ANIMAL MAGNETISM. THOUGH famed was Mesmer, in his day, When, standing as if the gods to invoke, he Though strange these things, to mind and sense, Just go to her Majesty's Treasury, And that wave of the hand no soul resists, Not all its witcheries can compete With the friendly beckon towards Downing Street, These effects observe, (with which I begin,) That, in short-not to mince his situation- Ever since the fatal day which saw That "pass" perform'd on this Lord of Law- As it sent Harry Bm to the right about- This wondrous change by outward survey; It being, in fact, th' interior man That's turn'd completely topsy-turvy:— Like a case that lately, in reading o'er 'em, I found in the Acta Eruditorum, 1 The name of the heroine of the performances at the North London Hospital. 2 The technical term for the movements of the magnetizer's hand. While Gr-te is the "Betty," that serves at the toilet, And breathes all Arabia around from his Box.1 "Tis a singular fact, that the famed Hugo Grotius,2 (A namesake of Gr-te's-being both of Dutch stocks,) Like Gr-te, too, a genius profound as precocious, Was also, like him, much renown'd for a Box ; An immortal old clothes-box, in which the great Grotius When suffering, in prison, for views heterodox, Was pack'd up incog., spite of jailers ferocious," And sent to his wife,* carriage free, in a Box! But the fame of old Hugo now rests on the shelf, And oh when, at last, even this greatest of Gr-tes Must bend to the Power that at every door knocks, May he drop in the urn like his own "silent votes," And the tomb of his rest be a large Ballot-Box. While long at his shrine, both from county and city, Shall pilgrims triennially gather in flocks, And sing, while they whimper, th' appropriate ditty, "Oh breathe not his name, let it sleep in the Box." ANNOUNCEMENT OF A NEW THALABA. ADDRESSED TO ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ. WHEN erst, my Southey, thy tuneful tongue Whose dwelling dark, as legends say, 6 In short, dear Bob, Destroyer the Second 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. 1 And all Arabia breathes from yonder box. POPE's Rape of the Lock. Groot, or Grote, Latinized into Grotius. 3 For the particulars of this escape of Grotius from the Castle of Louvenstein, by means of a box (only three feet and a half long, it is said) in which books used to be occasionally sent to him and foul linen returned, see any of the Biographical Dictionaries. 4 This is not quite according to the facts of the case; his wife having been the contriver of the stratagem, and remained in the prison herself to give him time for escape. Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede, &c.-HORAT "A needless Alexandrine ends the song That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along." That hacking, hectoring blade of thine RIVAL TOPICS. 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 affordsSome folks are daily let off; And, 'twixt th' Old Bailey and the Lords, They both, I fear, will get off. AN EXTRAVAGANZA. OH W-ll-ngt-n and Stephenson, Times, Herald, Courier, Globe, and Sun, 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-ll-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-1-ngt-n, oh Stephenson, Ye ever-boring pair, "Vain are the spells, the Destroyer Treads the Domdaniel floor." Thalaba, a Metrical Romance. Ан, Tories dear, our ruin is near, 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 propos. Sir Thomas More had an only son, And a foolish lad was that only one, And, at what extreme old age he'll close His schoolboy course, heaven only knows ;- A whipper-snapper Methusalem; And, day and night, with awe I recall "That boy'll be the death, the death of you all." LETTER FROM LARRY O'BRANIGAN TO THE REV. MURTAGH 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 To be sure, when a lad takes to forgin', this way, That parsons should forge thus appears mighty odd, And (as if somethin' "odd" in their names, too, must be,) One forger, of ould, was a riverend Dod, While a riverend Todd's now his match, to a T.' But, no matther who did it-all blessins betide him, To make the whole grand dish of bull-ce'f com- MUSINGS OF AN UNREFORMED PEER. Of all the odd plans of this monstrously queer age, Had to make twice as big a Tom-fool of himself. Did not get on exceedingly well, as we are, Throth, it wasn't at all civil to lave in the lurch If thus in two different directions you pull, And perform all the functions of noodles, by birth, How acres descend, is in law-books display'd, Are, all of us, born legislators by nature ;— 'Faith, they'll swear that yourself and your Like ducklings, to water instinctively taking, riverend brother Are like those quare foxes, in Gregory's Bull, Whose tails were join'd one way, while they look'd another!1 Och bless'd be he, whosomdever he be, That help'd soft Magee to that Bull of a Letther! Not ov'n my own self, though I sometimes make free we, So Th' Egyptians of old the same policy knew- Poisoners by right, (so no more could be said of it,) At such bull-manufacture, could make him a The cooks, like our lordships, a pretty mess made betther. 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."-BOB's Letter to Standard. 3 Had I consulted only my own wishes, I should not have allowed this hasty attack on Dr. Todd to have made its ap of it; pearance in this Collection; being now fully convinced that the charge brought against that reverend gentleman of intending to pass off as genuine his famous mock Papal Letter was altogether unfounded. 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, 1 have thought it but due to him to comply with his request. While, famed for conservative stomachs, th' 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 improvement, And all its live furniture, nobly descended, But sadly worn out, must be sent to be mended. No wonder ev'n fixtures should learn to bestir 'em ; Flies off with old houses, sometimes, in a storm- Not angels, but devils, our lordships shall bear, Grim, radical phizzes, unused to the sky, Small Grotes and O'Connells, shall sing Io Pæans. THE REVEREND PAMPHLETEER. A ROMANTIC BALLAD. Он, have you heard what happ'd of late? All praised his skilful jockeyship, The nag he rode-how could it err? "Twas the same that took, last year, 1 The Casa Santa, supposed to have been carried by angels through the air from Galilee to Italy. |