DOI issue:
November 3, 1855
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16616#0196
184
[November 3, 1855.
WHO KILLED COCK ROBIN ?
"Sib,—I am no enemy to the Peeraae, but rather a well-wisher. I
w ish every Duke was as valiant and courteous as the Duke or
Somerset. I am glad there is only one Lord Clanricarde. I for-
a moment as that, our clever Envoy—wno was to overreach all Ihese
statesmen, apd conclude for his country an advantageous and honour-
able peace, and security for Europe—probably did not recollect whether
Vienna itself was in Austria or in China, and was most likely puzzled
between trying to decline avoir and calculating how soon he would
be in bed.
Cock Ween."
KING CLICQUOT'S HORSE.
,cive Lord Carlisle his diary, and am really glad to know what a first- j " jn conclusion, Sir, let me sum up this stunning question with true
class man of the old school can do with his pen, especially when he is j parliamentary precision, thus:—Our great statesman is at the present
well-conditioned. I do not mean to call the Balaklava charge ^ the moment either alive or dead. If alive, where is he? if dead, who
greatest piece of tomfoolery that military annals record, nor do 1 j killed him? An indignant country pauses for the reply, and convul-
al together adopt the French estimate of the two chief culprits who were ; sively repeats, Cock Robin, in accordance with your obedient servant,
implicated in it. They say,'if such a thing had happened in our'
service, one of those officers would have been cashiered, and the other
shot.' 1 cannot go that length: the utmost I can allow is that one, and
certainly no matter which, might well have been cashiered, but I cannot
for a moment believe 1 hat either was born to be shot.
"Thus much in palliation ;—on the other hand, I admit frankly that
so many noble lords going out at the beginning of the campaign, with
such a flourish of trumpets, and almost to a man, except poor old Lord
Raglan, that gallant gentleman, sneaking home again on one plea or
another before winter set in, thus enjoying the advantages and reaping
the honours of war themselves, but leaving its hardships and privations
to be endured by 'common fellows,' bears a very awkward look about
it indeed, and forcibly suggests the trite remark of 'the least said the
soonest mended.'
"Having thus cleared the way, and proved myself, I hope, an
impartial witness, neither a lord-lover nor a lord-hater, 1 approach with
more self-possession the great question which heads this article, ' Who
killed Cock Robin?' which every right-minded Englishman will
instantly understand to mean, what is become of Lord J. Russell?
And, Sir, 1 ask boldly, what, is become of him ? Has he been quietly put
out of the way? Has he been made safe ? When and where was he last
seen? Was there any peculiarity in his look or manner, anything
unusual in his appearance ? Was he well drest ? Did he smile or say
anything clever ? In shorr, was there anything about him unlike him-
self ? Europe must know these things ; it won't wait for a committee,
as Sebastopol did.. But if this man has been really filched from us,
and nothing is left of him but a blest shade, what must be the feelings
of the wretched press that killed him? What! to be assailed with
obloquy till his little heart broke, because he failed at Vienna '! Why
was he sent there ? Can a man be made a first-rate diplomatist at half
an hour's notice ? it took more than half a century to make the great
Lord Westmoreland what he is ;—the fact is, this mission to Vienna
was a delusion and a snare, and success impossible. They say, that his
first landing in Erance was a perfect treat, although to an Englishman
rather a humiliating one. We have all seen the same thing happen a
hundred times,— a grand Johnny,— no matter whether a Johnny
Russell or a Johnny Haw, a milordo in short—arrives, and steps on
to the quay: he is twigged in a moment,—his air, his look, his gait, his
suite, his importance, his ignorance of French, betray him in an instant.
Mock civility, half-suppressed smiles, boys with their tongues in their
cheeks nudging each other, saucy girls staring and laughing ou'right,
pursue him at every step. Everybody kuows and feels that a great goose
is just landed, to be plucked by the first comer, and it is difficult indeed
to recognise in him the clever Ambassador who is to outwit all the
practised diplomatists of the Continent, where the medium of communi-
cation is French. It is said of poor Lord John, that, being aware of
his deficiency in that language, he never ventured upon it but once
which was, I believe, in Paris, where, on leaving the room, he desired
HERE shall be no
blame to Punch, if
the King of Prus-
sia's horse be not,
duly chronicled, in,
order that some
future historian o(
our times may give
it its rightful place.
