The Press. — London, England, 1856-05-17 00:00:00

MAY 17, 1856. DEATH IN THE POT. From his warlike bed arising Mighty Pam was just awake ; And, with youthful grace surprising, Did his morning toilet make. Somewhat hurriedly his whiskers Curled the great pacificator, For down stairs, a bee as brisk as, Waited for him urgent Hayter. All was finished and resplendent Save his hyacinthine hair, For which he and his attendant Ever kept their fondest care. Lo ! the brush has done its duty, Time is come for the pomade ; Wherefore asks that trembling valet, " Monsieur. etes-vous done malade ?" Ask not—question not—but follow The direction of Pam's eyes ; Note his faltering voice—how hollow ! Mark his anguish of surprise ! That pomatum-pot all over Sean! thou clnsternated Jeames ; See ! 'tis written on the cover, " Ruuian and Circassian creams !" In an arm-chair sinks the statesman, From his fingers falls the comb ; Sighs he, " Francois, shut the gates ! man, Say to all I'm not at home. Wherefore comes this fell conjunction? I made Peace, and she doth shun me ! Hence with this Circassian unction, Mr. Rowland, you've undone me ! " When I strive the thought to banish Of how shrewdly we're bested, From my heart it seems to vanish Only to come to my head. (' Monsieur, veut-il,') hold your lingo! Wherefore was all this forgot ? • Circassia, Russia—yes, by Jingo ! Like cream we shall go to pot." In the House that day appeared not Bright as erst those silver locks ; In Pam's ear that morn was heard not Hayter's matutinal vox. Cold the muffins grew, and clammy, Hayter went to hunt M.P s, And that day the hair of Pammy Bristled, innocent of grease ! THE PRESS. illEmi MsasvAs.—What, that Sunday music is wrong ? APOLLO.—NO; but that the Sunday-keeping people are strong. MARSYAS.—Hon, can a Sunday afternoon be better spent than by walking on the verdant turf and listening to elevating melody ? APOLLO.—Can't say; but it can be much more pleasantly spent by driving to Richmond and dining at the Star and Garter. But all that is rubbish; and if it were not, a more serious question arises, and we must meet it. My dear Sir Benjamin, so long as the thing could be done without much offence, [ had no objection to let you make your market with Maiylebone. But I've got a market to make, too . MAasvAs.—They say in my part of the country that two geese and an old woman are a market. The Archbishop is the latter, and if we two give in to him the figure is complete. APOLLO.—D—d smart, if a little impertinent. We don't give in to him, however, but to the general feeling of the country. MARBYAS.—What has the country to do with the the metropolis ? its of APOLLO.—Come, come, don't be childish. You would not like us to be licked on a division—another edition of the vote on the British Museum Sunday business ? MARSYAS.—But you might have let the thing go on a little longer. APOLLO.--I understand you, and I make you my compliments. But if the choice lies between the possibility of an invaluable friend of mine losing Marylebone at the next election, and the certainty of the Ministry being soundly defeated in the course of the next fort night—be judge in your own cause, and tell me whether I ought n3t to smash the drums and bung up the trumpets. MAnsyAs.—And I am to be sacrificed— APOLLO.—No, only as in the classical story, we are both piping for the same prize, and the loser must submit to be skinned alive a little. Come, don't look miserable, but make a joke, and say you'd rather give up your hide than your Hyde-park. MAKSYAS (angrily).—l tell you what—you'll have a row. APOLLO.—Very likely, but it doesn't speak well for your pet and orderly crowd, if it makes a disgraceful riot because its ears arc not tickled. NIARSYAS —They'll break the windows. Apou.o.—Well, if they break 'em on Sunday, they can't do it on the illumination night, for nobody will get 'em mended in the mean• time. MARB/48.—They'll break your windows. APOLLO.—Hope not; but if they do, it will be said that I spared no panes in the cause of religion. MARSYAB.