right,

Rebellion and the second sight.
Of these the first, in ancient days,
Had gain'd the noblest palms of praise,
'Gainst kings stood forth, and many a
crown'd head

With terror of its might confounded;
Till rose a king with potent charm
His foes by goodness to disarm;
Whom ev'ry Scot and Jacobite
Straight fell in love with at first sight;
Whose gracious speech, with aid of
pensions,

Hush'd down all murmurs of dissentions,
And, with the sound of potent metal,
Brought all their blust'ring swarms to
settle;

Who rain'd his ministerial mannas,
Till loud sedition sung hosannas;
The good lords-bishops and the kirk
United in the public work;

Rebellion from the northern regions With Bute and Mansfield swore allegiance,

And all combin'd to raze as nuisance,
Of church and state the constitutions;
Pull down the empire, on whose ruins
They meant to edify their new ones;
Enslave th American wildernesses,
And tear the provinces in pieces.
For these our 'squire, among the vali-
ant'st,

Employ'd his time, and tools, and talents;

And in their cause, with manly zeal,
Us'd his first virtue, to rebel;
And found this new rebellion pleasing
As his old king-destroying treason.

Nor less avail'd his optic sleight,
And Scottish gift of second-sight.
No ancient sybil, fam'd in rhyme,
Saw deeper in the womb of time;
No block in old Dodona's grove
Could ever more orac'lar prove.
Nor only saw he all that was,
But much that never came to pass;
Whereby all prophets far outwent he,
Tho' former days produc'd a plenty :
For any man with half an eye
What stands before him may espy:
But optics sharp it needs, I ween,
To see what is not to be seen.
As in the days of ancient fame
Prophets and poets were the same,
And all the praise that poets gain
Is but for what th' invent and feign:
So gain'd our'squire his fame by seeing
Such things as never would have being,
Whence he for oracles was grown
The very tripod of his town.

But strait he fell to prophesying;
Made dreadful slaughter in his course,
O'erthrew provincials, foot and horse,
Brought armies o'er by sudden pressings,
Of Hanoverians, Swiss, and Hessians;
Feasted with blood his Scottish clan,
And hang'd all rebels, to a man;
Divided their estates and pelf,
And took a goodly share himself.
All this, with spirit energetic,
He did by second-sight prophetic.

Thus stor'd with intellectual riches, Skill'd was our 'squire in making speeches,

Where strength of brains united centres
With strength of lungs surpassing
Stentor's.

But as some musquets so contrive it,
As oft to miss the mark they drive at,
And tho' well aim'd at duck or plover,
Bear wide and kick their owners over:
So far'd our 'squire, whose reas'ning
toil

Would often on himself recoil,
And so much injur'd more his side,
The stronger arg'ments he apply'd:
As old war-elephants, dismay'd,
Trode down the troops they came to
aid,

And hurt their own side more in battle
Than less and ordinary cattle.
Yet at town-meetings ev'ry chief
Pinn'd faith on great M'Fingal's
sleeve,

And, as he motion'd, all by rote
Rais'd sympathetic hands to vote.

M'Fingal attends the town-meeting, which was held in a church, where we are entertained with an altercation between him and a whig, which is carried on whimsically enough, like the snip-snap argumentative dialogues between sir Hudibras and his squire Ralph: among other things, we have a humorous apology for political lying, in the genuine spirit of Butler:

Quoth he, For lies and promise.
breaking

Ye need not be in such a taking;
For lying is, we know and teach,
The highest privilege of speech,
The universal magna charta,
To which all human race is party;
Whence children first, as David says,
Lay claim to't in their earliest days;

The only stratagem in war
Our gen'rals have occasion for;
The only freedom of the press
Our politicians need in peace:
And 'tis a shame you wish t'abridge us
Of these our darling privileges.
Thank heav'n, your shot have miss'd
their aim,

For lying is no sin or shame

As men's last wills may change again, Though drawn in name of God, amen; Be sure they must have much the more O'er promises as great a pow'r, Which, made in haste, with small in

spection,

So much the more will need correction; And when they've careless spoke, or penn'd 'em,

Have right to look 'em o'er, and mend 'em ;

Revise their vows, or change the text,
By way of codicil annex'd;

Turn out a promise that was base,
And put a better in its place.
So Gage of late agreed, you know,
To let the Boston people go;
Yet when he saw 'gainst troops that
brav'd him,

They were the only guards that sav'd him,

Kept off that Satan of a Putnam, From breaking in to maul and mutt'n him,

He'd too much wit such leagues t' ob

serve,

And shut them in again to starve.

So Moses writes, when female Jews Made oaths and vows unfit for use, Their parents then might set them free From that consc'entious tyranny: And shall men feel that spir'tual bondage

For ever, when they grow beyond age; Nor have pow'r their own oaths to change?

