For oh, it was nuts to the father of lies
(As this wily fiend is named, in the Bib e),
To find it settled by laws so wise,

That the greater the truth, the worse the libel!

LITERARY ADVERTISEMENT.

WANTED - Authors of all-work, to job for the season,

No matter which party, so faithful to neither:
Good hacks, who, if posed for a rhyme or a reason,
Can manage, like *****, to do without either.

If in gaol, all the better for out-o'-door topics;

Your gaol is for trav'llers a charming retreat;
They can take a day's rule for a trip to the Tropics,
And sail round the world, at their ease, in the Fleet.
For Dramatists, too, the most useful of schools -

They may study high life in the King's Bench community:
Aristotle could scarce keep them more within rules,

And of place they're, at least, taught to stick to the unity.

Any lady or gentleman come to an age

To have good "Reminiscences" (three-score, or higher),
Will meet with encouragement so much, per page,

And the spelling and grammar both found by the buyer.
No matter with what their remembrance is stock'd,
So they'll only remember the quantum desired;
Enough to fill handsomely Two Volumes, oct.,

Price twenty-four shillings, is all that's required.
They may treat us, like Kelly, with old jeux-d'esprits,
Like Reynolds, may boast of each mountebank frolic,
Or kindly inform us, like Madame Genlis, 1

That gingerbread-cakes always give them the colick.
There's nothing, at present, so popular growing
As your Autobiographers fortunate elves,
Who manage to know all the best people going,
Without having ever been heard of themselves!

Wanted, also, a new stock of Pamphlets on Corn,
By "Farmers" and "Landholders"

(gemmen, whose lands Enclosed all in bow-pots, their attics adorn,

Or, whose share of the soil may be seen on their hands).

No-Popery Sermons, in ever so dull a vein,

Sure of a market; should they, too, who pen 'em,
Be renegade Papists, like Murtagh O'S-ll-v-n, "
Something extra allow'd for the additional venom.

Funds, Physic, Corn, Poetry, Boxing, Romance,
All excellent subjects for turning a penny;
To write upon all is an author's sole chance
For attaining, at last, the least knowledge of any.

Nine times out of ten, if his title be good,

His matter within of small consequence is;
Let him only write fine, and, if not understood,
Why, that's the concern of the reader, not his.
N.B.

A learn'd Essay, now printing, to show,
That Horace (as clearly as words could express it)
Was for taxing the Fund-holders, ages ago,

When he wrote thus - Quodcunque in Fund is, assess it." 3

1 This lady, in her Memoirs, also favours us with the address of those apothecaries who have, from time to time, given her pills that agreed with her;

the pills should be ordered "comme pour elle."

always desiring that

2 A gentleman, who distinguished himself by his evidence before the Irish Committees. 3 According to the common reading, "quodcunque infundis,

acescit."

And I raised my chain, and turn'd me round,
And ask'd, through the dungeon window, "who?"

I saw my livid tormentors pass;

Their grief 'twas bliss to hear and see!
For never came joy to them, alas,

That did n't bring deadly bane to me.

Eager I look'd through the mist of night,
And ask'd, "What foe of my race hath died?
Is it he - that Doubter of law and right,

Whom nothing but wrong could e'er decide
"Who, long as he sees but wealth to win,
Hath never yet felt a qualm or doubt
What suitors for justice he'd keep in,

Or what suitors for freedom he'd shut out
"Who, a clog for ever on Truth's advance,
Stifles her (like the Old Man of the Sea
Round Sinbad's neck *), nor leaves a chance
Of shaking him off-is't he? is't he?"

Ghastly my grim tormentors smiled,

And thrusting me back to my den of woe,
With a laughter even more fierce and wild

Than their funeral of howling, answer'd, "No."

But the cry still pierced my prison gate,
And again I ask'd, "What scourge is gone?
Is it he that Chief, so coldly great,
Whom Fame unwillingly shines upon

"Whose name is one of th' ill-omen'd words
They link with hate on his native plains;
And why? they lent him hearts and swords,
And he gave, in return, scoffs and chains!

And he now was dead, and—I could n't rejoice!

He had fann'd afresh the burning brands
Of a bigotry waxing cold and dim;
He had arm'd anew my torturers' hands,
And them did I curse but sigh'd for him.

For his was the error of head, not heart,
And oh, how beyond the ambush'd foe,
Who to enmity adds the traitor's part,

And carries a smile, with a curse below!

If ever a heart made bright amends

For the fatal fault of an erring head
Go, learn his fame from the lips of friends,
In the orphan's tear be his glory read.

A prince without pride, a man without guile,
To the last unchanging, warm, sincere,
For worth he had ever a hand and smile,
And for misery ever his purse and tear.

Touch'd to the heart by that solemn toll,
I calmly sunk in my chains again;

While, still as I said, "Heaven rest his soul!"

My mates of the dungeon sigh'd, "Amen!"

* "You fell," said they, "into the hands of the old man of the sea, and are the first who

ever escaped strangling by his malicious tricks." Story of Sinbad.

BALLAD FOR THE CAMBRIDGE ELECTION.

