LOSS OF THE WARSPITE.

335

finds him preparing to pack up his alls, and selling his old junk; said he would endeavour to make up his mind to strike his flag; but he was a poor man, with a large family, and must take some days to consider of it; the Admiral proposes giving the Ostentatious, a three-decker, to Marquis Tipperary; he knew this would please me, and make sure of us continuing in office.

July 13 to 20.--Charming weather. Keep my ship.

Sept. 2.--Dreadful storm. Tried to pass the Straits of Walcheren. Vice-admiral caught the Flushing frenzy fever. The Admiral saw a tremendous storm brewing; determined to strike his flag; said I would do the same; made signal to the George R-e, King's cutter, to come alongside; answered, she was leaky.

Sept. 7.Hurricane. Found my timbers giving way; would not attend council of war.

Sept. 8.-Stormy. Vice-admiral struck his flag. Sept. 14.-Stormy. Commodore came on board; dull as a November fog; could not explain any thing. Sept. 19.-Foggy. Commodere wrote to explain; could not understand a word-no explanation at all. Sept. 20.-Violent tempest. Vice-admiral writes a challenge; answer him cheerfully.

Sept. 21. Vice-admiral fires a shot at the Warspite, hits the Captain's stern-gallery; made signals of distress; all the King's ships sheered off; sprung a

leak.

N. B. At this moment the Captain and all the crew (which was a very bad one) went to their watery grave, probably never to rise again.

De mortuis nil nisi bonum !

INTELLIGENCE

INTELLIGENCE FOR THE COUNTRY,

IN A LETTER FROM MR. GABRIEL GUBBINS, IN LON DON, TO THE MAYOR OF ***, IN THE COUNTRY †. [From the Morning Post, Dec. 7.]

Α1

T your instance, dear Cousin, I take up my pen;
For the moment the name of that liveliest of men,
Colonel Wardle, rings out the tocsin of alarm,

It acts on your nerves as a sort of a charm ;
And whether it tends to his fame or his ruin,
You are earnest to know what the hero is doing.

You have heard of Newmarket, that high-flying seat,
Where second-hand racers get wofully beat;

But, though beaten and distanc'd, yet firmly believe,
That some plate in the country their fame will retrieve.
So the Colonel, convicted by juries and law,

Still hopes in new trials to find out a flaw:
Like a duck in a fish-pond, when hunted amain,
Flies, dives to the bottom, then pops up again.
And truly 't is charming to see him so gaily

Thread the Sessions, Exchequer, King's Bench, and Old Bailey;
Lead down with Lord Eldon a Chancery dance,

Then turn right and left, in or out for a chance;

As a man who has lost his "good name or his purse,"
Makes a snatch at each twig, as he cannot be worse.
For truly his case is deplorably hard,

That a witness should swear without fee or reward;
Should ruin the market, and knock up the trade,
When He for this witness so largely has paid.

But, alas! though his counsel (and bad is the Best)
Declares "all the lady can swear is a jest;

That cheating the Commons might once be amusing,
But to credit her now, would all sense be abusing!"
Yet the Judges consider assertions as sport,

And the Colonel's best pleadings are kick'd out of court.
For they found, though for justice he seem'd to be wishing,
His real design was to go out a-fishing :

To learn from each witness the "sounding and bearing,"
And then to indict them most kindly for swearing.
And so, this most just and affectionate creature,
Whom Liveries have styl'd "the Perfection of Nature;"

+ See pp. 133, 135, 144.

Who

KING JOHN WAS A MANAGER,

* 337

Who, piously leaving the wife of his youth,
Went forth with a lady to search out the truth:
Who, to strengthen her evidence, promis'd her pay,
Stole her person by night and her letters by day;
Addresses all England, states facts, then denies them-
Blames his counsel for conduct-who prove he belies them;
Now brought to the stake!-let him kick as he will,
No issue is left him but-paying the bill.

Sad exit for virtue, so pure and so true!-
But Jonathan Wild had his enemies too.
While the barristers round them facetiously state,
"That law is the natural melter of plate;
That matter for curious remark it affords,
How nicely gold boxes can vanish in words;"
For paying the dancers, the piper and all,
He will long bless the music of Westminster Hall.

