LORD DERBY has made a political speech of a very sensible
character--"that goes without to say" in his case. He tells the
Conservatives that they are to be neither apathetic nor precipitate,
that they are to play a waiting game--the World to him who can
Wait--and, meantime, they are to support MR. GLADSTONE against the
extreme men on his own side. And, said the Earl, "political life is not
to be looked at as if it were a soaped pole, with L5,000 a year, and
lots of patronage at the top." The sentiment is lofty and honourable.
"But," said to _Mr. Punch_ a rising lawyer, who intends to rise a good
deal higher, "the deuce of it is that LORD DERBY talks from the top of a
golden Pyramid about soaped poles. Hang it! I'm like _Becky Sharp_--I
should find it precious easy to be patriotic with fifty thousand a year.
If I didn't feel I could manage the nation for the best (though of
course I could), confound it! I'd myself engage the best Premier that
money could secure, and serve the country that way. But blow it, as it
is, and HENRIETTA'S governor refusing to hear of me until I'm in
Parliament, you see, old cuss----" "Virtue alone is happiness below,"
replied _Mr. Punch_ severely, as he went away to get some oysters at
PROSSER'S.
* * * * *
NOTE BY A FOREIGNER.--On England's possessions the sun never sets. True;
and on one of them, London, the sun never rises.
[Illustration: SAT UPON.]
_Hospitable Host._ "DOES ANY GENTLEMAN SAY PUDDEN?"
_Precise Guest._ "NO, SIR. NO _GENTLEMAN_ SAYS _PUDDEN_."
"IF!"
(_A Channel Sketch._)
'TOTHER day I steamed from Dover
To Boulogne-sur-Mer:
We'd bad weather crossing over:
Very sick we were.
Busy, Steward's-Mate and Steward--
"Basins!" was the cry:
Ocean heaved, because it blew hard;
Heaved, and so did I.
In the intervals of basin
Blessed dreams were mine:
FOWLER was from Ocean 'rasin'
Every ill-ruled line.
Over Neptune's worst commotion
Holding despot's state,
He not only ruled the Ocean,
But he ruled it straight!
Steady, sea ne'er so ugly,
Did his craft behave;
Passengers, carriaged snugly,
Sweeping o'er the wave!
Not a soul from out his cushions
Moved, the passage through;
Padded soft against concussions,
And spring-seated, too!
O, it was a blessed vision!
Blessed all the more
For that awful exhibition
Betwixt shore and shore.
But when _terra-firma_ reason
On that dream I fixed,
At a less afflicted season,
Doubt with hope was mixed.
For, I thought--Can FOWLER answer
That his boats won't roll--
Grant, that, swift as a _merganser_,
O'er the sea they bowl?
_If_ they roll--and who can promise
That they never will?--
Little joy to JOHN BULL from his
Power of sitting still.
Think of an afflicted train-full
Cabined, cribbed, confined--
Rolling with the rollings painful
Of that pen inclined!
Face to face, and knee to knee, sick,
Retch and heave and strain,
Think of a whole hundred sea-sick
All along the train!
Sea-sickness in open ocean
May be bad to bear,
But, boxed up in a train in motion,
Worse, far worse, it were!
So if FOWLER cannot promise
Pitch-and-toss shall be
Game of chance, far-banished from his
Skimmers of the sea,
Better 'gainst our woes we gird us--
Cold, and stench, and spray--
Than in railway train you herd us,
Nausea's helpless prey!
If the traveller from Dover
Reached the other shore,
Worser woes, than crossing over,
Were for him in store.
Awfuller than the up-turn he
Suffers from the tide,--
Think upon that six hours' journey
On the other side!
Present woe 'gainst worse mismarriage--
Put it to the vote--
And I'll bet 'tis _contra_ carriage,
And _for_ open boat!