—If you don't feel the humiliation of your position, I am sorry for you. One night flourishing about an innocent and im proving amusement, and another night having to admit that it was neither so innocent nor improving as you thought, and the House laughing at you. _ APOLLO.—" I likes to be despised." But I'll bet you a dinner at Quartermaine's, for a dozen, that the House don't laugh at me, and I'll take two to one—come—that they do laugh at somebody else. I'll be on honour, mind, and not tell any of the young fellows, nor give them a hint. • ' - ~. _ • . . • - . . . _ - __ . _ . • • , • MAY 17, 1856. THE PRESS. 469 DEATH IN THE POT. i\isasyAs.—What, that Sunday music is wrong ? APOLLO.—NO; but th a t t h e S un d ay -k eep i ng people are strong. From his warlike bed arisi n g Mighty Pam was just awake ; MARSYAS.—How can a S un d ay a f ternoon b e b etter spent than by walking on the verdant t ur f an d li sten i ng to elevating melody ? And, with youthful grace s u r p r i s i ng , APOLLO.—Can't say; but it can b e muc h more p l easant l y spent b y Did his morning toilet mak e . driving to Richmond a n d di n i ng at t h e Star and Garter. But all that Somewhat hurriedly his whi s k ers is rubbish; and if it we re no t, a more serious question arises, and we Curled the great pacificat or , For down stairs, a bee as brisk as, ayter. must meet it. My dea r S ir B en j am i n, so long as the thing could be Waited for him urgent done without much offence, [had no obje c ti on t o l e t you ma k e your H market with Marylebone. But I've got a market to make, too . All was finished and resplendent MA RSYAS.—They say in my part of the country that two geese and Save his hyacinthine hair, an old woman are a market. The Archbishop is the latter, and if we For which he and his attendant two give in to him the figure is complete. Ever kept their fondest care. APOLLO.—D—d smart, if a little impertinent. We don't give in to Lo ! the brush has done its duty, him, however, but to the gene ra l f ee li ng o f t h e country. Time is come for the pomade ; MARSYAS.—What has the country to do with the amusements of Wherefore asks that trembling valet, the metropolis ? " Monsieur, kes-vous done mals.de ?" APOLLO.—Corne, come, don't be childish. You would not like us to be licked on a divi s i on — ano th er e di t i on o f t h e vote on the British Ask not—question not—but follow The direction of Pam's eyes ; Museum Sunday business ? MARSYAS.—But you might h ave l e t th e t hi ng go on a l i ttle longer. Note his faltering voice—how holl ow ! Mark his anguish of surprise ! pot all over APOLLO.—I understand you, and I ma k e y ou my comp li ments. That But if the choice lies bet ween t h e p oss ibili ty o f an i nvalua b le friend pomatum- of mine losing Maryleb one a t th e next e l ect i on, an d t h e certainty of Scan! thou consternated Jeame s ; See ! 'tis written on the cover, the Ministry being s oun dly d e f ea t e d i n t h e course of the next fort- " Ruuian and Circassian crea ms !" night—be judge in your ow n cause , an d te ll me w h et h er I ought nit to smash the drums and bung up the trumpets. In an arm-chair sinks the statesman, MARSYAS.—And I am to be sacrificed— From his fingers falls the comb ; APOLLO.—NO, only as in the classical story, we are both piping for Sighs he, " Francois, shut the gates ! man, ' the same prize, and the loser must submit to be skinned alive a little. Say to all I'm not at home. Come, don't look miserable, but make a joke, and say you'd rather give Wherefore comes this fell conjunction? up your hide than your Hyde-park. I made Peace, and she doth shun me ! MAKSYAS (angrily).—l tell you what—you'll have a row. Hence with this Circassian unction, APOLLO.—Very likely, but it doesn't snea k we ll fnr 0,.,,* „or am' APOLLO AND MARSYAS; OR, TWO " AMAZIN' POP'LAR MEN." Mamas, the musician, challenged the god Apollo to a contest, and, being defeated, wa s Rayed alive.—Classic Mythology. Viscount APOLLO —Sorry to have given you the trouble of calling on me, my dear Sir Benjamin, but you are a younger man than I am, and these east winds play the deuce with us old fellows. Take that chair. Sir BENJAMIN MARSTAS.