Then if some wise one With hey cow rumble, &c. North. A very hopeful and well-behaved angel, by my word. North. Has written one song which I hope will live long as "the flag of Old England waves lordly in pride," that is, I hope for ever. I mean the Mariners of England. Tickler. A glorious song indeed! But Campbell has disgraced himself by a shabby song, in the New Monthly, about the Spaniards. It is not fit for a gentleman like Campbell to fall into the filthy slang of the blackguards of the press, and write low stuff about Prince Hilt,* or to call the grand old stainless flag of France (which he knows—the blackguards do not-is linked with so many splendid recollections) the "White emblem of white liver." Dr. Mullion. Some of Sir Walter's songs will certainly live. North. Perhaps-those in his Poems and his Novels, if they are his; but I do not recollect any thing particular of any other; and, in point of fact, you never do hear them sung by any body. Bishop, by the way, has very poorly set County Guy, very poorly indeed. Odoherty. I like Bishop, a worthy pleasant fellow; but, somehow or other, I think his music generally but compilation,—a bar from this body and a bar from that body-curiously indented and dovetailed, I admit, but still only joinery and cabinet-making.† North. Nobody has said a word about Byron.t Tickler. Dead as Harry the Eighth, and it is a pity. Heavens! who can think that the author of Childe Harold, and Manfred, and Don Juan, should have sunk to what he is now, a scribbler in a dirty magazine, and a patron of the Hunts! It, however, speaks volumes in favor of the morality of the country, after all, when we find that even genius, such as his, must sink, if it dares oppose what we are still determined to call religion and loyalty. Odoherty (handing The Island to North). I have brought down Christian. Would you wish to look at it? Buller. Does it sell? Odoherty. Not at all, though the third edition is advertised. I was told at Longman's that they had not disposed of a hundred. It would have a better chance with Murray; but he and his lordship have bro * So the Duc d'Angoulême was called.-M. + Mr. Bishop, who has composed several operas, and the music for hundreds of songs, was elected Professor of Music in the University of Oxford, and has been knighted.—M. ‡ In August, 1823, Byron embarked at Genoa, on his last, and glorious visit to Greece.-M. "The Island," which contains some passages as fine as Byron ever produced, was written in Genoa, and published in June, 1823. 1823.] THE ISLAND." 337 ken, after a furious quarrel. The correspondence between them is said to be curious. Buller. Of course we shall have an awful libel on Joannes de Moravia in due time. Odoherty. I hope so, from the bottom of my soul; for then Murray will take vengeance in turn. I had rather than a tenpenny, and that cash, we could print Byron's Critique on the Pot of Basil. Tickler. Faugh, don't mention it. North. Christian, I see, is a poor thing, with a good bit here and there in it, but not the least originality. He is the old hero-the Lara, the Conrad, the fellow of whom his lordship found the germ in Miss Lee's Kruitzner, transported to Botany Bay, or thereabouts, where, instead of mosques, and kiosks, and tambourgis, and phingaris, we are entertained with Toobonai, and Boolootoo, Mooa, Figi, Hooni, Licoo, Guatoo, Goostrumfoo, et omne quod endeth in co. And the woman kind are the old womankind, not a bit the worse for the wear. Tickler. Yes, and you have the same amazing industry in transferring Bligh's Narrative, that he has shown so often before. But the introduction, and indeed some other passages, remind us of the better days of Byron. Listen! "The morning watch was come; the vessel lay Odoherty. Very toploftical, to be sure. Commend me to the panegyric on what our friend Fogarty (from whom his lordship seems to have taken the idea) calls "Tobacco, lord of plants." VOL. I. But here the herald of the self-same mouth Came breathing o'er the aromatic south, Not like a "bed of violets" on the gale, But such as wafts its cloud o'er grog or ale, Borne from a short frail pipe, which yet had blown Its gentle odors over either zone, And puff'd where'er winds rise or waters roll, 15 Opposed its vapor as the lightning flashed, Through every change of all the varying skies. Sublime tobacco! which from east to west Though not less loved, in Wapping or the Strand; When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe, Yet