So much for the merits sublime

(With whose catalogue ne'er should I stop)
Of the three greatest lights of our time,
Doctors Eady and S-they and Slop!

Should you ask me, to which of the three
Great Doctors the preference should fall,
As a matter of course,
agree

Dr Eady must go to the wall.

This Seraphic Doctor, in the preface to his last work (Vindicie Ecclesiæ Anglicana), is pleased to anathematize not only all Catholics. but all advocates of Catholics- They have for their immediate allies (he says) every faction that is banded against the State, every demaCoque, every irreligious and seditious journalist, every open and every insidious enemy to Monarchy and to Christianity,

2 See the late accounts in the newspapers of the appearance of this gentleman at one of the polur-offices, in consequence of an alleged lus maid of all work..

assault

upon

EPITAPH ON A TUFT-HUNTER. LAMENT, lament, Sir Isaac Heard, Put mourning round thy page, Debrett, For here lies one, who ne'er preferr'd A Viscount to a Marquis yet.

Beside him place the God of Wit,
Before him Beauty's rosiest girls,
Apollo for a star he 'd quit,

And Love's own sister for an Earls.

Did niggard fate no peers afford,

He took, of course, to peers' relations; And, rather than not sport a lord, Put up with even the last creations.

Even Irish names, could he but tag 'em

With « Lord» and « Duke,» were sweet to call; And, at a pinch, Lord Ballyraggum

Was better than no Lord at all.

Heaven grant him now some noble nook,
For, rest his soul, he'd rather be
Genteelly damn'd beside a Duke,
Than saved in vulgar company.

THE PETITION

OF THE ORANGEMEN OF IRELAND.

To the People of England, the humble Petition
Of Ireland's disconsolate Orangemen, showing-
That sad, very sad, is our present condition;—
That our jobs are all gone, and our noble selves going.

That, forming one seventh-within a few fractions-
Of Ireland's seven millions of hot heads and hearts,
We hold it the basest of all base transactions

To keep us from murdering the other six parts;

That, as to laws made for the good of the many,

We humbly suggest there is nothing less true; As all human laws (and our own, more than any) Are made by and for a particular few;—

That much it delights every true Orange brother
To see you, in England, such ardour evince,
In discussing which sect most tormented the other,
And burn'd with most gusto, some hundred years
since;-

That we love to behold, while Old England grows faint.
Messrs Southey aud Butler near coming to blows,
To decide whether Dunstan, that strong-bodied saint,
Ever truly and really pull'd the devil's nose;

A crown granted as a reward among the Romans to persons whe performed any extraordinary exploits upon wal's-such as salie them, battering them, etc. No doubt, writing upon them, to the estent that Di Eady does, would equally establish a claim to the hones.

Whether tother saint, Dominic, burnt the devils pawWhether Edwy intrigued with Elgiva's old mother—' And many such points, from which Southey doth draw Conclusions most apt for our hating each other.

That 't is very well known this devout Irish nation Has now, for some ages gone happily on, Believing in two kinds of Substantiation,

One party in Trans, and the other in Con;2

That we, your petitioning Cons, have, in right

Of the said monosyllable, ravaged the lands, And embezzled the goods, and annoy'd, day and night, Both the bodies and souls of the sticklers for Trans;——

That we trust to Peel, Eldon, and other such sages, For keeping us still in the same state of mind; Pretty much as the world used to be in those ages, When still smaller syllables madden'd mankind;-

When the words ex and per3 served as well, to annoy One's neighbours and friends with, as con and trans

now;

And Christians, like Southey, who stickled for oi,
Cut the throats of all Christians, who stickled for ou.4

That relying on England, whose kindness already
So often has help'd us to play the game o'er,
We have got our red coats and our carabines ready,
And wait but the word to show sport, as before.

That, as to the expense-the few millions, or so, Which for all such diversions John Bull has to pay'T is, at least, a great comfort to John Bull to know That to Orangemen's pockets 't will all find its way. For which your petitioners ever will pray,

elc., etc., etc., etc., etc.

A VISION.

BY THE AUTHOR OF CHRISTABEL.

«Up!» said the Spirit, and, ere I could pray
One hasty orison, whirl'd me away
To a limbo, lying-I wist not where-
Above or below, in earth or air;

All glimmering o'er with a doubtful light,
One could n't say whether it was day or night;
And crost by many a mazy track,
One did n't know how to get on or back;
And, I felt like a needle that's going astray
(With its one eye out, through a bundle of hay;
When the Spirit he grinn'd, and whisper'd me,
<<Thou 'rt now in the Court of Chancery!»>

To such important discussions as these the greater part of Dr Southey's Vindicia Ecclesiæ Anglican r is devoted.

2 Consubstantiation-the true reformed belief; at least, the belief of Luther, and, as Mosheim asserts, of Melancthon also.

3 When John of Ragusa went to Constantinople (at the time this dispute between ex, and • per● was going on), he found the Turks, we are told, laughing at the Christians for being divided by two such insignificant particles..

