As ripe for ruinous rigs as thine,

Though his havoc lie in a different line,
And should find this new, improv'd Destroyer
Beneath the wig of a Yankee lawyer;
A sort of an " alien," alias man,

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
(A! 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,'
When scourg'd by Holland's silken thong.

In short, dear Bob, Destroyer the Second
May fairly a match for the First be reckon'd;
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 jiffey-

Aliens, outcasts, every soul of 'em!

Born but for whips and chains, the whole of 'em!

Never, in short, did parallel

Betwixt two heroes gee so well;

And, among the points in which they fit,
There's one, dear Bob, I can't omit.
That hacking, hectoring blade of thine
Dealt much in the Domdaniel line;
And 'tis but rendering justice due,
To say that ours and his Tory crew
Damn Daniel most devoutly too.

Times, Herald, Courier, Globe, and Sun,
When ye will cease our ears to stun
With these two heroes' capers?

Still Stephenson" and "W-ll-ngt-n,"
The everlasting two!-

Still doom'd, from rise to set of sun,
To hear what mischief one has done,
And t'other means to do:-
What bills the banker pass'd 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 W-1-ngt-n will do what's right, And Rowland pay his balance.

To catch the banker all have sought,
But still the rogue unhurt is;

While t'other juggler-who'd have thought?
Though slippery long, has just been caught

By old Archbishop Curtis;
And, such the power of papal crook,
The crosier scarce had quiver'd
About his ears, when, lo, the Duke
Was of a Bull deliver'd!

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 W-11-ngt-n, oh Stephenson,
Ye ever-boring pair,

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

Ye haunt me everywhere.
Though Job had patience tough enough,
Such duplicates would try it;

Till one's turn'd 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.

He will, God help us!- -not even Scriblerius
In the "Art of Sinking" his match could be;
And our case is growing exceeding serious,
For, all being in the same boat as he,
If down my Lord goes, down go we,
Lord Baron St-nl-y and Company,
As deep in Oblivion's swamp below

As such "Masters Shallow " well could go;
And where we shall all, both low and high,
Embalm'd in mud, as forgotten lie

As already doth Gr-h-m of Netherby!
But that boy, that boy!-there's a tale I know,
Which in talking of him comes à propos.
Sir Thomas More had an only son,
And a foolish lad was that only one,

And Sir Thomas said, one day to his wife, "My dear, I can't but wish you joy,

For you pray'd for a boy, and you now have a boy, Who'll continue a boy to the end of his life."

Even such is our own distressing lot,

With the ever-young statesman we have got;~~
Nay even still worse; for Master More
Wasn't more a youth than he'd been before,
While ours such power of boyhood shows,
That, the older he gets, the more juv'nile he grows,
And, at what extreme old age he'll close
His schoolboy course, heaven only knows;-
Some century hence, should be 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, ev'n should he make still longer stay of it,
The boy'll want judgment, ev'n to the day of it!
Meanwhile, 'tis a serious, sad infliction;

And, day and night, with awe I recall The late Mr. Mathews' solemn prediction, “That boy'll be the death, the death of you all.”

LETTER

FROM LARRY O'BRANIGAN TO THE REV. MURTAGH O'MULLIGAN.

ARRAH, where were you, Murthagh, that beautiful day?

Or, how came it your riverence was laid on the shelf,

When that poor craythur, Bobby-as you were

away

Had to make twice as big a Tom-fool of himself.

Throth, it wasn't at all civil to lave in the lurch

A boy so desarving your tindh'rest affection;Two such iligant Siamase twins of the Church, As Bob and yourself, ne'er should cut the connection.

1 "You will increase the enmity with which they are regarded by their associates in heresy, thus tying these foxes by the tails, that their faces may tend in opposite directions."- BOB's Bull, read at Exeter Hall, July 14.

2" An ingenious device of my learned friend." Bon's Letter to Stanlard.

