have been already given at the Mint for the immediate preparation of silver pieces of coin, one of which is to pass for three shillings, and the other for eighteenpence." Mind, Mr. Editor, the precious wordsthey are to pass for three shillings and eighteenpence"--they are not said to be intrinsically worth three shillings and eighteen-pence, for then they would follow the gold out of circulation, before perhaps the last of them was issued from the Mint. But they are said to pass for three shillings and eighteen-pence! Here is a stroke of artificial finance, worthy of that first of all tinkerly Statesmen, yea even of Pitt himself! And observe too, Mr. Editor, how respectfully the nation is treated in this business-a new coinage is about to be introduced to the public: this is quite in the style of a presentation at a drawing-room, or the first appearance of a country cousin of a Ministerial Member of Parliament, who is cringing for a place, at the levee of the Chancellor of the Exchequer.
It is, I must confess, Mr. Editor, with genuine complacency I look upon this realization of my Irish plan. The Irish early saw the necessity of marrying depreciated silver to depreciated paper, which now, like man and wife, jog on very contentedly together. In England there was a balance of impediment in the obstinate prejudices of John Bull, which are at length happily giving way-his note is changed as well as depreciated-he no longer grumbles at the disappearance of guineas, and will pocket these representatives of shillings with just as much glee as Perceval pockets any other Representatives; and every man will walk about with a Parliament of counter-votes in his purse, in which the alloy will universally obtain a dead majority. I am, Sir, your humble servant,
HORACE, ODE XXII,
Vili potabis modicis Sabinum
Cantharis.
[From the same.]
TO J. P. KEMBLE, ESQ.
COME, Kemble, thou chivalrous wight,
And tipple my humble Brown Stout; 'T was bottled and seal'd on the night. When Timour the Tartar came out.
The Theatre set up a bawl
On seeing his cream-colour'd hobby,
That made Shakspeare shake in the hall,
And startled the Muse in the lobby,
Thalia, Melpomene-shrews!
A fig for their Ladyships' ire 3-
Half your stage is already a Mews,
I offer you Meux's Entire!
THE LONG-EARED REFORMERS.
[From the Morning Post, May 14.]
THAT Asses once could speak we know,..
In history 't is recorded so;
And that shrewd beast which Balaam rode,
Who stopp'd to gossip with his load,
Had a most numerous progeny
(Although we've lost the pedigree),
Who long surviv'd to rail and chatter
On whate'er chanc'd to be the matter.
Once on a time a general meeting.
Was call'd for speaking and for eating;
At which these sages rose to prate,
And talk about affairs of State.
They held their meeting in a cavern
(To them a sort of London Tavern),
In which secure they thought to say
Whatever they might have to bray.
Their leaders wish'd to raise a storm,
By bawling out, " Reform, Reform !!!"
An Ass they call'd" Black Bob" began-
"Too long we've borne the yoke of man;
'Tis time that we should let him see
That British Asses will be free:
Our ancestors, who yielded first
To bear his loads, were not so curst
As we are now; nor did they think
Their sons the bitter cup would drink,
Which we, though writhing with the pain,
Are to the dregs compell'd to drain.
Then let us, oh! my friends, unite,
And make the Tyrant feel our spite.”
A visitor, who now came in,
Who might have boasted nobler kin,
Here rose but while they view'd his phiz,
'T was thought he only meant to quiz.
A sneer he hastily repress'd,
And thus the long-ear'd throng address'd
"My friends, you 're treated with neglect,
Some change we somehow must effect;
Things as they are will never do,
For I am dish'd as well as you.
Did you, O Donkies! know your strength,
All you desire you 'd gain at length;
Be but unanimous as warm,
And who will dare refuse Reform?
I to the last will by you stand,
And they shall find in me a Brand;
Who tear me from you in my ire,
A flaming Brand pluck'd from the fire."
An Ass, well known upon the town,
A stupid Ass, whom they call'd Brown,
Who late had serv'd a certain Dame,
To whom he ow'd his well-earn'd fame
(She gave him Villain for his name),
Now rose to speak; but soon the elf
Forgot Reform-spoke of himself;
THE LONG-EARED REFORMERS.
And, thoughtless of the nation's cares,
Talk'd only of his own affairs.
Upon this subject long he dwelt,
And spoke as if indeed he felt.
At last he swore, that in the strife
With power he'd boldly risk his life.
He paus'd-a horse or donkey laugh
Prov'd he had said too much by half.
A grave old hack, whose lengthen'd years.
Bore some proportion to his ears,
On his hind-legs, before the host
Now stood, and seem'd a grizzled ghost.
This venerable Ass, 't is said,
Had long since made Reform his trade;
He'd borne a Cartwright's burdens long,
Reform his object and his song.
And now he rose to urge to action
The long-ear'd patriotic faction:
"Donkies," he cried, "hear what I say➡
Ere you could either snort or bray,
I sought, with public spirit warm,
A full and radical Reform;
And now I'm old enough to be
Reform's Grand Daddy, as you see.
Though years ago I had begun,
And nothing has as yet been done,
Yet let us not a morsel flinch-
No! de, don't draw back an inch;
For since each year augments our powers,
Success must in the end be ours.
A Revolution must take place,
And we shall thrive on man's disgrace.
Then, oh! my heroes, persevere,
And play the devil without fear;
Distinctly I will show the way,
Upon the twenty-third of May;
When 't is my hope to see you all
In Moorfields Quarters, or Guildhall."
Th' assembly thought his counsel good.
An Ass now rose who carried Wood;
His head was but a pond'rous block,
Well form'd to meet the battle's shock;
"T was empty-or 't was full of mud,
Thence nonsense flow'd a copious flood,
Fill'd all his friends with rage and shame,
And e'en disgrac'd the Asses' name.
He now extended wide his throat,
And rais'd a most harmonious note;
But while his powers he thus display'd,
While still most musical he bray'd,'
The peaceful neighbours, fury heating,
Hasten'd to end this solemn meeting,
And give the Orators a beating.
As swift they ran to beat the cattle,
As watchmen fly when springs the rattle,
The Asses' glee to grief is turn'd,
The meeting's hastily adjourn'd.
In vain they strive the foe to fly,
In vain for mercy loud they cry;
In vain they wish in this sad hour
To bolt like Sly-go* from the Tower;
Each Ass in turn the stick employs,
Each gets a drubbing for his noise,
Till weak, exhausted, bruis'd, and sore,
They think about Reform no more.
Learn hence, ye T-rs, to be quiet,
And tremble at th' effects of riot.
THEATRICALS EXTRAORDINARY.
[From the Morning Chronicle, May 14.]
THE Celebration of the Triumph of Mummery - over the legitimate Drama, consummated in the rejection of Mr. Mellish's Bill, was commemorated at the White Horse Cellar last Friday. The Patentces of
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