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qui gouvernent, pour le despotisme en un mot, un goût bien prononcé. Il le temoigne dans un autre endroit de sa brochure. Un de ses personnages demande si, quand Napoleon etendait son bras sur l'Europe, ses ministres venaient lui dire qu'il y avait dans l'empire des emigres, des Vendeens, des republicains, des Bourbonnistes ? que lui importait il n'en avait nul soin: tous obeissaient; tous prenaient la pensée de son governement: tous etaient emportes par le mouvement qu'il imprimait. Voilà regner! Le correspondant de province, dûment eclairé par tante de belles choses, en temoigne ses remerciements à son ami. Vous m'avez envoyé lui ecrit-il, de quoi meubler toutes les têtes vides de nos provinces; vous m'envoyez la lumière par fais

ceau.

Voilà l'absurde fatras que les feuilles liberales de Paris, de Belgique, et d'Allemagne nous ont vanté comme un chef-d'œuvre de politique, et que les journaux du parti opposé ont denoncé à l'autorité comme un pamphlet dangereux. Comment la passion a-t-elle pu fasciner les panegyristes et les detracteurs au point de leur faire trouver quelque merite dans une compilation de declamations triviales, de lieux communs historiques d'ailleurs sans verité, de sarcasmes uses, de maximes fausses, le tout presenté sous une forme souvent ridicule ? c'est que malheureusement les prejuges d'une autre epoque sont encore vivants parmi nous : ils y sont entretenus par cette generation de gens à place qui voudraient nous faire croire que leurs interêts sont les nôtres. Le pamphlet dont nous venons de rendre compte est dirigé tout entier contre l'ancienne noblesse ; et la seule moralité qu'on en puisse tirer, c'est que la cour et les emplois devraient être accessibles à tous les citoyens. A la bonne heure! mais fallait-il faire tant de bruit pour un si mince sujet ? Quand le pays sera-t-il delivré de cette manie des places qui absorbe tant de capacites utiles, et fait d'une na tion libre un peuple de valets? N'y a-t-il pas plus de profit et plus de dignité à traiter directement avec le public, au moyen d'une industrie independante, qu'à se traîner peniblement toute sa vie dans la carriere de l'ambition? Si les citoyens etaient bien convaincus de cette verité, nous he verrions pas tant de petites rivalites, tant de recriminations ridicules, tan

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There's the rub. Now you recollect that the plebeian said we knew nothing of what was going on in Paris, and yet we tell the greasy knave, that the fellow at the bottom of the whole, the actual caitiff, is Monsieur Felix Boudin. Mr Felix Black pudding the historian! and what a historian! Now Boudin had better not have quarreled with us. What we intend to do with him is yet unknown, but we shall look at his books. Verbum sat. He evidently is not the

Felix, quem faciunt aliena pericula

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Noctes Ambrosianae.

No. XXIV.

ΧΡΗ ΔΕΝ ΣΥΜΠΟΣΙΩ ΚΥΛΙΚΩΝ ΠΕΡΙΝΙΣΣΟΜΕΝΑΩΝ
ΗΔΕΑ ΚΩΤΙΛΛΟΝΤΑ ΚΑΘΗΜΕΝΟΝ ΟΙΝΟΠΟΤΑΖΕΙΝ.

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[This is a distich by wise old Phocylides,

An ancient who wrote crabbed Greek in no silly days;

Meaning, ""TIS RIGHT FOR GOOD WINEBIBBING PEOPLE,

"NOT TO LET THE JUG PACE ROUND THE BOARD LIKE A CRIPPLE;
"BUT GAILY TO CHAT WHILE DISCUSSING THEIR TIPPLE."

An excellent rule of the hearty old cock 'tis-
And a very fit motto to put to our Noctes.]

Blue Parlour.

SHEPHERD and TICKLER.

C. N. ap. Ambr.

SHEPHERD.

I had nae heart for't, Mr Tickler, I had nae heart for't. Yon's a grand hotel in Picardy, and there can be nae manner o' doubt that Mr Ambrose 'll succeed in it. Yon big letters facing doun Leith Walk will be sure to catch the e'en o' a' the passengers by London smacks and steam-boats, to say naething o' the mair stationary land population. Besides, the character o' the man himself, sae douce, civil, and judicious.—But skill part from my right hand when Í forget Gabriel's Road. Draw in your chair, sir.

TICKLER.

I wish the world, James, would stand still for some dozen years-till I am at rest. It seems as if the very earth itself were undergoing a vital change. Nothing is unalterable except the heaven above my head,-and even it, James, is hardly, methinks at times, the same as in former days or nights. There is not much difference in the clouds, James, but the blue sky, I must confess, is not quite so very very blue as it was sixty years since; and the sun, although still a glorious luminary, has lost a leetle-just a leetle of his lustre. But it is the streets, squares, courts, closes,-lands, houses, shops, that are all changed -gone-swept off-razed-buried.

