That brim of brims, so sleekly good
Not flapp'd, like dull Wesleyans', down, But looking (as all churchmen's should) Devoutly upward-towards the crown.
Gods! when I gaze upon that brim,
So redolent of Church all over,
What swarms of Tithes, in vision dim,-
Some pig-tail'd, some like cherubim,
With ducklings' wings-around it hover!
Tenths of all dead and living things,
That Nature into being brings,
From calves and corn to chitterlings.
Say, holy Hat, that hast, of cocks,
The very cock most orthodox,
To which, of all the well-fed throng
Of Zion,' joy'st thou to belong?
Thou'rt not Sir Harcourt Lees's-no-
For hats grow like the heads that wear 'em ; And hats, on heads like his, would grow
Particularly harum-scarum.
Who knows but thou may'st deck the pate
Of that famed Doctor Ad-mth-te,
(The reverend rat, whom we saw stand
On his hind-legs in Westmoreland,)
Who changed so quick from blue to yellow,
And would from yellow back to blue,
And back again, convenient fellow,
If 'twere his interest so to do.
Or, haply, smartest of triangles,
Thou art the hat of Doctor Ow-n; The hat that, to his vestry wrangles, That venerable priest doth go in,And, then and there, amid the stare Of all St. Olave's, takes the chair, And quotes, with phiz right orthodox, Th' example of his reverend brothers, To prove that priests all fleece their flocks, And he must fleece as well as others.
Bless'd Hat! (whoe'er thy lord may be)
Thus low I take off mine to thee,
The homage of a layman's castor,
To the spruce delta of his pastor.
Oh mayst thou be, as thou proceedest,
Still smarter cock'd, still brush'd the brighter, Till, bowing all the way, thou leadest Thy sleek possessor to a mitre !
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 couldn't look better
His Lordship (who promises now to fight faster)
Has just taken Rhodes, and dispatch'd off a letter
To Daniel O'Connell, 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, 'tis 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 sup-
pose)
Was to give away all his late brother's old clothes?—
Is now busy collecting, with brotherly care,
The late Emperor's nightcaps, and thinks of bestowing
One nightcap apiece (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 nightcaps on board for Lord Eld-n and others.)
Last advices from India-Sir Archy, 'tis thought,
Was near catching a Tartar, (the first ever caught
In N. Lat. 21.)—and his Highness Burmese,
Being very hard press'd to shell out the rupees,
And not having rhino sufficient, they say, meant
To pawn his august Golden Foot3 for the payment.
(How lucky for monarchs, that thus, when they
choose,
Can establish a running account with the Jews!)
The security being what Rothschild calls "goot,"
A loan will be shortly, of course, set on foot;
The parties are Rothschild, A. Baring and Co.
With three other great pawnbrokers: each takes a
1 Archbishop Magee affectionately calls the Church Establishment of Ireland "the little Zion."
2 A distribution was made of the Emperor Alexander's military wardrobe by his successor.
3 This potentate styles himself the Monarch of the Golden Foot.
And engages (lest Gold-foot should give us leg-bail, As he did once before) to pay down on the nail.
This is all for the present—what vile pens and paper! Yours truly, dear Cousin-best love to Miss Draper.
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;
For it glimmer'd o'er with a doubtful light,
One couldn't say whether 'twas day or night;
And 'twas cross'd by many a mazy track,
One didn'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!"
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 hadn'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 they call Suits in Chancery!"
I heard a loud screaming of old and young,
Like a chorus by fifty Vellutis 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 the grin of glee
""Tis the cry of the Suitors in Chancery!"
I look'd, and I saw a wizard rise,'
With a wig like a cloud be.ore men's eyes.
In his aged hand he held a wand,
Wherewith he beckon'd his embryo band,
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 o'er as many old papers he turn'd,
As Hume e'er 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 couldn'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 Chancery.
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;-
Our jobbing 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,
The Lord Chancellor Eld-n.
A world thou hast honor'd by cheating so Yea, humbly I've ventured his merits to paint,
Thou'lt find still among us one Personage old,
Who also by tricks and the Seals' makes a penny
1 A great part of the income of Joanna Southcott arose from the Seals of the Lord's protection which she sold to her followers.
2 Mrs. Anne Lee, the "chosen vessel" of the Shakers, and "Mother of all the children of regeneration."
Yea, feebly have tried all his gifts to portray, And they form a sum-total for making a Saint, That the Devil's own Advocate could not gain
Toad Lane, in Manchester, where Mother Lee was born. In her "Address to Young Believers," she says, that " a matter of no importance with them from whence the means of their deliverance come, whether from a stable in Bethlehem, or from Toad Lane, Manchester."
Jump high, all ye Jumpers, ye Ranters all roar, While B-tt-rw-rth's spirit, upraised from your
Like a kite made of foolscap, in glory shall soar, With a long tail of rubbish behind, to the skies!
SUNG BY THE BUBBLE SPIRIT.
Air.-Come with me, and we will go Where the rocks of coral grow
COME with me, and we will blow
Lots of bubbles, as we go;
Bubbles, bright as ever Hope
Drew from fancy-or from soap;
Bright as e'er the South Sea sent
From its frothy element !
Come with me, and we will blow
Lots of bubbles, as we go.
Mix the lather, Johnny W-lks,
Thou, who rhym'st 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 Puffing Peter ;-
Puff the bubbles high in air,'
Puff thy best to keep them there
Bravo, bravo, Peter M-re!
Now the rainbow humbugs soar,
Glitt'ring all with golden hues,
Such as haunt the dreams of Jews;-
Some, reflecting mines that lie
Under Chili's glowing sky,
Some, those virgin pearls that sleep
Cloister'd in the southern deep;
1 Strong indications of character may be sometimes traced in the rhymes to names. Marvell thought so, when he wrote
The foolish Knight who rhymes to mutton."
2 The member, during a long period, for Coventry. An humb e imitation of one of our modern poets, who, in a poem against War, after describing the splendid habiliments of the soldier, thus apostrophizes him-" thou rainbow ruffian!"
Others, as if lent a ray
From the streaming Milky Way, Glist'ning 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—t—n ;—
John W-lks junior runs beside ye!
Take the good the knaves provide ye!*
See, with upturn'd eyes and hands,
Where the Shareman, Br-gd-n, stands,
Gaping for the froth to fall
Down his gullet—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!
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