Punch (29.1855)

September 8, J 855.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

95

PORKERS ON PARNASSUS.

HE fine Statue of Sir
K obert Peel at length
stands in its place in
Cheapside, and the
noble Emancipator of
Corn faces his old
friend, the warlike
Emancipator of Catho-
lics, The Aldermen
have had sad grief and
trouble about it, how-
ever, and their last
uuhappiness has been
about the inscription
for the pedestal. The
only report which has
been allowed to escape
the Court states that
the Fathers of the City
"finally resolved that
the stone should bear
nothiug but the name
of 'Peel,' with the
dates which open and
close his history."
But it seems that many
of the Aldermen had
strong _ feelings upon
the subject, andthought
that the inscription
ought to say a great
deal more. One of

them considered that the names"of all the civic dignitaries who conspired to do the statesman
this remarkable honour ought to be engraven on the pedestal, as it would naturally add
to his fame if the world knew what very great men had thought well of him. Several had
prepared inscriptions, for which fney fought with much animosity. The kindness of an offi-
cial supplies us with a copy of these. Alderman Grunter moved the following—

" He made food Cheap, for which we Sigh'd,
And so this is erected in Cheapside."

This epigraph excited some approbation, and but
for the envy of other Aldermen and poets, would
have been at this moment on the pedestal. But
it was opposed by Alderman Greenfat, who,
with a loud voice, read his own composition :—

" To Sir Robert Peel, Bart.,
The City gives applause,
For taking an active part
In takiug off the Corn Laws."

Alderman Globular thought that both of
these were well, so far as they went, but still
he considered that the Aldermen "ought to be
brought in somehow," and he proposed to intro-
duce them as follows:—

" The Aldermen of London

Can appreciate public merit,
So erect this figure of Peel
On account of his public spirit."

The neatest inscription of all was, however,
tendered by Alderman Gherkins, who sugges-
ted this—

" Erected to Sir Robert Peel.
Because we think he did a deal
Of service to the common-weal."

A fierce debate, however, arose upon the last
word of this composition, some maintaining that
it ought to be spelt " wheel," being an allusion
to the helm of state, and others—indeed the
majority,—contending that its initial should be a
"v," which produced some sarcasms of the usual
civic elegance, in which the changes wrere pleas-
ingly rung upon veal and calf; and finally, after
a great storm, the Meeting sulkily decided that
there should be no inscription at all, except what
has been mentioned. And this is certainly the
right decision, for the less very small men have
to say about a very great man the better.

Gazette Extraordinary.

Her Majesty has been pleased to command
that the fashionable mushroom hats are to be
called Ladies' All-rounders.

OLD BRICKS AND OLD MOKTXRS.

Yes—we are an exceedingly practical people :

The History of England that virtue will show.
We don't trust our eyes, when they say "there's a steeple,"

But", bang, with our noses against it we go.
And not till our noses bleed after collision.
Do we feel we 're entitled to say, with decision,
" Yes—it is solid stonework, and not a mere vision,"

And the practical proof quite makes up for the bio w.

Hence our wars have been triumphs : for, when we commenced them
We conclusively proved all the stone walls we found,

By gallantly running our heads up against them,
Singing out Q. E. D., as we came to the ground.

Thus we've proved the Crimea makes bad winter quarters,

And the proof has but cost us an army of martyrs :

To exact the same proof in all Russian waters,

Through our naval campaigns, we by logic are bound.

North-Sea skippers declared that the Baltic was shallow,
So, too, said the charts ; but John Bull's uol so fiat

As, without some more practical proof, things to swallow,
On mere word-of-mouth and eye-witness, like that!

So of man-of-war stations our Whitehall assigners,

Send into the Baltic our first-rates and liners ;

If they get aground, Sir,—a fig for the shiners !—
That's a practical proof there are shoals—verbum sat.

Theoretical writers maintain'd, for such waters,
That gun-boats of some six feet draught were the thing:

That Russian forts to the pounding of mortars

(Though they mock point-blank fire) soon "peccavi" would sing.

Mere reasonings that gunboats are needed, we scout them !

Let's have practical proof, first, by trying without them :

To show long guns won't knock the foes' casemates about them,
Long guns, and not mortars, against them we '11 bring.

Well, the practical proof—dear to Bull—has been given;

Our liners have grounded, our long guns have fail'd—
With short soundings and stonework in vain we have striven,

Vainly Graham has written, and Napier has rail'd.

And at length—Hip-hurrah !—we've got gunboats and mortars;
And now, spite of granite and sands and shoal waters,
Oar Tars will soon have their own way with the Tartars:
Sweaborg first, and then Croustadt will soon be assail'd.

" But hold"—say the theorists—" mortars, 'tis certain,
Will wear out with firing—the fact is well known,"

Is it so ? We can't rest on mere random asserting;
By a practical proof we must have the fact shown.

Send our mortarboats out with no relay of metal,

If the mortars fail, mend 'em, as tinkers a kettle;

If they burst—why, the practical point it will settle,
That honey-comb'd gun-metal's best let alone.

Here, too, we've had practical proof that with firing

Gun-metal will crystallise, duly, and burst;
But who, save John Bull, would have thought of requiring,

Loss of life, and a half-and-half victory first ?
But what if we have lost some men by explosion,
If the granite of Sweaborg still frowns o'er the ocean ?
We've got practical proof of what was but a notion

Of a few closet-writers, in theories nursed.

Now 'iis fact, that old officers wear like old iron,
And this fact Mr. Punch in John Bull's head would fix;

With old mortars our arsenal yards we environ,
Why not with old mortars get rid of old bricks ?

We have gouty old admirals, cranky and crusty,

Peninsular heroes, grey, mildew'd, and musty:

Let us not wait for practical proof how untrusty
A Wellington's self grows at sixty-and-six.

The glorious old boys ! Punch profoundly respects them.

He knows what they have been, but sees what they are:
Their duty to do, he, like England, expects them—

Which is to lie up, and nurse chalkstone and scar.
Let them warm their old bones in the sun, and have pensions—
John Bull can afford it—of monster dimensions.
And like Napier, confining to print their pretensions,

With insular pen wage Peninsular war!