Volume 93 — OR, THE LEAGUER BELEAGUERED.
Reading edition
A Right-thinking Radical requests information.
Hast thou seen that lordly castle, The home of Mr. Pyne; How round its patriot portals The Peelers prowl and whine? I suppose those brutal butchers, Without the slightest fail, Would stretch the M.P. on the rack, And afterwards impale?
An Unfeeling Unionist answers him—
Well do I know that castle, The home of Mr. Pyne; But of the Peelers with their rack There's not a single sign.
The Right-thinking Radical expresses surprise at the intelligence—
Indeed! But at some high casement Surely you saw him stand, Or out from a towering rampart Waving a mailèd hand?
The Unfeeling Unionist rejoins—
I did see him at the casement, And he wore no armour at all, But the Postman helps him haul the mail Over his castle wall!
The Right-thinking Radical proceeds with his questionings—
And sawest thou on the turret How he paced to and fro, All glorious in gold and purple, Like a Knight of long ago?
The Unfeeling Unionist replies—
He had a modern frock-coat on, Which wasn't much of a fit; And I think a Knight would have stopped to fight, And not run away from a writ.
The Right-thinking Radical plies him once again—
But do they not thirst, those Peelers, To tear him limb from limb; And level his antique castle, If once they could get at him?
The Unfeeling Unionist ends the colloquy—
That would not result from his capture; You seem to have been misled! It would merely entail a month in gaol, Or perhaps, like O'Brien, in bed.
In the Standard's report of Mr. Labouchere's after-dinner speech to the members of the Eleusis Club, the warier of the two Northampton Members observed, "that we lived in critical times, when it was absolutely necessary that Radicals should hang together." Mr. Labouchere speaks trippingly, but he is not often to be caught tripping. The Conservative Standard missed an opportunity.
Latest Addition to Fairy Land.—Mr. Irish Secretary Balfour must be all over the country at once. For this he requires Seven (Land)-League boots.
The Real "Empire of the Hittites."—The prevailing passion for pugilists.
A sporting tandem-driving Doctor of our acquaintance calls his leader the Hoss frontis.
"'HAD HIM THERE!"
Free Kirk Elder. "Eigh! Meenister, ah no like t'see ye Talkin' wi' yon Epeescopalian Priest!"
Minister. "Oo—I jeest offered to swap Collections wi'm, an' he said, 'Na, na! I ken your Flock ower weel!'"