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them into contempt with the vulgar, as to make the vulgar look forward, with sanguine hopes, to stations which would otherwise have never entered into their contemplation?-This sword has two edges, and does too much work!

Secondly, with respect to the Regency, have not our Ministers, in the plenitude of their wisdom or imbecility, chosen to appoint the Prince of Wales Regent, with such restrictions (not to call them suspicions) as show, according to their principle of possessing the right of election, that he is the last of all persons on whom that election should have fallen? Does not the Crown of England require the whole of the power, influence, and splendour, permitted to the King?-and if so, should he, who represents him, and has all his offices to fulfil, at any time, but especially at this momentous crisis, be vested with less?It is necessary, or it is not.-What do they seem to think, and how much does it prove?

Thirdly, touching the admission of proxies in the House of Lords, which Horace might, without satire, say, communi sensu planè caret; and that the Noble Lords themselves may add the rest

"Eheu,

Quam temerè in nosmet legem sancimus iniquam !”

If the judgment of the absent is not only taken, but is often clearly the means of deciding the most important questions, what are men of common understanding to think of the parade of heated debates and elaborate arguments, addressed to what is called the sense of the House ?-Surely this proves a little too much!

The list of unlucky proofs might be swelled to a volume; but they need no index, and I shall add no

more.

Among the portents and miracles of the "anmus

mirabilis,"

mirabilis," we are told that "black cow's gave white milk."-I feel that this hardy assertion (though sworn to) must needs be rejected with contempt by the faith of these times; for we have a similar prodigy, in which there is an equal share of truth, namely, that paper is nothing more than paper; but, though every body gives it credit, nobody will believe it! Seeking into the cause of this strange infidelity, I find that it happened once before, and history ascribes it to conjuration-The author of the Persian Letters, speaking of Louis XIV. says, "Ce Roi était un magicien, qui faisant accroire à ses sujets, qui du papier était de Pargent;" i. e. That King was a conjuror, who made his subjects believe that paper was money.

Temple, Feb. 13.

"A

POET AND POVERTY.

[From the Morning Post, Feb. 15.]
POET's always poor, and thus I show it,
If he were rich, he would not be a Poet :
Thus argued Dick. A Scribbler, passing by,
Heard the vile taunt, and made this cool reply:
"Give him the wealth of Croesus, if you will,
A Poet, Dick, will be a Poet still;
But give the poverty of Job to thee,
Thou never, never, couldst a Poet be."

EPIGRAM ON A FOP.

[From the British Press, Feb. 15.]

THOSE painted cheeks and languid eyes
Would speak thee woman in disguise,
Did not thy beard of sable hue-—
But hold! I'll bet-(or I'm no shrew),
That very beard is painted too!

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TEMPORA

TEMPORA* MUTANTUR.

[From the Morning Post, Feb. 18.]

A SENATOR, vers'd in old classical lore,

The works of Joe Miller I mean-nothing more, Has told how the Tories, just losing their places, Were surcharg'd by the barbers, who shav'd their long faces :But now (though still in) not a Tory, 't is fear'd, Will meet with one barber to shorten his beard; For the Whigs, disappointed and plung'd in despair, Have torn from their nobs ev'ry morsel of hair; So they 're forc'd (though their purses a grievous hard tax on) To impress each a barber to make him a caxon.

LINES

ON A HIBERNIAN, WHO DREAMT THAT HE WAS ASLEEP.

"

[From the same.]

HOW this!" says Joe, "it doth most curious seem,
Dream in your sleep, and sleep too in your dream!

Indeed, friend Pat, it is not fair in you

To get just twice the sleep that others do."

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Truly," quoth Pat, " I have not slept, dear Joe;

I only dreamt I was asleep, you know."

TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING CHRONICLE.

[Feb. 20.]

SIR,

THE

HE following lines are detached from an unfinished Poem, which probably will never see the light; but as this fragment is so much in the spirit of some

* Tempora, scilicet, capitis, we suppose; and, as it is not improbable the heads of some persons may be turned by vexation at recent events, the part may be intended to imply the whole, both interior and exterior-" pro parte synecdoche totum," as the Westminster Grammar speaks.

late

late opinions of the Great Man, I am tempted to transmit it to you, as an earnest of what will be the settled sentiment of posterity.

I am, &c.

Ρεπμίλλειος.

WHEN Chatham's son had rais'd himself to power
Upon the people's shoulders-full possess'd
Of all his father's spirit-full of plans,
Which youthful zeal and patriotic love
Had form'd, to vindicate the people's rights;
And full of eloquence, worthy the cause,
With public hope rais'd to the topmost pitch :-
Most did he thenceforth labour to preserve,
His promises or place?-What pledge of his
Did he redeem?-How did his honour meet
That vital question to the human heart,
Detested human traffic? His feign'd voice,
Omnipotent when seconded by will,

Flash'd not conviction on his venal friends
And annually he counted out the House-
Defeated-but content at the defeat.
Did he with better faith profession make
To those who should be nearer, dearer, still,
Our fellow-subjects, fellow Christians too,
Though not within the pale--to set them free
From thraldom-free to serve their God and ours,
To serve their King and Country as ourselves?
They yielded up their birthright for the boon,
On credit, and receiv'd the cold embrace
Of Union, like a forc'd reluctant bride :-
But for the rest his suretyship was nought.
"But he resign'd his place to save his word."
He did;-and soon, repentant of the act,
He pluck'd him by the nose who kept it warm,
And thrust him off the stool-on any terms
Of forfeiture, to fix himself again.
How did he prove sincere his boasted love
Of radical Reform?-He wish'd the cause
Sincerely well; -but wish'd to put it off
Till a convenient season. What decay'd

Or

Or morbid member of the commonweal,
Did he regenerate? What corrupted part
O' th' body politic discharge and cleanse?
Or what excrescence touch with caustic knife?
His gross corruption, like a stagnant pond,
Engender'd the horseleech, that sucks the blood,
The best blood of the land. Was hand of his
Once rais'd to sweep the noisome beast away?-
Was Freedom cherish'd in his faithless heart,
His first-espous'd? Did not the harlot Lust
Of Power supplant her, that she scarcely drew,
With oft suspended animation-breath?
"He serv'd in troublous and seditious times,
And bit and bridle found for stiffen'd necks
Best fitted, little need of slacken'd reins."
But long he sway'd before those troublous times;
And he the chief conspirator of all,
Whose mal-administration conjur'd up-

The evil spirit, if it ever rose.

"

Nay-but he sat the pilot at the helm,

His country's bark safe guiding through the storm
On which the Dæmon rides, all Europe else
Involving in one universal wreck."-

Ay, that were praise beyond the power of words,
And all his faults were venial were it true.
But other honours flutter'd in his eye

Than glorious safety, when his martial mind
Inflam'd for war; when suppliant for peace,
But suppliant in vain, the Frenchman left
Our hostile shores. The feeble foe at once
He hop'd to crush; and all the mighty spoil,
Already portion'd, gloss'd the shanieful deed.
But, forc'd into the fight, the Frenchman fought.
His cause was new. He never fought before
For Freedom; and he never fought so well.
He gather'd strength and confidence. Success
In years of Revolution still remain'd
Inseparably attach'd, whatever shape
The ruling power assum'd. Till Liberty
Her equilibrium lost, licentious grew
And wayward; and, in cruelty and blood,

Long

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