On landing I hoped that the people

Would loudly acknowledge my aid ;Bells peeling from every steeple !

The troops drawn out on parade!

I thought that the bands would have struck-struck— Up their most national tune,

'Midst shouts of " Long life to the Buck-BuckBuckinghamshire dragoon !"

But, quite the reverse; as I came in
The mob was exceedingly rude;
They talked of my making a famine,
And filling myself with their food!
Ragged urchins, malicious as Puck-Puck-
Kept hooting" The fat Picaroon,"
And hunted me just like a Buck—Buck—
Buckinghamshire dragoon!

I got to an inn with great trouble,
Half dead with the sea and the sun!
I found my room furnish'd with double-
Beds, out of which I made one!
My boat-cloak around me I tuck-tuck,
And till the day after, at noon,

I slept, and I snored, like a Buck-Buck-
Buckinghamshire dragoon !

The first thing I did upon waking

Was calling for breakfast, of course ;

Dear Sefton, imagine my taking

In

At getting a slice of a horse!

my throat the first morsel it stuck-stuck Though I fancied, from being "a jeune,” I could almost have eaten a Buck-Buck

Buckinghamshire dragoon!

I then sallied forth like a hero ;
And up to my eyes in a trench,
I saw, two miles off, Trocadero,

And what people said were the French,
A ball came-I hasten'd to duck-duck,
And fearing another too soon,
I gallantly ran, like a Buck-Buck—
Buckinghamshire dragoon!

I next cast my eyes to the sailors,
And seeing them look rather glum,
Proposed they should turn the assailers,
And promised to find them a bomb!
The men I soon saw had no pluck-pluck,
The ministers not a doubloon ;

All swore at the bomb and the Buck-Buck-
Buckinghamshire dragoon !

Thus helmeted, trowsered, bedizened,

Stewed, jolted, shipped, sickened, in vain; Starved, terrified, hooted, and poisoned, I rather disliked the campaign! And weary of running a muck-muck, Resolved by the first opportunity to bolt off like a Buck-Buck— Buckinghamshire dragoon!

At the end of ten days (for no sooner
A vessel occurred to my wish)

I embarked in a Newfoundland schooner,
Which came with a cargo of fish :
We 'scaped the blockaders by luck—luck,
Fresh breezes and want of a moon-
And so end the feats of a Buck-Buck-

Buckinghamshire dragoon!

THE WHIG BOX.*

When Canning, Fortune's dearest pet,
Received his King's command

To form a bran-new Cabinet

To serve this happy land;

He undertook the task with glee:
Nought comes amiss to him;
The subtlest of God's creatures he,
That walk, or fly, or swim.

Yet ponder'd he for many a day
'Ere he his work began;

And oft his cunning schemes gave way,
And oft he changed his plan.

Materials had he-tried and raw

His tools work'd well and true:
And "Liberalism was his saw,
And Interest his glue.

He turn'd o'er many wooden logs,
And boards of various dyes:
And sticks and beams from Irish bogs
Of every shape and size.

Good English Oak was all too tough
To mould and bend at will—

Too common-house-wife like and rough,
To shew a master's skill.

He wanted something light and gay

To dazzle and amuse,

He cared not when it might decay

Or how unfit for use.

* On the change of ministry, and Mr. Canning's acceptance of the Premiership, April 1827.

But time was running on apace :
He search'd his workshop round,
And in a dusty, dirty place

An old Whig box he found

He thought how easy 'twere to give

Polish and firmness too,
Its faded glories to revive,
And pass it off for new.

"It shall be so !-'tis done," he cried-
"My work I'll straight begin :
A glittering top will serve to hide
The rottenness within.

"I'll add some ornaments of brass
Of new design and bold—
And John is such a stupid ass,
He'll take it all for gold.

"With drawers which can be mov'd at will,

A master key to all-
Places contriv'd with curious skill

For great concerns and small.

"I'll fix it well with golden pegs,
And call it by my name;
Then put the crazy thing on legs,
And puff it into fame."

Good easy man!—the thing is rais'd,

Deck'd with a royal crown:
But 'tis so rotten, weak, and craz'd,
A breath may blow it down.

POLICE EXTRAORDINARY.*

TUESDAY last, Frederick Robinson was brought before the sitting magistrates at Bow-street, to answer to a charge of quitting his master's service without giving him due warning.

It appeared in evidence, that Robinson had some months ago engaged himself to drive the Sovereign stage-coach, but finding himself unable to manage the horses, and being also apprehensive of the issue of several complaints lodged against him at the next quarter-sessions for careless and unskilful driving, he, the said Robinson, did last Thursday se'nnight, just as the Sovereign was to leave London, quit the service of his master, and set off to some relations he has in Bedfordshire; since which time every effort had been made to get him back to his work without

success.

The following examination will best explain the nature of the case:

Magistrate. Well, Robinson, what have you to say to all this?

Robinson.-Please your worship, I'll tell you the whole truth. I took the place because I likes to be doing, and thought I could do very well; but never having been used afore to work with leaders, vy the osses got the better o' me, and so I thought it best to be off, before any serious damage happened.

Magistrate.-Have you been long in your master's

service?

* On the resignation of Lord Goderich, Dec. 1827.