Of him, the Destroyer, doomed to rout
That grim divan of conjurors out,
Whose dwelling dark, as legends say,
Beneath the roots of the ocean lay,
(Fit place for deep ones, such as they,)
How little thou knewest, dear Dr.
Southey,

Altho' bright genius all allow thee,
That, some years thence, thy wondering
eyes

Should see a second Thalaba rise -
As ripe for ruinous rigs as thine,
Tho' his havoc lie in a different line,
And should find this new, improved De-
stroyer

Beneath the wig of a Yankee lawyer;
A sort of an 66
"alias man,
alien,'
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,1
When scourged by Holland's silken
thong.

In short, dear Bob, Destroyer the Second May fairly a match for the First be reckoned;

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 jiffy

1 "A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along."

OH Wellington and Stephenson,
Oh morn and evening papers,
Times, Herald, Courier, Globe, and Sun,
When will ye cease our ears to stun

With these two heroes' capers?
Still "Stephenson" and "Wellington,"
The everlasting two! -

Still doomed, from rise to set of sun,
To hear what mischief one has done,
And t' other means to do: --
What bills the banker past 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 Wellington will do what 's right,
And Rowland pay his balance.

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 Wellington, oh Stephenson, Ye ever-boring pair,

Where'er I sit, or stand, or run,

Ye haunt me every where.
Tho' Job had patience tough enough,
Such duplicates would try it;
Till one 's turned out and t' other off,
We shan't have peace or quiet.

But small 's the chance that Law affords

Such folks are daily let off;

And, 'twixt the old Bailey and the Lords, They both, I fear, will get off.

Nay even still worse; for Master More Was n't more a youth than he 'd been before,

While ours such power of boyhood shows,

That the older he gets the more juvenile he grows,

And at what extreme old age he 'll close His schoolboy course, heaven only knows;

Some century hence, should he reach so far,

And ourselves to witness it heaven condemn,

We shall find him a sort of cub Old Parr,

A whipper-snapper Methusalem; Nay, even should he make still longer stay of it,

The boy 'll want judgment, even to the day of it!

Meanwhile, 't is a serious, sad infliction;

And day and night with awe I recall The late Mr. Matthews' solemn prediction,

"That boy 'll be the death, the death of you all."

are,

And perform all the functions of noodles by birth

As completely as any born noodles on earth.

How acres descend, is in law-books displayed,

But we as wiseacres descend, ready made;

And by right of our rank in Debrett's nomenclature,

Are all of us born legislators by nature;Like ducklings to water instinctively taking,

So we with like quackery take to lawmaking;

And God forbid any reform should come o'er us,

To make us more wise than our sires were before us.

The Egyptians of old the same policy knew

If your sire was a cook, you must be a cook too:

Todd to have made its appearance in this Collection; being now fully convinced that the charge brought against that reverend gentleman of intending to pass off as genuine his famous mock Papal Letter was altogether unfounded. Finding it to be the wish, however, of my reverend friend -as I am now glad to be permitted to call him that both the wrong and the reparation, the Ode and the Palinode, should be thus placed in juxtaposition, I have thought it but due to him to comply with his request.