The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1854-04-18 00:00:00

THE LUTE.RIAL BURGLAR.

NICHOLAS Cu vase is the designation by which
the future historian of Europe will most appro-
priately distingUish the celebrated dealer in parole
de gentilkomme on the banks of the Neva from
Potentates of less predatory habits, and from rogues
and vagabonds of lesser note. Much as the Czar
has of late damaged his reputation by his crooked
and treacherous policy, we were not prepared to see
him demolifila what Tittle character he had left, by
an act of vulgar robbery, which, if the offence had
been committed in the county of Middlesex, would
have procured for him a couple of years of im-
priscmment With hard labour, besides an indignant
homily from Mr. Serjeant Adams.
It was a sufficiently disgraceful fact, that where-
as the Governments of England and France
accompanied their declaration of war with a grant
of protectionto the enemy's merchant vessels for the
space of six weeks, the Russian government, on the
very instant that war was declared, seized, pillaged
and burnt whatever English merchant vessels it
could lay its hands on. The difference of conduct,
in this respect,'betwen the two belligerent parties
indicates with tolerable accuracy the contrast
between that barbarism of which Russia is the re-
presentative, and the civilisation of which England
and France are the champions. But the detention
of the property left behind at St. Petersburg by the
British Ambassador under the supposed guarantee
of the law of nations, is a proceeding out of all
keeping, wholly inconsistent with a position among
civilized nations. We doubt whether even our
sable friends the Kaffirs would have been so ignorant
or so regardless of the respect due to the property
of an Ambassador, as to have been guilty of an act
of petty larceny upon his effects.
Indignation, however, on such an escapade of
Imperial savagery would be altogether thrown
away. It will make a capital subject for the pencil
of our facetious weekly contemporary, who, among
all the extravagant aspects in which he has
exhibited His Imperial Majesty, has never hit upon
anything half as ludicrous as the reality. A house-
I breaker effecting a robbery by means of a fictitious
seizure, is all very well ; but an Emperor—faugh !
The Treasury, as a matter of course, will • have to
indemnify Sir Hamilton Seymour, and it will be a
rare joke to have among the miscellaneous estimates
an item in the shape and fashion of a broker's bill,
for crockery and china, damask table linen and Irish
sheeting, books and articles of vertu, feloniously
abstracted from His Excellency the British Ambas-
sador at St. Petersburg by his Imperial Majesty
the Emperor of all the Russias. What a theme for
the eloquence of Mr. Roebuck, and the arithmetic
of Mr. Hume !
The Earls of Aberdeen and of Clarendon cannot
fail to be gratified, we should think, by this fresh
proof of the singular discernment which they have
shown in placing such implicit reliance on the
friendly assurances and the peaceful disposition of
the Czar. The Noble Premier, more especially,
must feel that he has reason to be proud of his old
acquaintance, and of the confidence with which the
Czar reckoned on his bonkommie, when speculating
on " the sick man's" inheritance. For his Lord-
ship's sake we hope that Sir Charles Napier will
continue to keep the Russian squadrons within the
Belts ; else we should not be surprised to hear of a
descent upon the coast of Aberdeenshire, and of a
military occupation of Haddo House, by way of a
" material guarantee" for the continuance of the
forty years' friendship between the pusillanimous
Premier and the magnanimous Czar.—John Bull.

ONE OF THE PREMIER'S
"SLEEPLESS NIGHTS."