Bucephalus has a
reputation, — and
why not King
Frederick Wil-
liam's one-legged
charger? We say
one-legged, as it ap-
pears that t he other
three are merely
auxiliary to the po-
tent one. The horse
that carries Prus-
sia's king is, in
fact, uno-tped. The
Times' Prussian court
chronicler thus speaks of the horse and his rider :—
;l The King can only ride his own horse, trained and schooled to canter always witA
the same ley, and to keep that pace, atid that leg even when turning round corners, Ac
The animal is left to its own conception of what is becoming in Royal equestri8.ii
etiquette, for the King sets in motion neither thigh nor heel nor whip to convey to it
any expression of his own wishes in this respect."
Style is the man, says Buffon. Sure we are that the natural philo-
sopher might have added—the horse is the man: for how admirably
does the King's horse develop the King's policy! He can only go his
own way upon one leg, and with one leg turn round all political corners.
How different was Wellington's horse Copenhagen! For is it not
upon record, after Waterloo, when the fight was done, that that im-
mortal cbesnut as his master descended from him, gave a whinny,
a caper, and a caricole, as much as to say—"get up again once more,
if you like; I can go through as much again." But where should
we have been if Copenhagen had had the merit of only one leg?
There can be no doubt that King William's horse, like the horses
of Rinaldo and all the other knights of fable, has some deep inte?!t-
the waiter 'not to let the (ire go' out, saying, ' Garqon, ne laiss'ez pas sortir\ gence with his mystic master. Sufficiently animated by the mind of
le fou.' j the King the animal acts wholly as befits his Majesty. Philip de
"Thence this ill-used man is packed off to Vienna, to be cast I Comines relates how his horse, after a certain battle, plunged his head
headloug into a circle of professional mystifiers, astute schemers, I into a pail-full of red wine, and drank it up. And we know, on the
heroes, whiskered and decorated, self-important and self-possessed,! credit of Robert Browning, how the good horse Roland won and
conversant with all the arts of which he knows nothing, the manners,! enjoyed his draught :—
customs, plots,—in a word, dodges and languages of that phase of
Continental life. What boots it to oppose to them an accurate know-
ledge of Hansard, quotations of parliamentary precedents, an intimate
acquaintance with the Speaker or the Serjeant-at-Arms. Of what
value is the cock of St. Stephens, in such an assembly as that ? Many j The King of Prussia's horse is similarly addicted to wine. Whea
of us have seen, no doubt, m our lives, a strange little dog introduced : turned out to grass, he is always caught, not in the ordinary way with
all of a sudden into a kennel of fox-hounds ; it is a pitiable sight; the j a sieve of oats, but with successive poppings of champagne cotks. In
poor little animal is naturally frightened to death, and does not know ! fact, although the horse has only one leg to canter, or rather decanter
how to humble itself, and to submit and to cringe enough; it twists j upon,—it is hitherto urknown what amount of champagne he can
u self into shapes, bends and wriggles about, and hides away its little ! carrv, especially when King Frederick William is upon his back.
tail; presently it rolls on its side, then on its back, holding up its poor _
little paws, begging pardon, and ready to die; they meanwhile stalk , -
fiercely round with bristles erect and half-suppressed growls at their j A Parliamentary Pudding,
small and abject foe. m -r. • i n TT T^ cc _ _ _
" Such was our luckless Ambassador at Vienna. Fancy him in. the \ J^Jlfl^^
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,
As i pour'rl do'wn his throat our last measure of wine,
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)
Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent."
Pudding of Parliament." Mr.Drummond may still have some pudding
eft in him, but what, oh, what, have become of all the plums?"
council-chamber, attacked at once by all the grandees of many empires.
First, there advances against him the fierce Prussian Count Allpuff
von Bierunbackie, then comes up the portly Austrian Baron,
Wottabasun, followed by the celebrated Russian Prince Twitchiz- Poetry of the Railway Market—The quotations made on the
ownwhiskeroff. ^ Railway Market durii.g the past week have principally consisted of
It is needless to pursue this mournful subject any farther. At such I famdiaf lines.