4 The Arian controversy.—Before that time, says Hooker, ■ in order to be a sound believing Christian, men were not curious what syllables or particles of speech they used..

Around me flitted unnumber'd swarms
Of shapeless, bodiless, tailless forms;
(Like bottled up babes, that grace the room
Of that worthy knight, Sir Everard Home)-
All of them things half kill'd in rearing;
Some were lame-some wanted hearing;
Some had through half a century run,
Though they had n't a leg to stand upon.
Others, more merry, as just beginning,
Around on a point of law were spinning;
Or balanced aloft, twixt Bill and Answer,
Lead at each end-like a tight-rope dancer.-
Some were so cross, that nothing could please 'em;-
Some gulp'd down affidavits to ease 'em ;-
All were in motion, yet never a one,

Let it move as it might, could ever move on. These,» said the Spirit, « you plainly see, Are what are called Suits in Chaucery!»

I heard a loud screaming of old and young,
Like a chorus by fifty Velutis sung;

Or an Irish Dump (« the words by Moore»)
At an amateur concert scream'd in score:-
So harsh on my ear that wailing fell
Of the wretches who in this Limbo dwell!
It seem'd like the dismal symphony
Of the shapes Æneas in hell did see;
Or those frogs, whose legs a barbarous cook
Cut off, and left the frogs in the brook,
To cry all night, till life's last dregs,
« Give us our legs!-give us our legs!»
Touch'd with the sad and sorrowful scene,
I ask'd what all this yell might mean?
When the Spirit replied, with a grin of glee,
«T is the cry of the suitors in Chancery!»

"

I look'd, and I saw a wizard rise,
With a wig like a cloud before men's eyes.
In his aged hand he held a wand,
Wherewith he beckon'd his embryo hand,
And they moved, and moved, as he waved it o'er,
But they never got on one inch the more;
And still they kept limping to and fro,
Like Ariels round old Prospero-
Saying, Dear Master, let us go;»
But still old Prospero answer'd, « No.»
And I heard the while, that wizard elf,
Muttering, muttering spells to himself,
While over as many old papers he turn'd,
As Hume ere moved for, or Omar burn'd.
He talk'd of his Virtue, though some, less nice,
He own'd with a sigh) preferr'd his Vice-
And he said, « I think»-« I doubt »-« I hope,»
Call'd God to witness, and damn'd the Pope;
With many more sleights of tongue and hand
I could n't, for the soul of me, understand.
Amazed and posed, I was just about

To ask his name, when the screams without,
The merciless clack of the imps within,
And that conjuror's mutterings, made such a din,
That, startled, I woke-leap'd up in my bed-
Found the Spirit, the imps, and the conjuror fled,
And bless'd my stars, right pleased to see
That I wasn't as yet, in Chaucery.

NEWS FOR COUNTRY COUSINS.

DEAR Coz, as I know neither you nor Miss Draper,
When Parliament 's up, ever take in a paper,
But trust for your news to such stray odds and ends
As you chance to pick up from political friends---
Being one of this well-inform'd class, I sit down,
To transmit you the last newest news that's in town.

As to Greece and Lord Cochrane, things could n't look better

His Lordship (who promises now to fight faster) Hlas just taken Rhodes, and despatel'd off a letter

To Daniel O'Connel, to make him Grand Master;
Engaging to change the old name, if he can,

From the Knights of St John to the Knights of St Dan)-
Or, if Dan should prefer, as a still better whim,
Being made the Colossus, 't is all one to him.

From Russia the last accounts are, that the Czar-
Most generous and kind, as all sovereigns are,
And whose first princely act (as you know, I suppose)
Was to give away all his late brother's old clothes-
Is now busy collecting, with brotherly care,

The late Emperor's night-caps, and thinks of bestowing

One night-cap a-piece (if he has them to spare)
On all the distinguish'd old ladies now going.
While I write, an arrival from Riga-« the Brothers»-
Having night-caps on board for Lord Eld-n and others.,

Last advices from India-Sir Archy, 't is thought,
Was near catching a Tartar (the first ever caught
In N. lat. 21)—and his Highness Burmese,
Being very hard prest to shell out the rupees,
But not having much ready rhino, they say, meant
To
pawn his august golden foot' for the payment.-
(How lucky for monarchs, that can, when they chuse,
Thus establish a running account with the Jews!)
The security being what Rothschild calls «goot,»
A loan will be forthwith, of course, set on foot;-
The parties are Rothschild-A. Baring and Co.,
And three other great pawnbrokers—each takes a toe,
And engages (lest Gold-foot should give us leg bail,
As he did once before) to pay down on the nail.

Mix the lather, JOHNNY W-LKS,
Thou who rhymest so well to « bilks :»*
Mix the lather-who can be
Fitter for such task than thee,
Great M. P. for Sudsbury!

