Hogg's rhyme is quite national, for it is known that the Scotch in general sink the t in such words, saying respec', &c. but Campbell beats him even in this piece of nationality. Who ever heard such a rhyme southwards as this "It bore a crucifix, An ancient temple, which the PICTS." They have some peculiar ideas as to the word "abroad." "Go back, ye wolves, to your dens, he cried, And tell the nations abroad How the fiercest of your herd has died, That slaughter'd the flock of God." CAMPBELL, 147. "But darker paths are to be trod, For darker doings are abroad." HOGG, 268. But we should be quoting the whole books did we go on. Campbell rhymes "bouquetin" to "between,"and"route" to out," thereby shewing his knowledge of French pronunciation. He also favours us with " pair" and 66 66 66 prepare, page" and " page, "break" and "neck," break" and "wreck," "Devons" and 66 ravens," "human" and "woman," and five hundred others, in consequence of which we hereby new christen him Thomas the Rhymer. Hogg gallops away in every page at such a rate that it is needless to hunt out particulars. Cull we, therefore, a flower or two from each, and desert. "Again to the battle, ACHAIANS, Match that, Hogg, if you can. Ay, ay, sir, says Hogg. Farewell, No. 2, Shire Lane, January 1st, 1825. VOL. XVII. Array'd in thy beauty and gladdening smiles; Thine the control I list, Lovely mythologist ! Thine the monition that never beguiles." Very good, indeed. Now, Mr Campbell. We request our readers to sound the s's as strong as they can, and remember that this is a song to be sung. "Love's a boundless burning waste, Where Bliss's stream we seldom taste, And still more seldom flee. That's sweet, even though we sigh To be sung to music, it must be the music of a saw. "Farewell, sweet bards, farewell, ye dulcet strains, Anoaken staff each hoisting for his pains." once again, Quoth SIGNIFER VESTER. P Noctes Ambrosianae. No. XVIII. ΧΡΗ ΔΕΝ ΣΥΜΠΟΣΙΩ ΚΥΛΙΚΩΝ ΠΕΡΙΝΙΣΣΟΜΕΝΑΩΝ [This is a distich by wise old Phocylides, PHOC. ap. Ath. An ancient who wrote crabbed Greek in no silly days; Meaning, ""TIS RIGHT FOR GOOD WINEBIBBING PEOPLE, "NOT TO LET THE JUG PACE ROUND THE BOARD LIKE A CRIPPLE; "BUT GAILY TO CHAT WHILE DISCUSSING THEIR TIPPLE.” An excellent rule of the hearty old cock 'tis And a very fit motto to put to our Noctes.] SCENE I. MR SECRETARY DR MULLION. C. N. ap. Ambr. Yes, sir, your last Noctes appear to have made what my friend Dr Jamieson calls a stramash. NORTH. Why, sir, our conversations get wind unaccountably, and it is little wonder that they do make a noise. What do you allude to particularly? Well, Bowring, in the Morning Chronicle, has answered it-thereby taking on himself the office my song gave him of Poet Laureate to the pack. You remember, When Bowring's tongue sings Southey's song, and now he chants accordingly by anticipation. Is Bowring's song very good? I think it is. NORTH. MULLION. NORTH. MULLION (producing an ancient Morning Chronicle) chants. When built on laws, the good old cause Triumphantly shall reign, And in their choice the People's voice When England's name and England's fame Stand pure, and great, and free, Corruption chain'd, and Truth maintain'd, Then, hey, boys, down go we! When Glory tears the wreath he wears And Liberty shall sit on high, That walks in darkness now; When Justice wakes, and from her shakes Old ELDON, Scornfully, And stands erect in self respect, Then, hey, boys, down go we! When gibe and jest, by CANNING drest, And pertness, made a thriving trade When slippery PEEL the wounds shall heal And Peace shall smile on Ireland's Isle, When laws on game shall cease to shame And men can trust, as wise and just, When Judges pure, shall seek t' insure And BEST can keep his rage asleep— When law's disputes, and Chancery suits, For knaves in black, to harm and hack When fraud and wrong, in weak and strong, With equal hand pursued and bann'd Then, hey, boys, down go we! When rods and whips, from BENTHAM's lips, Who long have sold, for pride and gold, When France and Spain shall rise again, By sufferings rude, refresh'd, renew’d— When man at length shall feel his strength, The despot few, who then shall rue The hatred of the whole; When towers serene, in living green, And 'neath it, blest, the nations rest- [Here Mr NORTH fell asleep.] When Mr North in Frith of Forth, Shall fathom five be duck'd; When Tickler's neck a rope shall deck, When messan dog treats Jamie Hogg In fashion rather free; When Jeffrey's sheers crop Blackwood's ears, Then, hey, boys, down go we! (NORTH) awaking as usual at the end of the song. Bravo! bravo! a very good song indeed. I always said Tom Campbell was a clever fellow. MULLION. Tom Campbell!