And that is sure a reason fair,
To fill my glass again.

SHEPHERD.

Ony reason's fair eneugh for that. Here's to you, sir,-the Hollands in this house is aye maist excellent..

MR AMBROSE, (entering hesitatingly.)

Gentlemen, as I understand you to say that Mr North is not to honour this Tavern with his presence this evening, perhaps my son had better put off his recitation.

Anan!

TICKLER.

SHEPHERD.

Mr Tickler is not in the secret, Ambrose. Why, Mr Tickler, Master Ambrose has composed a poem, which he had intended to recite to us in Picardy Place. It is a welcome to the Hotel. Now, as I have declared my determination never to desert Gabriel's Road till this house is no longer in Ambrose's possession, it is a pity not to hear the youth's verses; so, if you please, though a little out of place, let us have them before next jug.

TICKLER.

Assuredly-assuredly. Show Master Ambrose in.

(Enter MASTER AMBROSE.)

SHEPHERD.

Hoo are ye, my fine little fellow? Come forward into the middle o' the room. Stretch out your right arm so-square your shouthers-haud up your headtake care o' your pronunciation—et perge, puer.

MASTER AMBROSE.

Though the place that once knew us will know us no more,
And splendours unwonted arise on our view,—
Though no fond remembrance past scenes could restore,
Our dearly loved parlour we still must deplore,

And remember the Old, while we drink to the New!

How oft in that parlour, so joyous and gay,

The laurel was wreath'd with the clustering vine;
While the spirit of Maga held absolute sway,
And the glorious beams of the bright god of day
Seem'd in envious haste the fair scene to outshine!

Oh! changed are the days, it may truly be said,
Since first we met there in our social glee,
For a faction then ruled with a sceptre of lead,
Debasing the heart, and perverting the head,
And enthralling the land of the brave and the free!

That sceptre is broken-that faction is gone,-
In scorn and derision we've seen it expire,
While the brightness of Maga has everywhere shone,
It has blazed on the altar, and beam'd on the throne,
And kindled a more than Promethean fire!

Of our honours and glories our children my tell,-
Be it ours the triumphant career to pursue,
Each foe of his King and his country to quell,
The darkness of error and fraud to dispel,

And laugh at the dunces in Yellow and Blue !

We have One who will stand as he ever has stood,
Like a tower that despises the whirlwind's rage,-
By time and by labour alike unsubdued,

He will still find the wise, and the fair, and the good,
Admiring the Wit, and revering the Sage!

And he who supreme in Arcadia reigns,

With his heart-stirring Doric our meetings will cheer;
The pride of our mountains and emerald plains,
The joy of our nymphs, the delight of our swains,
Rejoicing each eye, and refreshing each ear!

And the Hero of many a glorious field,

His best and his happiest hours will recall,
The sword and the pen alike powerful to wield,
With generous spirit disdaining to yield,

Except to the spirit that conquers us All!

And he who has ever, in danger and doubt,

To his glorious cause been so loyal and true,
Defying the Cockneys, the Whigs, and the gout,
His Io TRIUMPHE! still boldly will shout,

And proudly will hear it re-echoed by You!

The year that approaches new triumphs will bring,
Entwining new wreaths for each bold loyal brow,-
And for many a year our new roof-tree will ring
With the voice that is raised for our country and King,
Inspired by the thoughts that awaken it now!

The days that are gone, we can never regret,
While gilded with honour they rise on our view;
And when here in our power and our pride we are met,
Our dearly-loved parlour we ne'er shall forget,

But remember the Old, while we drink to the New!

TICKLER.

Most precocious! Pope did not write anything equal to it at thirteen. It beats the Ode to Solitude all to sticks. Are you at the New Academy, Master Anibrose ?

No, sir-at the High School.

MASTER AMBROSE.

TICKLER.

Right. You live in the vicinity. Is it not a burning shame, Shepherd, that the many thousand rich and prosperous men who have been educated at the High School, cannot-will not-raise a sum sufficient to build a new Edifice on a better site ?

It disna tell weel.

SHEPHERD.

TICKLER.

A High School there must be, as well as an Academy. Both should have fair play, and education will be greatly bettered by the generous rivalry. Never were there better masters in the High School than now-gentlemen and scholars all. One loses all patience to hear the gabble about Parthenons, forsooth, when about eight or ten thousand pounds is all that is wanted to build, on Hamilton's beautiful plan, a school for the education of the sons of the citizens of modern Athens. Thank you, Master Ambrose.-(Exit High-School Boy.) A fine, modest, intelligent boy!