(FROM " THE PRESS.")
[Lord Aberdeen is discovered in bed, a night-lamp
beside him. Hour, midnight. Newpapers 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,
For, when I stoop to own that I'm defeated,
Look out for squalls, indeed ! Ay, here's the drug.
[Takes up a number of the Economist, and is gra-
dually soothed into 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.
YOUNG LADY. What ho ! Lord Aberdeen !
Lord ABERDEEN. My gracious me !
How came you in ? I'll swear—no, I wont 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 which 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,
But you're a Minister of progress.
Lord ABERDEEN. Ay,
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 !
Lord 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 Magian,
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,
And with my humour do convulse the Peers
To take their minds off from the thought of war.
ST. GEORGE.
'Tis of that war which I do come to speak.
My friend, St. Nicholas, as you have read,
Has been in dreams appearing to your friend, •
The Russiadtzar, for his encouragement,
And so I thought that I would call on you,
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,
You, and you only—and which, being in,
Yon 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—
The first like water, and the last like dirt—
To blast the foe whom you have called to combat,
She debits you with every drop of blood
And'every coin of gold.
Lord ABERDEEN. And I deny
My liability. I did my best
To save her from this war. She had been saved
Had England's Senate all been Aberdeens.
ST. GEORGE.
And Turkey, under some Prince Thrkeywitch,
Had ranked a Russian province.
Lord ABERDEEN. And why not P
You were, they say, a Cappadocian baker,
Who, cheating soldiers of their lawful loaves,

Was hung therefor—how you were made a martyr,
And champion of the faith, is Your own business.
But why are you-so earnest for the Turk ?
ST. GEORGE.
The fiction's worthy of the mind that sees,
In Nicholas an honourable man.
But I stand here for England, and my name
Is on her banner. Keep your graceful jests
To lead, as you have said, the House away,
When, short of argument, you try a grin.
Lord ABERDEEN.
It strikes me you are something less than civil.
ST. GEORGE.
It may be so; but ere this year is out
You will have heard some harder truths than that,
When every other man is dressed in mourning,
For one of those who have gone out to die,
" Where but for you this strife had never been."
Lord ABERDEEN.
What would you have me do ?
ST. GEORGE. At least not this.
You've plunged us in a war, which you deplore,
As I believe, sincerely—yes—but why
You do deplore it is a matter patent.
Your friend of forty years—your trusted friend,
Who sends such gracious messages—whose joy
When you, his tool, are once again in office,
Exceeds decorum—he, whose work you've done
Both in and out of season, and whose aim
You vindicate—that friend is now assailed;
His capitals ere long will hear the roar
Of cannon, loaded, primed, and laid by you.
I do believe that you deplore this war.
Lord ABERDEEN.
And I could stop it at this very moment.
ST. GEORGE.
We all know that, and also on what terms.
But England's honour is in better hands ;
Beware how you would touch it, lest, one day,
She take it in her own—and likewise you.
That were a day, indeed, of shortest thrifts.
Lord ABERDEEN.
Shrift me no shrifts. lam a Protestant.
ST. GEORGE.
And therefore champion of the gentle prince
Who crushes every liberty of conscience,
And whose fierce creed consigns yourself to flames.
Lord ABERDEEN.
Those are his errors—l have told him of them,
In that mild language which is suited best
For men's conversion—and, perhaps, some day
My hints may prove not utterly in vain.
ST. GEORGE.
Uphold him to the last. The sternest wish
Which I will waste on you, Lord Aberdeen,
Is that some day, after the fleets have met,
You may be placed within your dear friend's reach.
I have a dragon here, but he is mild
To what your friend will be when he shall learn
Your war has sent some of his ships to atoms.
Lord ABERDEEN.
Horrible thought !
ST. GEORGE. Yet, is there not a worse
That haunts you now ?
Lord ABERDEEN. I beg you'll give it a name.
ST. GEORGE.
'Twill pack within a single pregnant word
Which will be forced upon you—it may be
Before a month has past.
Lord ABERDEEN. The word ! the word !
ST. GEORGE.
Or do you think that England means to bear
Your cold, half-hearted councils, and the sense
That you must_ grudge her all her victories ?
Lord ABERDEEN.
The word ! I say !
ST. GEORGE. The word is RESIGNATION.
[Lord Aberdeen utters a great shout of defiance,
and providentially wakes himself.

FOREIGN AND COLONIAL.

FRANCE.

Intelligence has been received in Paris that the fleet
under Admiral Parseval-Deschenes sailed on Wednesday
from Brest, for the Baltic, to join the English squadron
under Admiral Napier.