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December 23, 1914.]
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
521
With ivy wreathed, a hundred lights Shone out; the Convent play was finished;The waning term this night of nights To a few golden hours diminished.
Again the curtain rose. Outshone The childish frocks and childish tressesOf the late cast that had put on Demureness and its party dresses.
Rustled a-row upon the stage Big girls and little, ranged in sizes,All waiting for the Personage To make the speech and give the prizes.
And there, all rosy from her róle, Betsey with sturdy valiance bore her,Nor did she recognize a soul But braved the buzzing room before her
With such resolve that guest on guest, And many a smiling nun behind them,Met her eyes obviously addressed To proving that she did not mind them.
(So might a kitchen-kitten see— Whose thoughts round housemaids' heels are centred—The awful drawing-room's company He inadvertently has entered.)
Swift from her side the girlish crowd, With lovely smiles and limber graces,Went singly, took their prizes, bowed, Returning sweetly to their places.
Then "Betsey-Jane!" and all the rout (Her hidden mother grown romantic)Beheld that little craft put out Upon the polished floor's Atlantic.
The Personage bestowed her prize, And Betsey, lowly as the others,Bowed o'er her sandals, raised her eyes Alight with pride—and met her mother's!
She thrust between the honoured row Before her in her glad elation;Her school-mates gasped to see her go; The nuns divined her destination;
The guests made way. Clap following clap Acclaimed Convention's overleapingAs Betsey gained her mother's lap And gave the prize into her keeping.
At the "Spotted Dog." "I 'ear there be two hundred soldiers—Borderers, they calls 'em—'ave come 'ere. Do yer reckon they'll be for us or agin' us, Jarge?"
Royalties We Have Never Met.
I. The Emperor Williams.
"The Emperor Williams, who was reported to have been at Breslau... seems to have returned to Berlin."—Evening Despatch.
Judge of the passionate hearts of men, God of the wintry wind and snow,Take back the blood-stained year again, Give us the Christmas that we know!
No stir of wings sweeps softly by; No angel comes with blinding light;Beneath the wild and wintry sky No shepherds watch their flocks to-night.
In the dull thunder of the wind We hear the cruel guns afar,But in the glowering heavens we find No guiding, solitary star.*****But lo! on this our Lord's birth-day, Lit by the glory whence she came,Peace, like a warrior, stands at bay, A swift, defiant, living flame!
Full-armed she stands in shining mail, Erect, serene, unfaltering still,Shod with a strength that cannot fail, Strong with a fierce o'ermastering will.
Where shattered homes and ruins be She fights through dark and desperate days;Beside the watchers on the sea She guards the Channel's narrow ways.
Through iron hail and shattering shell, Where the dull earth is stained with red,Fearless she fronts the gates of Hell And shields the unforgotten dead.
So stands she, with her all at stake, And battles for her own dear life,That by one victory she may make For evermore an end of strife.