Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 67, No. 416, June 1850. Various
Чтение книги онлайн.

Читать онлайн книгу Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 67, No. 416, June 1850 - Various страница 9

Название: Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 67, No. 416, June 1850

Автор: Various

Издательство: Public Domain

Жанр: Книги о Путешествиях

Серия:

isbn:

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ Chairman (Sir J. Walmsley) here left the platform, and shortly afterwards returned, leading a short, stout, elderly, intelligent-looking gentleman, with a very formidable mustache and bushy beard of snowy whiteness, whose appearance created considerable excitement in the audience, and gave rise to great satisfaction in the minds of several delegates, who were under the impression that they beheld Mr Muntz, the hon. member for Birmingham, whose beard is so well known by report to the Liberal party.

      "The Chairman. – Gentlemen, you observed that I left the platform for a short time, and returned with a gentleman who is now near me. It is no other than the Joseph Hume of the Hungarians. (Loud cheers, followed by cries of 'Name, name.')

      "The chairman did not appear able to afford the desired information, and the venerable Hungarian financier wrote his name on a slip of paper, from which Sir Joshua Walmsley read aloud what sounded like 'Eugene Rioschy.' (Cheers; and voices, 'We don't know it now,' 'I can't tell my wife;' and laughter.)

I

      No, no! 'tis false! it cannot be!

      When saw a mortal eye

      Two suns within the firmament,

      Two glories in the sky?

      Nay, Walmsley, nay! thy generous heart

      Hath all too wide a room:

      We'll not believe it, e'en on oath —

      There's but one Joseph Hume!

II

      Unsay the word so rashly said;

      From hasty praise forbear!

      Why bring a foreign Pompey here

      Our Cæsar's fame to share?

      The buzzard he is lord above,

      And Hume is lord below,

      So leave him peerless on his perch,

      Our solitary Joe!

III

      He may be known, that bearded wight,

      In lands beyond the foam;

      He may have fought the fiery fight

      'Gainst taxes raised at home.

      And hate of kings, and scorn of peers,

      May rankle in his soul:

      But surely never hath he reached

      "The tottle of the whole."

IV

      Yes, he may tell of doughty deeds,

      Of battles lost and won,

      Of Austrian imposts bravely spurned

      By each reforming Hun.

      But dare he say that he hath borne

      The jeers of friend and foe,

      Yet still prosed on for thirty years

      Like our transcendant Joe?

V

      Or hath he stood alone in arms

      Against the guileful Greek,

      Demanding back his purchase-coin

      With oath, and howl, and shriek?

      Deemed they to hold with vulgar bonds

      That lion in the net?

      One sweep of his tremendous paw

      Could cancel all their debt.

VI

      How could we tell our Spartan wives

      That, in this sacred room,

      We dared, with impious throats, proclaim

      A rival to the Hume?

      Our children, in their hour of need,

      Might style us England's foes,

      If other chief we owned than one,

      The member for Montrose.

VII

      O soft and sweet are Cobden's tones

      As blackbird's in the brake;

      And Oldham Fox and Quaker Bright

      A merry music make;

      And Thompson's voice is clear and strong,

      And Kershaw's mild and low,

      And nightingales would hush their trill

      To list M'Gregor's flow;

VIII

      But Orpheus' self, in mute despair,

      Might drop his magic reed

      When Hume vouchsafes, in dulcet strains,

      The people's cause to plead.

      All other sounds of earth and air

      Are mute and lost the while;

      The rasping of a thousand saws,

      The screeching of the file.

IX

      With him we'll live, with him we'll die,

      Our lord, our light, our own;

      We'll keep all foemen from his face,

      All rivals from his throne.

      Though Tory prigs, and selfish Whigs,

      His onward course assail.

      Here stand a hundred delegates,

      All joints of Joseph's tail.

X

      Ho, there! remove that hairy Hun

      With beard as white as snow;

      We need no rank reformers here

      To cope with honest Joe.

      Not Muntz, with all his bristly pride,

      From him our hearts can wean:

      We know his ancient battle-cry —

      "Shave close, my friends, and clean!"

      MY PENINSULAR MEDAL

      BY AN OLD PENINSULAR

      PART VII. – CHAPTER XVII

      Although I have not specified every place at which we halted, or through which we passed, it may be proper to state that we arrived in due course at St Sever, which was distant only one day's march from the actual headquarters of the British army, Aire on the Adour. Here Pledget interposed his professional authority, and decided that neither Mr Chesterfield nor Jones must proceed farther. They both remained, therefore, under surgical treatment at St Sever. Pledget and Gingham, deeming the road now safe, pushed forward to Aire, leaving the cart to follow with the convoy. At the same time, our numbers experienced a still more considerable diminution. Our cavalry escort, also, received orders to push forward, and started before us in high spirits, with the prospect of immediate operations. The convoy was, accordingly, left with only the infantry as a guard, under Corporal Fraser.

      Before starting for this our last day's march I saw both our wounded men, neither of them well pleased at being left behind. As to Jones, I was getting used to him, and could have better spared a better man. I found him confined to his bed, in a house full of sick and wounded; very much down in the mouth, fractious, a little feverish, and not at all satisfied with hospital diet. "Please, sir, the doctor don't not allow me a drop of sperrits, sir; no, nor wine nayther, sir; nothing whatsomdever to drink, only powders, sir."

      "Powders to drink, Jones? What d'ye mean, man?"

      "Please, sir, what I means is powders, sir. Hope no offence, sir. Doctor calls 'em everfizzing powders, sir."

      From the Hon. Mr Chesterfield I parted with unfeigned regret. I believe he had won the respect of the whole party. His manner was a little stiff and aristocratical СКАЧАТЬ