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".