But don't you perceive, dear, the Church have found out That you're one of the people call'd Ex's, at present?»> Ah, true-you have bit it—I am, indeed, one Of those ill-fated Ex's (his Lordship replies), And, with tears, I confess,-God forgive me the pun!We X's have proved ourselves not to be Y's.» September, 1827. Wo, wo to the wag, who would laugh at such cookery!» Thus, from his perch, did I hear a black crow' Caw angrily out, while the rest of the rookery Open'd their bills, and re-echo'd « Wo, wo!»> WO! WO!! Wo, wo unto him who would check or disturb it,- Oh Farnham, Saint Farnham, how much do we owe thee! The young, as an amateur scourger of boys. Wo, wo to the man, who such doings would smother!- With whip in one hand, and with Bible in t' other, Come, Saints from all quarters, and marshal his way; Though 't was only old Bowdler's Velluti edition. Come, Roden, who doubtest, so mild are thy views,— Whether Bibles or bullets are best for the nation; Who leavest to poor Paddy no medium to chuse, 'Twixt good old Rebellion and new Reformation. What more from her Saints can Hibernia require! St Bridget, of yore, like a dutiful daughter, Supplied her, 't is said, with perpetual fire,1 And Saints keep her, now, in eternal hot water. Wo, wo to the man, who would check their career, Or stop the Millennium, that's sure to await us, When, bless'd with an orthodox crop every year, We shall learn to raise Protestants, fast as potatoes. In kidnapping Papists, our rulers, we know, Had been trying their talent for many a day; Till Farnham, when all had been tried, came to show, Like the German flea-catcher, «anoder goot way.»> And nothing's more simple than Farnham's receipt;— «Catch your Catholic first-soak him well in poteen 3 Add salary sauce,4 and the thing is complete, TOUT POUR LA TRIPE. If, in China or among the natives of India, we claimed civil advantages which were connected with religious usages, little as we might value those forms in our hearts, we should think e mmon decency required us to abstain from treating them with offensive contumely; and, though unable to consider them sacred, we would not sneer at the name of For, or laugh at the imputed divinity of Visthnou,»—Courier, l'uesday, Jan. 16. COME, take my advice, never trouble your cranium, In this world (let me hint in your organ auricular) Oh place me where Fo, or, as some call him, Fot, Is the god, from whom « civil advantages» flow, And you 'll find, if there's any thing snug to be got, I shall soon be on excellent terms with old Fo. Or were I where Vishnu, that four-handed god, Is the quadruple giver of pensions and places, I own I should feel it unchristian and odd Not to find myself also in Vishnu's good graces. For oh, of all gods that humanely attend To our wants in this planet, the gods to my Are those that, like Vishnu and others, descend In the form, so attractive, of loaves and of fishes! So take my advice-for, if even the devil wishes Should tempt men again as an idol to try him, 'I were best for us Tories, even then, to be civil, As nobody doubts we should get something by him. ENIGMA. Monstrum nulla virtute redemptum. COME, riddle-me-ree, come, riddle-me-ree, I am nearly one hundred and thirty years old, You may serve up your Protestant, smoking and Though a dwarf in my youth (as my purses have told), clean.»> Seggested by a speech of the Bishop of Chester on the subject of the New Reformation in Ireland, in which his Lordship denounced Wo! Wo! Wo! pretty abundantly on all those who dared to interfere with its progress. * The inextinguishable fire of St Bridget, at Kildare. 3 Whiskey. 4. We understand that several applications have lately been made to the Protestant clergymen of this town by fellows, inquiring, What are they giving a head for converts.'-Wexford Post. I have, ev'ry year since, been outgrowing my clothes; Till, at last, such a corpulent giant I stand, That, if folks were to furnish me now with a suit, It would take ev'ry morsel of scrip in the land But to measure my bulk from the head to the foot. Hence, they who maintain me, grown sick of my stature, To cover me nothing but rags will supply; corn. Of the Rook species-Corvus frugilegus, i. e. a great consumer of 2 Vishnu was (as Sir W. Jones calls him) a pisciform god,-bis first Avatar being in the shape of a fish. And the doctors declare that, in due course of nature, In the warehouse, the cottage, the palace I'm found, Then riddle-me-ree, oh riddle-me-rec, When the lord of the counting-house bends o'er his book, Bright pictures of profit delighting to draw, O'er his shoulders with large cipher eyeballs I look, And down drops the pen from his paralyzed paw! When the Premier lies dreaming of dear Waterloo, And expects through another to caper and prank it, You'd laugh did you see, when I bellow out « Boo!»