IV.

Two heads, says the proverb, are better than one, But the Jacobin choice is for Five Heads or none. By Directories only can Liberty thrive; Then down with the ONE, Boys! and up with the FIVE! How our bishops and judges will stare with amazement, When their heads are thrust out at the _National Casement_![17] When the _National Razor_[17] has shaved them quite clean, What a handsome oblation to _Saint Guillotine_!

[The following _Lines_ were written by an ardent reformer, W. ROSCOE, the accomplished author of the “Life of Leo X.,” and other works, to commemorate the taking of the Bastille (14th July, 1789), and the publication by the National Assembly (on 20th August following) of the famous “Declaration of Rights”—a manifesto which became the creed of the Revolution, and which promulgated, as the basis of social government, the specious but impracticable doctrines of _liberty_, _equality_, and _the sovereignty of the people_ exercised by universal suffrage. How the hopes and anticipations of moderate reformers, as embodied in these lines, were falsified by the spoliations and massacres which rapidly followed are but too well known.

When, therefore, the _Anti-Jacobin_ was established to combat the principles of the Revolution, these _Lines_ were, for party purposes, maliciously referred to, and significantly recommended to be “recited on the anniversary of the 14th August”. To make this allusion more clear, it must be remembered that on the 10th August, 1792, after frightful massacres, the Hotel de Ville was seized and the Tuileries stormed. On the 13th the king and family were imprisoned in the Temple. His deposition, the dismissal of the Ministers, and the formation of a National Convention, on more popular principles than the Legislative Assembly, were decreed by the victors. On the 14th Le Brun became Minister for Foreign Affairs, Danton for Justice, and Monge for Marine; while the Girondist Ministers, Roland, Servan, and Clavière, resumed their former functions as Ministers of the Interior, War, and Finance respectively.

The Song, _La Sainte Guillotine_, was evidently written as a _Contrast_, and not as a _Parody_—a few lines at the beginning only excepted, which serve as an introduction to verses on another promised phase of the Revolution, the invasion of England.—ED.]

LINES.

Written for the purpose of being recited on the Anniversary of the 14th of August. By WILLIAM ROSCOE, Esq.

O’er the vine-covered hills and gay regions of France, See the day-star of liberty rise; Through the clouds of detraction unsullied advance, And hold its new course through the skies! An effulgence so mild, with a lustre so bright, All Europe with wonder surveys; And, from deserts of darkness and dungeons of night, Contends for a share of the blaze.

Ah! who ’midst the horrors of night would abide, That can breathe the pure breezes of morn? Or who, that has drunk the pure crystalline tide, To the feculent flood would return? When the bosom of Beauty the throbbing heart meets, Ah, who can the transport decline? Or who, that has tasted of Liberty’s sweets, The prize but with life would resign?

Let Burke like a bat from its splendour retire, A splendour too strong for his eyes; Let pedants and fools his effusions admire, Entrapt in his cobwebs like flies. Shall insolent Sophistry hope to prevail Where Reason opposes her weight, When the welfare of millions is hung in the scale, And the balance yet trembles with fate?

But ’tis over—high Heaven the decision approves, Oppression has struggled in vain, To the hell she has form’d Superstition removes, And Tyranny bites his own chain. In the records of Time a new era unfolds, All nature exults in its birth; His creation benign the Creator beholds, And gives a new charter to earth.

Oh! catch the high import, ye winds, as ye blow; Oh! hear it, ye waves, as ye roll, From regions that feel the sun’s vertical glow, To the farthest extremes of the Pole. _Equal rights, equal laws_, to the nations around, Peace and friendship its precepts impart, And wherever the footsteps of man shall be found, He shall bind the decree on his heart.

* * * * *

[The Account of what was “anticipated to take place at the _Meeting of the Friends of Freedom_”—alluded to on page 29—duly appeared in _The Anti-Jacobin_, but has never hitherto formed a part of the collection of its Poetry. As it is marked by much ability, and has been often quoted, it appears to the editor desirable to introduce some portion of it into the present edition of the _Poetry_.

MEETING OF THE FRIENDS OF FREEDOM.

The _House of Russell_ being given, LORD JOHN and LORD WILLIAM both rose at once.

LORD JOHN made a very neat, and LORD WILLIAM a very appropriate speech.

ALDERMAN COOMBE made a very impressive speech.

MR. TIERNEY made a very pointed speech.

MR. GREY made a very fine speech. He described the ministers as “bold bad men”—their measures he repeatedly declared to be not only “weak, but wicked”.

MR. BYNG said a few words.

