The Press. — London, England, 1855-09-01 00:00:00

SEPT. 1, 1855. THE LAST OF THE MINISTERS. AN UNDRAMATIC SKETCH. LORD PANMURE is discovered in his qffice. He is seated in an easy-chair. Books, papers, ktters, 4c., before him. Time, three in the afternoon. Lord PANMURE (throwing down a letter). He lies—and, what is more, he knows he lies, And, what is more than that, he knows I know it. Unwell ! My eye and elbow ! He's gone off Where guns go off. The grouse—the grouse—the grouse ! All, all are popping at those birds but I. And I am here—Vacation Minister. Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye ! Would I were on the moor—the heathery moor— That springs beneath the foot, my gun in hand, And my good dog accomplishing a feat His master seldom doth in Parliament— Making a point. 14 knock. Come in. 0, you. (Enter antic.) What now? CLERK. My Lord, despatches. (Lays them down and exit.) Lord P. Hang the word, I hate it, For it reminds me, by its sound, of Spatchcock. Let's see them, though, for, if I keep them long, I shall be bullied by the journals, which Conceive such things their own. I've half a mind To tell old Simpson to address himself Dii ect unto the Times—and then I'd cut Ere all the blessed birds are slain, or wild, And have a week or so. (Reads.) What's this ? " Our works Progress "—they always do—" the army's health Is good "—mine won't be, long, if I'm kept here. " Regrets that casualties—" I know all that, And here's the list—" Brown, Jones, and Robinson, Simkins, Snooks, Wilkins, Roberts, Buggins, Smith " And so on—very sad—(rings. Enter CLERK.) Copies at once To all the papers. (Exit CLERK.) Now, my work is done, Yet I must linger here. [Walks up and down. No, I forgot. I won't walk up and down, for Palmy's joke, Heartless and pert, still rankles in my mind. He pointed to yon portion of the room Which standeth backward, to admit a book-case, And said, with hollow laugh, " My martyr, Pan, Great Pan of pans, the only pan o' the dairy, Whene'er thou ‘valk'st before that nook, or niche, Remember, thou art passing the Recess— Ha! ha! ha! ha! " A stupid, spiteful jest. Call him a wit !—a wit—a licensed wit— A Licensed Witler would say better things While frothing up his ale—and that reminds me—(rings. Enter CLERK.) No, Clarkson, send the porter. CLERK. Yes—my Lord. (Hesitates.) Lord P. Why do you hesitate ? I hate the trick. Jol.n Russell does it, and the silly Wood— Art envious of their style ? CLERK. Why, no, my Lord. A humble clerk, but not so low as that The porter has stepped out, my Lind, to see His wife, who's lying in. Lord P. She always is. 'Tis her fourth time this year. I've kept account. Why don't he say his house has just caught fire, His aged grandmother come home from China, His cousin tumbled down in apoplexy, Not always lay his truancy upon His fecund wife ? You are too great a swell To fetch me in a pint of Bass's Pale? CLERK. O no, my Lord, there's nobody in town, Save snobs, to see me. (Exit.) Lord P. There it is again! There's nobody in town, hut I am here. What have I done? Good me, what have I done, That I should be kept here ? Pam might have stayed. His shooting's very shy ; let. him shoot, here, At folly as it flies ; though that, methinks, Might be like suicide. Why not Argyll, To teach his young idea how to shoot By reading much whereof he's ignorant? Where's Grey—Home Minister should keep at home. Where's Clarendon—he's had a trip to France, And yet the selfish fellow cuts away. Where's Vernon Smith—here's India in a mess, Rebelling, and the very deuce knows what, And he is out of town. Where's Charley Wood— tAnice First Lord to take and go a gunning When gun•boats aeke his Lortiihip's beet attention, And sailors, roal bricks, err out fur mortar., CZ** , Cam Niat Moja., Ha! Put it down. I thank you, Mr. Clarkson. You look as you had something you would ask? CLERK. My Lord, could I be spared this afternoon? Lord P. Are you not spare enough ? (Clerk goes into convulsions.) Well, well, I like One who can take a joke. Go, by all means. Where are you going? ~. CLERK. Up to Hampstead, sir. I mean, my Lord, a few of us have clubbed To shoot some