-Bowring, sir, you mean. NORTH. Ay, Bowring-yes, Bowring, I meant. Shew me the song; let me peruse it. [Reads] "Then, hey, boys, down go we." Bowring may understand Russian, but he is not quite certain as to his English. Hey, boys! is huzza, boys! rather an out-of-the-way cry for a sinking party. When pertness, made a thriving trade By Croker, thrives no more How horribly afraid all these hounds of low degree are of Croker! MULLION. Doubtless. The allusion to "priestly bigotry," is not even brought into juxtaposition with Ireland, and the course recommended in that island. But it is not a bad song, for all that. The rhymes, however, are poorish-The last verse strikes me to be far the best-that I mean about ourselves. Don't you think, sir, it would be an improvement if it ran thus in the last quatrain ?— When Brougham shall flog Ettrickian Hogg, (That whip might borrow'd be, Which Gourlay laid on shoulder blade,) Then, hey, boys, down go we. NORTH. I do not like parenthesis in songs-but the idea is good. On the whole, I am pleased with the song. Mullion, write to-morrow to Bowring,-he lives in Jeffrey's Square, St Mary's Axe,—to say that I shall employ him in the song department, at a guinea per song, with liberty afterwards to publish it with music at Power's or elsewhere-besides permission occasionally to gather them into a volume. Even if I reject, as I sometimes must, I shall pay him nevertheless, for I like to patronize genius. MULLION, (making memorandum.) It shall be done, sir. You have seen the Dumfries Journal's answer to the Farewell to Scotland, sung by the Ensign on the same occasion? No-keep it till Sir Morgan comes-I expect him every moment. Enter AMBROSE. AMBROSE. Mr Tickler. [Exit AMBROSE as TICKLER enters.] TICKLER. How do you do, North ?-Mullion, your hand; it is a long time since I saw either of you. We have just ordered supper. NORTH. TICKLER. I am as dry as a lime-burner's shoe. [Rings-enter Waiter-receives orders -exit-and_re-enters with a quart of porter, which TIMOTHY gulps at a draught. I have just parted with Hogg. He'll be here in a moment. Enter HOGG.` Is't me ye're talkin' o', Mr Tickler? How's a' wi' ye? MULLION, (aside.) I say, Mr North, did you ever see the Shepherd's eyes reel so? NORTH. Oh, stuff—Well, I shall not wait another minute for this long-legged Irish man. Enter MR AMBROSE. AMBROSE. Supper, gentlemen, is ready in the next room. [Rings. [Exeunt omnes. SCENE II. Supper Room. Round Table. Enter NORTH, TICKLER, MULLION, and HOGG. AMBROSE preceding. Waiters following. To them, ODOHERTY. ODOHERTY. Just in time, I see. I hope I have not kept you waiting. I was just dining with Patrick Robertson, and had to run for it. NORTH. Do not delay us longer by your apologies. Gentlemen, be seated. MULLION, (after contemplating the table with profound admiration.) This is a supper. Ambrose, a dram. What would Barry Cornwall say to such a sight? ODOHERTY. Nothing. He'd faint on the spot. NORTH. A round table, sir, may seem matter of form, as my friend Samuel Rogers says, but is matter of substance. The round table, which one may say literally gave peace to Europe, may still be seen at Aix-la-Chapelle. HOGG. Hout-that's the auld clishmaclaver o' Johnny Groats revived. Vera respectable steaks them, Mr Ambrose. ODOHERTY. I had rather see a table which would give oysters to the present company. Excellent indeed. I own, however, I am national enough to prefer the Irish. The Carlingford oysters A maxim, hem! TICKLER to NORTH, (aside.) ODOHERTY. -Are small, but of a peculiarly fine flavour. The Bland oyster of Kerry, so called after a family of that name, not from any blandness of their taste, are good. Those of Cork harbour are gigantic-as big as your common dessert plates, and very agreeable. MULLION. |
