The Press. — London, England, 1855-12-22 00:00:00

DECEMBER 22, 1855. M Monckton Milnes, a sweet Radical bard ; N for old Napier, who hits Graham hard ; O is for Osborne, a man of much brass, Whose wit is mere slang, and whom Pam thinks an ass ; P Pam himself, with old foes hand in glove ; Q for the Queen, whom we all of us love ; R is for Roebuck, who never knows fear ; S for Duke Somerset—affable Peer ! T is for Talbot, and Baines tacked therewith, Just as V stands for Vernon, which prefaces Smith; W heralds our funny friend Wood; (X I can't manage—l would if I could ;) Y the yahoos of the Pope's Band denotes, And Z the poor zanies who give them their votes. rAdvertisement. I THE CABINET WARBLER ; A MUSICAL ALBUM FOR CHRISTM AS, Containing the following new songs, by celebrated authors, and adorned with a very highly-coloured engraving of IS THIS DAY PUBLISHED. OF WHAT IS THE OLD MAN THINKING ? Song, by the Viscount P—n. " Truly touching, and exquisitely affecting, replete at once I%ith truth and vivacity." THE POSTMAN'S KNOCK. Comic Song, by his Grace the Duke of A-11. "We can only say, with the noble composer's countryman, when he went to the post, Bless the quid Dook of A--11.' " GRANDMOTHER, Is THE BATTLE OVER ? Plaintive Song, by the Lord P—nm—e. "Admirably expressive of the bewildering trouble of an unfortunate elderly female amid the shock of arms." THE LAST LINKS ARE BROKEN THAT BOUND ME TO THEE. Song, by the Lord J. R. " The half-tender, half-bitter reproach of this song, s upposed to be addressed to Office, is highly characteristic." THE ECHOES OF WOBURN. By the Same Composer. " Happily illustrating the line—' And more than echoes talk along the walls.' The unceasing murmur beard throughout is remarkable." CHARLIE OVER THE WATER. By Admiral N • " A mild and gentle affair, which may be approached with perfect safety." CHARLIE OVER THE WINE. By the Same. "A manly, blustering sailor's chant, inspired with the very a r irit of Boreas." DAY HAS GONE DOWN ON THE BALTIC S BROAD BILLOW. By Sir J. G—m. "A pleasant, piquant, taunting little song, intimating con tempt rather than auger for some one who has omitted to fulfil his engagements." THE OLD ARM-CHAIR. By the Marquis of L—e. " The quiet tone of this song, in which a grey grandsire is supposed to offer lessons, from bygone times, to a parcel of self-sufficient lads, is very well sustained—the laudator temporis acti is completely before us." 0 SEND ME NOT TO DISTANT LANDS ! A Song, by the Lord C—g, written upon receiving instructions to depart for Calcutta. " The affected unwillingness to accept a high and lucrative office, the lay nolo epiacopari, is admirable." MY BARK 18 ON THE SEA. By R. B-1 o—e, Esq. " This is an imitative song—the bark (rather a spiteful one) is heard through.. out, and a view of the Admiralty shows the nautical propriety of the title." WHA DARE MEDDLE WI ME? By Sir G— G—y, "A defiant little ballad, in which an ill-natured challenge is given with unequalled rapidity." THE MINSTREL BOY TO THE WAR IS GONE. By his Grace the D— of N—e. " The adventurous character of a gallant voyager, in Lincoln Green,' is cleverly illustrated." A TALBOT, A TALBOT, FLEET, FEARLESS AND FREE. By the Right Hon. Mr. T. B—s. " A merry ditty, which will doubtless awaken the echoes of the Duchy of Lancaster, where the scene is laid." BRING ME THE SACK, THE JOLLY SACK. Bacchanalian Song, by the Lord C—r. " The words speak for themselves : the song should be played on one of Rolfe's patent grands." I KNEW BY THE SMOKE THAT 80 GRACEFULLY CURLED. Song, by the Lord Cl—nd—n. " A charming aroma, so to speak, breathes through this composition—it may be called a great cigar.' I Ktiow A BANK. By the Right lion. G. F—d L--s. " The touching character of this song cannot but move every hearer. The s i n ger intimates that the bank is assoc iated with melancholy anticipa tions, and adds that he fears he shall have to tax our p atience." THE R AT C A TCHER'S SON. Companion to the '‘ Ratcatcher's Daughter." By Mr. F—k P-1. " Very comic. We doubt whether Robson or Sam Cowell could do better—in a small way. In this song we are happy to say the donkey is not killed " MY NAME IT is B. HALL. By the Chief Commissioner of Works. "Another amusing ballad. The significant way in which the singer hints that he ' is going up the stairs.' is capital." THE BUTTERFLY WAS A GEN TLEMAN. Song, by Mr. V—ru—n Sm—th. " A light, almost frivolous composition, as Ben Jenson say s, without control.' It r eminds us of the author's other work, ' What s in a Name ?' " THERE'S NO CREATED THING AWAKE. Song, by the Right Hon. H—ry L—b—ch—e. " A delicate piece of artistic work, supposed to describe a certain legislative As sembl y when a certain orator is addressing it." MERRILY DANCED THE QUAKER. By J—n Br--t, Esq. "A first rate bit of fun. The frontispiece, representing a Quaker dancing on a tight-rope made of Russian hemp, is worth the pi ice of the whole. WHEN THE LADS OF " THE VILLAGE." By the Viscount P--. " This is a curious affair. It is addresoed to Lord J— R—, and 1217 i THE PRESS. ' The Village,' as is well known, is the fast name for London. The song implies that when the citizens turn out their Noble Member, somebody will pop into his place merrily all !' " 0, CALL MY BROTHER BACK. By Mr. F--k P—l. "Ad dressed to Lord P--n, imploring him to restrain somebody from his eccentricities." Tun TRAMP