Then came the Doctor, for our ease,

With E-d-ns, Ch-th-ms, H-wk-b-s,
And other deadly maladies.

When each, in turn, had run their rigs,
Necessity brought in the Whigs: 2
And oh, I blush, I blush to say,

When these, in turn, were put to flight, too, Illustrious T-MP-E flew away

With lots of pens he had no right to!3 In short, what will not mortal man do? 4 And now, that-strife and bloodshed pastWe've done on earth what harm we can do,

We gravely take to heaven at last, 5 And think its favourite smile to purchase (Oh Lord, good Lord!) by-building churches!

SKETCH OF THE FIRST ACT OF A NEW ROMANTIC DRAMA.

" AND now," quoth the goddess, in accents jocose,

66

66

True, true," said the hag, looking arch at her elves,

"And a double-Ex dose they compose, in themselves."

This joke, the sly meaning of which was seen lucidly, Set all the devils a laughing most deucedly,

So, in went the pair, and (what none thought surprising)

Show'd talents for sinking as great as for rising; While not a grim phiz in that realm but was lighted

With joy to see spirits so twin-like united-
Or (plainly to speak) two such birds of a feather,
In one mess of venom thus spitted together.
Here a flashy imp rose-some connection, no doubt,
Of the young lord in question—and, scowling
about,

whipster;

macies, et nova febrium

Terris incubit cohors.

4

5

Cœlum ipsum petimus stultitiâ.

"To lose no drop of the immortal man."

ANIMAL MAGNETISM.

THOUGH fam'd was Mesmer, in his day,
Nor less so, in ours, is Dupotet,
To say nothing of all the wonders done
By that wizard, Dr. Elliotson,

When, standing as if the gods to invoke, he
Up waves his arm, and-down drops Okey!!

Though strange these things, to mind and sense,
If you wish still stranger things to see-
If you wish to know the power immense
Of the true magnetic influence,

Just go to her Majesty's Treasury,
And learn the wonders working there—
And I'll be hang'd if you don't stare!
Talk of your animal magnetists,

And that wave of the hand no soul resists,

Not all its witcheries can compete

With the friendly beckon towards Downing Street,
Which a Premier gives to one who wishes
To taste of the Treasury loaves and fishes.
It actually lifts the lucky elf,
Thus acted upon, above himself;-
He jumps to a state of clairvoyance,
And is placeman, statesman, all, at once!

These effects observe (with which I begin),
Take place when the patient's motion'd in;
Far different, of course, the mode of affection,
When the wave of the hand's in the out direction;
The effects being then extremely unpleasant,
As is seen in the case of Lord B- -m, at present;
In whom this sort of manipulation
Has lately produc'd such inflammation,
Attended with constant irritation,

That, in short-not to mince his situation -
It has work'd in the man a transformation
That puzzles all human calculation!

Ever since the fatal day which saw
That "pass" perform'd on this Lord of Law-
A pass potential, none can doubt,

As it sent Harry Bm to the right about-
The condition in which the patient has been
Is a thing quite awful to be seen.
Not that a casual eye could scan

This wondrous change by outward survey; It being, in fact, the' interior man

That's turn'd completely topsy-turvy :— Like a case that lately, in reading o'er 'em, I found in the Acta Eruditorum,

-

The name of the heroine of the performances at the North London Hospital.

2 The technical term for the movements of the magnetizer's hand.

Of a man in whose inside, when disclos'd,
The whole order of things was found transpos'd;"
By a lusus naturæ, strange to see,

The liver plac'd where the heart should be,

And the spleen (like B-m's, since laid on the shelf)

As diseas'd and as much out of place as himself.

In short, 'tis a case for consultation,

If e'er there was one, in this thinking nation;
And therefore I humbly beg to propose,
That those savans who mean, as the rumour gues
To sit on Miss Okey's wonderful case,
Should also Lord Harry's case embrace;
And inform us, in both these patients' states,
Which ism it is that predominates,
Whether magnetism and somnambulism,
Or, simply and solely, mountebankism.

THE SONG OF THE BOX.

LET History boast of her Romans and Spartans, And tell how they stood against tyranny's shocks: They were all, I confess, in my eye, Betty Martins, Compar'd to George Gr-te and his wonderful

Box.

Ask, where Liberty now has her seat?—Oh, it is? By Delaware's banks or on Switzerland's rocks;Like an imp in some conjuror's bottle imprison'd She's slily shut up in Gr-te's wonderful Box.

How snug!-'stead of floating through ether's do minions,

Blown this way and that, by the "populi vex," To fold thus in silence her sinecure pinions.

And go fast asleep in Gr-te's wonderful Box.