pigeons— _ _ _ Lord P. Ha! Enough, enough. Go, shoot your pigeons. (Exit CLERK.) Even he can shoot, That futile scrub, that pigeon-toed young Cockney, While I—come Bass. Here's something with a head, Unlike our Cabinet. (Quaff: deeply.) All ale, Macbeth ! That is refreshing. But, ah me, oh me (slowly), After some hours upon the blessed moor, To find a hill, get on the shady side, And from the flask to gurgle out the " dew " Into a cup, filled at the cold, bright brook (While the hot does sit, dangling their red tongues, And keepers take it neat), and so to lave The powder from one's throat—(fiercely)—and I am here— Those fellows have no feelings. THE PRESS. LRe-enter CLaaz. 833 CLERK. There have come Some grouse, my Lord, sent by Lord Palmerston. Lord P. (with bitter irony.) He never killed them. Yes, no doubt he did ; But 'twas with silver shot. He kill a grouse ! He sends them up to plague me. Very good. I'll have him up to town. (Revengefully.) Simpson's despatch Requires an answer—or I'll say it does— And I'll not take upon my single self the great Responsibility of such a work. Ha! ha! my Lord. Grouse Thank you. Thank you, Pam. Your birds are old, I see, and you shall see That your old birds have caught some first-rate chaff. [Sits down, maliciously, to concoct a telegraphic message to the Premier. THE MINISTERIAL HUE AND CRY. RUN away from the neighbourhood of Downing•street and Whitehall, the following public servants. They are not advertised for on account of their usefulness, being an uncommonly bad lot, but only that they may be brought back to be regularly dismissed and their successors appointed :- Ist. Old Pam, alias Cupid, alias The Jaunty Jester. A man not much upwards of seventy; but, as he dyes his hair and whiskers, he looks a good deal older. Very quarrelsome with little boys, but always gives in to men of his own size. Goes to sleep a good deal, and when he is awake makes bad jokes, chiefly about people's misfortunes. Is supposed to be with Richardson's booth, having always had a greht fancy to perform the part of Clown to a more congenial audienvo th, n that at St. Stephen's ; has a bad habit of laughing at the Church aLd parsons, and such things. The Old Marquis, or Cock of Bowood, is supposed to be playing Pantaloon to Pammy's Clown—if the young ladies of the ballet have not objected to having him behind the scenes. Granville, or the " Old Buck-hunter,' is supposed also to be culti vating histrionics, as his natural, graceful, and highly aristocratic or pearance has been lately further set off by the addition of a stubbly beard—doubtless not grown for nothing. The Worthy Mole is only advertised after for form sake. He has got into a place where he can do a good deal of mischief, and if he has run away for good so much the better. It will be the only thing he has done for good in his life. Ben Hall is thought to have gone to Germany after the Bishop of London to try to induce his Lordship to allow St. Paul's to be fitted up as a Casino for the million on Sundays and Fast•days, the Cancan to be danced on Ash Wednesdays and Good Fridays. The Free Kirk Toper was last seen in the Old Shades, London bridge, renowned for their fiery port. The F. K. T., from professional associations, patronises the " strong military ditto." N.B. It is hardly worth while to disturb him : he is not a bit more stupid and incapable when he is drunk than when he is sober. The Carlisle Pet is stated to be employed by an eminent agricul turist in Ireland to intimidate birds of carrion from devastating the present harvest. Low Bob is credibly reported to have been seen in a caravan, ad mission 2d., children and servants half price. Lively Lewis has absconded to Herefordshire. He will be known by his sprightly air and appearance. He wears a flower in his button hole, his hat very much on nne side, and hums light and amorous ditties in a very doleful key, Old Pam having kindly told him that it was enough for him to be dull without looking so. Wooden Charlie is annotating a now edition of "Joe Miller," with the assistance of Sergeant Murphy, who is likewise inetruoting the art of graoefttl repartee, And