3 Had I consulted only my own wishes, I should not have allowed this hasty attack on Dr. Todd to have made its appearance

in this Collection; being now fully convinced that the charge brought against that reverend gentleman of intending to paw đổ as genuine his famous mock Papal Letter was altogether u founded. 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.

MUSINGS OF AN UNREFORMED PEER.

Or all the odd plans of this monstrously queer age,
The oddest is that of reforming the peerage;-
Just as if we, great dons, with a title and star,
Did not get on exceedingly well, as we 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 display'd,
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 law-making;
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:
Thus making, from father to son, a good trade
of it,

Poisoners by right (so no more could be said of it), The cooks, like our lordships, a pretty mess made of it;

While, fam'd for conservative stomachs, the' Egyptians

Without a wry face bolted all the prescriptions.

It is true, we've among us some peers of the past, Who keep pace with the present most awfully fastFruits, that ripen beneath the new light now arising With speed that to us, old conserves, is surprising, Conserves, in whom-potted, for grandmamma

uses

"Twould puzzle a sunbeam to find any juices.
"Tis true, too, I fear, midst the general movement,
Ev'n our House, God help it, is doom'd to im-
provement,

And all its live furniture, nobly descended,
But sadly worn out, must be sent to be mended.
With moveables 'mong us, like Br—m and like
D-rh-m,

No wonder ev'n fixtures should learn to bestir 'em;
And, distant, ye gods, be that terrible day,
When as playful Old Nick, for his pastime

they say,

Flies off with old houses, sometimes, in a stormSo ours may be whipt off, some night, by Reform; And, as up, like Loretto's fam'd house', through

the air,

Not angels, but devils, our lordships shall bear,
Grim, radical phizzes, unus'd to the sky,
Shall flit round, like cherubs, to wish us "good-by."

The Casa Santa, supposed to have been carried by angels through the air from Galilee to Italy.

While, perch'd up on clouds, little imps of plebeians,

Small Grotes and O'Connells, shall sing Io Paans.

THE REVEREND PAMPHLETEER.

A ROMANTIC BALLAD.

OH, have you heard what hap'd of late?
If not, come lend an ear,
While sad I state the piteous fate
Of the Reverend Pamphleteer.

All prais'd his skilful jockeyship,
Loud rung the Tory cheer,
While away, away, with spur and whip,
Went the Reverend Pamphleteer.

The nag he rode-how could it err?
"Twas the same that took, last year,
That wonderful jump to Exeter
With the Reverend Pamphleteer.

Set a beggar on horseback, wise men say,
The course he will take is clear;
And in that direction lay the way

Of the Reverend Pamphleteer.

"Stop, stop," said Truth, but vain her cry Left far away in the rear,

She heard but the usual gay "Good-by " From her faithless Pamphleteer.

You may talk of the jumps of Homer's gods,
When cantering o'er our sphere-
I'd back for a bounce, 'gainst any odds,
This Reverend Pamphleteer.

But ah, what tumbles a jockey hath!
In the midst of his career,

A file of the Times lay right in the path
Of the headlong Pamphleteer.

Whether he tripp'd or shy'd thereat,

Doth not so clear appear:

But down he came, as his sermons flatThis Reverend Pamphleteer!

Lord King himself could scarce desire

To see a spiritual Peer

Fall much more dead, in the dirt and mire,
Than did this Pamphleteer.

Yet pitying parsons, many a day,
Shall visit his silent bier,

But whither now, mixt brood of modern light
And ancient darkness, can'st thou bend thy flight?
Tried by both factions, and to neither true,
Fear'd by the old school, laugh'd at by the new;
For this too feeble, and for that too rash,
This wanting more of fire, that less of flash;
Lone shalt thou stand, in isolation cold,
Betwixt two worlds, the new one and the old,
A small and "vex'd Bermoothes," which the eye
Of venturous seaman sees -
and passes by.

"Che dalle reni era tornato 'l volto,

E indietro venir li convenia.
Perchè 'l veder dinanzi era lor tolto."

2 Referring to the line taken by Lord L-ndh-rst, on the question of Municipal Reform.