CHORUS. Finale, by John Bull, Esq. "An admirable sequel, which will be welcome to every one except those to whom it is addressed. The admonitory Tramp, tramp," the remonstrance, and then tha repeated and unmistakeable order to be off, are highly dramatic, and the piece will be loudly demanded at the spring reunions. ISSUE OF MACAULAY'S HISTORY. (From a forthcoming nwmber of the Blue and Yellow.) THE volumes are out. The publishing day passed over without dis turbance. The regulations of Messrs. Longman were received with submission. Discontent was hushed. Malignity was silenced. The demand for copies was unprecedented Five and twenty thousand were sold the first day, at the subscription price of twenty-five shillings and sixpence per copy. For greater convenience the work was issued from the binder's. The establishment of the Westleys is situated in that region of narrow courts and sinuous lanes bounded on the south by Ludgate-hill, on the north by Newgate-street, on the west by the Old Bailey, on the east by Paul's Change. The immediate neighbourhood has been chiefly famous for slaughter-houses. Henceforth it u ill be classic ground. To this spot the eye of the New Zealander, when he stands on the ruined arch of London-bridge, will turn with reverence. The History will be the delight of the world when England shall have re• turned to its prima3val wildness, and foxes burrow in every hill and wolves howl on every plain. The morning of the 17th of December was obscured by mist. The sun of genius was enough for that day. Regardless of fog and mud, every bookseller's shop sent forth its porter or errand-boy. Many were provided with new bags, lest the weight of their burdens should burst through the old ones. A majority were shod with high-lows-- a larger proportion still wore corduroys. They acted without concert, but as they approached the narrow inclosure of Warwick-square, it seemed that only concert could have brought so vast a multitude to gether. Some timid shopkeepers put up their shutters. The pub licans, bolder and more politic, threw open their doors, stood behind their bars, and served all corners with glass or pot. The crowd in creased every minute. By nine o'clock the inclosure was filled, and as the tide of life came pouring in the aspect of affairs became alarm ing. A vague sentiment of fear was entertained. No one could tell what might happen. An accident had nearly led to a collision which might have been attended with serious consequences. The dustman on his daily round found himself impeded in the execution of his duty. He rang his bell violently to clear a passage. The crowd received this manifestation of authority with derisive shouts. He atte.npted to lead his horse forward, but fortunately the animal was lame. Two policemen, with a superintendent in command, at this momeut came up to the spot. Acting on the instructions they had received, or led away by popular impulse, they turned the horse's head towards Newgate street. The dustman sullenly submitted to his defeat, and the dust bins of Warwick-square were unemptied that day. Meanwhile the pressure at the doors of the binding-house was tremendous. The crowd kicked, knocked, pushed, jeered, catcalled, and bonnetted. but these demonstrations were merely the effervescence of good-humour. Their patience was invincible. A Scotch youth—as was conjectured by his red hair and high cheek-bones—was the first to gain admittance. His order was instantly executed He returned with his precious burden in triumph. The book was out. After this the stock was delivered with rapidity. There was no more fear of riot The three policemen marched from the ground. But up to a late hour in the afternoon the demand continued with un abated activity. The postman of Paternoster-row will long remember that day. As he deposited his pile of letters on Messrs. Longman's counter, he cherished the hope that he might perhaps that year receive an extra Christmas-box. At night all London was illuminated. Rows of gas-lamps lined the thoroughfares. Light streamed from every dwelling. The book was in every hand. It was read by the Queen in her palace, the noble in his hall, the tradesman in his shop, and the artisan in his attic. Some, remembering the lustre of the diamond in the "Arabian Nights:* imagined that radiance would stream from the volume to illumine its pages. The idea was natural, but illusory. Every kind of light was in requisition, from the gas breaking in a hundred jets through chan deliers of or-molu, to the farthing rushlight stuck in a nozzle of tin or clay, or mounted in the neck of a bottle. No other subject was thought of. The famous Jenny Lind sung that night to empty benches. Politicians forgot the war, and householders the price of provisions. Even at the C o uncil Board the present was lost in the past. The Premier s hilarity puzzled his colleagues as he declared, alluding to the author, that nothing was more natural than the predilection of so staunch a Whig to hiss-Tory. Mr. Macaulay appeared safe on the pinnacle of fame. He was in truth environed by peril. Two classes were against him. The great body of the publishers were deeply mortified at his success. The eminent bibliopole of the West shut himself up in his study and pon dered the possibility of getting out a handbook to the History, but decided at last that such a work must break down through want of • 1 r`