THE BABES ON THE TREASURY BENCH.
["The leader of the Opposition had treated them to good logic, but why administer such strong meat to the babes on the Treasury bench?"—Mr. Courtney on the Parish Councils Bill.]
We have heard of the Babes in the Wood,
And the ruffians greedy and cruel,
Who (as Ingoldsby said in gay mood)
Conspired for to "give them their gruel";
But pitiful bosoms will blench
At this vision of Balfour the sinister,
To Babes on the Treasury Bench
Presuming his dose to administer!
They find Doctor Balfour, one fears,
Worse than poor Davy Copperfield's Creakle;
As awful as grim Mrs. Squeers
With her jorum of brimstone and treacle.
Ah, Courtney, how could you conceive
A picture so Mephistophelian?
Your buzzum is stone, I believe,
And your heart must be truly a steely 'un!
Sweet Babes! They seem likely to choke!
Poor Gladdy! Poor Johnnie! Poor Willy!
Arthur's "logic" is tougher than "toke,"
And much more insipid than "skilly."
Strong meat? How your irony you barb,
Your humour's as grim as the gallows.
Your dose is as drastic as rhubarb,
And almost as bitter as aloes.
Logic? For Babes? On that Bench?
You're as hard as the Poles' "whiskered pandour."
You might as well set out to drench
Your own Opposition with—candour!
The Treasury Babes may object
To prescriptions from Mill or from Whewell,
And logical draughts, I expect,
Would very soon give you your gruel.
If Courtney could physic himself,
Or Balfour and he dose each other,
How soon both would lay on the shelf
This prescription, and try quite another!
No; Reason, as party-strife goes,
As food is attractive to no men:
And Logic's a nauseous dose,
To be given—as physic—to foemen!
"What author was it," inquired Mrs. R. of a literary friend, "who wrote the line describing going to bed as 'that last infirmity of noble minds'?"
"HARK! I HEAR THE SOUND OF COACHES."
["There are still five of the road-coaches running out of London."—Daily News, Nov. 18.]
If drooping with toil, or aught else, I or
You may spring up with "Excelsior!"
As up to the box-seat one climbs,
"How pleasant," one murmurs, "'Old Times!'"
Times equally good, we'll engage,
Have others who go with "The Age."
Though outlooks to-morrow be livid,
Hold tight now a joy that is "Vivid."
"Post equitem?" Ah! his reliance,
At least, wasn't placed on "Defiance."
Rather Familiar!—It was announced in the Times that "Canon G. F. Browne will lecture at St. Paul's, in January," on "The Christian Church before the coming of Augustus." The Canon ought to have said "Sir Augustus." Of course there is only one "Augustus," i.e. our "Druriolanus."