The Press.
London, England, 1857-01-10 00:00:00

THE PRESS.

JANUARY 10, 1857.

such a clangour as to warn vessels of their danger. Ten thousand
bells such as could be fitted to a buoy would not be heard a hundred
yards off in a gale of wind that blows up or down Channel. A light is
the only remedy, and that has not yet been proved practicable. One
thing should be done, and that speedily ; the Gull and Sottth Foreland
Lights should certainly be rendered so far distinctive that a repetition
of such an error as that committed by the master of the Violet should
be for the future rendered impossible.

SIR ROBERT PEEL AT BIRMINGHAM.
Sir Peel ! Sir Robert Peel !
We can't say half we feel,
Reading your penny-showman-prate on Russia;
Thou light
And empty Knight,
Of thy young fame that foolery's a " crusher."
A glory from afar,
The light of a set star,
Wham.) shone on thee, raising eager hope ;
And now
Thy foolish brow
Is clear of it—as chimney-sweep's of soap.
Fitter were roses red
For Bottom's shaggy head
Than great Sir Robert's laurels for a fool !
Thy father never went three thousand miles
To tell us " Petersburg was built on piles."
Why Bob! we've been to school !
And that great city, every schoolboy knows,
Is " subject to the East wind "—when it blows.

All in a hurry,
Crammed to the throat with Murray,
Sworn to see sights, you growled disapprobation.
Is a palace " built of granite '
Worse, mio Roberto, than it
Had been, if marble? (true, that's new formation.)

And don't say we're sardonic
If we think the race Sclavonic
Knew the great genius wherewith they'd to deal
When Sourochokoffs bag

A 1001. for each nag, -
And innkeepers "ask 60/. for each meal."
Ah ! what a sad disaster

To meet " that grand postmaster"
Who made such awful pomp, " he frightened you";
And the " very awkward trick "
Of the Cossack, and " that brick,

The Nishni Governor, who drank like two."
And then about the feast—
No need, man, not the least,
To talk about what you couldn't find in the Bible.
From Exodus to Job ;

And why again, good Rob,
Upon Duke Constantine that stupid libel?
And, Robert ! by the way,
What a very charming trait
Is that you show in telling us your drive !
How coachee down was cast
When you wanted to go fast,
And " very nearly killed "
But such fun to see him spilled!
.. .

How " the postillion "—shocking !
Had neither shoe nor stocking " ;

How the horses with fatigue

Dropped down at every league,
And were left, just where they fell,
With the postboys—to get well,"
" So that you never so liked travelling in your life."
Well! well! to men who thoughtfully compute all,
It seems, my Robert, brutal !

How kind,
And how refined,
That confidence about " the fair Circassians " !
There was a lady's cheek
Reddened while you did speak.
Shame, Rob ! And then that touch of merchant-fashions,

" The turquoises "—alas!
Poor Rob ! they're coloured glass—
They " knew the time of day, Rob, those Bokbarin "
You're fond of Burns's song
(Though you quote entirely wrong),
Here's one—" Oh Tam, oh Tani! you're yot your fairin."
Don't shake that eminently empty nob !
Don't ! Rob,
You're to a noble name nearly akin ;
And if you act the monkey,
Or care to do the donkey,
For God's sake play't without the lion's skin.
There used to be a scrawl
Upon the temple wall
In Rome—you've enough Latin, Sir, to turn it ;
" Si quid hic"—this was it—
" Miuxerit—cacarit
Diu est tlevotus "—there, Rob, go and learn it.

—" Filii Castiyator, quia Patric Amator.'

" ODOROUS COMPARISONS."
Well! if Lord Palmerston is a Cleon, he can at all events bout hie Sphacteria.—Globe, Jan. d.

ScENE:—The Library al Broadlan&

Lord PALMERSTON (meditatively).-2% tanner, eh? a tanner! Why
that's the unkindest cut of all. He's lost a good many tanners by
that article. Ha, ha, ha !

(A Treasury Editor is announced.)
EDITOR.—You sent for me, my Lord?

