Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 67, No. 416, June 1850. Various
be!
When saw a mortal eye
Two suns within the firmament,
Two glories in the sky?
Nay, Walmsley, nay! thy generous heart
Hath all too wide a room:
We'll not believe it, e'en on oath —
There's but one Joseph Hume!
Unsay the word so rashly said;
From hasty praise forbear!
Why bring a foreign Pompey here
Our Cæsar's fame to share?
The buzzard he is lord above,
And Hume is lord below,
So leave him peerless on his perch,
Our solitary Joe!
He may be known, that bearded wight,
In lands beyond the foam;
He may have fought the fiery fight
'Gainst taxes raised at home.
And hate of kings, and scorn of peers,
May rankle in his soul:
But surely never hath he reached
"The tottle of the whole."
Yes, he may tell of doughty deeds,
Of battles lost and won,
Of Austrian imposts bravely spurned
By each reforming Hun.
But dare he say that he hath borne
The jeers of friend and foe,
Yet still prosed on for thirty years
Like our transcendant Joe?
Or hath he stood alone in arms
Against the guileful Greek,
Demanding back his purchase-coin
With oath, and howl, and shriek?
Deemed they to hold with vulgar bonds
That lion in the net?
One sweep of his tremendous paw
Could cancel all their debt.
How could we tell our Spartan wives
That, in this sacred room,
We dared, with impious throats, proclaim
A rival to the Hume?
Our children, in their hour of need,
Might style us England's foes,
If other chief we owned than one,
The member for Montrose.
O soft and sweet are Cobden's tones
As blackbird's in the brake;
And Oldham Fox and Quaker Bright
A merry music make;
And Thompson's voice is clear and strong,
And Kershaw's mild and low,
And nightingales would hush their trill
To list M'Gregor's flow;
But Orpheus' self, in mute despair,
Might drop his magic reed
When Hume vouchsafes, in dulcet strains,
The people's cause to plead.
All other sounds of earth and air
Are mute and lost the while;
The rasping of a thousand saws,
The screeching of the file.
With him we'll live, with him we'll die,
Our lord, our light, our own;
We'll keep all foemen from his face,
All rivals from his throne.
Though Tory prigs, and selfish Whigs,
His onward course assail.
Here stand a hundred delegates,
All joints of Joseph's tail.
Ho, there! remove that hairy Hun
With beard as white as snow;
We need no rank reformers here
To cope with honest Joe.
Not Muntz, with all his bristly pride,
From him our hearts can wean:
We know his ancient battle-cry —
"Shave close, my friends, and clean!"
MY PENINSULAR MEDAL
BY AN OLD PENINSULAR
PART VII. – CHAPTER XVII
Although I have not specified every place at which we halted, or through which we passed, it may be proper to state that we arrived in due course at St Sever, which was distant only one day's march from the actual headquarters of the British army, Aire on the Adour. Here Pledget interposed his professional authority, and decided that neither Mr Chesterfield nor Jones must proceed farther. They both remained, therefore, under surgical treatment at St Sever. Pledget and Gingham, deeming the road now safe, pushed forward to Aire, leaving the cart to follow with the convoy. At the same time, our numbers experienced a still more considerable diminution. Our cavalry escort, also, received orders to push forward, and started before us in high spirits, with the prospect of immediate operations. The convoy was, accordingly, left with only the infantry as a guard, under Corporal Fraser.
Before starting for this our last day's march I saw both our wounded men, neither of them well pleased at being left behind. As to Jones, I was getting used to him, and could have better spared a better man. I found him confined to his bed, in a house full of sick and wounded; very much down in the mouth, fractious, a little feverish, and not at all satisfied with hospital diet. "Please, sir, the doctor don't not allow me a drop of sperrits, sir; no, nor wine nayther, sir; nothing whatsomdever to drink, only powders, sir."
"Powders to drink, Jones? What d'ye mean, man?"
"Please, sir, what I means is powders, sir. Hope no offence, sir. Doctor calls 'em everfizzing powders, sir."
From the Hon. Mr Chesterfield I parted with unfeigned regret. I believe he had won the respect of the whole party. His manner was a little stiff and aristocratical at first. But he mended on acquaintance; and, in everything connected with duty, he was both highly competent, and pleasant to act with. We got off in good time, and proceeded on our march as on former days, our road carrying us through two or three villages.
In passing one of these, I pulled up to make some trifling purchase; and, when I came out of the shop, found our whole convoy and escort halted. "How's this, Fraser? Why are we not getting on?"
"Orders for the whole party to halt have just arrived from headquarters, sir."
"Indeed! Who brought them?"
"A gentleman belonging to your department, sir."
I rode forward to the head of the column; and there, sure enough, at the entrance of the village inn, saw a uniform resembling my own. In fact, I recognised not only the coat, but the wearer of it, though he did not recognise me. He was a foreigner – Westphalian, Saxon, Bohemian, High Dutch, Low Dutch, or something of that sort; had served at Lisbon as clerk in a civil department attached to the British army; and, in some situation of trust and responsibility, had incurred suspicions of an awkward kind. He had in consequence been suspended. The matter was referred to the home authorities, and the result was his dismissal. This was what I knew of him. As to his having subsequently obtained employment