Beside him come L-c-st-r, with equal éclât, in ;—
Stand forth, chosen pair, while for titles we measure ye;
Both connoisseur baronets, both fond of drawing,

Sir John after nature, Sir Charles on the Treasury.

But, bless us !-behold a new candidate come

In his hand he upholds a prescription, new written;
He poiseth a pill-box 'twixt finger and thumb,

And he asketh a seat 'mong the Peers of Great Britain!

"Forbid it,' cried Jenky, 'ye Viscounts, ye Earls !---
Oh Rank, how thy glories would fall disenchanted,
If coronets glistened with pills 'stead of pearls,

And the strawberry-leaves were by rhubarb supplanted !
'No-ask it not, ask it not, dear Doctor H-lf—rd—
If nought but a Peerage can gladden thy life,
And if young Master H-lf-rd as yet is too small for't,
Sweet Doctor, we'll make a she Peer of thy wife.

Next to bearing a coronet on our own brows,

Is to bask in its light from the brows of another;
And grandeur o'er thee shall reflect from thy spouse,

As o'er Vesey Fitzgerald 'twill shine through his mother."
Thus ended the First Batch-and Jenky, much tired,
(It being no joke to make Lords by the heap),
Took a large dram of ether-the same that inspired
His speech against Papists-and prosed off to sleep.

Choose between them, Cambridge, pray,
Which is weakest, Cambridge, say.
Each a different mode pursues,

Each the same conclusion reaches;
B-nkes is foolish in Reviews,

G-lb-rn foolish in his speeches. Choose between them, Cambridge, pray; Which is weakest, Cambridge, say. Each a different foe doth damn,

When his own affairs have gone ill;
B-nkes he damneth Buckingham,

G-lb-rn damneth Dan O'Connell.
Choose between them, Cambridge, pray;
Which is weakest, Cambridge, say.
B-nkes, accustomed much to roam,

Plays with Truth a traveller's pranks;
G-lb-rn, though he stays at home,
Travels thus as much as B-nkes.

1 Among the persons mentioned as likely to be raised to the Peerage are the mother of Mr. Vesey Fitzgerald, etc.

FROM HIS EXCELLENCY DON STREPITOSO DIABOLO, ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY TO HIS SATANIC MAJESTY.

St. James' Street, July 1.

GREAT Sir, having just had the good luck to catch
An official young Demon, preparing to go,

Ready booted and spurred, with a black-leg despatch,

From the Hell here, at Cr-ckf-rd's, to our Hell below—

I write these few lines to your Highness Satanic,
To say that, first having obeyed your directions,
And done all the mischief I could in the Panic,'
My next special care was to help the Elections.

Well knowing how dear were those times to thy soul,
When every good Christian tormented his brother,

And caused in thy realm such a saving of coal,

From their all coming down, ready grilled by each other;

Remembering, besides, how it pained thee to part
With the old Penal Code,-that chef-d'œuvre of Law,

In which (though to own it too modest thou art)

We could plainly perceive the fine touch of thy claw;

I thought, as we ne'er can those good times revive

(Though Eld-n, with help from your Highness, would try) "Twould still keep a taste for Hell's music alive,

Could we get up a thundering No-Popery cry ;

That yell which, when chorused by laics and clerics,
So like is to ours, in its spirit and tone,

That I often nigh laugh myself into hysterics,
To think that Religion should make it her own.

So, having sent down for the original notes

Of the chorus, as sung by your Majesty's choir,
With a few pints of lava, to gargle the throats

Of myself and some others, who sing it with fire,'1

Thought I, if the Marseillais Hymn could command
Such audience, though yelled by a Sans-culotte crew,
What wonders shall we do, who've men in our band,
That not only wear breeches, but petticoats too!'

'Con fuoco-a music-book direction.

Such then were my hopes; but, with sorrow, your Highness,
I'm forced to confess-be the cause what it will,
Whether fewness of voices, or hoarseness, or shyness,-
Our Beelzebub Chorus has gone off but ill.

The truth is, no placeman now knows his right key,
The Treasury pitch-pipe of late is so various;
And certain base voices, that looked for a fee

At the York music meeting, now think it precarious.

Even some of our Reverends might have been warmer—
But one or two capital roarers we've had;
Doctor Wise' is, for instance, a charming performer,
And Huntingdon Maberly's yell was not bad.

