. Abraham Lincoln and the London Punch; cartoons, comments and poems, published in the London charivari, during the American Civil War (1861-1865) . l great cries eer raised oer little wool,Of all big bubbles by fools breath filled heres the greatest yet, and emptiest, for John Bull John always thought Jonathan, his young brother, A little of a bully; said he swaggered:But in all change of chaff with one another, Nor John nor Jonathan was eer called now, if John maynt Jonathan style coward,He may hint Stripes and Stars were better loweredFrom that tall height to which, ti
. Abraham Lincoln and the London Punch; cartoons, comments and poems, published in the London charivari, during the American Civil War (1861-1865) . l great cries eer raised oer little wool,Of all big bubbles by fools breath filled heres the greatest yet, and emptiest, for John Bull John always thought Jonathan, his young brother, A little of a bully; said he swaggered:But in all change of chaff with one another, Nor John nor Jonathan was eer called now, if John maynt Jonathan style coward,He may hint Stripes and Stars were better loweredFrom that tall height to which, till now, their flag-stafftowered, Punch nibbed his pen, all jubilant, for galling— When suddenly a weight weighed down the feather, And a red liquid, drop by drop, slow falling, Came from the nib; and the drops rolled together, And steamed and smoked and sung—Not ink, but blood; Drops now, but soon to swell into a flood, Perchance eer Summers leaf has burst Springs guarding bud. Blood by a brothers hand drawn from a brother—And they by whom tis taen, by whom tis given, THE LONDON PUNCH 31 PUNCHj PR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.—Novxwbeb 23, 18. THE WILFUL BOY. Jonathan. I WILL F1GIIT-I WILL IUVL A NATIONAL DEBT LIKE OTHER PEOPLl* J32 ABRAHAM LINCOLN AND Are both the children of an English mother; Once with that mother, in her wrath, theyve striven:Wast not enough, that parricidal jar,But they must now meet in fraternal war?If such strife draw no blood shall England scoff therefore ? If she will laugh, through thee, her chartered wit, Use thou no ink wherewith to pen thy scoff:Well find a liquor for thy pen more fit— We blood drops—see how smartly thoult round offPoint, pun and paragraph in this new way:Till men shall read and laugh, and, laughing, say,Well thrust! Punch is in vein: tis his red-letter day. The weight sat on my quill: I could not write; The red drops lustered to my pen—in vain;I had my theme—Brothers that meet in fight, Yet shed no blood!—my jesting mood
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