The wines of merry England, how villainous are they!
Then here’s to France the smiling, where the weather’s always clear;
The wines are light and wholesome, and as cheap as English beer;
Where a man may grow moustaches, and—blissful thing to say!
The Writs of merry England, how powerless are they!
(The Exile turning sadly from the pier, seeketh forgetfulness of his abandoned country in a petit-verre, for which he disburseth two sous. He groweth reconciled).
Diogenes, January, 1853.
The Barristers of England.
The Barristers of England, how hungrily they stand