SHEPHERD.

Just uncommon. The Embro' folk I never could thoroughly understand, and yet I hae studied them closely in a' ranks, frae the bench to the bar, I may say, from the poopit to the pozzi. They couldna' build their ain College-they wunna build their ain High School; and yet, to hear them talk o' their city o' palaces, you would think they were all so many Lorenzoes the Magnificent.

The English laugh at us. wanted for any noble purpose? sands.

TICKLER.

Look at London-look at Liverpool. Is money
In a single day, you have hundreds of thou-

SHEPHERD.

Come, come-let us be in better humour. Is the oysters verra gude this season I shanna stir frae this chair till I hae devoored five score o' them. That's just my allowance on coming in frae the kintra.

TICKLER.

James, that is a most superb cloak. Is the clasp pure gold? You are like an officer of Hussars-like one of the Prince's Own. Spurs too, I protest !

SHEPHERD.

Sit closer, Mr Tickler, sit closer, man; light your cigar, and puff away like a steam-engine-though ye ken I just detest smokin'; for I hae a secret to communicate-a secret o' some pith and moment, Mr Tickler; and I want to see your face in a' the strength o' its maist natural expression, when I am lettin' you intil't.-Fill your glass, sir.

TICKLER.

Don't tell it to me, James-don't tell it to me; for the greatest enjoyment I have in this life is to let out a secret-especially if it has been confided to me as a matter of life and death.

SHEPHERD.

I'll rin a' hazards. I maun out wi't to you; for I hae aye had the most profoun' respect for your abeelities, and I hae a pleasure in geein' you the start o' the world for four-and-twenty hours.-I am noo the Yeditor o' Blackwood's Magazine.

TICKLER.

Angels and ministers of grace defend us!

SHEPHERD.

North's gettin' verra

Why, you see, sir, they couldna do without me. auld, and, between you and me, rather doited-crabbed to the contributors, and-come hither wi' your lug-no verra ceevil to Ebony himsel;-so out comes letter upon letter to me, in Yarrow yonder, fu' o' the maist magnificent offers, indeed, telling me to fix my ain terms; and faith, just to get rid o' the endless fash o' letters by the carrier, I druve into toun here, in the wbusky, through Peebles, on the Saturday o' the hard frost, and that same night, was installed into the Yeditorship in the Sanctum Sanctorum.

TICKLER.

Well, James, all that Russian affair is a joke to this. Nicholas, Constantine, and the old Mother-Empress, may go to the devil and shake themselves, now that you, my dear, dear Shepherd, are raised to the Scottish throne.

SHEPHERD.

Wha wad ha' thocht it, Mr Tickler-wha wad ha' thocht it—that day when I first entered the Grass-Market, wi' a' my flock afore me, and Hector youfyoufin' round the Gallow-Stane-where, in days of yore, the saints

Sire?

TICKLER,

SHEPHERD.

Nane o' your mockin'.-I'm the Editor; and, to prove't, I'll order in-the Balaam-box.

TICKLER.

James, as you love me, open not that box.-Pandora's was a joke to it.

SHEPHERD.

Ha ha ha! Mr Tickler, you're feared that I'll lay my haun on yane o' your articles. O man, but you're a vain auld chiel ; just a bigot to your ain abeelities. But hear me, sir; you maun compose in a mair classical style, gin you think o' continuing a contributor. I must not let down the character of the work to flatter a few feckless fumblers. Mr Ambrose-Mr Ambrose-the Balaam-box, I tell you,-I hae been ringing this half-hour for the Balaambox.

MR AMBROSE.

Here is the Safe, sir. I observe the spider is still in the key-hole; but as Mr North, God bless him, told me not to disturb him, I have given him a few flies daily that I found in an old bottle; perhaps he will get out of the way when he feels the key.

TICKLER.

James, that spider awakens in my mind the most agreeable recollections.

SHEPHERD.

Dang your speeders. But, Mr Ambrose, where's the Monthly Budget?

Here, sir.

MR AMBROSE.

SHEPHERD (emptying the green bag on the table.)

Here, Mr Tickler. Here's a sight for sair een,-materials for a dizzen Numbers. Arrange them by tens,-that's right; what a show! I'm rich aneuch to pay aff the national debt. Let us see.-" Absenteeism." The speeder maun be disturbed, into the Balaam-box must this article go,-Gude preserve us, what a weight! I wonder what my gude auld father wad hae said, had he lived to see the day, when it became a great public question, whether it was better or waur for a country that she should hae nae inhabitants !

TICKLER.

Here's an essay on Popular Education.

SHEPHERD.

Rax't ower. Ay, ay, I see how it is,-Institutions, Mechanic Institutions.

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