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

THE PRESS.

SATURDAY,

will show, are rapidly leaving the station. The fleet has sailed from
off Cronstadt. Before long the liners will be en route home, and the
Baltic left to the care of a few steam frigates and some gun-boats. So
much for the boasted campaign of '55. That of '54 was perhaps a mis-
take, but that of '55 is a decided failure. The facts of the case are
few, and shortly stated. The Government of Lord PALMERSTON, with
ample experience, perfect knowledge of locality, and full time for pre-
paration, fitted out a fleet in the first instance without a mortar-boat
attached to it. For four months that fleet was allowed to cruise up
and down the Baltic iu tremendous but useless force, and at length,
in the beginning of the fifth month, some sixteen mortar boats with
sixteen mortars were with infinite labour collected together. A bom-
bardment of b. strong fortress followed, the storehouses and arsenals
were destroyed, but so little damage was done to the fortifications that
the heavy line-of-battle ships retired without risking au attempt to
follow up the success the bombardment had achieved. The attack
lasted forty-live hours ; half of the sixteen mortars were rendered use-
less, and there was not one in reserve—not one more even en route
from our arsenals at home. The winter is rapidly coming on ; there is
no time now for fresh supplies to be sent out. Next year we
shall find a fleet of Russian mortar-boats and 13-inch mortars in
every Russian fortress. We shall be matched, if not beaten, with our
own weapons. The exhibition is pitiable, and if the Baltic campaign
be a sample of Lord PALMERSTON'S " vigorous policy," Heaven help
the country which is long under his sway. With regard to Sweaborg,
we have at length received the Russian report of the affair. General
de BERG, while admitting the destruction of the buildings and stores
within the fortress, states that the injury done to the works of the
fortress itself and to the batteries is insignificant. He gives the loss
of the killed and wounded as amounting to 159 in the fortress, and
100 on board the line-of-battle ship in the harbour. This is a singular
contradiction to the assertion of the Times, that 2,000 men had been
lost by the Russians. Whatever may be the truth of the case, it is
nevertheless curious to see how the gallant General sticks to the
stereotyped " one Cossack." He is detailing the terrific explosion of
the four depots of shells, which all correspondents, from the Admiral
downwards, declare to have been tremendous, and to have lasted for
some minutes, but which, the General says, " by a most special fiivour
" of God, caused the loss to us only of one man killed and three
" wounded !" He is more candid when relating the effect of the fire
of the mortar-vessels upon the line-of-battle ship moored off the
entrance—" Shells," he observes, " of enormous calibre, passed through
" her decks." This is a new feature in naval warfare, and one lucky—or
unlucky—shell in the magazine,would settle the fate of such floating
monsters as the Duke or Marlborough. It is not too early for our
shipwrights to set about contriving some means of defence on the
upper and main decks of ships to resist the vertical fall of a shell.
Au increase of four or five inches in thickness appears to offer the
most ready and available means.

Hei Majesty the Queen, accompanied by Prince ALBERT and the
Royal children, landed at Osborne house on Tuesday morning soon
after 10 a.m. The reception which has been accorded to the Queen
by the Emperor and people of France, is one of the most enthusiastic
upon record. The welcome with which Louts NAPOLEON was greeted
upon his visit to England has been well repaid. Let us hope that
their visit will mark the conclusion of those " disastrous rivalries," as
the Moniteur calls them, between France and England which have
occasioned such infinite disaster to both countries without altering
their relative strength.

Events in Italy are becoming daily more and more complicated.
Austria, we learn this week, has backed up her good advice to King BOMBA,
by sending a squadron of six ships of war to the Bay of Naples, four of
which are anchored in the harbour, and two lying off Castellamare.
King BOMBA seems bent upon exciting insurrection in his dominions;
and Austria, naturally anxious upon the state of Italy, remonstrates
ith him on his folly, and sends a squadron to his assistance. In
Paris it is rumoured freely that CANROBERT is to command an expedi-
tion, also to be sent to the King's assistance. The attitude of Austria
towards the Western Powers is rapidly becoming more reserved. An
insurrection in Naples would be followed by one over all Italy, and
Austria would be driven in self-defence to seek a Russian alliance.
With the Principalities in her power, and 500,000 men fresh for the
contest, what is there to arrest her in her march from Bucharest to Con-
stantinople ?

By the arrival of the mails from India and Africa, we have intelli-
gence of outbreaks in both countries. At Sabbagee, on the River
Gambia, an insurrection has taken place among the negroes ; villages
have been burnt, the British forces, with the Governor at their head,
defeated in two actions, and, had it not been for the efficient aid of the
French from their neighbouring settlement of Goree, the rebellion
would not have been put down. As it is, it. appears to be more
scotched than killed, and, in spite of the grape, canister, and shell
which destroyed the rebels' village, we may expect to hear further ac-
counts of their depredations.
In India a serious outbreak has taken place among the hill tribes
of Rejmahal, a district bordering the west bank of the Ganges. The
accounts vary as to the cause of the outbreak; but it appears gene-
rally to be asserted that some mismanagement of the Company's col-
lectors is the basis of the insurrection. About 20,000 of the tribes are
ravaging the country on all sides, murdering Europeans, and commit-
ting every species of depredation. 7'he Government of Calcutta
were hastening strong bodies of troops to the spot to suppress the
molt.

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.