I think the tale were very strange.

Shall vows but bind the stout and strong,
And let go women weak and young,
As nets enclose the larger crew,
And let the smaller fry creep through?
Besides, the whigs have all been set on.
The tories to affright and threaten,
Till Gage, amidst his trembling fits,
Has hardly kept him in his wits;
And though he speak with art and
finesse,

'Tis said beneath duress per minas.
For we're in peril of our souls
From feathers, tar, and lib'rty-poles ;
And vows extorted are not binding
In law, and so not worth the minding.

VOL. VI. NO. XXXIV.

>

For we have in this hurly-burly
Sent off our consciences on furlough;
Thrown our religion o'er in form,
Our ship to lighten in the storm.
Nor need we blush your whigs before;
If we've no virtue, you've no more.

Yet black with sins would stain a

mitre,

Rail ye at crimes by ten tints whiter?
And, stuff'd with choler atrabilious,
Insult us here for pecadilloes?
While all your vices run so high
That mercy scarce could find supply:
While, should you offer to repent,
You'd need more fasting days than Lent,
More groans than haunted church-yard
vallies,

And more confessions than broad-alleys*.
I'll show you all, at fitter time,
Th' extent and greatness of your crime,
And here demonstrate to your face,
Your want of virtue, as of grace,
Evinc'd from topics old and recent:
But thus much must suffice at present.
To th' after portion of the day,
I leave what more remains to say;
When I've good hope you'll all appear,
More fitted and prepared to hear,
And griev'd for all your vile demeanour :
But now 'tis time t' adjourn for dinner.

The second canto opens with a description of the dinner vacation, and of the resuming of the meeting:

The sun, who never stops to dine,
Two hours had pass'd the midway line,
And driving at his usual rate,
Lash'd on his downward car of state.
And now expir'd the short vacation,
And dinner done in epic fashion;
While all the crew beneath the trees,
Eat pocket-pies, or bread and cheese;
Nor shall we, like old Homer, care
To versify the bill of fare.

For now each party, feasted well,
Throng'd in, like sheep, at sound of bell,
With equal spirit took their places;
And meeting op'd with three Oh yesses;
When first the daring whigs t'oppose,
Again the great M Fingal rose,
Stretch'd magisterial arm amain,
And thus assum'd the accusing strain.

* Alluding to a species of church discipline, where a person is obliged to stand in an aisle of, the church, called the broad-alley, name the offence of which he has been guilty, and ask pardon of his brethren.

I shall not pursue the thread of the eccentric orations: but the following passage will show that the tory 'squire is not inferior to the fanatical knight, in the use of tropes and figures:

Vain, quoth the 'squire, you'll find to

sneer

At Gage's first triumphant year;
For Providence, dispos'd to teaze us,
Can use what instruments it pleases.
To pay a tax at Peter's wish,
His chief cashier was once a fish;
An ass, in Balaam's sad disaster,
Turn'd orator, and sav'd his master;
A goose plac'd sentry on his station
Presery'd old Rome from desolation;
Au English bishop's cur of late

Disclos'd rebellions 'gainst the state;
So frogs croak'd Pharaoh to repentance,
And lice revers'd the threat'ning sen-

tence;

And Heav'n can ruin you at pleasure,
By our scorn'd Gage, as well as Cæsar.
Yet did our hero in these days
Pick up some laurel-wreaths of praise.
And as the statuary of Seville
Made his crack'd saint an excellent
devil;

So, though our war few triumphs brings,
We gain'd great fame in other things.

Honorius is the effective hero of the piece, who is employed to buffet this man of straw, M'Fingal, for the reader's amusement and edification; and he performs his part according to the writer's intentions. At the conclusion of one of his speeches,

As thus he said, the tories' anger Could now restrain itself no longer, Who tried before by many a freak, or Insulting noise to stop the speaker; Swung th' unoil'd hinge of each pewdoor;

Their feet kept shuffling on the floor;
Made their disapprobation known
By many a murmur, hum, and groan,
That to his speech supplied the place
Of counterpart in thorough-bass:
As bagpipes, while the tune they breathe,
Still drone and grumble underneath;
Or as the fam'd Demosthenes
Harangu'd the rumbling of the seas,
Held forth with eloquence full grave
To audience loud of wind and wave;
And had a stiller congregation
Than tories are to hear th' oration.

But now the storm grew high and louder,

As nearer thund'rings of a cloud are,
And ev'ry soul with heart and voice
Each list'ning ear was set on torture,
Supply'd his quota of the noise;
Each tory bellowing out, to order;
And some, with tongue not low or weak,
Were clam'ring fast, for leave to speak
The moderator, with great vi'lence,
The cushion thump'd with "Silence!
Silence!"

