And my wish is, in truth, that the best of old fellows

Should not, on recovering, have cause to be jealous,
But find that, while he has been laid on the shelf,
We've been all of us nearly as mad as himself.
You smile at my hopes-but the Doctors and I,
Are the last that can think the K-ng ever will die.'

A new era's arrived,2-though you'd hardly believe it

And all things, of course, must be new to receive it. New villas, new fêtes, (which ev'n Waithman attends,)

New saddles, new helmets, and-why not new friends?

I repeat it, "New Friends"-for I cannot describe The delight I am in with this P-rc-v-l tribe. Such capering!-Such vaporing!—Such rigor! Such vigor!

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 find our Allies in new 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 Papists the one, and with Papists the other;
One crushing Napoleon by taking a City,
While t'other lays waste a whole Cath'lic Com-
mittee.

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.

1"1 certainly am the last person in the kingdom to whom it can be permitted to despair of our royal father's recovery." -Prince's Letter.

2 "A new era is now arrived, and I cannot but reflect with satisfaction," &c.-Ibid.

"I have no predilections to indulge,-no resentments to gratify."-Ibid.

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 ru through:

Neither feel 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, o neutral, so pleasant,
So royally free from all troublesome feelings,
So little encumber'a aith ia 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 crack
ing,)

I hope, like the Vender of Best Patent Blacking, "To meet with the gen'rous and kind approbation "Of a candid, enlighten'd, and liberal nation."

By the by, ere I close this magnificent Letter, (No man, except Pole, could have writ you better,)

"Twould please me if those, whom I've humbugg' so long1

With the notion (good men!) that I knew righ from wrong,

Would a few of them join me-mind, only a fewTo let too much light in on me never would do; But even Grey's brightness shan't make me afraid, While I've C-md-n and Eld-n to fly to fo

shade;

Nor will Holland's clear intellect do us much harm While there's W-stm-rel-nd near him to weak en the charm.

As for Moira's high spirit, if aught can subdue it, Sure joining with H-rtf-rd and Y-rm-th wi do it!

Between R-d-r and Wh-rt-n let Sheridan si And the fogs will soon quench even Sheridan's wit And against all the pure public feeling that glows Ev'n in Whitbread himself we've a Host in G-rg R-se!

So, in short, if they wish to have Places, the may,

And I'll thank you to tell al these matters to Grey

4 "I cannot conclude without expressing the gratificatio I should feel if some of those persons with whom the ear habits of my public life were formed would strengthen m hands, and constitute a part of my government."—Ibid.

"You are authorized to communicate these sentiment to Lord Grey, who, I have no doubt, will make them know to Lord Grenville."-Ibid.

Ranging these in order due, Pluck me next an old Cuckoo ; Emblem of the happy fates Of easy, kind, cornuted mates. Puck him well-be sure you doWho wouldn't be an old Cuckoo, Thus to have his plumage bless'd, Beaming on a R-y—l 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 ;

1"I shall send a copy of this letter immediately to Mr. Perceval."-Prince's Letter.

1 Sce Prior's poem, entitled "The Dove." 'P-re-v-l.

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 trav❜ling 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.

Thursday.

At Levee to-day made another sad blunder-
What can be come over me lately, I wonder?
The Pr-ce was as cheerful, as if, all his life,
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!

In allusion to "the Book" which created such a sensation at that period.

The incog. vehicle of the Pr-ce.

Baron Geramb, the rival of his R. H. in whiskers.

Mem.—to buy for son Dicky some unguent or lotion
To nourish his whiskers-sure road to promotion !'
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.

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

Cried aloud, one and all, “Come, your Godship must pack

"You'll not do for us, though you may do f

Kings."

Then, trampling these images under their feet, They sent Crack a petition, beginning "Gre Cæsar!

"We're willing to worship; but only entreat

"That you'll find us some decenter Godhea

than these are."

"I'll try," says King Crack-so they furnish'd hi models

Of better shaped Gods, but he sent them a back;

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

In short, they were all much too godlike f Crack

So he took to his darling old Idols again,

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

In opon defiance of Gods and of man,

Set the monsters up grinning once more in the places.

EPIGRAM.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A CATHOLIC DELEGATE AND HIS B-Y-L H-GHN-SS THE D-E OF OB-L-D.

