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So congenial their tastes, that, when Fum first did

light on The floor of that grand China-warehouse at Brighton, The lanterns, and dragons, and things round the

dome Were so like what he left, “ Gad,” says FUM, “I'm

at home.” And when, turning, he saw Bishop L-GE,“ Zooks,

it is," Quoth the Bird, “ Yes - I know him -- a Bonze, by

his phyz“And that jolly old idol he kneels to so low “ Can be none but our round-about godhead, fat Fo!” It chanced at this moment, th' Episcopal Prig Was imploring the Prince to dispense with his wig, * Which the Bird, overhearing, flew high o'er his head, And some TOBIT-like marks of his patronage shed, Which so dimm'd the poor Dandy's idolatrous eye, That, while Fum cried“ Oh Fo!” all the court cried

“ Oh fie!”

But, a truce to digression ; – these Birds of a feather Thus talk'd, t'other night, on State matters together; (The Prince just in bed, or about to depart for’t, His legs full of gout, and his arms full of HERTFORD,) “I say, Hum,” says Fum — FUM, of course, spoke

Chinese,

* In consequence of an old promise, that he should be allowed to wear his own hair, whenever he might be elevated to a Bishopric by his Royal Highness.

But, bless you, that's nothing — at Brighton one sees Foreign lingoes and Bishops translated with ease “I say,

Hum, how fares it with Royalty now? “Is it up? is it prime? is it spooney - or how?” (The Bird had just taken a flash-man's degree Under BARRYMORE, YARMOUTH, and young Master

L-E) “ As for us in Pekin”. here, a dev'l of a din From the bed-chamber came, where that long Man

darin, Castlereagh (whom FUm calls the Confusius of

Prose),
Was rehearsing a speech upon Europe's repose
To the deep, double bass of the fat Idol's nose.

(Nota bene

his Lordship and LIVERPOOL come, In collateral lines, from the old Mother Hum, CASTLEREAGH a Hum-bug — LIVERPOOL a HUM

drum.) The Speech being finish'd, out rush'd CASTLEREAGH, Saddled Hum in a hurry, and, whip, spur, away, Through the regions of air, like a Snip on his hobby, Ne'er paused, till he lighted in St. Stephen's lobby.

LINES ON THE DEATH OF SHERIDAN.

Principibus placuisse viris ! - HORAT.

Yes, grief will have way - but the fast falling tear

Shall be mingled with deep execrations on those, Who could bask in that Spirit’s meridian career, And yet leave it thus lonely and dark at its

close:

Whose vanity flew round him, only while fed

By the odour his fame in its summer-time gave; Whose vanity now, with quick scent for the dead, Like the Ghole of the East, comes to feed at his

grave.

Oh! it sickens the heart to see bosoms so hollow,

And spirits so mean in the great and high-born; To think what a long line of titles may

follow The relics of him who died — friendless and lorn!

How proud they can press to the fun'ral array

Of one, whom they shunn'd in his sickness and

sorrow:

How baliffs may seize his last blanket, to-day,

Whose pall shall be held up by nobles to-morrow!

And Thou, too, whose life, a sick epicure's dream,

Incoherent and gross, even grosser had pass’d,

Were it not for that cordial and soul-giving beam, Which his friendship and wit o'er thy nothingness

cast:

No, not for the wealth of the land, that supplies thee

With millions to heap upon Foppery's shrine ; No, not for the riches of all who despise thee,

Tho' this would make Europe's whole opulence

mine;

Would I suffer what — ev'n in the heart that thou

hast All mean as it is — must have consciously burn'd, When the pittance, which shame had wrung from thee at last,

[return'd! * And which found all his wants at an end, was

6 Was this then the fate,” — future ages will say,

When some names shall live but in history's curse; When Truth will be heard, and these Lords of a day

Be forgotten as fools, or remember'd as worse ;

6 Was this then the fate of that high-gifted man,

“ The pride of the palace, the bower and the hall, * The orator,

- who ran dramatist, — minstrel, “ Through each mode of the lyre, and was master

of all;

* The sum was two hundred pounds — offered when Sheridan could no longer take any sustenance, and declined, for him, by his friends.

“Whose mind was an essence, compounded with art “ From the finest and best of all other men's

powers ; “Who ruled, like a wizard, the world of the heart, “ And could call up its sunshine, or bring down

its showers;

“ Whose humour, as gay as the fire-fly's light, “ Play'd round every subject, and shone as it

play'd ; “ Whose wit, in the combat, as gentle as bright,

“ Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade ;

or the

“ Whose eloquence — brightning whatever it tried,

6 Whether reason or fancy, the gay grave, “Was as rapid, as deep, and as brilliant a tide,

“ As ever bore Freedom aloft on its wave!”

Yes — such was the man, and so wretched his fate;

And thus, sooner or later, shall all have to grieve, Who waste their morn's dew in the beams of the

Great, And expect 't will return to refresh them at eve.

In the woods of the North there are insects that

prey On the brain of the elk till his very last sigh ; Oh, Genius ! thy patrons, more cruel than they,

First feed on thy brains, and then leave thee to die !

* Naturalists have observed that, upon dissecting an elk, there was found in its head some large flies, with its brain almost eaten away by them. History of Poland.

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