THE JUBILEE OF THE PENNY POST.
"On Jan. 10, 1840, the Penny Post became an accomplished fact."—Times.
Attend, all ye who like to hear a noble Briton's praise!
I tell of valiant deeds one wrought in the Century's early days:
When all the legions of Red Tape against him tore in vain,
Man of stout will, brave Rowland Hill, of true heroic strain.
It was about the gloomy close of Eighteen Thirty Nine,
Melbourne and Peel began to melt, the P.O. "sticks" to pine,
For vainly the Official ranks and the Obstructive host
Had formed and squared 'gainst Rowland Hill's plan, of the Penny Post.
Still poor men paid their Ninepences for sending one thin sheet
From Bethnal Green to Birmingham by service far from fleet;
Still she who'd post a billet doux to Dublin from Thames shore,
For loving word and trope absurd must stump up One-and-four;
Still frequent "friendly lines" were barred to all save Wealth and Rank,
Or Parliamentary "pots" who held the privilege of "Frank;"
Still people stooped to dubious dodge and curious device
To send their letters yet evade the most preposterous price;
Still to despatch to London Town a business "line or two"
Would cost a Connemara peasant half his weekly "screw;"
Still mothers, longing much for news, must let their letter lie
Unread at country post-offices, the postage being too high
For their lean purses, unprepared. And Trade was hampered then,
And Love was checked, and barriers raised—by cost—'twixt men and men.
Then up and spake brave Rowland Hill in accents clear and warm,
"This misery can be mended! Read my Post Office Reform!"
St. Stephens heard, and "Red Tape" read, and both cried out "Pooh! Pooh!
The fellow is a lunatic; his plan will never do!"
All this was fifty years ago. And now,—well, are there any
Who do not bless brave Rowland Hill and his ubiquitous Penny?
One head, if 'tis a thinking one, is very often better
Than two, or twenty millions! That's just why we get our letter
From Aberdeen, or Melbourne, from Alaska or Japan,
So cheaply, quickly, certainly—thanks to one stout-soul'd Man.
Fifty years since! In Eighteen Forty, he, the lunatic,
Carried his point. Wiseacres winced; Obstruction "cut its stick."
He won the day, stout Rowland Hill, and then they made him Knight.
If universal benefit unmarred by bane gives right
To titles, which are often won by baseness or a fluke,
The founder of the Penny Post deserved to be a Duke.
But then he's something better—a fixed memory, a firm fame;
For long as the World "drops a line," it cannot drop his name.
'Tis something like a Jubilee, this tenth of Janua-ree!
Punch brims a bumper to its hero, cheers him three times three,
For if there was a pioneer in Civilisation's host,
It was the cheery-hearted chap who schemed the Penny Post.
And when the croaking cravens, who are down on all Reform,
And shout their ancient shibboleth, and raise their tea-pot storm,
Whene'er there's talk of Betterment in any branch of State,
And vent their venom on the Wise, their greed upon the Great,
Punch says to his true countrymen, "Peace, peace, good friends—be still!
Reform does not spell Ruin, lads. Remember Rowland Hill!!!"