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so far as I can gather, they have condensed the good things within as nar. row, as aristocratic, nay almost as familiar a circle, as could well have been chalked out for their adoption by the worst enemy of their sway. Is it not so-how did it strike you on the spot?

TICKLER.

Very agreeably. When I heard such a tallowfaced cheeseparing of a beardless, bucktoothed ninny as Lord Howick yelping down the law, God help him! for the Colonial Empire of Great Britain, and found, on enquiry, that he was not generally considered as greatly more idiotic than most others of the new Under-Secretaries, junior Lords of the Treasury, &c. &c. my spirit rejoiced within me, and I snuffed the air six inches farther above the surface of the terraqueous globe.

NORTH.

I sincerely hope, when the right folks get back, we shall see- -You smile, I perceive

TICKLER.

They get back! My dear Christopher, how can you talk such nonsense? No-no-no-no-Ante leves ergo

Sooner the ass in fields of air shall graze,

Or Russell's tragedy claim Shakspeare's bays;
Sooner shall mack'rel on Pall Mall disport,
Or Jeffrey's hearers think his speech too short;
Sooner shall Wisdom flow in Howick's strain,
Or Modesty invest Macauley's brain,

Than Tories rule on British soil again!

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I bet you a riddle of claret they are in power again in two months. Of that I have very little doubt;-would to God I could be as sure of their behaving themselves as they ought to do after the thing is done!

TICKLER.

Upon what, in the name of Jupiter, do you build your hopes? I met with nobody in London who even hinted at the possibility of such things; and since I left it-you see what majorities!

NORTH.

Never mind. I put not my faith in princes-for that would be forgetting the words of Holy Writ; but, begging your pardon, I still put my faith in Peers. The Committee will cut the Bill well down yet before it goes to the Lords, and the Lords will do the rest of the business, and Lord Grey will resign next morning, and William the Fourth, nolens volens, will send for Sir Robert Peel, and Sir Robert Peel will make up a Cabinet within eight-and-forty hours, and deliver a plain, perspicuous oration, detailing what Reform he is willing to patronise, and dissolve the Parliament

And what then?

TICKLER.

NORTH.

Why, nothing uncommon. The majority of the House of Commons are not-not being fools, mere fools they cannot possibly be-sincere; and they will be delighted to find their Bill destroyed, and they will vapour and palaver, and do nothing. By that time, moreover, the horrible stagnation in every branch of internal trade, for which the nation has to thank Lord Grey, and of which people even in lofty places are already beginning to feel the effects, will have come to such a pass as to command attention in all quarters to something much more interesting, as well as important, than any reform. By that time, again, there will be no Peers in France, and the Duke of Orleans will be safely housed in his old villa at Twickenham, (which, like a sensible man, he has, I am told, always refused to let)—and there will be war by land, and war by sea--and there will be a bit of a dust at Manchester or elsewhere, and it will be laid in blood, and the new Parliament will be chosen in peace and jollity, and consist, with few exceptions, of gentlemen-and Peel's Reform-bad enough probably, but still something bearable as compared with this iniquity-will be introduced,

and we shall jog on pretty much in the old way again-that is, conquer right and left as long as any body dares to keep the field before us, be too grand not to sacrifice all we have gained at the cost of our own gold and blood whenever a peace is to be made, and then, Europe being once more settled, buckle ourselves once more to the glorious task of unsettling England-that is to say, adopt Whig measures-on, and on, until the national appetite is at last so depraved that it calls out for some radical bolus, and nothing can save us, or our children rather, from bolting the murderous crudity, except, at the distance perhaps of twenty years, just such another series of sayings and doings as, please God, will for ever illustrate, in Tory annals, the memory of the autumn of 1831.

TICKLER.

Ha! ha! ha!-well, I wished to hear what your unbiassed opinion might be-and, forgive me, told a little bit of a fib by way of eliciting it in its full splendour. The fact is, you have just adopted the view I found most common among people of all parties in the capital-Whigs, Tories, Radicals, all alike. The only chance, every one seemed to think, of any serious disturbance, was connected with one great man. able member became inaudible.)

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NORTH.

TICKLER.

SHEPHERD.

NORTH.

TICKLER.

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[N.B. The changes of voice
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If he does, it will be against the grain. It does very well to talk about certain things-but we all know what life he leads, what company he keeps, what tastes he cultivates, and I tell you he is no more the man to be up and doing in such a business than you or I, or any other old hero of the Flatfoots-Corporal Casey himself included.-(Sings.)

SONG.

TUNE-Dearest Helen, I'll love thee no more.

In the summer, when flowers in the woodlands were springing,
And the strawberry pints met our eyes by the score,
And our only town blackbird in Queen Street was singing,
Word came that the Flatfoots were a regiment no more,
A regiment no more-a regiment no more;
And our only town blackbird in Queen Street was singing,
Word came that the Flatfoots were a regiment no more.

