And spread, till all Mankind are in its sphere;
The Pride that suffers without vaunt or plea,
And the fresh Spirit that can warble free,
Through prison-bars, its hymn to Liberty!

The Scene next changes to a Tailor's Work-shop, and a fancifully-arranged group of these Artists is discovered upon the Shopboard-Their task evidently of a royal nature, from the profusion of gold-lace, frogs, &c. that lie about-They all rise and come forward, while one of them sings the following Stanzas to the tune of "Derry Down."

My brave brother Tailors, come, straighten your knees,
For a moment, like gentlemen, stand up at ease,
While I sing of our Prince (and a fig for his railers)
The Shop-board's delight! the Mecenas of Tailors!
Derry down, down, down derry down.

Some monarchs take roundabout ways into note,

While His short cut to fame is-the cut of his coat ;
Philip's Son thought the World was too small for his

Soul,

But our Regent's finds room in a laced button-hole.
Derry down, &c.

Look through all Europe's Kings-those, at least, who go

loose

Not a King of them all such a friend to the Goose,
So, God keep him increasing in size and renown,
Still the fattest and best fitted Prince about town?
Derry down, &c.

During the "Derry down" of this last verse, a messenger from the Secretary of State's Office rushes on, and the singer (who, luckily for the effect of the scene, is the very Tailor suspected of the mysterious fragments) is interrupted in the midst of his laudatory exertions, and hurried away, to the no small surprise and consternation of his comrades. The Plot now hastens rapidly in its development-the management of the Tailor's examination is highly skilful, and the alarm which he is made to betray is natural without being ludicrous. The explanation, too, which he finally gives is not more simple than satisfactory. It appears that the said fragments formed part of a self-exculpatory note, which he had intended to send to Colonel M'M- -n upon subjects purely professional, and the corresponding bits (which still lie luckily in his pocket) being produced, and skilfully laid beside the others, the following billet-doux is the satisfactory result of their juxtaposition.

Honoured Colonel-my Wife, who's the Queen of all slat

terns,

Neglected to put up the Book of new Patterns.

She sent the wrong Measures too-shamefully wrong-
They're the same used for poor Mr. Lambert, when young;
But, bless you! they wouldn't go half round the Regent-
So, hope you'll excuse yours till death, most obedient.

This fully explains the whole mystery-the Regent resumes his wonted smiles, and the Drama terminates as usual, to the satisfaction of all parties.

THE practice which has been lately introduced into literature, of writing very long notes upon very indifferent verses appears to me rather a happy invention; as it supplies us with a mode of turning dull poetry to account; and as horses too heavy for the saddle may yet serve well enough to draw lumber, so poems of this kind make excellent beasts of burden, and will bear notes, though they may not bear reading. Besides, the comments in such cases are so little under the necessity of paying any servile deference to the text, that hey may even adopt that Socratic dogma, "Quod supra nos nihil ad nos.

In the first of the two following Poems, I have ventured to speak of the Revolution of 1688 in language which has sometimes been employed by Tory writers, and which is therefore neither very new nor popular. But however an Englishman might be reproached with ingratitude, for depreciating the merits and results of a measure which he is taught to regard as the source of his liberties-however ungrateful it might appear in Alderman B-rch to question for a moment the purity of that glorious era, to which he is indebted for the seasoning of so many orations-yet an Irishman, who has none of these obligations to acknowledge; to whose country the Revolution brought nothing but injury and insult, and who recollects that the book of Molyneux was burned, by order of William's Whig Parliament, for daring to extend to unfortunate Ireland those principles on which the Revolution was professedly founded-an Irishman may be allowed to criticise freely the measures of that period, without exposing himself either to the imputation of ingratitude, or to the suspicion of being influenced by any Popish remains of Jacobitism. No nation, it is true, was ever blessed with a more golden opportunity of establishing and securing its liberties