GENERAL TARLETON and the _Electors of Liverpool_ being given, the General, after an eulogium on Mr. Fox, begged to anticipate their favourite concluding toast, and to give “_The Cause of Freedom all over the World_”. This toast unfortunately gave rise to an altercation which threatened to disturb the harmony of the evening. Olaudah Equiano, the African, and Henry Yorke, the mulatto, insisted upon being heard; but as it appeared that they were entering upon a subject which would have entirely altered the complexion of the Meeting, they were, though not without some difficulty, withheld from proceeding further.

MR. ERSKINE rose, in consequence of some allusions which had been made to Trial by Jury. He professed himself to be highly flattered by the encomiums which had been lavished upon him; at the same time he was conscious that he could not, without some degree of reserve, consent to arrogate to himself those qualities which the partiality of his friends had attributed to him. He had, on former occasions, declared himself to be clothed with the infirmities of man’s nature; and he now begged leave in all humility to reiterate that confession; he should never cease to consider himself as a feeble, and with respect to the extent of his faculties in many respects, a finite being—he had ever borne in mind, and he hoped he should ever continue to bear in mind, those words of the inspired Penman, “Thou hast made him less than the angels, to crown him with glory and honour”. These lines were indeed applicable to the state of man in general, but of no man more than himself; they appeared to him pointed and personal, and little less than prophetic; they were always present to his mind; he could wish to wear them in his breast as a sort of amulet against the enchantment of public applause, and the witcheries of vanity and self-delusion; yet if he were indeed possessed of those superhuman powers—all pretensions to which he again begged leave most earnestly to disclaim—if he were endowed with the eloquence of an angel, and with all those other faculties which we attribute to angelic natures, it would be impossible for him to do justice to the eloquence with which the Honourable Gentleman who opened the meeting had defended the Cause of Freedom, identified as he conceived it to be with the persons and government of the DIRECTORY. In his present terrestrial state he could only address it as a prayer to God and as counsel to Man that the words which they had heard from that Honourable Gentleman might work inwardly in their hearts, and in due time, produce the fruit of Liberty and Revolution.

He had not the advantage of being personally acquainted with any of the Gentlemen of the DIRECTORY; he understood, however, that one of them (MR. MERLIN) previous to the last change, had stood in a situation similar to his own—he was, in fact, nothing less than a leading Advocate and Barrister in the midst of a free, powerful and enlightened people.

The conduct of the DIRECTORY with regard to the exiled Deputies had been objected to by some persons on the score of a pretended rigour. For his part he should only say that having been, as he had been, both a Soldier and a Sailor, if it had been his fortune to have stood in either of those two relations to the DIRECTORY—as a Man and as a Major-General he should not have scrupled to direct his artillery against the National Representation:—as a Naval Officer he would undoubtedly have undertaken for the removal of the Exiled Deputies; admitting the exigency, under all its relations, as it appeared to him to exist, and the then circumstances of the times, with all their bearings and dependencies, branching out into an infinity of collateral considerations, and involving in each a variety of objects political, physical, and moral; and these again under their distinct and separate heads, ramifying into endless subdivisions which it was foreign to his purpose to consider.

Having thus disposed of this part of his subject, MR. ERSKINE passed in a strain of rapid and brilliant allusions over a variety of points characteristic of the conduct and disposition of the present Ministry; Mr. Burke’s metaphor of “the Swinish Multitude,” Mr. Reeves’ metaphor of the “Tree of Monarchy,” “the Battle of Tranent,” “the March to Paris,” the phrase of “Acquitted Felons,” and the exclamation of “Perish Commerce”—which last expression he declared he should never cease to attribute to Mr. Windham; so long, at least, as it should please the Sovereign Dispenser to continue to him the power of utterance and the enjoyment of his present faculties. He condemned the expedition to Quiberon, he regretted the “Fate of Messrs. Muir and Palmer,” he exulted in the “Acquittal of Citizens Tooke, Hardy, Thelwall, Holcroft and others,” and he blessed that Providence to which (as it had been originally allotted to him (Mr. Erskine) the talents which had been exerted in their defence) the preservation of those Citizens might perhaps be indirectly attributed. He then descanted on the captivity of La Fayette, and the Dividend on the Imperial Loan.