thy true lovers more admire by far And as we are talking of it, do hand us over that paper of Cotton's best, until I blow a cloud. North. Why, Odoherty, you have scarcely brought us any news from London. Odoherty. How could you expect blood from a turnip? There's no news there. Parliament was just spinning down, when I quitted the city, as drowsily as a tetotum-nothing doing in the monde littérairethe Haymarket gay, to be sure, and our friend Terry,* drollest of actors, as he is among the worthiest of men, making the populace laugh-but I brought you down a special article on London, from a friend of mine, which will tell you every thing tellable, so you need not pump me. Dr. Mullion. Did you see any of the gentlemen of the press Odoherty. Saw the whole goodly army of martyrs in full array; just as stupendously dull as ever, and, unless I mistake, more vicious, to speak as a jockey among the lower orders, than varmint. When Í knew the body first, they were a fine hard-drinking, pudding-headed race, who just got through their balaam as fast as their fingers would let them-spouted at the Eccentrics-regaled themselves with cheese and porter, and occasionally, when the funds were good, with Hollands and water, not caring a single sixpence for politics, or thinking themselves at all primed up with the opinions they were advocating-and there are still some of that good old school surviving, with two or * Terry, who was very intimate with Scott and his friends, made his reputation at Edinburgh Theatre. In 1819, he became manager of the Haymarket Theatre, London, and joint lessee and manager with Yates of the Adelphi in 1825. He died in 1828. + This special article was the leader in Blackwood, for July, 1828, and was written by Dr. Maginn, who had removed, a short time before, from Cork to London. The article bears the name of "London Oddities and Outlines," and is smart, lively, and satirical.-M. 1823.] THE PRESS-GANG. 339 three of whom I got misty one night at Offley's*-but, sir, the Cockney portion of them have been horribly altered for the worse. North. How? Odoherty. The poor creatures have actually set up to have opinions of their own—the idiots-and to have personal quarrels, and animosities, and principles, and fiddle-de-dee. Tickler. Mighty audacious. Can't they eat their victuals when they get them in peace? North. The newspaper press is unquestionably becoming very base. What a hideous, a detestable attack, some of the Whig and Radical papers made on John Bull ! Odoherty. Well, do the press-gang itself justice! There was almost a universal outcry at that brutal business even among themselves. It was abominable. John, however, put it down like a man. North. Well now, had the unfortunate Beaconites, which we still have thrown in our faces, though heaven knows their worst crime was stupidity, done any thing approaching that in atrocity, what an uproar would have been raised by the whole Whig party! Tickler. And deservedly, for they would have been base assassins; but the Whigs may do any thing-the basest as well as the most malignant of people. Odoherty (sings). There's a touch Shakspearian for you, in the twinkling of a bedpost. North. You are not drinking any thing, Tickler. Tickler. I cannot say I like your wine. It is souring on my stomach. North. Cannot you get spirits then? I'll concoct a jug. * Near Covent Garden-now Evans's.—M, Tickler. So be it. (Sings.) . Drink to me only from a jug, The thirst that in my throat doth rise But might I of Jove's nectar sip, That honor I'd resign. The second verse is not worth parodying. Ay, this is something like. Your health, Mr. Editor. North. Mr. Tickler, I have the pleasure of drinking your very good health. Apropos, has not Boone published a poem* on things in general ? Odoherty. I saw one in a certain place sadly mutilated, and have read only two pages. It is a puff on Mr. Canning. Tickler. Very superfluous, therefore. It is, moreover, a good joke to see the great man of the Council of Ten, the essence of gravity, thinking to flatter the witty Antijacobin by his balaam. North. Canning must have laughed at the idea, in his sleeve, I mean- -for a minister can never laugh otherwise. Buller. I suppose he addressed the book, *This was entitled "Men and Things in 1823, a Political Sketch, in Three Epistles, to the Right Hon. Geo. Canning, with copious Notes. By James Shergold Boone, M. A.”—Of poem and poet, I am free to confess utter ignorance.-M. |