O then, what despair was thy lot, Captain L'Amy,
As the sergeant march'd pensively up to thy door,
And demanded thy sword, and thy sword-belt of shamois ;
How dreadful and deep were the oaths that ye swore,

The oaths that ye swore-the oaths that ye swore!
And demanded thy sword, and thy sword-belt of shamois,
How dreadful and deep were the oaths that ye swore.

Stap my vitals, adzooks! burn my gown, blast my wig, now
This news will put all the Good Town in uproar;
This is done by some d―d economical Whig, now
Great Mars! my career in thy service is o'er,

In thy service is o'er-in thy service is o'er;
This is done by some d-d economical Whig, now
Great Mars! my career in thy service is o'er.

And you, my dear lads, none will ever surpass ye,
Together we've served in the hottest warfare;
We have gather'd our laurels upon the Crosscausey,
We have dyed with our best blood the Fishmarket Stair;
The Fishmarket Stair-the Fishmarket Stair;

We have gather'd our laurels upon the Crosscausey,
We have dyed with our best blood the Fishmarket Stair.

SHEPHERD.

Weel eneugh, sirs. But hear till me-dinna hinner me frae singing. I'll sing you a sang, an auld ane frae my Jacobite Relics; an' though the folks are now beginnin' to surmeese that I made the feck o' the auld Jacobite sangs mysell, ye're no to gie a shadow o' insinuation that I made this ane, else, should the King chance to be introduced to me when he comes to Scotland, he might cast it up to me.

Would you know what a Whig is, and always was,
I'll show you his face, as it were in a glass:
He's a rebel at heart, with a villainous face,
A saint by profession, who never had grace.
Cheating and lying are puny things,
Rapine and plunder but venial sins;
His dear occupations are ruin of nations,
Subverting of crowns, and deceiving of kings.

To shew that he came from a home of worth,
'Twas bloody Barbarity gave him birth—
Ambition the midwife that brought him forth-
And Lucifer's bride that call'd him to earth-
Judas his tutor was till he grew big-
Hypocrisy taught him to care not a fig

For all that was sacred: so thus was created
And brought to this world what we call a Whig.

Spew'd up amang mortals from hellish jaws,
He suddenly strikes at religion and laws,
With civil dissensions and bloody inventions,
He tries to push through with his beggarly cause
Still cheating and lying, he plays his game,
Always dissembling-yet still the same,

Till he fills the creation with crimes of damnation,
Then goes to the devil, from whence he came.

He is the sourest of sumphs, and the dourest of tikes,
Whom nobody trusts to and nobody likes;

He will fawn on your face with a leer on his snout,
And snap at your heels when your back's turn'd about;
Whene'er he's kick'd out, then he raises a rout,
With howling and growling, and biting about;
But when he gets in, O! there is such a fleer
Of flattery and flummery, 'tis shameful to hear.

If you give him a ladle or rough paritch-stick,
Or the fat fouthy scum of a soudy to lick,
You'll see how the cur up his birses will fling,
With his mouth to the meat, and his tail to the king;
He'll lick the cook's hand, and the scullion's wrang side,

But masters and misses his heart downa bide.

Kick him out, cuff him out-mind not his din,

For he'll funk us to death if you let him bide in.

NORTH.

In the meantime there can be no sort of doubt that, considering they

have been in office only eight months, they have done about as much to disgrace themselves as any preceding set, the Talents excepted, ever were able to accomplish within as many years. This is consolatory.

TICKLER.

The unvarnishing of Whig reputations, under but so brief an exposure to the biting air of Downing Street, has, indeed, been proceeding at a fine pace; let them make out the twelvemonths, in God's name!

NORTH.

No man more cordially wished to see them in than I did; and, but that I now see in their endurance the imminent ruin of Old England, God knows no man would less wish to see them out. But their proceedings have changed things more important than my little private wishes as to the locumtenencies of Whitehall; and, to be honest, I now almost begin to blame myself for the hand I had in turning out their predecessors.

TICKLER.

Never repent of that. They neglected their duty, and you did yours. Not being either a Rowite or a Secondsighter, you could not foretell the consequences of the Wellingtonian downfall-and in personal respect to the immortal Duke himself, I am sure the worst of your enemies can never pretend to say you were deficient. The cursed Currency concern of 1819 was, after all, the father of the national distress-the national distress was the parent of the national Discontent-Discontent has in all ages been the progenitor of Delusion-and Delusion alone could ever have given breath and being to such a monster as the Durham Bill. Do you watch the turn of the tide, and do your duty when the Tories come in, as steadily as you did before they went out. It is to be hoped they have got a lesson-and that neither by the patronage of Whigs, nor the adoption of Whig measures, will Tories again, at least in our time, undermine at once their own power, and, what is of rather more importance, the constitution of their country. But whether the lesson be or not taken at headquarters, my dear North, never do you shrink from your old rules—“ stare super antiquas vias”"nolumus legis Angliæ mutari"-" respect the landmarks"-and "let weel bide !"

