The Press.
London, England, 1854-04-15 00:00:00

THE PRESS.

ONE OF THE PREMIER'S "SLEEPLESS
NIGHTS."
[Lord Aberdeen is discovered in bed, a night.lamp beside him. flour
midnight. Newspapers on a table near him.
Lord ABERDEEN.
It will not be. The more I try to sleep
The more I can't. I turned, and turned, and turned,
After a fashion Graham's self might envy,
Yet not a weazel is more wide-awake,
Or that same Graham. One more chance I'll try,
And if it fail—as yet it never did—
''
Why, then—l'll see what next is to be done,
ev 'sit
vf For, when I stoop to own that I'm defeated,
IP Look out for squalls indeed ! Ay, here's the drug.
[Takes up a number of the Economist, and is gradually toothed into
't • slumber.
Thanks--gentle--colleague—thou—art—ever—true.
Thou man—of hats—l'll—owe—this—nap to thee.
[He sleeps. The door flies open, and a young lady, in a helmet, short
tunic, fleshings, and sandals, and armed with a silver spear, enters.
ntl
'34OUNG LADY. What ho ! Lord Aberdeen !
Lord ABERDEEN. My gracious me !.
How came you in ? I'll swear—no, I won't swear—
; But I was certain that the door was locked.
'YOUNG LADY. No locks are worth a straw against a Saint.
.Lord ABERDEEN.
True—Gladstone robs the Bank most awfully.
But who are you? The costume mhich you wear
Smacks of the stage far more than of the Saint,
And—or my eyes deceive me—you're a lady.
If so, you must permit me to remark
Your nether garb—l might say, lack of garb—
Is really almost indefensible.
YOUNG LADY. I do not stand on trifles.
Lord ABERDEEN. So I see.
They are well shaped.
.• YOUNG LADY. I know it. But, my lord,
The question is not of my legs, but business.
I am Saint George, the Patron Saint of England,
A trifle modernised, to suit the age,
fit But you're a Minister of progress.
Lord ABERDEEN. Ay,
r. I have said so more than once. Well, handsome Saint,
I recognise you, and that graceful dress
Is copied from the die
ST. GEORGE. Never say die !
• LOTcl ABERDEEN.
Pert as our age. Then, copied from the coin
Which bears that typical device no more,
And spoils the joke which did translate the motto,
Corolla metuenda est draconis.
ST. GEORGE. Translated, how?
Lord ABERDEEN. By Hook, or else Maginn,
Mad wags—they read it thus—" I fear I can't
Collar the dragons," meaning, get the cash.
Excuse my pun, I've taken to it lately, rt if 7-451 bi,,
And with my humour do convulse the Peers I'l6l I"'' "7
To take their minds off from the thought of war.
tlll-,",
ST. GEORGE. .1./(.111
'Tis of that war which Ido come to speak. .
inodnoi It ~1 ,01.1
My friend St. Nicholas, as you have read, nom
Has been in dreams appearing to your friend,
.b„, • ,
The Russian Czar, for his encouragement, ,;4,4-0,-,
And so I thought that I would call on you,
Re-! Upon the self-same errand.
• Lord ABERDEEN (offended). Much obliged.
But if St. Andrew had assumed the mission,
All things considered, it had been as proper.
ST. GEORGE.
You've crossed St. Andrew, and St. Andrew's cross.
You scorned the appeal of good Lord Eglinton.
Lord ABERDEEN. Well, what's your business ?
ST. GEORGE. As I said, the war.
(.. This war which you, my lord, have brought about,
y.) You, and you only,—and which, being in,
You dread should be conducted valiantly.
Lord ABERDEEN.
I brought about ! You have not read my speeches.
ST. GEORGE.
I've read your acts ; and so, my lord, has England.
And though she pour her blood and treasure out—

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