I repeat it, "New Friends "-for I cannot describe
The delight I am in with this P-rc-v-1 tribe.

Such capering-Such vapouring!-Such rigour !-Such vigour !

North, South, East, and West, they have cut such a figure,
That soon they will bring the whole world round our ears,
And leave us no friends-but Old Nick and Algiers,
When I think of the glory they've beam'd on my chains,
'Tis enough quite to turn my illustrious brains!

It is true we are bankrupts in commerce and riches,
But think how we furnish our Allies with breeches!
We've lost the warm hearts of the Irish, 'tis granted,
But then we've got Java, an island much wanted,
To put the last lingering few who remain,

Of the Walcheren warriors, out of their pain.

Then how Wellington fights! and how squabbles his brother!

For Papist the one, and with Papists the other;

One crushing Napoleon by taking a city,

While t'other lays waste a whole Cath'lic committee !
Oh, deeds of renown!-shall I boggle or flinch,

With such prospects before me? by Jove, not an inch.
No-let England's affairs go to rack, if they will,
We'll look after th' affairs of the Continent still,
And, with nothing at home but starvation and riot,
Find Lisbon in bread, and keep Sicily quiet.
I am proud to declare I have no predilections,
My heart is a sieve, where some scatter'd affections
Are just danced about for a moment or two,

And the finer they are, the more sure to run through:
Neither have I resentments, nor wish there should come ill
To mortal-except (now I think on't) Beau Br-mm-1,
Who threaten'd, last year, in a superfine passion,
To cut me, and bring the old K-ng into fashion.
This is all I can lay to my conscience at present,
When such is my temper, so neutral, so pleasant,
So royally free from all troublesome feelings,
So little encumber'd by faith in my dealings
(And that I'm consistent the world will allow,
What I was at Newmarket, the same I am now).
When such are my merits (you know I hate cracking),
I hope, like the vender of Best Patent Blacking,

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To meet with the generous and kind approbation

Of a candid, enlighten'd, and liberal nation."

By the bye, ere I close this magnificent letter (No man, except Pole, could have writ you a better),

"Twould please me if those, whom I've humbugg'd so long
With the notion (good men!) that I knew right from wrong,
Would a few of them join me-mind, only a few-
To let too much light in on me never would do;
But even Grey's brightness sha'n't make me afraid,
While I've C-md-n and Eld-n to fly to for shade;
Nor will Holland's clear intellect do us much harm,
While there's W-stm-rel-nd near him to weaken the
charm.

As for Moira's high spirit, if aught can subdue it,
Sure joining with H-rtf-rd and Y-rm-th will do it!
Between R-d-r and Wh-rt-n let Sheridan sit,
And the fogs will soon quench even Sheridan's wit;
And against all the pure public feeling that glows
E'en in Whitbread himself we've a host in G-rge R-se!
So, in short, if they wish to have places, they may,
And I'll thank you to tell all these matters to Grey,
Who, I doubt not, will write (as there's no time to lose),
By the twopenny post to tell Grenville the news;
And now, dearest Fred (though I've no predilection),
Believe me yours always with truest affection.

P.S. A copy of this is to P-rc-v-1 going—
Good Lord! how St. Stephens will ring with his crowing!

ANACREONTIC

TO A PLUMASSIER.

FINE and feathery artisan!
Best of Plumists, if you can
With your art so far presume,
Make for me a P- -e's Plume-
Feathers soft and feathers rare,
Such as suits a P- -e to wear!

First, thou downiest of men!
Seek me out a fine Pea-hen;
Such a Hen, so tall and grand,
As by Juno's side might stand,
If there were no Cocks at hand!
Seek her feathers, soft as down,
Fit to shine on Pe's crown;
If thou canst not find them, stupid!
Ask the way of Prior's Cupid.
Ranging these in order due,
Pluck me next an old Cuckoo

Emblem of the happy fates
Of easy, kind, cornuted mates!
Pluck him well-be sure you do→
Who wouldn't be an old Cuckoo,
Thus to have his plumage blest,
Beaming on a R-y-1 crest?
Bravo, Plumist!-now what bird
Shall we find for Plume the third ?
You must get a learned Owl,
Bleakest of black-letter fowl-
Bigot bird, that hates the light,
Foe to all that's fair and bright!
Seize his quills (so form'd to pen
Books, that shun the search of men;
Books, that, far from every eye,
In “swelter'd venom sleeping" lie!)
Stick them in between the two,
Proud Pea-hen and old Cuckoo.