After fully exhausting these subjects, MR. ERSKINE resumed a topic on which he had only slightly glanced before. In a most delicate and sportive vein of humour he contended, that if the people were a Swinish Multitude, those who represented them must necessarily be a Swinish Representation. It would be in vain to attempt to do justice to the polite and easy pleasantry which pervaded this part of MR. ERSKINE’S speech. Suffice it to say that the taste of the Audience showed itself in complete unison with the genius of the Orator, and the whole of this passage was crowned with loud and reiterated plaudits. After a speech of unexampled exertion, MR. ERSKINE now began to enter much at length into a recital of select passages from our most approved English authors, concluding with a copious extract from the several Publications of the late MR. BURKE; but such were the variety and richness of his quotations which he continued to an extent far exceeding the limits of this paper, that we found ourselves under the necessity, either of considerably abridging our original matter, or omitting them altogether, which latter alternative we adopted the more readily as the greater part of these brilliant citations have already passed through the ordeal of a public and patriotic auditory; and as there is every probability that the circumstances of the times will again call them forth on some future emergency.

MR. ERSKINE concluded by recapitulating, in a strain of agonizing and impressive eloquence, the several more prominent heads of his speech:—He had been a Soldier and a Sailor, and had a son at Winchester school—He had been called by Special Retainers, during the summer, into many different and distant parts of the country—travelling chiefly in Post-chaises—He felt himself called upon to declare that his poor faculties were at the service of his Country—of the free and enlightened part of it at least—He stood here as a Man—He stood in the Eye, indeed in the Hand of GOD—to whom (in the presence of the Company and Waiters) he solemnly appealed—He was of Noble, perhaps, Royal Blood—He had a house at Hampstead—was convinced of the necessity of a thorough and radical Reform—His Pamphlet had gone through Thirty Editions—skipping alternately the odd and even numbers—He loved the Constitution, to which he would cling and grapple—And he was clothed with the infirmities of man’s nature—He would apply to the present French Rulers (particularly BARRAS and REUBEL) the words of the poet:—

“Be to their Faults a little blind; “Be to their Virtues very kind, “Let all their ways be unconfin’d, “And clap the Padlock on their mind!”

And for these reasons, thanking the Gentlemen who had done him the honour to drink his Health, he should propose “MERLIN, _the late Minister of Justice, and Trial by Jury!_” MR. ERSKINE here concluded a speech which had occupied the attention and excited the applause of his Audience during a space of little less than three hours, allowing for about three quarters of an hour, which were occupied by successive fits of fainting, between the principal subdivisions of his discourse.—MR. ERSKINE descended from the Table, and was conveyed down stairs by the assistance of his friends. On arriving at the corner of the Piazzas, they were surprized by a very unexpected embarrassment. MR. ERSKINE’S horses had been taken from the carriage, and a number of able Chairmen engaged to supply their place; but these fellows having contrived to intoxicate themselves with the money which the Coachman had advanced to them on account, were become so restive and unruly, so exorbitant in their demands (positively refusing to abide by their former engagement) that MR. ERSKINE deemed it unsafe to trust himself in their hands, and determined to wait the return of his own more tractable and less chargeable animals. This unpleasant scene continued for above an hour.

MR. SHERIDAN’S health was now drunk in his absence and received with an appearance of general approbation;—when in the midst of the applause MR. FOX arose, in apparent agitation, and directed the attention of the Company to the rising, manly virtues of MR. MACFUNGUS.

MR. MACFUNGUS declared that to pretend he was not elated by the encomiums with which MR. FOX had honoured him was an affectation which he disdained;—such encomiums would ever form the proudest recompense of his patriotic labours—he confessed they were cheering to him—he felt them warm at his heart—and while a single fibre of his frame preserved its vibration, it would throb in unison to the approbation of that Honourable Gentleman. The applause of the Company was no less flattering to him—he felt his faculties invigorated by it, and stimulated to the exertion of new energies in the race of mind. Every other sensation was obliterated and absorbed by it; for the present, however, he would endeavour to suppress his feelings, and concentre his energies for the purpose of explaining to the Company why he assisted now for the first time at the celebration of the Fifth Revolution which had been effected in regenerated France. The various and extraordinary talents of the Right Hon. Gentleman—his vehement and overpowering perception, his vigorous and splendid intuition would for ever attract the admiration of all those who were in any degree endowed with those faculties themselves or capable of estimating them in others; as such, he had ever been among the most ardent admirers, and on many occasions, among the most ardent supporters of the Right Hon. Gentleman—he agreed with him in many points—in his general love of Liberty and Revolution; in his execration of the War; in his detestation of Ministers; but he entertained his doubts, and till those doubts were cleared up, he could not, consistently with his principles, attend at the celebration of any Revolution whatever.

These doubts, however, were now satisfactorily done away. A pledge had been entered into for accomplishing an effectual radical Revolution; not for the mere overthrow of the present System, nor for the establishment of any other in its place; but for the effecting such a series of Revolutions as might be sufficient for the establishment of a Free System.

