“O-HI-O!  O-HI-HO!  THERE NEVER WAS A FINER GIRL THAN DINAH, DOWN BY THE OHIO!”]

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THE BRITISH LION AND THE GERMAN FOX; OR, A MISTAKE SOMEWHERE.

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!

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