The Press. — London, England, 1854-04-15 00:00:00

gni 11111•111 W THE PRESS. ONE OF THE PREMIER'S "SLEEPLESS NIGHTS." [Lord Aberdeen is discovered in bed, a night.lamp beside him. flour midnight. Newspapers on a table near him. Lord ABERDEEN. It will not be. The more I try to sleep The more I can't. I turned, and turned, and turned, After a fashion Graham's self might envy, Yet not a weazel is more wide-awake, Or that same Graham. One more chance I'll try, And if it fail—as yet it never did— '' Why, then—l'll see what next is to be done , ev 'sit vf For, when I stoop to own that I'm defeated, IP Look out for squalls indeed ! Ay, here's the drug. [Takes up a number of the Economist, and is gradually toothed into 't • slumber. Thanks--gentle--colleague—thou — art — ever —true. Thou man—of hats—l'll—owe—this—nap to thee. [He sleeps. The door flies open, and a young lady, in a helmet, short tunic, fleshings, and sandals, and armed with a silver spear, enters. ntl '34OUNG LADY. What ho ! Lord Aberdeen ! Lord ABERDEEN. My gracious me !. How came you in ? I'll swear—no, I won't swear— ; But I was certain that the door was locked. 'YOUNG LADY. No locks are worth a straw against a Saint. .Lord ABERDEEN. True—Gladstone robs the Bank most awfully. But who are you? The costume mhich you wear Smacks of the stage far more than of the Saint, And—or my eyes deceive me—you're a lady. If so, you must permit me to remark Your nether garb—l might say, lack of garb — Is really almost indefensible. YOUNG LADY. I do not stand on trifles. Lord ABERDEEN. So I see. They are well shaped. .• YOUNG LADY. I know it. But, my lord, The question is not of my legs, but business. I am Saint George, the Patron Saint of England, A trifle modernised, to suit the age, fit But you're a Minister of progress. Lord ABERDEEN. Ay, r. I have said so more than once. Well, handsome Saint, I recognise you, and that graceful dress Is copied from the die ST. GEORGE. Never say die ! • LOTcl ABERDEEN. Pert as our age. Then, copied from the coin Which bears that typical device no more, And spoils the joke which did translate the motto, Corolla metuenda est draconis. ST. GEORGE. Translated, how? Lord ABERDEEN. By Hook, or else Maginn, Mad wags—they read it thus—" I fear I can't Collar the dragons," meaning, get the cash. Excuse my pun, I've taken to it lately , rt if 7-451 bi,, And with my humour do convu lse the Peers I ' l6l I "'' " 7 To take their minds off from the thought of war. tlll-," , ST. GEORGE. .1./(.111 'Tis of that war which Ido come to speak. . inodnoi It ~ 1 , 01.1 My friend St. Nicholas, as you have read, nom Has been in dreams appearing to your friend, .b„, • , The Russian Czar, for his encouragement, ,;4,4-0,-, And so I thought that I would call on you, Re-! Upon the self-same errand. • Lord ABERDEEN (offended). Much obliged. But if St. Andrew had assumed the mission, All things considered, it had been as proper. ST. GEORGE. You've crossed St. Andrew, and St. Andrew's cross. You scorned the appeal of good Lord Eglinton. Lord ABERDEEN. Well, what's your business ? ST. GEORGE. As I said, the war. (.. This war which you, my lord, have brought about, y . ) You, and you only,—and which, being in, You dread should be conducted valiantly. Lord ABERDEEN. I brought about ! You have not read my speeches. ST. GEORGE. I've read your acts ; and so, my lord, has England. And though she pour her blood and treasure out— MIIMMi SATURDAY, The first like water, and the last like dirt — To blast the foe whom you have called to combat, She debits you with every drop of blood And every coin of gold. Lord ABERDEEN. My liability. I did my best To save her from this war. She had been saved Had England's Senate all been Aberdeens. ST. GEORGE. And Turkey, under some Prince Turkeywitch, Had ranked a Russian province. Lord ABERDEEN. And why not? You were, they say, a Cappadocian baker, Who, cheating soldiers of their lawful loaves, Was hung therefore—how you were made &martyr, And champion of the faith, is your own business. But why are you so earnest for the Turk? ST. GEORGE. The fiction's worthy of the mind that sees In Nicholas an honourable man. But I stand here for England, and my name Is on her banner. Keep your graceful jests To lead, as you have said, the House away, When, short of argument, you try a grin. Lord ABERDEEN, And I deny It strikes me you are something less than civil. ST. GEORGE. It may be so ; but ere this year is out You will have heard some harder truths than that, When every other man is dressed in mourning. For one of those who have gone out to die, . " Where but for you this strife had never been." Lord ABERDEEN. What would you have me do ? ST. GEORGE • At least not this. You've plunged us in a war, which you deplore, As I believe, sincerely—yes—but why You do deplore it is a matter patent. Your friend of forty years—your trusted friend, Who sends such gracious'messages—whose joy When you, his tool, are once again in office, Exceeds decorum—he, whose work you've done Both in and out of season, and whose aim You vindicate—that friend is now assailed ; His capitals ere long will hear the roar Of cannon, loaded, primed, and laid by you. I do believe that you deplore this war. Lord ABERDEEN. And I could stop it at this very moment. ST. GEORGE. We all know that, and also on what terms. But England's honour is in better hands ; Beware how you would touch it, lest, one day, She take it in her own—and likewise you. That were a day, indeed, of shortest shrifts. ;EN. Shrift me no shrifts. lam a Protestant. 'ls' Lord ABERDEL ST. GEORGE. And therefore champion of the gentle prince Who crushes every liberty of conscience, And whose fierce creed consigns yourself to flames. Lord ABERDEEN. T. Those are his errors—l have told him of them, In that mild language which is suited best nl' For men's conversion—and, perhaps, some day My hints may prove not utterly in vain. ;, ST. GEORGE. r: Uphold him to the last. The sternest wish Which I will waste on you, Lord Aberdeen, Is that some day, after the fleets have met, , You may be placed within your dear friend's reach. I have a dragon here, but he is mild To what your friend will be when he shall learn Your war has sent some of his ships to atoms. Lord ABERDEEN. Horrible thought ! ST. GEORGE. That haunts you now ? Lord ABERDEEN. ST. GEORGE. T will pack within a single pregnant word Which will be forced upon you—it may be Before a month has past. Lord ABERDEEN. The word ! the word ! ST. GEORGE. Or do you think that England means to bear Your cold, half-hearted councils, and the sense That you must grudge her all her victories? Lord ABERDEEN. The word ! I say ! ST. GEORGE. The word is RESIGNATION. [Lord Aberdeen utters a great ehout of defiance, and providentially wakes himselfl 1.!, t' ~ . .. ~.,~~. . Yet, is there not a worse I beg you'll give it name.