Olla Podrida | Page 2

will soon discover the political sentiments of the whole party. Should they all agree, they are so busy in abuse that they rail at their adversaries with their mouths full--should they disagree, they dispute so vehemently that they forget that they were invited to dinner, and the dishes are removed untasted, and the duties of the Amphytryon become a sinecure. Go to an evening party or a ball and it is even worse, for young ladies talk politics, prefer discussion to flirtation, and will rather win a partner over to their political opinions than by their personal charms. If you, as a Tory, happen to stand up in a cotillion with a pretty Whig, she taps you with her fan that she may tap your politics; if you agree, it is "En avant deux," if not, a "chassez croisee." Every thing goes wrong--she may set to you indeed, but hers is the set of defiance, and she shakes her wig against your Tory. To turn your partner is impossible, and the only part of the figure which is executed con amore is dos a dos. The dance is over, and the lady's looks at once tell you that you may save your "oaths," while she "takes her seat."
I have tried change of scene--posted to watering places; but the deep, deep sea will not drown politics. Even the ocean in its roaring and commotion reminded me of a political union.
I have buried myself in the country, but it has been all in vain. I cannot look at the cattle peacefully grazing without thinking of O'Connell's tail, Stanley's tail, and a short-docked pony reminded me of the boasted little tail of Colonel Peel. The farm-yard, with its noisy occupants, what was it but the reality so well imitated by the members of the Lower House, who would drown argument in discord? I thought I was in the lobby at the close of a long debate. Every tenth field, every tenth furrow, (and I could not help counting,) every tenth animal, and every tenth step, reminded me of the Irish tithes; and when I saw a hawk swoop over a chicken, I thought of the Appropriation Bill--so I left the country.
I have tried every thing--I have been every where, but in vain. In the country there was no relaxation--in society no pleasure--at home no relief. England was disjointed, never to be united until it was dismembered--and there was no repose. I had my choice, either to go abroad, or to go mad; and, upon mature deliberation, I decided upon the former, as the lesser evil of the two. So I gave--I sold--I discharged--I paid--I packed up, and I planned. The last was the only portion of my multifarious duties not satisfactorily arranged. I looked at the maps, plied my compasses that I might compass my wishes, measured distances that I might decide upon my measures--planned, looked over the maps--and planned again.
CHAPTER TWO.
Well, as I said in my last chapter, I planned--and planned--but I might as well conjugate it, as many others assisted--it was I planned, thou plannedst, he planned, we planned, ye planned, and they planned--and what annoyed me was, that I could not help considering that "the whole house was in a committee," and without being able "to report progress." At first it was decided upon that we should proceed up the Rhine, and not leave off paddling until we had arrived at Manheim, at which town I fancied that I should at least be out of political distance. We read all about Manheim, found out that it was a regular-built town, with a certain number of inhabitants--with promenades, gardens, and a fine view of the Rhine. "So you're going abroad--where?" Manheim, was the reply, and all the world knew that we were bound to Manheim; and every one had something to say, or something that they had heard said, about Manheim. "Very nice place--Duchess Dowager Stephanie--very cheap--gay in winter--masters excellent"--were the variety of changes rung, and all was settled; but at last one unlucky observation raised a doubt--another increased--a third confirmed it. "A very dull place--German cookery bad for children--steam-boats from Rotterdam very bad, and often obliged to pass two nights on deck." A very influential member of the committee took alarm about the children being two nights on deck, and it was at last decided that to go up to Manheim by steam-boat at 4 pounds, 9 shillings a-head, and children at half-price was not to be thought of.
"I wonder you don't go to Bruges," observed a committee man; "nice quiet place--excellent masters--every thing so cheap--I once bought eighty large peaches there for two francs."
And all the children clapped their little hands, and cried out for Bruges and cheap peaches.
It was further submitted that it was convenient--you might go the