The Sun.
London, England, 1832-03-19 00:00:00

WHIGS AND TORIES.

ETCHED FROM THE LIFE.

Of all the metamorphoses recorded by 0-vr
we know of none more striking than that whit h
has taken place, within the last few m niths, in the
character and appearance of these two great
parties. Your genuine Whig from having been
the leanest, the most desponding, the most chop-
fallen, has all of a sudden, become the sleekest,
the jolliest, the handsomest of created beings.
The sharp angles in his face and figure have
disappeared ; his calves have plumped out ;
he has not rid of the crows' feet under his eyes ;
and can no longer count his own ribs. Com-
fortable and pleasant is he to look at, like a
sudden burst of sunshine, or an Alderman at a
city feast. If he walk the streets, it is with
an air of conscious desert ; if he smile, it is with
angelic benevolence, as though he were ready to
hold out the right hand of fellowship to every
soul he meets. What serene dignity in his
gait ! What inexpressible philanthropy in his
looks! The very beggar makes sure of him
for a shilling.

Look now to the Tory. Mark that lank,
scraggy, lantern-jawed fellow, skulking along,
down Parliament-street, with the eyes of two Po-
licemen fixed on him with suspicious keenness.
Is he a pick-pocket ? Most assuredly, but not
in the retail line. His is a wholesale business.
He is—that is to say (a material difference) he
was—a Tory placeman, one of that omnivorous
race who for years fattened on the public purse
like a cow in a clover-field. Nothing in the
way of plunder or peculation came amiss to him.
He was not particular—had no silly pride—but
would prig a penny with as much easy assurance
as a pound. But his sun has now set, the loaves
and fishes are no longer within his grasp, and
his uncommon faculties of appropriation are
rusting from want of practice. They say his tailor
is becoming very clamorous, and we do hear strange
stories about the probability of a visit to the
King's Bench. What an ugly dog it is! Despera-
tion glares in his eyes; hunger has dug two big
holes in his cheeks. It gives one quite an ap-
petite to look at him.
It is really most distressing to meet a Tory in
the streets. He looks like an impersonation of the
Vagrant Act. You may know him at a glance, by
his side-long Old Bailey squint, his cheeks tough
and yellow as the parchment of a drum, his
shuffling step, and the nervous, uneasy twitch
that people give their coat pockets as he passes by
them. The other day it was our luck to meet
the Right Hon. J. W. C—it close by the Ad-
miralty. The most bashful of men paused, like
ADAM, as he passed the gates of forbidden
Eden, as we have seen an epic poet halt, with
outspread nostrils, before the windows of a chop-
house. He looked wretchedly consumptive, and
seemed, we thought, as though he expected an
invitation to walk in. Close behind him came
that remarkable Statesman, who; as the Times
has well observed, " blends the sober wisdom of
Punch with the attic salt of Grimaldi," and of
whose forlorn apparel we shall, from motives of
delicacy, say nothing more than that its value
would be extravagantly over-estimated at eighteen
pence.

But it is in the House of Commons that
Whig and Tory are seen, each in his truest co-
lours. Office has a strange effect on men's looks
and manners, and here you witness the full
magic of its Ithuriel spear. The Whig is all
smiles and serenity, an embodied sun-beam, soft
in speech, musical in voice, gentlemanlike, of
comfortable circumference, and of singular
breadth in the rear. You could cram a dozen
lean Ultras into the space that would be filled by
one sleek Whig. The Tory, on the other hand,
is uncouth, shadowy, irrascible, and of so rave-
nous an aspect, that he looks as if he could
swallow the Speaker, wig and all. Pray, glance
your eve for a moment over the Opposition
bench. Did you ever see such a collection of
scare-crows ? You would swear they had only
just eloped from the corn-fields. If the cholera
were ever to take his seat on that bench, he
would make sad havoc among its predisposed
occupants. But, hark ! one of the squad is
just about to speak. What a voice ! What a
delivery ! What sentiments ! From the bray-
ing of his neighbours you would conclude that
his eloquence was the true eloquence of inspi-
ration. Alas ! my good Sir, you are mistaken ;
it is only a necessary consequence resulting front
excessive flatulence. We hate Tory wit. It is
so windy, anti smells so strong of acids.
But see, Thersites has ceased, and a Whig
Ulysses is about to reply, And now, without
further reserve or disguise, comes out the true
Tory nature. The whole pack give tongue to-
gether, in hope to bear down by noise what they
cannot refute by argument. Mark well their
gestures ! See how they glare with wolfish eyes
at the Treasury Bench ! One fellow clutches
his great mutton fist ; another grins as though
he had been in the habit of practising through a
horse-collar ; a third makes those indescribable
noises which so shocked the auricular organs of
Lord BROUGHAM ; a fourth jumps convulsively
from his seat, with his arms tossed high up into
the air, like the sails of a windmill ; while a
fifth, more ragged and desperate than the rest,
casts a glance at his neighbour's watch and seals,
the peculiar expression of which, from a fear of
consequences, we shall refrain from more particu-
larly describing. In vain the gentlemanlike Whigs
strive to allay the uproar ; in vain the Speaker's
deep bassoon calls," Order ;" in vain the Serjeant-
at-Arms prepares himself for the apprehended
emergency ; nothing will do ; the storm swells
to a hurricane—

Ass intones to ass
Harmonious twang of leather, lungs, and brass;"
the trumpet-like solo of one WYNN blends in
dulcet accordance with the more silvery modu-
lations of the other ; oaths—screams—shouts—
howlings—hissiings—gruntings—brayings, Peal
loud in every direction ; while high above all
rings out the clear, shrill brogue of Erin's most
bashful child. Such, reader, is the nightly con-
duct of the Opposition Bench, which, were jus-
tice done to its deserts, would long ere this have
been taken off in a body to St. Margaret's watch-
house. SQUIB.