Now you have the triple feather,
Bind the kindred stems together
With a silken tie, whose hue
Once was brilliant Buff and Blue;
Sullied now-alas, how much!
Only fit for Y-rm-th's touch.
There-enough-thy task is done;
Present worthy G- -ge's Son!
Now, beneath, in letters neat,
Write "I serve" and all's complete.

EXTRACTS

FROM THE DIARY OF A POLITICIAN.

Wednesday.

THROUGH M-nch-st-r Square took a canter just now

Met the old yellow chariot, and made a low bow.

This I did, of course, thinking 'twas loyal and civil,
But got such a look, oh, 'twas black as the devil!
How unlucky!-incog. he was travelling about,
And I, like a noodle, must go find him out!
Mem. When next by the old yellow chariot I ride,
To remember there is nothing princely inside.

At levee to-day made another sad blunder-
What can be come over me lately, I wonder?

Thursday.

The Pe was as cheerful, as if all his life,

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He had never been troubled with friends or a wife-
Fine weather," says he-to which I, who must prate,
Answer'd, "Yes, Sir, but changeable rather, of late."
He took it, I fear, for he look'd somewhat gruff,
And handled his new pair of whiskers so rough,
That before all the courtiers I fear'd they'd come off,
And then, Lord! how Geramb would triumphantly scoff!
Mem. To buy for son Dicky some unguent or lotion
To nourish his whiskers-sure road to promotion!1

Saturday.

Last night a Concert-vastly gay—
Given by Lady C-stl-r-gh.
My Lord loves music, and we know,
Has two strings always to his bow.
In choosing songs, the R-g-t named
"Had I a heart for falsehood framed."
While gentle H-rtf-d begg'd and pray'd
For "Young I am and sore afraid."

EPIGRAM.2

WHAT news to-day?" Oh! worse and worse-
M-c is the Pr- -e's Privy Purse!"-
The Pr -ce's Purse! no, no, you fool,
You mean the Pr- -ce's Ridicule.

KING CRACK AND HIS IDOLS.

WRITTEN AFTER THE LATE NEGOCIATION FOR A NEW
M-N-STRY.

KING CRACK was the best of all possible Kings

(At least, so his courtiers would swear to you gladly), But Crack now and then would do het'rodox things, And, at last, took to worshipping Images sadly.

1 England is not the only country where merit of this kind is noticed and rewarded. "I remember," says Tavernier, "to have seen one of the King of Persia's porters, whose mustaches were so long that he could tie them behind his neck, for which reason he had a double pension."

2 This is a bon-mot, attributed, I know not how truly, to the Pr-c-ss of W-es. I have merely versified it.

3 One of those antediluvian princes with whom Manetho and Whiston seem so intimately acquainted. If we had the Memoirs of Thoth, from which Manetho compiled his History, we should find, I dare say, that Crack was only a Regent, and that he, perhaps, succeeded Typhon, who (as Whiston says) was the last King of the Antediluvian Dynasty.

Some broken-down Idols, that long had been placed

In his Father's old Cabinet, pleased him so much, That he knelt down and worshipp'd, though—such was his taste!

They were monstrous to look at, and rotten to touch!

And these were the beautiful Gods of King Crack !—

Till his people, disdaining to worship such things, Cried aloud, one and all," Come, your Godships must pack

You will not do for us, though you may do for Kings."

Then, trampling the gross Idols under their feet,

They sent Crack a petition, beginning" Great Cæsar! We are willing to worship, but only entreat

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That you'll find us some decenter Godheads than these are."

I'll try," says King Crack-then they furnish'd him models

Of better-shaped Gods, but he sent them all back;

Some were chisell'd too fine, some had heads 'stead of noddles,

In short, they were all much too godlike for Crack!

So he took to his darling old Idols again,

And, just mending their legs and new bronzing their faces,

In open defiance of Gods and of men,

Set the monsters up grinning once more in their places!

WHAT'S MY THOUGHT LIKE?

Quest. Why is a Pump like V-sc-nt C-stl-r-gh?
Answ. Because it is a slender thing of wood,
That up and down its awkward arm doth sway,
And coolly spout and spout and spout away,
In one weak, washy, everlasting flood!

EPIGRAM.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A CATHOLIC DELEGATE AND HIS R-Y-L E OF C-B-L-D.

H-GHN-SS THE D

SAID his Highness to Ned, with that grim face of his,

66

66

Why refuse us the Veto, dear Catholic Neddy?"

Because, Sir," said Ned, looking full in his phiz,

You're forbidding enough, in all conscience, already!"