Punch (24.1853)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

11

moral does it teach ! That we are never—at least not always—to bask
CHEMISTRY OF THE ADMINISTRATION. j hi the sunshine of security ■ but to have a wary thought for the tempest.

: And now the black cloud breaks like a rent pall asunder, and the sun-
;HE .Aberdeen Ministry shine falls in showers through it. Another moral—let me treasure it!
presents some interesting , (I feel that I write this as at the very minute, but I can't help doing
illustrations of chemical, so. Somehow, the pen—as I think I once heard dear Frederice
phenomena. LordAber- . observe—the pen makes the -present. Yesterday becomes to-day.)
deen himself may be j And now how beautiful is this bower ! For now, May—unclouded
regarded as an oily body May—is again in the heavens—and now the ocean heaving, like a
that, in combination with cathedral organ—

the alkali of Lord John —And at this moment, that dreadful Josephine brings in the land-
Rhssell m the I oreign. lady—somehow I don't like the glittering eyes, I mean the sort of bold
Office, may be expected look that that woman has, though I must say it, very attentive, very
to form an emollient civil. The landlady who wants to know what we should like for dinner ?
diplomatic soap. Mr. As if I should ever again think of dinner ! She asks—" Is the
Gladstone's carbonate gentleman fond of mackarel ? " What a question ! How can I tell ?
of High Church prm- j Where is Frederick ? She will go on to say that they have some
ciples perhaps will com- j wonderful early peas, and would I like a duck ? I say yes—to be sure
bine with Sir William i —anything to get rid of her; to be left, for awhile, to the sweet solitude
Molesworth's latitudi- 0f my own thoughts.

naric acid, in the forma-, ^e ocearL is heaving and bursting with a torrent of sound—

•01? ot 2 neutral salt, When again comes in the landlady, sweeping the floor with curtseys,
giving on it is to De and begs to beg my pardon. "About the duck? Of course the good
toped, carbonic acm in gentieman and myself would ^ to have it stuffed p» A stuffed duck j
the shape ol itactari- Md m question to me j A bride of one day 0id j j tell the teazing
amsm; ana we also trust creature to wait til pHEI)E]RICK returns—(he is, by the way, a little
that when dissolved m lorig,)-and so get rid of her.

an admmistration of sen-: r • x. i. j j- j-t? at, t * 2 j n.- ■

sible men the ultra- ■ wish we had gone at once to I ranee; though, mdeed, this is very—
™„T,i„T>. t>' »j? TiT-r, very beautiful—so like a bower ! And as dear Frederick says, " one
Keogh will be rjrecrni- ou&nt always to see every bit ot one s own country, before we go abroad,
tated at least that the -Dear papa, I remember, called that a noble—a patriotic sentiment: and
trumpet he used to play in the Pope's Brass Band will become so ^derick, I now remember always liked to utter thorough English
iculed, that he will oe obliged to put it in his pocket. , sentiments .before papa Stifl, I do wonder, if Frederick remains

such a patriot, I do wonder when we shall ever go to Fans. Not but
what I could live and die here—I feel that.

For I am so happy, and being so full of happiness, I ought to take
myself to task to find out how, in any way, I can give happiness to

others. What shall I send to Mary-? What shall 1 buy for

Margaret-?

Yes, I really think I will do it: I never thought I could—and now
I think, indeed I am almost sure, I can. Mary—I know she loves the
dear dog—Mary has often begged, though in fun—although I know
she loves her—begged of me to give her darling Venus. What a dog
that is ! But I ought not to be selfish : no, so happy myself, I ought
to make a sacrifice—and certainly such a little sacrifice—when it would
so please another.

I think I really will give Venus to Mary. And yet when I think of
her ears, and her eyes, and her beautiful black nose ! For all that, 1
ought to make a sacrifice—and Mary shall have her. Yes : pooi
Venus will be better with Mary. For I ought, as dear mother says—
and I will, when I once get home (our own home !)—to give all my heart
to my husband and my house. With new, and as papa has sometimes
said, solemn duties upon my hands, I shall not have much time for
Venus. It is decided then; dear Mary shall have her. I'll write-

ox

OUR HONEYMOON.

