The Portland daily press., 1882-02-03
THE PRESS.
Punch's Talk with Oscar.
On the BOSNIA Just Before His Landing
at New York.


NEW YORK, January, 18S2.-Determined to
anticipate the rabble of penny-a-liners ready to
pounce upon any distinguished foreigner who
approaches our shores, and eager to assist a
sensitive poet in avoiding the impairment Gu
riosity and ill-bred insolence of the profession
al reporter, took the fastest pilot-boat on the
station, and boarded the splendid Cunard
steamer, the Boshnia, in the shocking OF a
peanut He stood, with his large hand passed
through his long hair, against high chimney
piece-which had been painted pea-green, with
panels of peacock blue pottery let in at uneven
interyals-one elbow on the high ledge, the
other hand on his hip. He was dressed in
long. snuff-colored, single-breasted coat, which
reached to his heels, and was relieved with
sealskin collar rather the worse for wear.
Prayed linen and an orange silk handkerchief
gave note to the generally artistic coloring OF
the ensemble, while one small daisy dropped
despondently in his button-hole. We
may state that the chimney-piece, as well a.
the sealskin collar. is the property of Oscar,
aud will appear in his lectures ION the Growth
OF Artistic Taste in England" But he speaks
for himself:
not been interviewed Indeed, have not been
well on board this Cunard argosy. have wres-
tied with the glaukous-haired Poseidon, and
feared his ravishment. Quite: L have been
too ILL., too utterly ill. Exactly-seasick in fact,
il must descend to so trivial an expression.
feel the clean beauty of my strong limbs is
somewhat waned. / am scarcely myself-my
nerves are thrilling like throbbing ylolins In
exquisite pulsation. You are right believe
was the first to devote my subtle brain chords
to the worship of the sunflower and the apoth-
costs of the delicate teapot. have ever been
jasmine-craded from my youth Eons ago, |
might say centuries, in '78, when student at
Oxford, had trampled the vintage OF my ba-
byhood, and trod the thorn-spread heights OF
Poesy have stood in the Arena and torn
the bays from the expiring athletes, my COM
petitors.
PRECISELY took the Newdigate. Oh! no
doubt, every year some man gets the Newdi-
gate, but not every year does Newdigate get an
Oscar. Since then--barely three years, but
centuries to such as l AMI have stood upon
the steps OF London palaces-in South Kens-
ington-and preached aesthetic art. have
taught the wan beauty TO wear nameless robes,
have guided her limp limbs into sightless knots
and curving festoons while we sang of the
sweet sad sin of Swinburne, or the lone delight
of soft communion with Burne Jones. SWIM
burne had made name, and Burne Jones had
copied Nominations eer the first silky down
had fringed my upper lip but the Trinity of
Inner Brotherhood was not complete till L
came forward, like the asphodel from the wilds
of Already, to join in sweet antiphonal counter
changes with the elder seers. We are beau
tiful family-we are, we are, we arel
Eyes; expect my lecture to be success.
So does Dollar Cartel mean D'Oyly Carte.
Too-Toothless Senility may jeer, and poor, posi-
tive Propriety may shake her rusty curls but
l am here, in my creamy lustihood, to pipe off
Passions venturous Poesy, and reap the scorch-
ing harvest of Self-Love! / am not quite sure
what mean. The true Poet never is. In
fact, true Poetry is nothing if it is intelligble
She is only to be compared to Salmacis, who is
not boy or girl, but yet is both.
Who are my neophytes? Well, / fancy the
Lonsdales and the Langtrys would have never
been known if hadn't placed them on ped
estal of daffodils, and taught the world to wor-
ship.
Oh yes; 1 speak most languages; in the
sweet, honey -tinted brogue my own land lends
me- La bella Donna della mia Me7ote exists,
but she is not the Jersey Lily, though have
arovelled at her feet; she is not the Juno
Countess, though have twisted my limbs all
over her sofas; she is not the Polish actress,
though I have sighed and wept over all the
boxes of the Court Theatre; she is not the d.
aphanous Sarah, though l have crawled after
her footsteps through the heavy fields of scented
Asphodel; she is not the golden-haired Ellen,
more fair than any woman Veronese looked
upon, though l had left my impression on
many and many seat in the Lyceum Temple
where she is the high priestess; nor is she one
of the little nameless Naiads 1 have met in
the sweet bubble of the frenzied grape No,
sir; my real love is my own kosmc soul en-
throned in its fawless essence; and when
America can grasp the supreme whole sing in
body viii blend in mystic symphonies then,
crowned with bellamours and wanton flower
de luce, shall be hailed Lord of new EN-
perry, and as stain my lips in the bleeding
wounds of the Pomegranite, and wreathe my
o'ergrown limbs with the FURNISHED disk of the
Sunaower, Apollo will turn pale, and lashing
the FESTIVE horses of the Sun, the tanner char
lot of forgotten god will make way for the
glorious zenith of the one Oscar Wilde"
AT this moment the BOSNIA gave sudden
lurch, and the grand young poet fell PROSTATE
on the rsbbit-skins, worshipping Poseidon, and
calling feebly for the Stew ard. Seeing that he
weuld be inca able of receiving any other in
reviewers, l Il lifted the cabin, drank the
brandy and soda which the Steward was bring
ing, and then returned to shore as quickly as
possible. So here is the First Intelligence!