"Gentlemen, gentlemen," I protested.

"I beg your pardon, Simpkins," said Bovington,
"but Mr. Porkinson is in possession of the
chair."

"Hear, hear. Silence for Porkinson."

"Mr. Chair and gentlemen," said Mr.
Porkinson, assuming an attitude that suggested that
he had just rendered a signal service to his
country, and was standing for his statue — " Mr.
Chair and gentlemen," Porkinson repeated, " I
am about to propose a toast which I am sure
will find an echo in every British heart here
present — and I believe, Mr. Chair, l am justified
in saying that all the hearts here present are
British — British to the backbone. (Enthusiastic
cheers by the vertebrate British hearts.) That
being so, Mr. Chair, I will at once propose to
you, Our Native Land. (Increased enthusiasm.)
It is the land, sir, of  — ah — the  — ah  — brave and
the free; it is likewise, as you are well aware, the
— ah  — pride of the ocean. (Hear, hear.) You have
long been acquainted with the fact that Britannia
does not require  — ah  — bulwarks along her shores,
but that her path is over the flowing wave, and
her home is where the stormy winds do blow
upon the mariners of England, who are perfectly
indifferent to weather, and whose motto ever is,
' England expects that every man this day will
do his dooty.' (Great fervour.) The meteor flag
of England, Mr. Chair, will ever remind us that
— ah  — it was in Trafalgar's bay that  — ah  — we
made the Frenchman belay. Likewise, as
regards other bays, including that of Biscay, the
prowess of our hearts of oak has been celebrated
in songs (mostly with choruses) which will carry
the glory of England down to the remotest
posterity. (Applause.) The flag to which I have
already alluded, Mr. Chair, has, as you are aware,
braved for a thousand years, and a little over,
the battle and the breeze; and while that flag
continues to throw over us the  — ah  — the  — "

"Ægis of its protection," suggested
Bovington.

"Thank you," continued Porkinson; " while
that flag continues to  — to do that, why, all I
have got to say is, Britons never will be slaves.
(Tumultuous approbation.) Sir; we have
reason to be proud of our native land; and
particularly we have reason to be proud of ourselves.
(Hear, hear.) I mean as Englishmen. As
Englishman, sir, we are superior to the whole human
race. What are foreign nations to compare with
us? Take any one of them you like. What are
Frenchmen? What are they? Why, a miserable
set of skillygolee-fed mountebanks. One
Englishman can thrash a dozen Frenchmen any day  —
ah, and eat 'em too! (Great applause, and Hear,
hear, from Perkins.) Take your Germans, again
— a squad of undersized, mouldy-cheeked, square-
backed, whity-brown, sour-krout-eating louts.
(Prolonged cheers.) And your Italians  — set of
beggars and caterwauling opera-singers. As for
Spain, sir, I don't believe there is an individual
in that benighted country who is fit to do
anything but smoke paper cigars and drive a donkey.
(Cheers and laughter.) Now why is it that
these foreign nations are so benighted and
besotted and ignorant, and so generally inferior to
Englishmen? Why is it? I'll tell you why:
because they've got no stomachs! Give a Frenchman
a pound of good beefsteak such as that we
have partaken of this evening  — "

"I ventured upon the correction, " Rump."

"Rump was it?" Mr. Porkinson continued.
"Very well; give a Frenchman a pound of
good rump-steak, and what will he do with
it? Why, he will boil it down in a gallon
of water and drink it out of a teacup.
(Cheers.) Give a Spaniard a pipe of good
strong shag tobacco to smoke, and what does it
do to him?"

"Makes him sick," suggested Perkins.

"Exactly," said Porkinson; "and do you
mean to tell me that people like that are worthy
to be free and have equal laws, and all that sort
of thing. (No! no!! NO ! !!) And why are
Englishmen superior to them? Because they
have got stomachs. Because they can put away
a pound of steak per man without winking. I
have no hesitation in saying that it is the roast
beef of Old England that has won us our
liberties. Do you imagine that the barons
could have induced King John to sign Magna
Charta had they met him after a dinner of skilly?
Never! King John, sir, would have seen them
hanged first. And where, but for the roast beef
of Old England, where, I should like to know,
would have been Habeas Corpus? (Cries of
Nowhere, and thunders of applause.) Therefore,
Mr. Chair, I give you Our Native Land, the land
of liberty and freedom, the land of just and
equal laws, the land of security to property and
protection to the subject — in fact, sir, our own,
our native land." (Enthusiastic outburst of
approbation, after which, Home, sweet Home, by
Mr. Perkins.)

Sentiment: "England, home, and beauty."

Supplementary song by Mr. Puddington: the
Red, White, and Blue.

Sentiment: "May the present moment be
the happiest of our lives."

Attempted additional vocal effort by Perkins,
but suspended in the middle of the second
verse, owing to defective memory, the whole
concluding with a general getting up-stairs
(with difficulty) to bed, to the tune of Rule
Britannia, mingled with God save the Queen, the
Brave Old Oak, the Maids of Merry England,
and Wapping Old Stairs; the last suggested to
the facetious Perkins by the creaking of my
ancestral timbers.

I pass a troubled night, with Britannia
sitting on my chest, and beating time to
commingled patriotic choruses with the end of her
trident, and awake abruptly to the reality of
Bovington thundering at my door, with the
information that it is time for breakfast. After a
hurried toilet I arrive in the banqueting-hall,
to find Bovington, Puddington, Porkinson, and
Perkins rubbing their hands and chafing for
food, in a manner highly suggestive of the
Zoological Gardens on Saturday at three. With as
little delay as possible I endeavour to appease
the appetite of the lion, Bovington, with a lump