The Press. — London, England, 1858-05-15 00:00:00

THE PRESS, MAY 15, 1858. Lor d J. R— wished his honourable friend who had just retired had made less noise in shutting the door. He then declared himself charmed with the cordial frankness of the Noble Viscount, and could, for his own part, affirm that he had never known an hour's content since he had quitted him illustrious friend's side. After two long quotations from Hallam's "Constitutional History," and "Cicero de Officiis," the Noble Lord ended his address by these memorable words :—" Walking, therefore, in the light of the Constitution, and regarding office only as the tax which a true patriot must pay toward the service of his country, I disclaim all petty rivalries. Let the new Ministry which we seek to inaugurate only embody the great historic names which make me proud to be called a Whig, and I shall not be over anxious about my own position. In fact, I will toss up with the Noble Viscount for the Treasury, and allow him the call ! Detur dignissimo !" The enthusiasm with which this announcement was greeted baffles description. When the excitement subsided, Mr. B. 0— was heard to say that he didn't think much of historic names. It was no use bolting a door with a boiled carrot. He wanted to know how working men like himself were to be treated. He didn't grudge the Noble Lord his empty praise, but he had himself a great respect for solid pudding. Not to put too fine a point on it (for he hated humbug), what was he to get? He presumed if the " Liberals " came in again, he would be expected to hold his tongue. So he would, for a consideration, but he knew the value of peace and quietness. Mr. O—WELL thought the remarks of the Honourable Member rather premature. The real question before them was how to dislodge Lord DERBY. If the present Government survived the session the consequences might be frightful. He had the most perfect confidence in the Noble Member for Tiverton. Ile was in some respects superior to a Leader whom he had been proud to follow—the late lamented Sir R. Peel. He had greater assurance, greater fertility in expedients, and was less ham pered by scruples in the distribution of patronage. All he wanted was a little Resolution, and he had got one in his pocket, which he begged to submit to the meeting. (The proposed Resolution was now read.) Mr. R—Bucx said it expressed nothing. Mr. V— S— feared it might express too much. The Right Honourable Proposer said the two objections were inconsistent. Sir C— W—D begged to remark that there was no inconsistency. It might be desirable that a Resolution, in order to combine all their suffrages, should mean less than nothing. We left the Right Honourable Gentleman trying to explpin the nature of a minus quantity, while the Duke of A— suggested a Doxology. The proceedings seemed likely to terminate in "most admired confusion." "THE APPROPRIATION CLAUSE" v. CARDWELL'S "RESOLUTION." "Cesar and Pompey berry mush alike—'specially Pompey." The call has been issued—the whip has been plied, The Liberals muster, prepared to divide, And hoping (so blind are intriguer and tool !), As runs the old saw, to " Divide " and to " Rule;" Spasmodic vitality stirs in the Post, And the Globe drones a pibroch to Palmerston's host. But what is the battle they muster to fight, The sublime resolution they shout for to-night ? What great moral truth—what political law, Propounded with caution, accepted with awe— That Cardwell is lauded by jubilant Whigs, And Hayter and Lowe are as lively as grigs ? There's a letter from A, and an answer from B, And thus would our sage Opposition decree— " On the first " (tho' it's tenor evoked the reply !) "We pronounce no opinion " (how modestly sly !) "It may be judicious—it may be—ahem ! " But the answer that censures it, that we condemn." Great shade of the Stagyrite, witness our woe ! Alas ! is the logic of Oxford so low? Is it Cardwell who seeks, in this witless confusion, To ignore the pramissa, deny the conclusion ? Why the Brahmin was wiser, whose world was upborne On the back of an Elephant; this in its turn By the father of Tortoises finally propp'd— In es.rdwell's uew system the Tortoise is dropp'd ! 469 Witty Wilkes, as they tell us, once bow'd to the feet Of an ill-favour'd stranger he cross'd in the street, And " return'd his best thanks for the countenance shown " In brie 'twas an uglier phiz than his own ! How grateful, similiter, Russell must be To a Peelite more awkwardly factious than he, Whose new " resolution" outdoes the disgrace Of the once noted "Clause" to "Appropriate "—place— When a shameless majority join'd in the cry, And Whigs rode to pow'r on the back of a lie : 'Twits stupid—'twas shabby—'twas all ways amiss— But not so prepos'trous a blunder as this. "THE FINEST SITE IN EUROPE." Air —" The Groves of Blarney." " Bowid Plutarch, Neptune, and Nioodamus Naked alive,all in the flagrant air r' Oh ! the British nation ! what population For decoration can with them compare, For making pat use of busts and statues In vaults or galleries, or the " flagrant air" ? It's thim's the niggers, to set up figures In antique draperies or new-fangled paints ; Horses with big tails, and Kings with pigtails, Heroes of Whig tales, or ould Tory Saints ! Oh ! o—h ! o—h ! oh ! Such ill-match'd craturs, in shape and faytures, Were never muster'd since Pat Noah's ark, From Peel, whose perch is not far from Birch's, To the green Pelides that adorns Hyde-park. Then for elevation, there's the Arch-Duke's station On his long-legg'd steed, betwixt us and the skies, And York lookin' solemn, from his Whatd'ye column, On the ducks, and the Horseguards, and Hall's Bridge of Size ! Oh ! o—h ! o—h ! oh! But sure they muster in the quarest cluster All by the fountains in Trafalgar-square, An' the National Gallery, that theme for raillery, An' St. Martin's Church, too handsome to be there. Faith I what a view it is of incongruities ! Stuck up promisc'ous, jilt like nothin' at all— Ginerals and sailors, badly off for tailors, An' the latest failures of great Benjie Hall ! Oh! o—h ! o—h ! oh! There's the Royal Martyr—what can he be a'ter, Starin' at Whitehall, from that dirty stand ? An' the horse he sits on, whose saddle fits on Quite tight and nateral, without belly-band. There's the half-dress'd Ragent, with his 'cute expadient Of a stout Welsh blanket, jist to turn the rain, Fightin' shy of his father, who looks sheepish—rather— On his Arab charger, all nose and mane ! Oh! o—h ! o—h ! oh! There's Nelson, standin' on his post commandin', Likewise brave Napier, stiff and starch below ; An' I'll bet a tenner it's Doctor Jenner They've just Hall'd in here, to complate the row ; Sure it's a pity that his learned committee, More wise than witty, should have lack'd the skill His praise to have spoken by some fittin' token, A pustule rampant, or a fat goose quill I Oh 1 o—h ! o—h ! oh ! There's more to come of it, but the Muse is dumb of it, She's told you some of it, and will now forbear, Whilst Lord John Manners, that prince of planners, Sets up his banners in Trafalgar-square. Oh ! won't there be heroes in two or three rows,* Dutchmen in queer hose, an' fierce turban'd Turks ! But whisht—no prophecies about men in offices ! Good luck to our novices at the Board of Works ! Oh! o—h! o—h! oh ! • Bee the remarks of Lord Eloho in the resent debate on this subject. A -