FRIDAY, MAY 2, 18—.
Frederick never looked so handsome. That I am sure of—never-

r 1

never

And what a lovely morning ! Although Josephine—I wish I hadn't
brought her with me—that is, with us—but then I was overpersuaded,
and dear mother said it would look so to come without a maid—although
that Josephine, when I declared the weather to be so beautiful, pinched
her elbows to her sides, and gave herself a twist, and said for her part
she thought it a little cold for May.

Yes : a beautiful May morning ! Such a morning as that in which
the poets always make May. Well, I must confess it—I never thought
I could think poetry to be so true ! I own it to myself: I was an un-
believer in poetry—but I am converted. I blush, and am penitent.

The sky never was so blue, and so arched, and so lofty! And there
are a few—just a few little threads and flecks of white, for aU the world .

like down and feathers, dropt from angels' wings, and waving, waving j the first minute I have to spare—I '11 write, without a tear, and

down the bright blue heavens ! I never saw 'em look so before. Asked
Josephine—just to try the creature—what she thought of 'em. She
said, she thought they threatened snow- and shivered again. Was
very wrong to bring her with us.

What a perfect bower is this place ! Unconsciously called the place
a bower to Josephine, when the odious thing replied,—it wasn't a
bower at all, but the White Hart. Am convinced Josephine has no
feeling. Not a girl at all, but, as one might say, a mere vegetable.

A perfect bower! Nestled and protected between two cliffs, how
confidently—how serenely—it looks forth upon the ocean. Like a

say so.

I didn't think I could make that sacrifice—but then some one else so
fills.my thoughts—and think so little of it. However, resolved upon my
duties, resolved upon not keeping even the smallest corner of my
heart away from him, I will complete the sacrifice. Venus gone, the
Rajah shall go too. Yes ; the parrot shall follow the spaniel. Are not
these offerings ?—though let me not boast—but are they not offerings,
let me ask of myself, to conjugal duty ? There never was bird that
talked like the Rajah—never had cockatoo such a crest, with an aye,
too, that when he turns his head on one side, seems to go through you

bride, on the arm of her husband, contemplating—but with hope and j —yet for all that, the Rajah is Margaret's. She has more time to • alk

calmness—the unfathomable future !

I never felt so reconciled—indeed so much in love with the sea. I
am sure it raises one's feelings, and enlarges one's sympathies. A new
mind—I might.almost say—seems to well up to me from its depths !

And the sea is spotted with boats. They look in the distance—some
of them are such white specks—they look 'like water lilies, tost by the

to the dear thing than I shall have : for, of course, all my conversation
is now the right, the inalienable right of Frederick.

Let me see. Is there anything else I have to give ? No—not that
I remember.

And I think dear Frederick does not love Venus as. he ought—
considering whose she was—since the clay she bit him. And I

tide. Yes ; water lilies, some—like fairy boats—bearing fairy folks to remember—when once the Rajah was in full talk—that Frederick
blessed islands—some,.like cradles, rocking fairy babes to rest. asked Captain Mango, in his'o^ way, if they didn't put parrots in

Was plaintively busied with .the thought and floating as it were, had I pies in India ? And when the Captain said they did, I do remember
given up the reins of my imagination to the tide, when that dreadful j that Frederick, with a strange quiver of his mouth—(I may. say a
Josephine ran in with a telescope in her hand, and told me that all j quiver, indeed!)—said he should very much like to eat a parrot pie.
those boats—the lilies that I thought 'em!—were full of preventive men Well, the sacrifice is complete. And I will write to Margae bt, and

a chasing a smuggler—the Sarcy Kilderkin, I think she called it. She
said they'd been watched in the dreadful act of sinking their super-
cargo, and as she further heard, of tying a boy to him. Was in no
humour to be saddened by the. sorrows and the crimes of this life—
wherever they may exist—so desired the intruder to be gone.
A dark blue cloud—almost black—hurries up from the sea, and there

she shall have the Rajah.

How calm, yet how enlarged one's feelings, when-—after a struggle
or two—one knows one has surrendered what one ought!—

My first sacrifices to my home ! My first ofi'erings, of the kind, upon
the altar of my hearth-stone.
Mary has time and plenty to comb and pet Venus. And dear

is a sudden chill for May. But, how beautiful the contrast! What a i Margaret—whom can she better amuse—who can be more delighted