[November 3, 1855.
WHO KILLED COCK ROBIN ?
"Sib,—I am no enemy to the Peeraae, but rather a well-wisher. I
w ish every Duke was as valiant and courteous as the Duke or
Somerset. I am glad there is only one Lord Clanricarde. I for-
a moment as that, our clever Envoy—wno was to overreach all Ihese
statesmen, apd conclude for his country an advantageous and honour-
able peace, and security for Europe—probably did not recollect whether
Vienna itself was in Austria or in China, and was most likely puzzled
between trying to decline avoir and calculating how soon he would
be in bed.
Cock Ween."
KING CLICQUOT'S HORSE.
,cive Lord Carlisle his diary, and am really glad to know what a first- j " jn conclusion, Sir, let me sum up this stunning question with true
class man of the old school can do with his pen, especially when he is j parliamentary precision, thus:—Our great statesman is at the present
well-conditioned. I do not mean to call the Balaklava charge ^ the moment either alive or dead. If alive, where is he? if dead, who
greatest piece of tomfoolery that military annals record, nor do 1 j killed him? An indignant country pauses for the reply, and convul-
al together adopt the French estimate of the two chief culprits who were ; sively repeats, Cock Robin, in accordance with your obedient servant,
implicated in it. They say,'if such a thing had happened in our'
service, one of those officers would have been cashiered, and the other
shot.' 1 cannot go that length: the utmost I can allow is that one, and
certainly no matter which, might well have been cashiered, but I cannot
for a moment believe 1 hat either was born to be shot.
"Thus much in palliation ;—on the other hand, I admit frankly that
so many noble lords going out at the beginning of the campaign, with
such a flourish of trumpets, and almost to a man, except poor old Lord
Raglan, that gallant gentleman, sneaking home again on one plea or
another before winter set in, thus enjoying the advantages and reaping
the honours of war themselves, but leaving its hardships and privations
to be endured by 'common fellows,' bears a very awkward look about
it indeed, and forcibly suggests the trite remark of 'the least said the
soonest mended.'
"Having thus cleared the way, and proved myself, I hope, an
impartial witness, neither a lord-lover nor a lord-hater, 1 approach with
more self-possession the great question which heads this article, ' Who
killed Cock Robin?' which every right-minded Englishman will
instantly understand to mean, what is become of Lord J. Russell?
And, Sir, 1 ask boldly, what, is become of him ? Has he been quietly put
out of the way? Has he been made safe ? When and where was he last
seen? Was there any peculiarity in his look or manner, anything
unusual in his appearance ? Was he well drest ? Did he smile or say
anything clever ? In shorr, was there anything about him unlike him-
self ? Europe must know these things ; it won't wait for a committee,
as Sebastopol did.. But if this man has been really filched from us,
and nothing is left of him but a blest shade, what must be the feelings
of the wretched press that killed him? What! to be assailed with
obloquy till his little heart broke, because he failed at Vienna '! Why
was he sent there ? Can a man be made a first-rate diplomatist at half
an hour's notice ? it took more than half a century to make the great
Lord Westmoreland what he is ;—the fact is, this mission to Vienna
was a delusion and a snare, and success impossible. They say, that his
first landing in Erance was a perfect treat, although to an Englishman
rather a humiliating one. We have all seen the same thing happen a
hundred times,— a grand Johnny,— no matter whether a Johnny
Russell or a Johnny Haw, a milordo in short—arrives, and steps on
to the quay: he is twigged in a moment,—his air, his look, his gait, his
suite, his importance, his ignorance of French, betray him in an instant.
Mock civility, half-suppressed smiles, boys with their tongues in their
cheeks nudging each other, saucy girls staring and laughing ou'right,
pursue him at every step. Everybody kuows and feels that a great goose
is just landed, to be plucked by the first comer, and it is difficult indeed
to recognise in him the clever Ambassador who is to outwit all the
practised diplomatists of the Continent, where the medium of communi-
cation is French. It is said of poor Lord John, that, being aware of
his deficiency in that language, he never ventured upon it but once
which was, I believe, in Paris, where, on leaving the room, he desired
HERE shall be no
blame to Punch, if
the King of Prus-
sia's horse be not,
duly chronicled, in,
order that some
future historian o(
our times may give
it its rightful place.
