest, Is a one-eyed divinity at best," My guide responded, slowly. "The tale of ZOILUS hath its moral still. Such critics are but blowflies, their small skill To carrion given wholly. "Not all the Romans of DOMITIAN's days Were such as live in JUVENAL's savage lays; Not all the Latian ladies Were HIPPIAS or COLLATIAS. Neither here May all be gauged by satire's rule severe, Or earth would be a Hades. "The scalpel hath no terrors for the sound, Nor is the hand that wields it harshly bound To ceaseless vivisection. The Cynic sharply sees, but sees not far; The eye that hunts the mote may miss the star Too great for scorn's detection. "Dream not, oh friend, because I let the light On lurid London through the cloak of night (As was my undertaking.) That I've a spirit wholly given to scorn, Or blind to all, save sin, that with the morn Will see a bright awaking. "Yet could the freedman's son but wield his flail In London, there are those might shrink and pale
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