GREAT ANNUAL MICHAELMAS JUBILEE.
MAGNIFICENT CELEBRATION OF GOOSE-DAY.
How often are we—George Stephens-like—to be called upon to expend our invaluable breath in performing Eolian operations upon our own cornopean! Here have we, at an enormous expense and paralysing peril, been obliged to dispatch our most trusty and well-beloved reporter, to the fens in Lincolnshire, stuffed with brandy, swathed in flannel, and crammed with jokes; from whence he, at the cost of infinite pounds, unnumbered rheumatisms, and a couple of agues, caught, to speak vulgarly, “in a brace of shakes,” has forwarded us the following authentic account of the august proceedings which took place in that county on the anniversary of the great St. Michaelmas.
FROM OUR OWN CORRESPONDENT.
Tuesday night.—Depths of the fens—just arrived—only time to state all muck—live eels and festivity—Sibthorp in extra force—betting 6 to 4 “he cooks everybody’s goose”—no takers—D’Israeli says it’s a gross want of sympathy—full account to-morrow—expect rare doings—must conclude—whrr-rh-h—tertian coming on—promises great shakes.
I am, sincerely and shiveringly,
YOUR OWN CORRESPONDENT.
Wednesday morning.—The day dawned like a second deluge, and the various volunteer dramatis personæ seemed like the spectres of the defunct water-dogs of Sadler’s Wells. An eminent tallow-chandler from the east end of Whitechapel contracted for the dripping, and report says he found it a very swimming speculation. Life-preservers, waterproof and washable hats, were on the ground, which, together with Macintoshes and corks, formed a pleasing and varied group. The grand stand was graced by several eminent and capacious geese; nor was the infantine simplicity of numerous promising young goslings wanting to complete the delightful ensemble.
The business of the day commenced with a grand commemorative procession of homage to the prize goose, the representative of whom, we are proud to say, fell by election to the envied lot of the gallant, jocose, and Joe Millertary Colonel Sibthorp.
ORDER OF PROCESSION.
Trumpeter in Ordinary to “all the geese,” and
himself in particular,
On his extraordinary Pegasus, beautifully represented by a Jackass,
Idealised with magnificent goose’s wings.
Mr. GEORGE STEPHENS, Grand Master of Hanky-panky.
Balancing on the Pons Asinorum of his Nose the Identical goose-quill
with which he indited the Wondrous Tale of Alroy,
Mr. BEN D’ISRAELI (much admired).
The great Stuffer and Crammer, bearing a stupendous dish
Of Sage and Onions,
Seated in a magnificent Sauce-boat, supported on either side by
Two fly pages bearing Apple-sauce,
And a train-bearer distributing mustard,
SIR EDWARD GEORGE ERLE LYTTON BULWER.
Grand Officiating Gravy Spoon,
A character admirably sustained, and
supported to the life, by
PETER BORTHWICK, M.P. and G.O.G.S.
Drawer and Carver-in-Chief,
Bearing some splendidly-dissected giblets, with gilt gizzard under his
right arm, and plated liver under his left,
Surgeon WAKLEY, M.P.
Hereditary Champion of the Pope’s Nose,
Bearing the dismembered Relic enclosed in a beautifully-enamelled
Dutch oven,
DANIEL O’CONNELL, M.P.
The grand Prize Goose,
Reclining on a splendid willow-pattern well dish,
Colonel WALDO SIBTHORP!
Supported by CHARLES PEARSON, and Sir PETER LAURIE,
With flowery potatoes and shocking greens.
Grand Accountant-General,
With a magnificent banner, bearing an elaborate average rate of the price
of geese.
And the cheapest depôts for the same,
JOSEPH HUME, M.P.
This imposing procession having reached the grand kitchen, which had been erected for the occasion, the festivities instantly commenced by the Vice-Goose, Sir EDWARD LYTTON ERLE BULWER, proposing the health of the gallant Chairman, the Great-grand Goose:—
“Mr. Chairman and prize goose,—The feelings which now agitate my sensorium on this Michaelmasian occasion stimulate the vibratetiuncles of the heartiean hypothesis, so as to paralyse the oracular and articulative apparatus of my loquacious confirmation, overwhelming my soul-fraught imagination, as the boiling streams of liquid lava, buried in one vast cinereous mausoleum—the palace-crowded city of the engulphed Pompeii. (Immense cheers.)—I therefore propose a Methusalemic elongation of the duration of the vital principle of the presiding anserian paragon.” (Stentorian applause, continued for half-an-hour after the rising of the Prize Goose) who said—
“Fellow Geese and Goslings,—Julius Cæsar, when he laid the first stone of the rock of Gibraltar—Mr. Carstairs, the celebrated caligrapher, when he indited the inscription on the Rosetta stone—Cleopatra, when she hemmed Anthony’s bandanna with her celebrated needle—the Colossus of Rhodes, when he walked and won his celebrated match against Captain Barclay—Galileo, when he discovered and taught his grandmother the mode of sucking eggs—could not feel prouder than I do upon the present occasion. (Cheers.) These reminiscences, I can assure you, will ever stick in my grateful gizzard.”
Here the gallant Colonel sat down, overcome by his feelings and several glasses of Betts’ best British brandy.
Song—“Goosey, goosey gander.”
Mr. D’ISRAELI then rose, and said,—“Chair, and brethren of the quill, I feel, in assuming the perpendicular, like the sun when sinking into his emerald bed of western waters. Overcome by emotions mighty as the impalpable beams of the harmonious moon’s declining light, and forcibly impressed as the trembling oak, girt with the invisible arms of the gentle loving zephyr; the blush mantles on my cheek, deep as the unfathomed depths of the azure ocean. I say, gentlemen, impressed as I am with a sense—with a sense, I say, with a sense—” Here the hon. gentleman sat down for want of a termination.
Song—“No more shall the children of Judah sing.”
Mr. PETER BORTHWICK (having corked himself a handsome pair of mustachios), next rose, and said,—“Most potent, grave, and reverend signors, and Mr. Chairman,—if it were done, when ‘tis done, then ‘twere well it were done quickly’—in rising to drink—‘my custom always of an afternoon’—the health of Sir Peter Laurie, and whom I can ask, in the language of the immortal bard, ‘where gottest thou that goose look,’ I can only say, ‘had Heaven made me such another,’ I would not”— Then Peter Borthwick sat down, evidently indisposed, exclaiming—“The drink, Hamlet, the drink!!!”
Here our reporter left the meeting, who were vociferously chanting, by way of grace, previous to the attack on the “roast geese,” the characteristic anthem of the “King of the Cannibal Islands.”
DYER IGNORANCE.
It has been rumoured that Mr. Bernal, the new member, has been for some weeks past suffering from a severe attack of scarlet fever, caused by his late unparliamentary conduct in addressing the assembled legislators as—gentlemen. We are credibly informed that this unprecedented piece of ignorance has had the effect, as Shakspere says, of
“MAKING THE GREEN ONE RED.”—Macbeth.
MAKING A COMPOSITION WITH ONE’S ANCESTORS.
Roebuck, the ex-attorney, and member for Bath, who has evinced a most commendable love of his parents, from his great-grandfather upwards, seeing the utter impossibility of carrying through the “whole hog” conviction of their respectability, and finding himself in rather an awkward “fix,” on the present occasion begs to inform the editor of the Times, that he will be most happy to accept a compromise, on their literary and scientific attainments, at the very reasonable rate of
SIX-AND-EIGHTPENCE IN THE POUND.