"I authorized my Committee to take the step which they did, of proposing a fair comparison of strength, upon the understanding that whichever of the two should prove to be the weakest, should give way to the other.' Extract from Mr. W. J. Bankes's Letter to Mr. Goulburn.

B-NBS is weak, and G-lb-rn too,

No one e'er the fact denied;
Which is "weakest" of the two,
Cambridge can alone decide.

Choose between them, Cambridge, pray,
Which is weakest, Cambridge, say.

G-lb-rn of the Pope afraid is,
B-nkes, as much afraid as he;
Never yet did two old ladies

On this point so well agree.

Choose between them, Cambridge, pray,
Which is weakest, Cambridge, say.

Each a different mode pursues,

Each the same conclusion reaches;
B-nkes is foolish in Reviews,

G-lb-rn, foolish in his speeches.
Choose between them, Cambridge, pray,
Which is weakest, Cambridge, say.

Each a different foe doth damn,

When his own affairs have gone ill;
B-nkes he damneth Buckingham,

G-lb-rn damneth Dan O'Connell.
Choose between them, Cambridge, pray,
Which is weakest, Cambridge, say.
Once, we know, a horse's neigh
Fix'd th' election to a throne;

So, whichever first shall bray,

Choose him, Cambridge, for thy own.

Choose him, choose him by his bray
Thus elect him, Cambridge, pray.
June, 1826.

So described by a Reverend Historian of the Church:

"A Delta hat, like the hori

zontal section of a pyramid." — Grant's History of the English Church.

Thou'rt not Sir Harcourt Lees's

no

For hats grow like the heads that wear 'em;
And hats, on heads like his, would grow
Particularly harum-scarum.

Who knows but thou may'st deck the pate
Of that famed Doctor At-mth-te,
(The reverend rat, whom we saw stand
On his hind-legs in Westmoreland,)
Who changed so quick from blue to yellow,
And would from yellow back to blue,
And back again, convenient fellow,
If t'were his interest so to do.

Or, haply, smartest of triangles,

Thou art the hat of Doctor Ow-n;
The hat that, to his vestry wrangles,

That venerable priest doth go in,
And, then and there, amid the stare
Of all St. Olave's, takes the chair,
And quotes, with phiz right orthodox,

Th' example of his reverend brothers,
To prove that priests all fleece their flocks,
And he must fleece as well as others.
Blest Hat! (whoe'er thy lord may be)
Thus low I take off mine to thee,
The homage of a layman's castor,

To the spruce delta of his pastor.

Oh may'st thou be, as thou proceed'st,

Still smarter cock'd, still brush'd the brighter

Till, bowing all the way, thou lead'st

Thy sleek possessor to a mitre!

ODE TO FERDINAND.

QUIT the sword, thou King of men,
Grasp the needle once again;

Making petticoats is far

Safer sport than making war;

Trimming is a better thing,

Than the being trimm'd, oh King!
Grasp the needle bright, with which
Thou didst for the Virgin stitch
Garment, such as ne'er before
Monarch stitch'd or Virgin wore.
Not for her, oh semster nimble!
Do I now invoke thy thimble;
Not for her thy wanted aid is,
But for certain grave old ladies,
Who now sit in England's cabinet,
Waiting to be clothed in tabinet,
Or whatever choice étoffe is
Fit for Dowagers in office.

First, thy care, oh King, devote
To Dame Eld-n's petticoat.

Make it of that silk, whose dye
Shifts for ever to the eye,
Just as if it hardly knew
Whether to be pink or blue.
Or material fitter yet

If thou could'st a remnant get

Of that stuff, with which, of old,

Sage Penelope, we're told,

• Archbishop Magee affectionately calls the Church Establishment of Ireland "the little

Zion."

Still, by doing and undoing,

Kept her suitors always wooing
That's the stuff which, I pronounce,
Fittest for Dame Eld-n's flounces.

After this, we'll try thy hand,
Mantua-making Ferdinand,
For old Goody W-stm-l-d;
One who loves, like Mother Cole,
Church and State with all her soul;
And has pass'd her life in frolics
Worthy of your Apostolics.
Choose, in dressing this old flirt,
Something that won't show the dirt,
As, from habit, every minute
Goody W-tsm-1-d is in it.

This is all I now shall ask,
Hie thee, monarch, to thy task;
Finish Eld-n's frills and borders,
Then return for further orders.
Oh what progress for our sake,
Kings in millinery make!

Ribands, garters, and such things,
Are supplied by other Kings
Ferdinand his rank denotes

By providing petticoats.

HAT VERSUS WIG.

is

"At the interment of the Duke of York, Lord Eld-n, in order to guard against the effec of the damp, stood upon his hat during the whole of the ceremony."

1 "Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,

And men below and gods above,

For Love is Heav'n and Heav'n is Love." SCOTT.

2 "Brim -a naughty woman." - GROSE.

3 "Ghost [beneath]. Swear!

"Hamlet. Ha, ha! say'st thou so? Art thou there, Truepenny? Come ou." 4 His Lordship's demand for fresh affidavits was incessant.