> How he hides his brave Waterloo head in the blanket. When mighty Belshazzar brims high in the hall Ulis cup, full of gout, to the Gaul's overthrow, Lo, «Eight Hundred Millions» I write on the wall, And the cup falls to earth and-the gout to his toe! But the joy of my heart is when largely I cram My maw with the fruits of the Squirearchy's acres, And, knowing who made me the thing that I am, Like the monster of Frankenstein, worry my makers. Then riddle-me-ree, come, riddle-me-ree, And tell, if thou know'st, who I may be. DOG-DAY REFLECTIONS. BY A DANDY KEPT IN TOWN. Vox clamantis in deserto. SAID Malthus, one day, to a clown Lying stretch'd on the beach, in the sun,« What's the number of souls in this town?»— The number! Lord bless you, there's none. « We have nothing but dabs in this place, Of them a great plenty there are; But the soles, please your rev'rence and grace, Are all t' other side of the bar.» And so 't is in London just now, Not a soul to be seen, up or down;- your soles, every one, out of town. Are the only loose fish that are going. That some weeks ago, kept us merry? Where, Eldon, art thou, with thy tears? And thou, with thy sense, Londonderry? Wise Marquis, how much the Lord May'r, In the dog-days, with thee must be puzzled! It being his task to take care That such animals sha'n't go unmuzzled. 1 One of the shows of London. THE Thou, too, whose political toils Are so worthy a captain of horse,— Whose amendments (like honest Sir Boyle's) Are « amendments, that make matters worse ;»2 Great Chieftain, who takest such pains To prove what is granted, nem. con.— And, thou, too, my Redesdale, ah, where With Redesdale's five quarters of mutton? 3 Why, why have ye taken your flight, At the Haymarket, pay us for you! I doubt if ev'n Griffinhoof could As that precious one, « This is too bad!» LIVING DOG » AND « THE DEAD LION.» NEXT week will be published (as « Lives» are the rage) The whole Reminiscences, wondrous and strange, Of a small puppy-dog, that lived once in the cage Of the late noble Lion at Exeter 'Change. Though the dog is a dog of the kind they call «sad,» 'T is a puppy that much to good breeding pretends; And few dogs have such opportunities had Of knowing how Lions behave-among friends. How that animal eats, how he suores, how he drinks, Is all noted down by this Boswell so small; And 't is plain, from each sentence, the puppy-dog thinks That the Lion was no such great things after all. Though he roar'd pretty well-this the puppy allowsIt was all, he says, borrow'd-all second-hand roar ; And he vastly prefers his own little bow-wows To the loftiest war-note the Lion could pour. 'T is, indeed, as good fun as a Cynic could ask, To see how this cockney-bred setter of rabbits Takes gravely the Lord of the Forest to task, And judges of Lions by puppy-dog habits. Bill. More particularly his Grace's celebrated amendment to the Corn * From a speech of Sir Boyle Roche's, in the Irish House of Com mons. The learning his Lordship displayed, on the subject of the butcher's fifth quarter of mutton, will not speedily be forgotten. The nom de guerre under which Colman has written some of his best farces. Nay, fed as he was (and this makes it a dark case) However, the book's a good book, being rich in How they suffer small mongrelly curs in their kitchen, The Bulls, in hysterics-the Bears, just as bad- All shock'd to find out that that promising lad, Who'll feed on them living, and foul them when THOUGHTS ON THE PRESENT GOVERNMENT WHAT! Miguel, not patriotic? oh, fy! OF IRELAND. OFT have I seen, in gay, equestrian pride, Some well-rouged youth round Astley's Circus ride So rides along, with canter smooth and pleasant, After so much good teaching, 't is quite a take-in, And round the ring,-each honour'd, as they go, I ne'er in my life knew a case that was harder;- Some authors, like Bayes, to the style and the matter Of each thing they write, suit the way that they dine Roast sirloin for Epic, broil'd devils for Satire, And hotchpotch and trifle for rhymes such as mine. That Rulers should feed the same way, I've no doubt;- Some Dons, too, have fancied (though this may be fable) A dish rather dear, if, in cooking, they blunder it;— Not content with the common hot meat on a table, They're partial (eh, Mig!) to a dish of cold under it! 2 No wonder a Don of such appetite found Even Windsor's collations plebeianly plain; Alas, that a youth with such charming beginnings, Of worthies on 'Change into so much confusion! Dressed with a pint of the strongest spirits-a favourite dish of the Great Frederick of Prussia, and which he persevered in eating even on his death-bed, much to the horror of his physician Zimmer man. This quiet case of murder, with all its particulars, -the biding the body under the dinner-table, etc. etc.