The constable to ev'ry prater

Bawl'd out, " Pray, hear the moderator;"

Some call'd the vote, and some, in turn, Were screaming high, " Adjourn, ad

journ."

Not chaos heard such jars and clashes
When all the elements fought for places.
Each bludgeon soon for blows was tim'd;
Each fist stood ready cock'd and prim'd;
The storm each moment louder grew;
His sword the great M Fingal drew,
Prepar'd in either chance to share,
To keep the peace or aid the war.
Nor lack'd they each poetic being,
Whom bards alone are skill'd in seeing;
Plum'd Victory stood perch'd on high,
Upon the pulpit canopy,
To join, as is her custom tried,
Like Indians, on the strongest side;
The destinies, with shears and distaff,
Drew near, their threads of life to twist
off;

The furies 'gan to feast on blows,
And broken heads or bloody nose;
When on a sudden from without,
Arose a loud terrific shont;
And straight the people all at once

heard

dresses, as Hudibras does the bearbaiters, and to as good a purpose. His oration provokes them to hostilities: the tories are routed; and M Fingal and his constable are knocked down and captured. They fix the constable by his waistband to a rope, and draw him up to the top of the pole, where he makes a formal abjuration of his tory principles; on which symptom of repentance he is let down, promising future good behaviour.

Not so our 'squire submits to rule, But stood heroic as a mule. You'll find it all in vain, quoth he, To play your rebel tricks on me. All punishments the world can render Serve only to provoke th' offender; The will's confirm'd by treatment horrid, As hides grow harder when they're

curri'd.

No man e'er felt the halter draw,
With good opinion of the law;
Or held in method orthodox
His love of justice in the stocks;
Or fail'd to lose by sheriff's shears
At once his loyalty and ears.
Have you made Murray look less big,
Or smok'd old Williams to a whig?
Did our mobb'd Oliver quit his station,
Or heed his vows of resignation?
Has Rivington, in dread of stripes,
Ceas'd lying since you stole his types?
And can you think my faith will alter
By tarring, whipping, or the halter?
I'll stand the worst; for recompence
I trust king George and Providence.
And when, our conquest gain'd, I come,
Array'd in law and terror, home,
You'll rue this inauspicious morn,
And curse the day you e'er were born,
In Job's high style of imprecations,
With all his plagues, without his
patience.

Such daring incorrigibility procured him the distinction of being tarred and feathered; an operation which is thus described:

Forthwith the crowd proceed to deck, With halter'd noose, M Fingal's neck, While he, in peril of his soul,

Stood tied half-hanging, to the pole; Then lifting high the pond'rous jar, Pour'd o'er his head the smoking tar: With less profusion erst was spread The Jewish oil on royal head,

That down his beard and vestments ran,
And cover'd all his outward man.
As when (so Claudian sings) the gods
And earth-born giants fell at odds,
The stout Enceladus in malice
And as he held them o'er his head,
Tore mountains up to throw at Pallas;
The rivers from their fountains fed,
Pour'd down his back its copious tide,

And wore its channels in its hide :

So from the high-rais'd urn the torrents
Spread down his side the various currents;
His flowing wig, as next the brim,
First met and drank the sable stream;
Adown his visage, stern and grave,
Roll'd and adher'd the viscid wave;
With arms depending as he stood,
Each cuff capacious holds the flood;
From nose and chin's remotest end
The tarry icicles depend;
Till all o'erspread with colours gay
He glitter'd to the western ray,
Like sleet-bound trees in wintry skies,
Or Lapland idol carv'd in ice.
And now the feather-bag display'd
Is wav'd in triumph o'er his head,
And spread him o'er with feathers mis-
sive,

And down, upon the tar adhesive:
Not Maia's son, with wings for ears,
Such plumes around his visage wears;
Nor Milton's six-wing'd angel gathers
Such superfluity of feathers.
Till all complete appears our 'squire,
Like gorgon or chimera dire;
Nor more could boast, on Plato's plan,
To rank amid the race of man,
Or prove his claim to human nature,
As a two-legg'd, unfeather'd creature.

In this ridiculously distressful plight, M'Fingal, in the fourth canto, at midnight, harangues an assembly of tories in his cellar; and, giving up all hopes of his cause, he relates a vision to his friends, which, in prophetic style, glances over the subsequent events of the American war.

Here the talents of a luckless general are celebrated; with a good display of the advantages which genius derives from the possessor of it being in confinement:

Behold that martial macaroni, Compound of Phobus and Bellona, With warlike sword and sing-song lay, Equipp'd alike for feast or fray,