Now about the same time the people of England were at loggerheads with the shovel-hatted gentry that infest the upper house of St. Stephen’s, inasmuch as they had rejected measures in spite of the people; and they said, it is not only illegal, but it is naughty for a man to marry the sister of a wife that is dead, excepting when it is to suit the coronetted gentry, and then it is quite a horse of another colour.
But the people communed together, saying, swallow the bill you must, or we will bring in a bill for a man to marry his grandmother, or off come your hats and silk aprons, and we will pack you away to the salt lake to dwell amongst the Mormons.
And Bruce, of cab flag notoriety, is doing his best to stop a man’s beer, by trying to close the houses for the sale of double stout. But he must mind his eye, or he will put his foot in it, and his licensing dodge will share the same fate as his never-to-be-forgotten cab act.
And the people said, who is he that interfereth with the liberties of the working men. Better for him that he had a millstone around his neck, and took a cold bath in the Serpentine.
And while these things were going on, Gladstone still slumbered, showing that he is like a barber’s block, neither use nor ornament.
Now behold, since the happy event of the wedding of the lucky Scotchman with our charming little lady Louise, the call for royal burgoo has been so great, that Scotch oatmeal has risen 50 per cent.
LET US SAY.
From all red hot babblers, who would cause us to burn our fingers. Common sense defend us!
Friends of peace and order save us!
From the tender mercies of such pious Kings as the Prussian Bully, Minister of war spare us.