plenty of paste, plenty of fruit, and plenty of sugar! And then _Mrs. Tory_
(it must be confessed a wicked old _Mother Cole_ in her time), with a face
not unlike the countenance of a certain venerable paramour at a baptismal
rite, declares upon her hopes of immortality that the child shall have
nothing of the sort, there being nothing so dangerous to the constitution
as plenty of flour, plenty of fruit, and plenty of sugar. Therefore, there
is a great uproar with Master Johnny: the House, to use a familiar phrase,
is turned out of the windows; the neighbourhood is roused; Master Johnny
rallies his friends about him, that is, all the other boys of _the court_,
and the fight begins. Johnny and his mates make a very good fight, but
certain heavy Buckinghamshire countrymen--fellows of fifty stone--are
brought to the assistance of that screaming beldame _Mother Tory_, and poor
Master Johnny has no other election than to listen to the shouts of triumph
that declare there never shall be plenty of flour, plenty of sugar, or, in
a word, plenty of pudding.

However, Lord Russell is not discouraged. No; he says "there _shall_ be
cakes and ale, and ginger shall be hot i' the mouth, too!" We only trust
that his Lordship's manifesto is not tinged by those feelings of hope (and
in the case of his lordship we may add, resignation) that animate most men
about to enter wedlock. We trust he does not confound his own anticipations
of happiness with the prospects of the country; for in allusion to the
probable policy of the Tories, he says--"Returned to office--they may adopt
our measures, and submit to the influence of reason." Reason from the
Stanleys--reason from the Goulburns--reason from the Aberdeens! When the
Marquis of Londonderry shall have discovered the longitude, and Colonel
Sibthorp have found out the philosopher's stone, we may then begin to
expect the greater miracle.

The Whigs, according to Lord Russell's letter, have really done so much