Lord George Cavendish has come out as a wag, not
very success- fully. At the Bakewell Farmers' Club last week he first mis- quoted Charles Lamb, making indeed quite a hash of him,—and then made a horsey sort of apologue of the rivalry between Mr. Disraeli and Mr. Gladstone, comparing them to coachmen, and the other statesmen on both sides to the teams, and remarking that some of the horses were "rum ones to look at, but good ones to go for all that " ; that some were "rather grey at the ears," and one (? Mr. Lowe) "rather fly at the heels " ; but when the Oppo- sition coach came up, "they. would give it as good a run as they could." He regretted the loss of a cheery fellow, "who was always going, but did not go too fast,"—he meant Palmerston ; and declared that once lately his present driver, Will Gladstone, really had had a drop too much, and was going to run into a famous waggon, whereupon it was his (Lord George's) duty to crawl over the benches, and lay hold "till Will Gladstone steadied himself a bit." We are not told how the Bakewell farmers were pleased with this choice parable. If they were, Lord George was quite right, for a man must please his constituents, and jokes of this humble kind are a cheap way to do it, and much better than intimidating them. But why didn't Lord George get the reporters to keep quiet, and not publish it? The intellectual impression produced by such a display of animal spirits on the world at large is by no means exhilarating, and we quite hope not very just to Lord George himself. It takes a good deal of ale to make it go down.
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