And now,--well, are there any
Who do not bless brave ROWLAND HILL and his ubiquitous Penny?
One head, if 'tis a _thinking_ one, is very often better
Than two, or twenty millions! That's just why _we_ get our letter
From Aberdeen, or Melbourne, from Alaska or Japan,
So cheaply, quickly, certainly--thanks to one stout-soul'd Man.

Fifty years since! In Eighteen Forty, he, the lunatic,
Carried his point. Wiseacres winced; Obstruction "cut its stick."
He won the day, stout ROWLAND HILL, and then they made him Knight.
If universal benefit unmarred by bane gives right
To titles, which are often won by baseness or a fluke,
The founder of the Penny Post deserved to be a Duke.
But then he's something better--a fixed memory, a firm fame;
For long as the World "drops a line," it cannot drop his name.
'Tis something like a Jubilee, this tenth of Janua-_ree_!
_Punch_ brims a bumper to its hero, cheers him three times three,
For if there was a pioneer in Civilisation's host,
It was the cheery-hearted chap who schemed the Penny Post.
And when the croaking cravens, who are down on all Reform,
And shout their ancient shibboleth, and raise their tea-pot storm,
Whene'er there's talk of Betterment in any branch of State,
And vent their venom on the Wise, their greed upon the Great,
_Punch_ says to his true countrymen, "Peace, peace, good friends--be
still!
Reform does _not_ spell Ruin, lads. Remember ROWLAND HILL!!!"

* * * * *

A CURIOUS CURE.

DEAR MR. PUNCH, _January_13, 1890.

So much attention is now bestowed upon the prevailing epidemic that I will
not apologise for troubling you with a letter detailing a case that has
recently come under my own notice. My eldest son, AUGUSTUS, returned home
from the educational establishment admirably conducted by my eminent and
reverend friend, Dr. SWISHTALE, apparently in excellent health and spirits,
shortly before Christmas Day. On the 4th (just a week before the date fixed
for his return to the educational establishment to which I have referred)
he showed symptoms of influenza. He complained of low spirits, seemed
inclined to quarrel with (and thrash) his younger brothers, and flatly
declined to accompany me to an inspection of the treasures contained in the
Natural Historical Museum at South Kensington. I immediately prescribed for
him a diet of bread and water, and an enforced retirement to bed. He spent