Bucephalus has a
reputation, — and
why not King
Frederick Wil-
liam's one-legged
charger? We say
one-legged, as it ap-
pears that t he other
three are merely
auxiliary to the po-
tent one. The horse
that carries Prus-
sia's king is, in
fact, uno-tped. The
Times' Prussian court
chronicler thus speaks of the horse and his rider :—
;l The King can only ride his own horse, trained and schooled to canter always witA
the same ley, and to keep that pace, atid that leg even when turning round corners, Ac
The animal is left to its own conception of what is becoming in Royal equestri8.ii
etiquette, for the King sets in motion neither thigh nor heel nor whip to convey to it
any expression of his own wishes in this respect."
Style is the man, says Buffon. Sure we are that the natural philo-
sopher might have added—the horse is the man: for how admirably
does the King's horse develop the King's policy! He can only go his
own way upon one leg, and with one leg turn round all political corners.
How different was Wellington's horse Copenhagen! For is it not
upon record, after Waterloo, when the fight was done, that that im-
mortal cbesnut as his master descended from him, gave a whinny,
a caper, and a caricole, as much as to say—"get up again once more,
if you like; I can go through as much again." But where should
we have been if Copenhagen had had the merit of only one leg?
There can be no doubt that King William's horse, like the horses
of Rinaldo and all the other knights of fable, has some deep inte?!t-
the waiter 'not to let the (ire go' out, saying, ' Garqon, ne laiss'ez pas sortir\ gence with his mystic master. Sufficiently animated by the mind of
le fou.' j the King the animal acts wholly as befits his Majesty. Philip de
"Thence this ill-used man is packed off to Vienna, to be cast I Comines relates how his horse, after a certain battle, plunged his head
headloug into a circle of professional mystifiers, astute schemers, I into a pail-full of red wine, and drank it up. And we know, on the
heroes, whiskered and decorated, self-important and self-possessed,! credit of Robert Browning, how the good horse Roland won and
conversant with all the arts of which he knows nothing, the manners,! enjoyed his draught :—
customs, plots,—in a word, dodges and languages of that phase of
Continental life. What boots it to oppose to them an accurate know-
ledge of Hansard, quotations of parliamentary precedents, an intimate
acquaintance with the Speaker or the Serjeant-at-Arms. Of what
value is the cock of St. Stephens, in such an assembly as that ? Many j The King of Prussia's horse is similarly addicted to wine. Whea
of us have seen, no doubt, m our lives, a strange little dog introduced : turned out to grass, he is always caught, not in the ordinary way with
all of a sudden into a kennel of fox-hounds ; it is a pitiable sight; the j a sieve of oats, but with successive poppings of champagne cotks. In
poor little animal is naturally frightened to death, and does not know ! fact, although the horse has only one leg to canter, or rather decanter
how to humble itself, and to submit and to cringe enough; it twists j upon,—it is hitherto urknown what amount of champagne he can
u self into shapes, bends and wriggles about, and hides away its little ! carrv, especially when King Frederick William is upon his back.
tail; presently it rolls on its side, then on its back, holding up its poor _
little paws, begging pardon, and ready to die; they meanwhile stalk , -
fiercely round with bristles erect and half-suppressed growls at their j A Parliamentary Pudding,
small and abject foe. m -r. • i n TT T^ cc _ _ _
" Such was our luckless Ambassador at Vienna. Fancy him in. the \ J^Jlfl^^
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,
As i pour'rl do'wn his throat our last measure of wine,
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)
Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent."
Pudding of Parliament." Mr.Drummond may still have some pudding
eft in him, but what, oh, what, have become of all the plums?"
council-chamber, attacked at once by all the grandees of many empires.
First, there advances against him the fierce Prussian Count Allpuff
von Bierunbackie, then comes up the portly Austrian Baron,
Wottabasun, followed by the celebrated Russian Prince Twitchiz- Poetry of the Railway Market—The quotations made on the
ownwhiskeroff. ^ Railway Market durii.g the past week have principally consisted of
It is needless to pursue this mournful subject any farther. At such I famdiaf lines.