for ever than the conjuncture of Eighty-eight presented to the people of Great Britain. But the disgraceful reigns of Charles and James had weakened and degraded the national character. The bold notions of popular right, which had arisen out of the struggles between Charles the First and his Parliament, were gradually supplanted by those slavish doctrines for which Lord Hawkesbury eulogizes the churchmen of that period; and as the Reformation had happened too soon for the purity of religion, so the Revolution came too late for the spirit of liberty. Its advantages accordingly were for the most part specious and transitory, while the evils which it entailed are still felt and still increasing. By rendering unnecessary the frequent exercise of Prerogative, that unwieldy power which cannot move a step without alarm,-it diminished the only interference of the Crown which is singly and independently exposed before the people, and whose abuses therefore are obvious to their senses and capacities; like the myrtle over a celebrated statue in Minerva's temple at Athens, it skilfully veiled from the public eye the only obtrusive feature of royalty. At the same time, however, that the Revolution abridged this unpopular attribute, it amply compensated by the substitution of a new power, as much more potent in its effect as it is more secret in its operations. In the disposal of an immense revenue and the extensive patronage annexed to it, the first foundations of this power of the Crown were laid; the innovation of a standing army at once increased and strengthened it, and the few slight barriers which the Act of Settlement opposed to its progress have all been gradually removed during the Whiggish reigns that succeeded; till at length this spirit of influence has become the vital principle of the State, an agency, subtle and unseen, which pervades every part of the Constitution, lurks under all its forms, and regulates all its movements, and, like the invisible sylph or grace which presides over the motions of beauty,

"Illam, quicquid agit, quoquo vestigia flectit,
Componit furtim subsequiturque."

The cause of Liberty and the Revolution are so habitually associated
in the minds of Englishmen, that probably in objecting to the latter,
I may be thought hostile or indifferent to the former; but assuredly
nothing could be more unjust than such a suspicion.
The very
object, indeed, which my humble animadversions would attain is
that in the crisis to which I think England is now hastening, and
between which and foreign subjugation she may soon be compelled
to choose, the errors and omissions of 1688 may be remedied; and,
as it was then her fate to experience a Revolution without Reform,
she may now seek a Reform without Revolution.

In speaking of the parties which have so long agitated England, it will be observed that I lean as little to the Whigs as to their adversaries. Both factions have been equally cruel to Ireland, and perhaps equally insincere in their efforts for the liberties of England. There is one name, indeed, connected with Whiggism, of which I can never think but with veneration and tenderness. As justly, however, might the light of the sun be claimed by any particular nation, as the sanction of that name be monopolized by any

Taints by degrees, and ruins without noise.
While parliaments, no more those sacred things
Which make and rule the destiny of kings,
Like loaded dice by ministers are thrown,
And each new set of sharpers cog their own.
Hench the rich oil that from the Treasury steaïs,
And drips o'er all the Constitution's wheels,
Giving the old machine such pliant play
That Court and Commons jog one joltless way
While Wisdom trembles for the crazy car,
So gilt, so rotten, carrying fools so far;
And the duped people, hourly doomed to pay
The sums that bribe their liberties away,-
Like a young eagle, who has lent his plume
To fledge the shaft by which he meets his doom
See their own feathers plucked, to wing the dart
Which rank corruption destines for their heart:
But soft! my friend, I hear thee proudly say
"What! shall I listen to the impious lay
That dares, with Tory licence, to profane
The bright bequests of William's glorious reign?
Shall the great wisdom of our patriot sires,

Whom Hawkesbury quotes and savoury B-rch admires,
Be slandered thus? Shall honest Steele agree
With virtuous R-se to call us pure and free,
Yet fail to prove it? Shall our patent pair
Of wise state-poets waste their words in air,
And Pye unheeded breathe his prosperous strain,
And Canning take the people's sense in vain ?"

The people!-ah, that Freedom's form should stay
Where Freedom's spirit long hath passed away
That a false smile should play around the dead,
And flush the features where the soul hath fled !
When Rome had lost her virtue with her rights
When her foul tyrant sat on Caprea's heights
Amid his ruffian spies, and doomed to death
Each noble name they blasted with their breath-
E'en then (in mockery of that golden time
When the Republic rose revered, sublime,
And her free sons, diffused from zone to zone,
Gave kings to every country but their own),—
E'en then the senate and the tribunes stood,
Insulting marks, to show how Freedom's flood
Had dared to flow, in glory's radiant day,
And how it ebbed,-for ever ebbed away!

Oh look around-though yet a tyrant's sword
Nor haunts our sleep nor trembles o'er our board,
Though blood be better drawn by modern quacks
With Treasury leeches than with sword or axe;
Yet say, could e'en a prostrate tribune's power,
Or a mock senate, in Rome's servile hour,