—It is cold, my dear Lord. Some people don't feel it, however. Last Sunday, for instance, in the Park, my friends stood, by the thousand, listening to the music, though the wind was enough to blow through and through them. Apouo.—Another proof of the wisdom of the determination to which I have come. People ought not to be tempted to risk their health in that manner. This was what I wanted to see you about. I suppose you know that the Archbishop has been at me again? MARBYAS.—And doubtless you treated as he deserved the bigoted head of a haughty and bloated hierarchy, who extort from the people the--. _ APOLLO —Connu—connu, my dear fellow. We are quite alone, and lam not a Marylebone elector. Do 3ou know that the Archbishop spoke very convincingly upon the subject of this Sunday playing ? Masses —Your Lordship's peculiar fitness for appreciating a reli gious argument-- APOLLO. — Eh ! Don't sneer. I've known very holy men in my time — Talleyrand—Wilberforce—Edward Irving, and all sorts. I know where a man is when he begins to talk theology to me, I can tell you, and when he is in earnest, and when he is only talking Sunday newspaper religion—rather that of your set, I'm thinking. MAassAs.—Well, we won't quarrel APOLLO (smiling loftily).—Well, no, we won't, or I might not survive the shock. I was going to tell you, however, that, as you may sup pose, the Archbishop might have talked to me a long time before he got me to promise anything—only he was reinforced by some other people whose arguments were of a more practical kind. Ha! ha! My dear fellow, don't look austere ; you know how the land lies as well as I do. You must stop the drumming and trumpeting. MARSYAS —What? Deprive one hundred and forty-seven thou sand people of a recreation which—why—by Jove, do you remember your own speech in defence of it, a fortnight ago ? APOLLO.—Of course ; but we live and learn. I've lived—and earned something. MARsYAS (sulkily, and disregarding the offer).—l wish that Arch bishop would mind his own business. APOLLO.—My dear fellow, *oyez raisonnable. It is as much _ business to keep up Sunday as your's to upset it Neither is to blame for labouring in his vocation; only, he holds the strongest cards, and you must submit. For myself, I don't care which way it is, and would oblige you in any reasonable manner. MARsYAs.—Well, there seems no alternative, and, as you say must give in. his is, and I nt say, I for the ere than change ? ou, after e—" say tn.) .o (from lay), to :!lass of -t to the ng por. monials writing, —ad vo- per be.a Cited by duence APOLLO.—There's one, but I wouldn't suggest it to you for world, AIAhSTAS —Thanks. But I can serve my country elsewhere than in the orchestra, and so—. I suppose lam to announce the change APOLLO.—By all means—it will come gracefully from you, after your recent clever and spirited letters. Be as sulky as you like—" say it was me." I'll take the blame. MABSYAS.-Humph ! (Exit.) APOLLO (hunts to himself smiling).— The Dell came fiddling through the Park, And canted —education ; And lads and lasses came out to lark— Which improved the population. SKETCH OF THE ENGLISH PRESS. (Suggested by the recent French enumeration of the Belgian papers.) The Record.—An important sporting paper; supposed, ulso (from the course it has taken with regard to the observance of Sunday), be the organ of Sir Benjamin Hull. The Guardian.—Circulates principally among the lower class Dissenters. The Leader.—Mildly Conservative—giving a regular support to the cause of " Law and Order." Belts Life.—Popular in the religious world—always giving por traits of clergymen (usually on horseback), or pictures of testimonials presented to them. The Economist. —Distinguished for the smartness of its writing, and its contempt of Treasury patronage. The Daily Neits.—An independent organ of public opinion—advo cating measures, not men. From its commencement, this paper has never changed either its management or its principles. The Weekly Dispatch —The arbiter elegantiartan of fashion—edited by a distinguished member of the Beau Monde. The Chronicle.—A paper rapidly rising in circulation and inguence —supposed circulation, 120,000 daily.