A funny one,
But startling! I awoke with such a scream!
I dreamt some link (a money one?)
Bound me to a big Bruin, rampant, tall,
A regular Russian Shagbag,
In whose close hug I felt extremely small,
And squeezable as a rag-bag.
I, CARNOT, squeezable! 'Tis too absurd!
A President, and pliant!
But--in my dream--the raucous voice I heard
Of that grim ursine giant.
"Come to my arms! You'll find them strong and snug.
The North's _so_ true--and tender!"--
And then that monster huge put on the hug!
I thought my soul I'd render.
A bear's embrace, like a prize-fighter's grip,
Is close as passion's clasping.
"Welcome!" he grunted. "_I_'ll not let you slip!"
"Thanks! thanks!" I answered, gasping.
"_J'em--brasse--la--Rus--sie!_" Here my breath quite failed
In that prodigious cuddle.
'Twas but a dream--How was it sleep prevailed
My meaning so to muddle?
"_J'embrasse la Russie!_" It was neatly phrased
As MOHRENHEIM admitted,
A President, in doggerel stanzas praised,
Must be so ready-witted,
Yet mild Republican and Autocrat,
Hugging in friendly seeming,
Suggest that _Someone_ may be cuddled _flat_--
At least in restless dreaming.
[Footnote 2: See Cut so named, p. 279, Vol. 93, Dec. 17, 1887.]
* * * * *
FROM THE VALE OF LLANGOLFLYN.
DEAR MR. PUNCH,--I have just seen your Number with the Song of "The
Golf Enthusiast.
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