Altogether, however, the thing was not hearty ;-
Even Eld-n allows we got on but so-so;
And when next we attempt a No-Popery party,
We must, please your Highness, recruit from below.

But, hark, the young Black-leg is cracking his whip-
Excuse me, Great Sir-there's no time to be civil;-
The next opportunity shan't be let slip,

But, till then,

I'm, in haste, your most dutiful

DEVIL.

MR. ROGER DODSWORTH.

To the Editor of the Times.

SIR, -Living in a remote part of Scotland, and having but just heard of the wonderful resurrection of Mr. Roger Dodsworth from under an avalanche, where he had remained, bien frappé, it seems, for the last 166 years, I hasten to impartto you a few reflections on the subject.

Yours, etc.,

LAUDATOR TEMPORIS ACTI.

WHAT a lucky turn-up!-just as Eld-n's withdrawing,
To find thus a gentleman, frozen in the year
Sixteen hundred and sixty, who only wants thawing
To serve for our times quite as well as the Peer ;-

To bring thus to light, not the wisdom alone

Of our ancestors, such as we find it on shelves,
But, in perfect condition, full-wigged and full-grown,
To shovel up one of those wise bucks themselves!
Oh thaw Mr. Dodsworth and send him safe home,-
Let him learn nothing useful or new on the way;
With his wisdom kept snug from the light let him come,
And our Tories will hail him with 'Hear' and 'Hurra!'

This reverend gentleman distinguished himself at the Reading election.

What a God-send to them-a good, obsolete man,

Who has never of Locke or Voltaire been a reader ;

Oh thaw Mr. Dodsworth as fast as you can,

And the L-nsd-les and H-rtf-rds shall choose him for leader.

Yes, sleeper of ages, thou shalt be their Chosen;

And deeply with thee will they sorrow, good men,
To think that all Europe has, since thou wert frozen,
So altered, thou hardly canst know it again.

And Eld-n will weep o'er each sad innovation
Such oceans of tears, thou wilt fancy that he
Has been also laid up in a long congelation,
And is only now thawing, dear Roger, like thee.

THE MILLENNIUM.

SUGGESTED BY THE LATE WORK OF THE REVEREND MR. IRV-NG ON
PROPHECY.'

A MILLENNIUM at hand!-I'm delighted to hear it—
As matters, both public and private, now go,
With multitudes round us all starving, or near it,
A good rich Millennium will come à propos.

Only think, Master Fred, what delight to behold,
Instead of thy bankrupt old City of Rags,

A bran-new Jerusalem, built all of gold,

Sound bullion throughout, from the roof to the flags

A city, where wine and cheap corn1 shall abound,—
A celestial Cocaigne, on whose buttery shelves
We may swear the best things of this world will be found,
As your saints seldom fail to take care of themselves!

Thanks, reverend expounder of raptures elysian,2
Divine Squintifobus, who, placed within reach
Of two opposite worlds, by a twist of your vision
Can cast, at the same time, a sly look at each ;—

Thanks, thanks for the hope thou hast given us, that we
May, even in our own times, a jubilee share,
Which so long has been promised by prophets like thee,
And so often has failed, we began to despair.

There was Whiston, 3 who learnedly took Prince Eugene
For the man who must being the Millennium about;

1'A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny. - Rev. c. 6.

See the oration of this reverend gentleman, where he describes the connubial joys of paradise, and paints the angels hovering around 'each happy fair.'

3 When Whiston presented to Prince Eugene the Essay in which he attempted to connect his victories over the Turks with revelation, the Prince is said to have replied that 'he was not aware he had ever had the honour of being known to St. John.'

There was Counsellor Dobbs, too, an Irish M.P.,
Who discoursed on the subject with signal éclat,
And each day of his life, sat expecting to see

A Millennium break out in the town of Armagh !1

There was also--but why should I burden my lay
With your Brotherses, Southcotts, and names less deserving,
When all past Millenniums henceforth must give way
To the last new Millennium of Orator Irv-ng?

Go on, mighty man,-doom them all to the shelf-
And, when next thou with Prophecy troublest thy sconce,
Oh forget not, I pray thee, to prove that thyself

Art the Beast (chapter 4) that sees nine ways at once!