NORTH.

Fear God and honour the king!-quand même.

TICKLER.

Quand même! Quand même! Quand même! Ah! North,

"Hence spring these tears-this Ilium of our foes:
Cold wax his friends, whose faith is in his woes!"

So says Dryden-and such, I fear, is the case at present in too many quarters; but it will never be so with us. We know our duty better-and we understand, I venture to say, the facts of the case better. In spite of Sir James Scarlett's law we pity, but at the same time, in spite of Lord Grey's bill, we honour; and the time will come for us to vindicate, defend, liberate, and uphold.-I confess I witnessed certain scenes-Ascot-Drury Lane-even the Painted Chamber-even the House of Lords itself-with feelings of deeper pain than I could have believed any things of that nature could have had power to stir up, now-a-days, in these old tough heartstrings.

NORTH.

"A deathlike silence, and a drear repose ?"

TICKLER.

An unanimous, bellowing, blustering, hallooing mob, a divided, distrustful gentry, an insulted but unshaken peerage, a doomed but determined prelacy-these are strange signs, and sorrowful.

NORTH.

A vulgarized court, a despairing Family, and a trembling Crown!

TICKLER.

England has unquestionably seen no such danger since the meeting of

the Long Parliament;-but this, I still hope, will be known in history as the Short one.

NORTH.

A charitable hope. Well, if the Peers be made of such stuff as I believe they are, it is like to be more short than merry, at all events. How do the Bishops look?

TICKLER.

Quite firm; but I never doubted as to them. What did me the real good was to have all my little qualms about the lay Lords laid-which they were by a single glance round the House, while the King was reading his Ministers' longwinded and very single-minded Speech. That satisfied me; and I own I am much deceived if the effect was not quite as decided, although not peradventure so consolatory, in a certain quarter. His Majesty looked, to my eye, any thing but comfortable; but, I am sorry to say, he is evidently in very feeble bodily health, and it was a hot day, and the crowd was pestiferous, and an unconsecrated crown is perhaps heavier than usual, so that the circumstance might be otherwise accounted for. Can't say-merely give you my impressions of the moment-looked, I thought, flustered and unhappy-boggled several times in the reading, and changed colour oddly.

NORTH.

'Tis odd enough; but his Majesty is the only one of his father's sons I never happened to behold in the flesh. Which of the family does he most resemble? If one could trust Lawrence's picture, I should say the old King himself.

TICKLER.

I rather think it is so;-but by far the best likenesses are those of H. B., whoever may answer to those immortal initials; and of all his admirable ones, the best by far is that in the print of the Old Wicked Grey running off with John Gilpin, while Lord Brougham cries "Go it! go it!-never mind the Ducks and Geese," (meaning the Peers and Parsons, who are typified as huge waddlers of the South, and great Ganders of Lambeth, with coronets and mitres on their heads), and Mrs Gilpin appears above on the balcony with her half-crown, screaming to the bystanders. The face of the headlong Captain of the Train-bands is perfect in every lineament—and I think the anonymous genius of our day, who has already beat Gilray to sticks, must have been in the House of Lords upon the recent grand occasion I have been alluding to.

NORTH.

Remember to bid the Bailie order it down. Are we never to see these things in Auld Reekie until they be out of date? The "Never mind the Ducks and Geese” would be a fair motto for a new edition of the " Friendly Advice."

TICKLER.

The Ducks and Geese, however, will be found quite capable of holding their own, and suffer neither Rats nor Weasels to disturb the Wash of Edmonton with impunity.

NORTH.

They had as well. If they don't, they are done. Do any of the "ORDER," I wonder, sincerely and seriously believe that we of the inferior classes, who have always stood by them, in opposition to the folks who, after daubing them with dirt all their lives, are now trying to half-bully, half-cajole them into an abandonment of their highest and most sacred duties,-do any of these high and mighty personages seriously believe that we poor Tory gentlemen have been actuated in our feelings and conduct regarding them by mere vulgar admiration and humble worship of the pomps and vanities of long pedigrees, magnificent chateaus, and resplendent equipages? Do any of them believe that it is, per se, simply, and of itself, a matter of joy, and satisfaction, and exultation to us, to behold a certain number of individuals, most of them neither wiser, nor cleverer, nor more active, nor even better-looking than ourselves—many of them, indeed, neither better born nor better bred than the ordinary run of the gentry ¡—

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