“You’re a Peer, now Lord Wolseley,” a subaltern cried
“Scarce your breast can more medals display.
By the Horse Guards unsnubbed, to the War Office dear,
How on earth you have managed it, say?”
“’Tis advertisement does it,” Lord Wolseley replied,
“I went in for monthly reviews;
In each new magazine Wolseleyistics were seen,
But I minded my p’s and my q’s.”
“You’re a General, Lord Wolseley,” the subaltern cried,