A DONKEY AND A MAYOR.
Plutarch delighted in parallels: Punch takes pleasure in the like intellectual exercise. Our friend of the Notes and Queries speaks of a "vast quantity of donkeys" at Malvern (for at that favoured place donkeys are measured by the peck and bushel). And amongst these donkeys was, until lately, a very superior ass named, for certain achievements performed in the cause of the late Queen Adelaide, the "Royal Moses." It seems that the good Queen was wont to be carried on the back of Moses—at the time simply Moses, and no more—to the summit of the thymy hills of Malvern; Moses, no doubt, inwardly rejoiced and comforted by a knowledge, or at least suspicion, of the preciousness of the burden (for he carried £100,000 per annum) that honoured him; for even asses have shrewd instincts in the presence of the Royal and the great. Well, Her Majesty being about to leave Malvern, rewards the old woman whose property Moses is: at the same time, with her wonted benevolence, inquiring if she could do any further service, likely, in this world of nice distinctions, to give—in return for the many rides on Moses—the old woman a lift. After a while, pondering the matter, the old woman said—"Please your Blessed Majesty, give a name to my donkey." Now, as the animal was an ass upon four legs, there was no precedent for bestowing upon him a baronetcy or even a knighthood: he could not be called Sir Moses Asinus, Bart.—neither dubbed simply Sir Moses. Otherwise, in the latter case, we doubt not the good-natured Queen, calling for a bulrush from the ponds of Malvern, the donkey sagaciously going upon his knees, would have been melodiously commanded to "Rise, Sir Moses." The four legs, however, stood in the way of such an honour. Therefore, Queen Adelaide, looking benevolently upon the donkey, said—"Henceforth, be known to all men as the ROYAL Moses." A peck of beans would, probably have been quite as acceptable as the regal prefix; nevertheless, the ass—like the ass of Peter Bell—
"—— the ass, with motion dull,
Turn'd, on the pivot of his skull,
His long left ear!"
The dignity was thus loyally acknowledged by the ennobled donkey, and Queen Adelaide departed. And the glory of the Royal Moses grew exceeding bright. Everybody would ride him. "That roan shall be my throne," cries Hotspur. "For that Moses I proposes," cried every Cockney visitor. What was the result? No ass could bear to be so put upon. The ass died; but—it is said—has left several sons behind him; one and all called, even as the sire,"The Royal Moses". But this is a miserable imposture—an ignorant, wretched ambition. Asses—assuredly asses on four legs—have no hereditary titles. There can be but one Royal Moses—the sons are simply donkeys, and no more.
And London supplies a parallel with Malvern. Once upon a time there was a Mayor. Now, this Mayor would take upon himself the burden of the reputation of a Royal Prince; would carry it at public meetings; would especially insist on trotting with it into Hyde Park? And for what purpose? We—Punch—have written to the old woman at Malvern, the owner of the dead Royal Moses, to inquire of her—(for at a critical moment she proved herself a shrewd, worldly-wise old woman)—to inquire her opinions upon the conduct of our Mayor, self-burthened with the crystal glory of a gracious Prince. We have received her answer, and duly give it:—
"To Mr. Punch,—The owner of the Royal Moses as was, of Queen Adelaide of blessed memory [this is writ for me by the Parish Clerk], presents her duty to Mr. Punch, and searching her own bosom for what was there when she was emboldened to ask a favour of Her Majesty—
"The owner of the Royal Moses as was (his sons are like him, as beans are like beans) thinks the Mare as will trot about with the Prince, only does it that he may—copying of me—say, 'Please your Royal Highness to give a name to my donkey, or mare, as the case may be.'
"And this, Mr. Punch, is my belief, judging from the secrets of my own breast. And am
"Your Humble and Dutiful Servant,
"The owner of the Royal Moses,
"Her X mark."
"P.S.—Donkeys always on hand."
"Thus, the old dame of Malvern, divining aright, our Challis may ask, or hint—"Please your Royal Highness, give a handle to my challice".