Now the frothy charm is ripe, Puffing Peter, bring thy pipe,Thou, whom ancient Coventry Once so dearly loved, that she Knew not which to her was sweeter, Peeping Tom or pufling Peter

Puff the bubbles high in air,
Puff thy best to keep them there.
Bravo, bravo, PETER M-RE!
Now the rainbow humbugs soar,
Glittering all with golden hues,

Such as haunt the dre uns of Jews

Some, reflecting mines that lie
Under Chili's glowing sky;

Some, those virgin pearls that sleep
Cloister'd in the southern deep;
Others, as if lent a ray
From the streaming Milky Way,
Glistening o'er with curds and whey
From the cows of Alderney!

Now's the moment-who shall first
Catch the bubbles ere they burst?
Run, ye squires, ye viscounts, run,
BR-GD-N, T-YNH-M, P-LM-RST-N;-
JOHN W-LKS, junior, runs beside ye,
Take the good the knaves provide ye! 3
See, with upturn'd eyes and hands,
Where the Chareman, BR-GD-N, stands,
Gaping for the froth to fall
Down his swallow-lye and all!
See!-

But, hark, my time is out--
Now, like some great water-spout,
Scatter'd by the cannon's thunder,
Burst, ye bubbles, all asunder!

Here the stage darkens,—a discordant crash is heard from the orchestra-the broken bubbles descend in a saponaceous but uncleanly mist over the heads of the Dramatis Persona, and the scene drops, leaving the bubble-hunters-all in the suds.]

A DREAM OF TURTLE.

BY SIR W. CURTIS.

T WAS evening time, in the twilight sweet

I was sailing along, when-whom should I meet,

Strong indications of character may be sometimes traced in the rhymes to names. Marvell thought so, when he wrote

• Sir Edward Sution,

The foolish knight who rhymes to muiton,»

An humble imitation of one of our modern poets, who, in a poem against war, after describing the splendid babiliments of the soldie postrophizes him- thou rainbow rafiian!,

3. Lovely Thais sits beside thee,

Take the good the gods provide thee.

4 So called by a sort of Tuscan dulcification of the e, in the end - Chairman.

When I spied him first, in the twilight dim
I did not know what to make of him;
But said to myself—as slow he plied
His fins, and roll'd from side to side,
Conceitedly over the watery path-

«T is my Lord of ST-w-LL, taking a bath, And I hear him now, among the fishes, Quoting Vatel and Burgerdiscius!»>

But, no-'t was, indeed, a turtle, wide
And plump as ever these eyes descried;
A turtle, juicy as ever yet

Glued up

the lips of a baronet!

Ah, much did it grieve my soul to see
That an animal of such dignity,
Like an absentee, abroad should roam,
When he ought to stay and be ate, at home.

But now, « a change came o'er my dream,»>
Like the magic lantern's shifting slider ;-
I look'd, and saw by the evening beam,

On the back of that turtle sate a rider,-
A goodly man, with an eye so merry,
I knew 't was our Foreign Secretary,
Who there, at his ease, did sit and smile,
Like Waterton on his crocodile;
Cracking such jokes, at every motion,

As made the turtle squeak with glee,
And own that they gave him a lively notion
Of what his own forced-meat balls would be.

These are not hands for earthly wringing--these!—
Blood should not blind these eyes!-

Yet here I stand, untomb'd MILTIADES,
Weeping-arise! arise!

Hear ye the groans that heave this burial-field?--
Old Græcia's saviour-band

Cry from the dust-« Fight on! nor DARE to yield! Save ye our father-land!

<< Blunt with your bosom the barbaric spear! Break it within your breast;

Then come, brave Greek! and join your brothers here

In our immortal rest!»>

Shall modern DATIS, Swoln with Syrian pride,
Cover the land with slaves?-
Af-let them cover it, both far and wide,—
Cover it with their graves!

Much has been done-but more remains to do-
Ye have fought long and well!

The trump that, on the Egean, glory blew,
Seem'd with a storm to swell!

Asia's grim tyrant shudder'd at the sound,
He leap'd upon his throne!

Murmur'd his horse-tail'd chieftainry around« Another Marathon!»

Dodona, 'mid her fanes and forests hoar,
Heard it with solemn glee:

And old Parnassus, with a lofty roar,
Told it from sea to sea!

High-bosom'd Greece, through her unnumber'd vales, Broke forth in glorious song!

Her classic streams that plough the headlong dales, Thunder'd the notes along!

But there's a bloodier wreath to gain, oh friends'
Now rise, or ever fall!

If ye fight now no fiercer than the fiends,
Better not fight at all!

The feverish war-drum mingles with the fife
In dismal symphony,

And Moslem strikes at liberty and life,—
For both, strike harder ye!

Hark! how Citharon with his earthquake voice
Calls to the utmost shores!

While Pluto bars, against the riving noise,
His adamantine doors!

Athenè, tiptoe on her crumbling dome, Gries-« Youth, ye must be men!» And Echo shouts within her rocky tomb,<< Greeks, become Greeks again!»

The stone first brought, his living tomb to close,
Pausanias' mother piled:

Matrons of Greece! will ye do less for foes,
Than she did for her child?

Let boyhood strike!-Let every rank and age
Do each what each can do!

Let him whose arm is mighty as his rage,

Strike deep-strike home-strike through!