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

THE PRESS.

SATURDAY,

motion the grievance, if less general, is more serious. The lieutenant.
colonels of regiments who have been appointed to the command of
brigades, are, without a day's notice, sent back to their regiments in
the rank they formerly occupied, so that the gentlemen who had, in
the absence of these officers, been appointed to their command, are
forced out of the service upon half-pay. They cannot go back to the
rank of major, and they are superseded as lieutenant-colonels, and
all this without the slightest compensation. It has often been said
that we do not reward our brave defenders in the same degree as
other nations. But it has been reserved for the present Govern.
ment to positively punish them.

We are happy to see that the views which were expressed in TEE
PRESS a fortnight back on this important subject are receiving very
general confirmation. In both Houses of Parliament the Militia has
been spoken of as the arm on which we should rely, during peace,
for the efficacy of our military force ; and we have noticed with
satisfaction an article in the Times of much the same tendency. In
the speech of Lord STANLEY to his constituents, at King's Lynn, the
whole question is treated with the breadth of view and candid
argument which distinguish the oratory of that promising
statesman. The fact is, a large army will never do in a country
which has outgrown the lust of conquest, and is devoted to in-
dustrial pursuits. A Manchester trader looks on a captain
of dragoons as an unproductive gewgaw. We may deplore
his sordid taste, but there the fact remains. Under proper manage-
ment the Militia would constitute an effective but invisible army.
Men well drilled twice a year, with a company of each regiment kept on
foot, as a nucleus and:a model, could afterwards be taken from the barn
and the plough, and made into soldiers in a month. But we look upon
the permanent maintenance of some small number of men in each
county—whether a whole company or less is a matter for official con-
sideration—as an indispensable condition of success. There must be
a fixed and abiding centre of action for each regiment. There ought
to be a recruiting captain to keep the system in vigour, and such
other officers as are necessary to give unity and consistency
to the corps . Unless we are willing to do this it is useles
to try the experiment. We see that the noblemen and
gentlemen who assembled last week at the Thatched Tavern
to consider the disarmament of the Irish Militia are of muck} the same
opinion as ourselves. They expressed themcelves greatly dissatisfied
with Lord PANNIIIRE'S proposition. They recommend that the disem-
bodied staff—meaning thereby, we suppose, the staff of the disem-
bodied regiment—should be kept up on a much larger scale than
hitherto, and that a surgeon should be added to the number of officers
so retained. All this is of course a matter of detail, upon which it
would as yet be premature to enter. But what we do maintain is the
broad principle that the Militia must be made the nursery of the army
not less in peace than in war; and that, to make it so effectively, a cer-
tain proportion both of officers and men must be kept together in their
respective counties, in order that the advantages of organisation and
discipline which regiments now possess may be turned to their proper
account, and the money spent on them for the last two years be made
productive of future as well as of present benefit.

THE BARONET'S WAIL.
Ala—" Farewell to thee, Arabra daughter.
Farewell to my dreams of a musical Sunday
(Thus warbled a Baronet 'neath a beech tree) :
All the week I'm content to be nil, but this one day
Folks couldn't well name without thinking of me.

Lord John never loved a pet bill for reforming
The Parliament Houses more fondly or well
Than I loved my scheme for the Sunday performing
Of polkas and waltzes—and now 'tis a sell.

Farewell! ob, farewell ! to those dear Sunday rambles—
When I think of the past, oh my very heart bleeds;
How smiling I watched my constituents' gambols,
And inhaled with delight each sweet whiff of their weeds.

Farewell, lib'ral Dean, who disdained not to wander
With arm linked in mine through the musical throng ;
Oh, Premier, Archbishop, Saints, all of you, ponder—
Would a Dean have done this if the thing had been wrong?

Oh, Palmerston ! fickle in friendship, oh, cruel!
And falser than cruel that weak heart of thine!
You care for Archbishops ! you run from a duel
With Exeter-hall !—oh ! I'd almost resign.
But the Peerage I long for I'd thus be foregoing,
So I'll stay where I am. and discourse music still;
For, my own brazen trumpet I'll never cease blowing,
Let them silence all other sweet sounds if they will.

A HINT FOR THE TWENTY-NINTH.
" A Temple of Janus," cried Lewis, awaking
(Disturbed from the dreams of a clasQical doze),
" In Kensington-gardens I'm sure 'twould be taking,
If 'mid fountains of fireworks its portals might close.
'Twas thus in old Rome "—Here, in prescient terror,
" For pity and Pam's sake," said Osborne. " oh, cease !
For you'll find, as the end of each vaunt and each errur,
One Temple, at least, is shut up by the Peace."

•

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.

•
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• • , •
MAY 17, 1856. THE PRESS. 469
DEATH IN THE POT. i\isasyAs.—What, that Sunday music is wrong ?
APOLLO.—NO; but that the Sunday-keeping people are strong.
From his warlike bed arising
Mighty Pam was just awake ; MARSYAS.—How can a Sunday afternoon be better spent than by
walking on the verdant turf and listening to elevating melody ?
And, with youthful grace surprising,
APOLLO.—Can't say; but it can be much more pleasantly spent by
Did his morning toilet make.
driving to Richmond and dining at the Star and Garter. But all that
Somewhat hurriedly his whiskers
is rubbish; and if it were not, a more serious question arises, and we
Curled the great pacificator,
For down stairs, a bee as brisk as,
ayter.
must meet it. My dear Sir Benjamin, so long as the thing could be
Waited for him urgent
done without much offence, [had no objection to let you make 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 general feeling of the 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 division—another edition of the vote on the British
Ask not—question not—but follow
The direction of Pam's eyes ; Museum Sunday business ?
MARSYAS.—But you might have let the thing go on a little longer.
Note his faltering voice—how hollow !
Mark his anguish of surprise !pot all over APOLLO.—I understand you, and I make you my compliments.
That
But if the choice lies between the possibility of an invaluable friend
pomatum-
of mine losing Marylebone at the next election, and the certainty of
Scan! thou consternated Jeames ;
See ! 'tis written on the cover,
the Ministry being soundly defeated in the course of the next fort-
" Ruuian and Circassian creams!" night—be judge in your own cause, and tell me whether 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 sneak well fnr 0,.,,* „or am'