-is, no doubt, well known to the reader. With equal pressure from his gracious toe,— THE LIMBO OF LOST REPUTATIONS. A DREAM. Ciò che si perde qui, là si raguña.-Ariosto. A valley, where he sees Things that on earth were lost.-Milton. KNOW'ST thou not him' the poet sings, Who flew to the moon's serene domain, That vanish on earth, are found again- The promises great men strew about them; Of monarchs, who rule as well without them!— Like him, but diving with wing profound, I have been to a Limbo under ground, Astolpho. Where characters lost on earth, (and cried, That even the imps would not purloin them, Curious it was to see this mass Of lost and torn-up reputations ;Some of them female wares, alas, Mislaid at innocent assignations; Some, that had sigh'd their last amen From the canting lips of saints that would be; And some once own'd by « the best of men,»> Who had proved-no better than they should be. 'Mong others, a poet's fame I spied, Once shining fair, now soaked and black«No wonder,» (a dev'l at my elbow cried) « For I pick'd it out of a butt of sack!» Just then a yell was heard o'er head, Like a chimney-sweeper's lofty summons; And lo, an imp right downward sped, Bringing, within his claws so red, Two statesmen's characters, found, he said, Last night, on the floor of the House of Commons; For their journey down, as you may suppose, And trying, though mischief laugh'd in his eye, Here, Puck!»-and he called to one of his train- HOW TO WRITE BY PROXY. Qui facit per alium facit per se. 'MONG our neighbours, the French, in the good olden time When nobility flourish'd, great Barons and Dukes Well used to a breach, the brave Subaltern dreads At last,-even this is achieved by his aid; Friend Subaltern pockets the cash and-the story; Drums beat-the new Grand March of Intellect 's play'd And off struts my Lord, the Historian, in glory! IMITATION OF THE INFERNO OF DANTE. Così quel fiato gli spiriti mali Di quà, di là, di già, di sù gli mena.-Inferno, cant. 5. I TURN'D my steps, and lo, a shadowy throng Of ghosts came fluttering tow'rds me,-blown along, 1 Or Lieutenant-General, as it may happen to be. « Authors of every sex, male, female, neuter, Touch'd with compassion for this ghastly crew, Singling a she-ghost from the party, said, Allow me to present Miss X. Y. Z.,4 One of our letter'd nymphs-excuse the punWho gain'd a name on earth by-having none; And whose initials would immortal be, Had she but learn'd those plain ones, A, B. C. Yon smirking ghost, like mummy dry and neat, For the whole Row's soft trade-winds to inspire,) All knew the author, and-none read the book. «Behold, in yonder ancient figure of fun, Beg pardon-Honourable Mister Lister, A gentleman who, some weeks since, came over In a smart puff (wind S. S. E.) to Dover. Whose life, poor youth, was long since blown away,- No farther purchase for a puff can find.» « And thon, thyself»-here, anxious, I exclaim'd, « Tell us, good ghost, how thou, thyself, art named.» « Me, Sir!» he blushing cried,-« Ah, there's the rubKnow, then-a waiter once at Brooks's Club, A waiter still I might have long remain'd, And long the club-room's jokes and glasses drain'd; 1 The classical term for money. The reader may fill up this gap with any one of the dissyllabic publishers of London that occurs to him. Rosa Matilda, who was for many years the writer of the poetical articles in the journal alluded to, and whose spirit still seems to preside-<< regnant Rosa -over its pages. Not the charming L. E. L., and still less Mrs F. H., whose poetry is among the most beautiful of the present day. But, ah, in luckless hour, this last December, I wrote a book,' and Colburn dubb'd me' Member''Member of Brooks's!-oh Promethean puff, To what wilt thou exalt even kitchen-stuff! I managed, for some weeks, to dose the town, Scarce had the Spectre's lips these words let drop, Of literary ghosts,-Miss X. Y. Z., The nameless author, better known than read- And, last, not least, Lord Nobody's twin sister,- « Where Peter pitch'd his waistcoat» in old times, LAMENT FOR THE LOSS OF LORD BATHURST'S ALL in again-unlook'd for bliss! To the same head, through right and wrong. That memorable tail of thine? Thy pig-tie with thy place resign, And thus, at once, both cut and run? Yet hopes of coming in again, Sweet Tory hopes! beguiled our pain; By tenancy in tail were ours,-- 1 History of the Clubs of London,» announced as by « a Member of Brooks's. |