MR. MACFUNGUS continued he was incapable of compromising with first principles, of acquiescing in short-sighted temporary palliative expedients: if such had been his temper he should assuredly have rested satisfied with the pledge which that Right Hon. Gentleman had entered into about six months ago on the subject of Parliamentary Reform, in which pledge he considered the promise of that previous and preliminary Revolution, to which he had before alluded, as essentially implicated.

“Whenever this Reform takes place,” exclaimed MR. MACFUNGUS, “the present degraded and degrading system must fall into dissolution; it must sink and perish with the corruptions which have supported it. The national energies will awake, and shaking off their lethargy as their fetters drop from them, they will follow the Angel of their Revolution, while the Genius of Freedom soaring aloft beneath the orb of Gallic Illumination will brush away as with the wing of an Eagle all the cobwebs of Aristocracy. But before the Temple of Freedom can be erected in their place, the surface which they have occupied must be smoothed and levelled—it must be cleared by repeated Revolutionary Explosions from all the lumber and rubbish with which Aristocracy and Fanaticism will endeavour to encumber it, and to impede the progress of the holy work.—The sacred level, the symbol of Fraternal Equality, must be passed over the whole.—The completion of the Edifice will indeed be the more tardy, but it will not be the less durable for having been longer delayed—Cemented with the blood of tyrants, and the tears of the Aristocracy, it will rise a monument for the astonishment and veneration of future ages. The remotest posterity, with our children yet unborn, and the most distant portions of the Globe, will crowd around its Gates and demand admission into its Sanctuary.—The Tree of Liberty will be planted in the midst of it, and its branches will extend to the ends of the Earth, while the Friends of Freedom meet and fraternize and amalgamate under its consolatory shade. There our Infants shall be taught to lisp in tender accents the Revolutionary Hymn—there with wreaths of myrtle, and oak, and poplar, and vine and olive and cypress and ivy; with violets and roses and daffodils and dandelions in our hands we will swear respect to childhood and manhood and old age, and virginity and womanhood and widowhood; but above all to the Supreme Being.—There we will decree and sanction the Immortality of the Soul.—There pillars and obelisks, and arches and pyramids, will awaken the love of Glory and of our Country.—There Painters and Statuaries, with their chisels and colours, and Engravers with their engraving tools will perpetuate the interesting features of our Revolutionary Heroes; while our Poets and Musicians, with an honourable emulation, strive to immortalize their memory. Their bones will be entombed in the Vault below, while their sacred Shades continue hovering over our Heads—those venerated Manes which from time to time will require to be appeased by the blood of the remaining Aristocrats.—Then Peace and Freedom, and Fraternity and Equality will pervade the whole Earth—while the Vows of Republicanism, the Alter of Patriotism, and the Revolutionary Pontiff, with the thrilling volcanic Sympathies, whether of Holy Fury or of ardent Fraternal Civism, uniting and identifying, produce as it were an electric Energy.”

MR. MACFUNGUS here paused for a few moments, seemingly overpowered by the excess of Sensibility, and the force of the ideas which he was labouring to convey.—The whole Company appeared to sympathize with his unaffected emotions. After a short interval, he recovered himself from a very impressive silence, and continued as follows:

“These prospects, Fellow-Citizens, may possibly be deferred. The Machiavelism of Governments may for the time prevail, and this unnatural and execrable contest may yet be prolonged; but the hour is not far distant; Persecution will only serve to accelerate it, and the blood of Patriotism streaming from the severing axe will call down vengeance on our oppressors in a voice of Thunder. I expect the contest, and I am prepared for it.—I hope I shall never shrink nor swerve nor start aside wherever duty and inclination may place me. My services, my life itself, are at your disposal—Whether to act or to suffer, I am yours—With HAMPDEN in the field, or with SIDNEY on the scaffold. My example may be more useful to you than my talents: and this head may perhaps serve your cause more effectually, if placed on a pole on Temple Bar, than if it was occupied in organizing your Committees, in preparing your Revolutionary Explosions, and conducting your Correspondence.”

MR. MACFUNGUS said he should give, as an unequivocal test of his sentiments, “BUONAPARTE AND A RADICAL REFORM”.

The conclusion of MR. MACFUNGUS’S speech was followed by a simultaneous burst of rapturous approbation from every part of the room. The applause continued for several minutes, during which MR. MACFUNGUS repeatedly rose to express his feelings.

The conversation now became more mixed and animated; several excellent Songs were sung, and Toasts drank, while the progressive and patriotic festivity of the evening was heightened by the vocal powers of several of the most popular Singers. A new Song written by Captain MORRIS received its sanction in the warmest expression of applause. The whole company joined with enthusiasm in their old favourite Chorus of Bow! Wow!! Wow!!!]