KING JOHN WAS A MANAGER:

A NEW BALLAD.

[From the Morning Chronicle, Dec. 7.1

Air-"

My Master's a Conjuror.”

KING John was a manager mighty and high-
Hey populorum jig,

He built private boxes, the devil knows why-
Hey populorum jig.

There lords and gay madams were showing their scorns,
But soon the fine gentlemen drew in their horns;

With battle 'em, rattle 'em,

Fiddle dum, diddle dum,

Spurn him out, turn him out,

Kemble, O! tremble, O!

Hey populorum jig.

Then down our poor throttles new prices to cram,

Hey populorum jig;

He hired Mendoza, he hired Dutch Sam,

Hey populorum jig.

O wonderful story! O wonderful news!

John Kemble, the Papist, in league with the Jews!
With his battle 'em, &c.

VOL XIII

John

John Bull is the civilest creature alive,
Hey populorum jig.

A baby may lead, but the devil can't drive.
Hey populorum jig.

Says he to the Alphabet right merrily,
Pray lend us your capital letters O. P.
For a battle 'em, &c.

As sly as a fisherman, Brandon arose---
Hey populorum jig.

He angled for P.'s and he bobb'd for the O.'s-
Hey populorum jig.

He fish'd up poor Clifford just like a dead cat,
Because he had got an O. P. in his hat.
With his battle 'em, &c.

He found his mistake, and he trembled with fear
Hey populorum jig.

Because he had hook'd the wrong sow by the ear,
Hey populorum jig.

Poor Kemble look'd dull as a man in the stocks,
And Jemmy Box-keeper was in the wrong box.
With his battle 'em, &c.

When next Mr. Kemble he acts in Macbeth,
Hey populorum jig,

I think that the town will be in at the death,
Hey populorum jig.

And whenever a box-keeper passes his bounds,
I hope that a jury will give us five pounds,
For our battle 'em, &c.

ANTI-CLAVIS.

GRAY'S BARD-(A PARODY).

"R

[From the Morning Post, Dec. 8.]
UIN seize thee, ruthless John,
Confusion on thy banners wait;
Though bless'd with all the smiles of ton,
They mock the air with idle state:
Helm nor hawberk's twisted mail,
Nor e'en thy sister's acting, shall prevail,
To save thy soul from nightly fears,
From O. P.'s curse, from O. P.'s cheers."

Such

GRAY'S BARD.

Such were the sounds that from the gallery's height
Roll'd thundering to the pit below;
Rous'd slumbering Uproar from her seat,

And wak'd the yell of clamorous Row:
Fierce Weinholt stood aghast in speechless trance;
To arms! Fitzgerald cried, and shook the sconce :
Perch'd on a box, with haughty brow,
Flush'd with the purple stream, in angry mood,
Rob'd in his soldier's garb, he stood

Prepar'd the loose placard to throw.
With hagard eyes, surcharg'd with blood,
Shatter'd his garments, torn his hair,
His arms wide sprawling to the air,
With hurried voice and accent loud,
Thus bellow'd to the rebel crowd:
"Hark how each private box's desert cave
Sighs to the torrent's voice beneath—

Our fierce battalions deafening clamours breathe,
And high in air their hundred arms they wave,
Swearing they'll not an added ducat pay,

For high-born Shakspeare's harp, or softer Otway's lay.
Stopp'd is the Bank clerk's prattling tongue

That rous'd the stormy scene,

Brave Cowlam sleeps upon a craggy bed,
O. P.'s, ye mourn in vain;
Clifford, whose lawless bold harangue

Made lofty Graham bow his crested head:
In dreary Rufus' Hall they lie,

Struck with dismay, and ghastly pale,
Far, far aloof, the promis'd witness fail,

The Attorney General screams, and passes by.
Dear lost companions of the noisy art,

Dear as the ruddy drops that glad my eyes;
Dear as the hopes that lately fed my heart,
When first I saw the daring conflict rise.

No more I weep, they do not sleep;
In yonder hall, a grisly band,

I see them sit, they linger yet,

And only wait a rallying hand

With me in dreadful harmony to join,
And howl destruction to the Kemble line."

339