Time was, when free speech was the life-breath of freedom

So thought once the Seldens, the Hampdens, the Lockes;

But mute be our troops, when to ambush we led 'em,

For "Mum" is the word with us Knights of the Box.

Pure, exquisite Box! no corruption can soil it; There's Otto of Rose, in each breath it unlocks;

3 Omnes ferè internas corporis partes inverso ord.ne sta -Act. Erudit. 1690.

Whose dwelling dark, as legends say,
Beneath the roots of the ocean lay,
(Fit place for deep ones, such as they,)
How little thou knew'st, dear Dr. Southey,
Although bright genius all allow thee,
That, some years thence, thy wond'ring eyes
Should see a second Thalaba rise -

As ripe for ruinous rigs as thine,

Though his havoc lie in a different line,
And should find this new, improv'd Destroyer
Beneath the wig of a Yankee lawyer;
A sort of an "alien," alias man,
Whose country or party guess who can,
Being Cockney half, half Jonathan ;
And his life, to make the thing completer,
Being all in the genuine Thalaba metre,
Loose and irregular as thy feet are ; —
First, into Whig Pindarics rambling,
Then in low Tory doggrel scrambling;
Now love his theme, now Church his glory
(At once both Tory and ama-tory),
Now in the' Old Bailey-lay meandering,
Now in soft couplet style philandering;
And, lastly, in lame Alexandrine,
Dragging his wounded length along,6
When scourg'd by Holland's silken thong.

In short, dear Bob, Destroyer the Second
May fairly a match for the First be reckon'd;
Save that your Thalaba's talent lay
In sweeping old conjurors clean away,
While ours at aldermen deals his blows,
(Who no great conjurors are, God knows,)
Lays Corporations, by wholesale, level,
Sends Acts of Parliament to the devil,
Bullies the whole Milesian race-
Seven millions of Paddies, face to face;

And, seizing that magic wand, himself,
Which erst thy conjurors left on the shelf,
Transforms the boys of the Boyne and Liffey
All into foreigners, in a jiffey -

Aliens, outcasts, every soul of 'em,

Born but for whips and chains, the whole of 'em!

Never, in short, did parallel
Betwixt two heroes gee so well;

And, among the points in which they fit,
There's one, dear Bob, I can't omit.

1

And all Arabia breathes from yonder box POPE'S Rape of the Lock. 2 Groot, or Grote, Latinized into Grotius. 3 For the particulars of this escape of Grotius from the Castle of Louvenstein, by means of a box (only three feet and a half long, it is said) in which books used to be occasionally sent to him and foul linen returned, see any of the Biographical Dictionaries.

4 This is not quite according to the facts of the case; his wife having been the contriver of the stratagem, and remained in the prison herself to give him time for escape. 5 Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede, &c. HORAT.

6 "A needless Alexandrine ends the song

That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along."

And t'other means to do: -
What bills the banker pass'd to friends,
But never meant to pay;
What Bills the other wight intends,

As honest, in their way ;-
Bills, payable at distant sight,

Beyond the Grecian kalends,

When all good deeds will come to light, When W-ll-ngt-n will do what's right, And Rowland pay his balance.

To catch the banker all have sought,
But still the rogue unhurt is;
While t'other juggler-who'd have thought?
Though slippery long, has just been caught
By old Archbishop Curtis ; —
And, such the power of papal crook,
The crosier scarce had quiver'd
About his ears, when, lo, the Duke
Was of a Bull deliver'd!

Sir Richard Birnie doth decide

That Rowland "must be mad," In private coach, with crest, to ride, When chaises could be had. And t'other hero, all agree,

St. Luke's will soon arrive at, If thus he shows off publicly, When he might pass in private.

Oh W-11-ngt-n, oh Stephenson, Ye ever-boring pair,

"Vain are the spells, the Destroyer Treads the Domdaniel floor."

Thalaba, a Metrical Romance.

THE BOY STATESMAN.

BY A TORY.

"That boy will be the death of me."

Mathews at Hent

Ан, Tories dear, our ruin is near,
With St-nl-y to help us, we can't but fali;
Already a warning voice I hear,

Like the late Charles Mathews' croak in my ear, "That boy—that boy'll be the death of you all."

He will, God help us!-not even Scriblerins

In the "Art of Sinking" his match could be;
And our case is growing exceeding serious,
For, all being in the same boat as he,
If down my Lord goes, down go we,
Lord Baron St-nl-y and Company,
As deep in Oblivion's swamp below
As such "Masters Shallow" well could go;
And where we shall all, both low and high,
Embalm'd in mud, as forgotten lie

As already doth Gr-h-m of Netherby!
But that boy, that boy!-there's a tale I know,
Which in talking of him comes à propos.
Sir Thomas More had an only son,
And a foolish lad was that only one,