Lord PALIIERSTON.—I did. Here is one of your articles, which I
recognise by it's being made up out of a classical dictionary. Do you
think this sort of thing worth money, eh?
EDITOR.—Really, my Lord, I think it's one of the best I ever
wrote.

Lord PALMERSTON.—Then I heartily pity the people who read
your average writings. But now, sir, you say I'm a Dictator. " Lord
Palmerston, then, is a Dictator." What does that mean ?
EDITOR —Cincinnatus was a Dictator, my Lord.
LORD PALMKRSTON.—And Cincinnati's, Sir George Lewis tells me,
means Curly-haired That may be a complim3ut, or may not. I'll
give you the benefit of the doubt. But how else do I resemble
Cineinnatus ?

EDITOR.—He was a country gentleman, my Lord.
Lord PALMERSTON.—Oh, ah, Broadlands, and ali that. Did he
talk local politics to ironmongers, I wonder? Really, I should like to
know how Cincinnati's would have served Lankester. But to come to
business. I did not extremely dislike your article ; but when I came
to the last sentence, where you say I'm Cleon, and can boast a
Sphacteria, I saw you had blundered.

EDITOR —HOW SO, my Lord?
Lord PALMERSTON.-Why, my good fellow, here's Whittaker's
Pinnock's Goldsmith's " History of Greece," page 190. Read.

EDITOR.—" Cleon, a tanner"
Lord PALMERSTON.—A tanner! Upon my life, Sir, you might have
thought of something less odoriferous. Phew ! Just hand me over
that flask of Frangipanni.
EDITOR.—" Who was, like all boasters, a notorious coward—"
Lord PALMERSTON.—You see. That's my character, is it? A boaster
and a notorious coward. Am not I the man whose moral courage has
made England the first nation upon earth ? Tell me that, Sir.

EDITOR —Yes, my Lord, certainly. But this is irony, you know.
Lord PALMERSTON.—Irony, is it? Iron brings me bad luck, I find.
Last week it was an ironmonger—
EDITOR.—Ha, ha, ha, my Lord ! Capital !

Lord PALMERSTON —Sir, this is no laughing matter. Cleon, it
seems, boasted that in thirty days he would bring all the Lacedx-
monians in Sphacteria prisoners to Athens : mere good luck enabled
him to do it. Now, Sir, what do you mean ?
EDlTOR.—Sebastopol, my Lord.
Lord PALMERSTON.—O, indeed. Did I say I'd take Sebastopol in
thirty days? You are intensely stupid. I shall be obliged to dismiss
you, as I did your predecessor, who has published a book about me in
America.

EDITOL—Really, m 3 Lord, I should exceedingly regret doing any-
thing to annoy you.
Lord PALMERSTON.—WeII, my good fellow, look hem. It was all
your ignorance, I know. You ought not to dabble in the classics.
Leave your Dictators and Cleons alone. Call me something English—
William Pitt, for instance. Now you may go ; take this as a warning.

AFFECTION'S TRIBUTE.
LIBERATED AND CONVALESCENT CONVICT LOQUITUR.
Don't tell me of preaching and chaplains' hearts reaching,
To Freedom much simpler and safer's the way;
No need of contrition to improve your condition,
A headache's sufficient for goodnatured Grey.

Should gaol and dejection but pale your complexion,
Should you lose half a pound—why it's certain to pay ;
Judiciously cough, boys, and soon you'll get off, boys,
Or fast—and you'll find it quite needless to pray.

Though strangely he palters distributing halters,
Strings up without mercy, lets off without cause,
If the crime be atrocious, the murderer ferocious,
He's sure to be snatched from the bloodthirsty laws.

Since to our craft there's no bar, hurrah for the crowbar !
Respectable fogies may quake for their lives ;
But while Grey keeps his station they'll find there's occasion
To load their revolvers and sharpen their knives.
Then, ye whose profession is dextrous transgression,
Conic, cracksmen and smashers, garotters and prigs,
And join in a toast, boys, to him we love most, boys,
"Long life to Sir George, and success to the Whigs!"

MERRY-ANDREWS.
Doubtless Southampton people think it very
Queer that their Andrews makes the Premier merry ;
But queerer still the fact she weary land rues,
That the Premier's the chief of Merry• Andrews.