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

"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!"

WREATHS FOR THE MINISTERS.

AN ANACREONTIC.

HITHER, Flora, Queen of Flowers!

Haste thee from Old Brompton's bowers-
Or, (if sweeter that abode,)

From the King's well-odor'd Road,
Where each little nursery bud
Breathes the dust and quaffs the mud.
Hither come and gayly twine
Brightest herbs and flowers of thine
Into wreaths for those who rule us,

Those, who rule and (some say) fool us-
Flora, sure, will love to please
England's Household Deities!2

First you must then, willy-nilly, Fetch me many an orange lilyOrange of the darkest dye Irish G-ff-rd can supply;Choose me out the longest sprig, And stick it in old Eld-n's wig.

Find me next a Poppy posy; Type of his harangues so dozy, Garland gaudy, dull and cool, To crown the head of L-v-rp-L "Twill console his brilliant brows For that loss of laurel boughs, Which they suffer'd (what a pity!) On the road to Paris City.

1 Edward Byrne, the head of the Delegates of the Irish Catholics.

The ancients, in like manner, crowned their Lares, or Household Gods. See Juvenal, Sat. 9. iv. 138.-Plutarch, too, tells us that Household Gods were then, as they are now, "much given to War and penal Statutes."-epivvvwdels kal ποινίμους δαίμονας.

⚫ Certain tinsel imitations of the Shamrock which are distributed by the Servants of Cn House every Patrick's Day

Next, our C-stl-r-gh to crown, Bring me from the County Down, Wither'd Shamrocks, which have been Gilded o'er, to hide the green(Such as H-df-t brought away From Pall-Mall last Patrick's day)3— Stitch the garland through and through With shabby threads of every hue;— And as, Goddess!-entre nous-His lordship loves (though best of men) A little torture, now and then, Crimp the leaves, thou first of Syrens, Crimp them with thy curling-irons

Nor tremble, my lad, at the state of our granaries:

Should there come famine,

Still plenty to cram in

You always shall have, my dear Lord of the Stan

naries.

Brisk let us revel, while revel we may;

For the gay bloom of fifty soon passes away,
And then people get fat,

And infirm. and-all that,

And a wig (I confess it) so clumsily sits,

That it frightens the little Loves out of their wits;

Thy whiskers, too, Y-rm-th!-alas, even they, Though so rosy they burn,

Too quickly must turn

(What a heart-breaking change for thy whiskers!) to Grey.

Then why, my Lord Warden, oh! why should

you fidget

Your mind about matters you don't understand? Or why should you write yourself down for an

idiot,

Because "you," forsooth, "have the pen in your hand!"

Think, think how much better

Than scribbling a letter,

(Which both you and I

Should avoid, by the by,)

How much pleasanter 'tis to sit under the bust
Of old Charley, my friend here, and drink like

a new one;

While Charley looks sulky and frowns at me, just As the Ghost in the Pantomime frowns at Don Juan.

To crown us, Lord Warden,

In C-mb-rl-nd's garden

Grows plenty of monk's hood in venomous sprigs:

While Otto of Roses

Refreshing all noses

Shall sweetly exhale from our whiskers and wig

• What youth of the Household will cool our Noya In that streamlet delicious,

That down 'midst the dishes,

All full of gold fishes, Romantic doth flow ?40 Or who will repair

Unto M-ch- ―r Sq―e,

And see if the gentle Marchesa be there?
Go-bid her haste hither,
"And let her bring with her

The newest No-Popery Sermon that's going12 Oh! let her come, with her dark tresses flowing All gentle and juvenile, curly and gay,

In the manner of-Ackermann's Dresses fo May!

HORACE, ODE XXII. LIB. I.

FREELY TRANSLATED BY LORD ELD-N.

13 THE man who keeps a conscience pure, (If not his own, at least his Prince's,) Through toil and danger walks secure, Looks big and black, and never winces.

14 No want has he of sword or dagger, Cock'd hat or ringlets of Geramb;

Though Peers may laugh, and Papists swagger, He doesn't care one single d-mn.

15 Whether midst Irish chairmen going, Or through St. Giles's alleys dim, 'Mid drunken Sheelahs, blasting, blowing, No matter, 'tis all one to him.