The Press.
London, England, 1854-02-11 00:00:00

THE PRESS.

132

THE CZAR'S LETTER TO THE QUEEN.

(,Our contemporary the Times stated on Wednesday that the Czar was about to write an
autograph letter to th Queen of England. We are now enabled to lay a translation
of this letter before our readers from a copy received just as we were going to press.]

MADAME, AND MY SISTER,
Deprived of our respective representatives, there is no longer
reason why I should hesitate, personally, to approach your constitu •
tional solitude (isolement). If for one moment I recur to recol-
lections of hospitality and paternal interchange (echange) of confi-
dence, it is only that I may strike, in your Majesty's bosom, a chord
vibrating in unison with that which inspires my present utterance
(parole). Au accomplished musician, your Majesty will not find
this analogy frivolous.
Hitherto Sisters, and charmed to bear on their waters an intercom-
muniou of the riches of commerce, the Neva and the Thames, are, it
would seem, to be foaming rivals, eugulphing (engloutiseantea) amity.
To speak of our mutual resources were now a cold insult. We
know our strength, and repose in its embraces. A great ruler but
accomplishes destiny when he puts forth (faisant voir) his utmost
force. Heaven is Power, and the weak Sovereign is an Atheist.
Why (if it were permitted to question geography) were we
separated by the distance between London and St. Petersburg? Had
that barrier been absent, and I could habitually (frequeminent) have
presented myself, I will not say at the Saint James's throne, but at
the Windsor chair, this deplorable condition of eventualities could
never have been consummated. The Sovereign of England and her
people would have been alike my friends. Is it allowed me to forget
the cheers that rang down the green turf (gazon ) of Ascot, when the
riders of England deigned to contest for the silver toy your Majesty
sanctioned my setting before their ambition ? Again let my murmurs
echo those of the intervening and chilling (frileux) Baltic.
But there is no Past for a Monarch, who must still advance on-
ward, onward, the Juif Errant of institutions. Yet one ord for
history, It is not with helm on brow, and sword in hand, guarding his
creed and his nationalities, that a Sovereign's truth shall be doubted.
It is not a RomanofT addressing a Guelph that shall be doubted. It is
not a brother writing to his sister who shall be doubted. And truth
is her own holy vindication, and her name is written in the stars.
That Aberdeen humbugged me in the most owdacious manner.
This strife, be it long or short (and my wishes on the subject are
your Majesty's), results from the unrighteous combinations (tracas-
series) of that unrighteous old man. lam not aware that since the
days of Eve a more flagrant case has happened than this satanical
irruption into the European Paradise.

I have the honour to swear to your Majesty that from the very

outset of the difficulties with France about the Holy Places your
Premier caused me to understand (penser) that I should have every-
thing I asked for, and that England was quite arrayed with me against
those Papist Frenchmen. Fortified by this assurance I proceeded—
but your Majesty knows the rest.
The sword—l would beg your Majesty's pardon for naming such
an article before a lady, but I know that I speak to Britannia rather
than to Victoria—is drawn, Could it be replaced in the scabbard with
honour, it might be well ; but our new-born chivalry must receive its
baptism of blood—again begging your Majesty's pardon for mentioning
the article. But it is well that you, my dear sister, and your people,
should comprehend that but for the half-hearted (fainéant) policy of
my Lord Aberdeen, who first encouraged me, and then (I do him but
justice to rAty reluctantly) repelled me when he found out the senti-
ments of your nation, the sword might have slept in its scabbard, long
and peacefully as he sleeps at Council—inapt simile, for the sword
carries its point, and the Scottishman never does.
I have cleared myself with your Majesty. I would that there were
some possibility of healing the wound. It has occurred to me that my

trusted friend Count Orloff has a desire to see the Sydenham Palace.
Should Sir Paxton invite him it would be a disrespect I would never
forgive did not Orloff solicit the honour of an interview with your
Mkjesty. I will not hurt myself with the idea that there could be
difficulty in according that interview, but would rather dwell upon the
pleasure I should derive from hearing my friend detail (specifier) the

- -
amiable steps by which he had led your Majesty to a view of matters
more in harmony with that of St. Petersburg than of St. Stephen's.
Your Majesty, I read in the journals, has visited Sydenham, and will
be enabled, should it be your gracious pleasure, to intimate to Count
Orloff (I enclose his address) whether there is anything there worth
seeing.
Whatever be the issues of events (and it would not become me
to be exultant in the convictions which tell me that either no war is
holy or I am the Sovereign of Turkey), I have the honour, &c.,
NECI/0id2135.

SATURDAY,

TOMKIN S,
THE LITERARY RADICAL.-A SKETCH.

He spoke with scorn of dukes and earls,
He said that there was nought in race,
Although you saw a hundred churls
Had given their being to his face !
He railed at bishops and at deans,
When he assumed the critic-gown,
To mend at once his broken means,
And broken English—on the town.
Himself—his prospects—his own chance,
Were all in public things he'd see,—
" Our British glories you advance,
What have those glories done for ME ?"
" The duke ! why should he toast friends round,
If I with 'prentice lads must sup?
Why bring the pheasant to the ground,
If I must put the shutters up ?"
He spoke—his corduroys he smote—
His bluchers shook—no more he stayed.
He left the shutters on the spot,
And TOMEINB was an author made !

How blessed we of modern days
Who lick our ancestors to fits !
We improvise immortal lays,
And inundate the world with wits.
JONES wearies of the sausage line,
SNOGG thinks his business a bore,
A moment !—lo ! two wits divine—
Two aprons useless on the floor !
So TOMKINS, yesterday a clod,
To-day writes lustily and well ;
And, though he scarce believes in God,
Yet trusts to Him for power to spell.

TOMKINS has written ; goes about,
Mimics the air of men of note,
Tries to look easy at a rout,
And happy in a new dress-coat ;
Assumes a kind of brazen calm,
His faltering confidence to cheer ;
Keeps down with belt of brass each qualm,
While marvelling at a chandelier.
So, by degrees, achieves a square,
Where third-rate lions lions view,
Each aiming at a languid air,
And thinking "Who the deuce asked you .1"
IV.
Oh, happy TomxtNs, wield the pen—
" Latin without a master " get—
Learn all about our public men,
And study " Hints on Etiquette " !
Your brass grows brighter, men observe ;
Your rustic wood acquires veneer—
Your coarse face has an air of nerve,
You venture on an awkward sneer !
Ex guovia lino in these days,
We make a Plicebus or a Pan—
A noisy Quackay wears the bays—
A TOMKINS is called Gentleman !
V.

Genius needs men of lower aims,
Just to attend him at life's play ;
And cry with vigour, that his fame's
Triumphal chariot stops the way !
TOMICINB a Genius' path has crossed,
Improves his taste with talk that's fine,
As butlers at their masters' cost
Learn to be connoisseurs in wine !
Tomxiss, too, manages with skill,
Conveys a scandal in a hint,
Prepares an inuendo-pill,
And gives a lie a coloured tint.
He shoves for fame; elbows for room ;
Is always busy—always loud.
A scavenger with active broom
Would pass through the politest crowd !
VI.

TOMKINB now grows a haughty man,
"Aristocratic," old friends say—
Cuts his relations—yet his ban
Falls on Bohun and Courtenay.
So (for the present) T. we leave—
T.—by whom nobles are abhorred—
Making his humble cousins grieve,
And truckling to a Liberal lord !

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