* * * * *

[MACFUNGUS stands for SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH, who, after studying medicine in Edinburgh, settled in London, and wrote for the opposition newspapers, particularly the _Morning Post_, Daniel Stuart, the proprietor, being his father-in-law. The first work that brought him into notice was his _Vindiciæ Gallicæ_ (1791), in reply to Burke’s _Reflections_ on the French Revolution, which splendid philippic it greatly surpassed in philosophic thought, sound feeling, and common sense. It was enthusiastically received by the Liberal party, whose leaders eagerly sought his acquaintance and co-operation; and when the _Association of the Friends of the People_ was formed, he was appointed Secretary. His subsequent successful career as an Advocate, Indian Judge, Member of Parliament, Minister under Lord Grey, and as an English historian, bore out the promise of his youth. He was born in 1765 and died in 1832.—ED.]

No. V.

Dec. 11, 1797.

We have already hinted at the principle by which the followers of the Jacobinical sect are restrained from the exercise of their own favourite virtue of charity. The force of this prohibition, and the strictness with which it is observed, are strongly exemplified in the following poem. It is the production of the same author [SOUTHEY] whose happy effort in English Sapphics we presumed to imitate; the present effusion is in Dactylics, and equally subject to the laws of Latin Prosody.

THE SOLDIER’S WIFE.

Wēāry̆ wăy-wāndĕrĕr, lānguĭd ănd sĭck ăt hĕart, Trāvĕllĭng pāinfŭlly̆ ōvĕr thĕ rūggĕd roăd; Wīld vĭsăg’d wāndĕrĕr—āh fŏr thy̆ hēavy̆ chănce.

We think that we see him fumbling in the pocket of his blue pantaloons; that the splendid shilling is about to make its appearance, and to glitter in the eyes, and glad the heart of the poor sufferer. But no such thing—the bard very calmly contemplates her situation, which he describes in a pair of very pathetical stanzas; and after the following well-imagined topic of consolation, concludes by leaving her to Providence.

Thy husband will never return from the war again; Cold is thy hopeless heart, _even as charity_; Cold are thy famished babes—_God help thee_, widow’d one!

We conceived that it would be necessary to follow up this general rule with the particular exception, and to point out one of those cases in which the embargo upon Jacobin bounty is sometimes suspended;[18] with this view we have subjoined the poem of

THE SOLDIER’S FRIEND. DACTYLICS.

Come, little Drummer Boy, lay down your knapsack here: I am the soldier’s friend—here are some books for you; Nice clever books by TOM PAINE, the philanthropist.[19] Here’s half-a-crown for you—here are some handbills too— Go to the barracks, and give all the soldiers some. Tell them the sailors are all in a mutiny.

_Exit Drummer Boy, with handbills and half-a-crown.—Manet Soldier’s Friend._

Liberty’s friends thus all learn to amalgamate, Freedom’s volcanic explosion prepares itself, Despots shall bow to the fasces of liberty. Reason, philosophy, “fiddledum diddledum,” Peace and fraternity, higgledy, piggledy, Higgledy, piggledy, “fiddledum diddledum”.

_Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera._

SONNET.—TO LIBERTY.

Just Guardian of man’s social bliss! for thee The paths of danger gladly would I tread: For thee! contented, join the glorious dead, Who nobly scorn’d a life that was not free!

But worse than death it pains my soul to see The Lord of Ruin, by wild Uproar led, Hell’s first-born, ANARCHY, exalt his head, And seize thy throne, and bid us bow the knee!

What though his iron sceptre, blood-imbrued, Crush half the nations with resistless might; Never shall this firm spirit be subdued: In chains, in exile, still the chanted rite, O LIBERTY! to thee shall be renew’d: O still be sea-girt ALBION thy delight! D.

No. VI.

Dec. 18, 1797.

We cannot enough congratulate ourselves on having been so fortunate as to fall upon the curious specimens of classical metre and correct sentiment which we have made the subject of our late Jacobinical imitations.

The fashion of admiring and imitating these productions has spread in a surprising degree. Even those who sympathise with the principles of the writer selected as our model, seem to have been struck with the ridicule of his poetry.

There appeared in the _Morning Chronicle_ of Monday a _Sapphic Ode_, apparently written by a friend and associate of our author, in which he is however travestied most unmercifully. And to make the joke the more pointed, the learned and judicious editor contrived to print the ode _en masse_, without any order of lines, or division of stanza; so that it was not discovered to be _verse_ till the next day, when it was explained in a hobbling _erratum_.

We hardly know which to consider as the greater object of compassion in this case—the original _Odist_, thus parodied by his friend, or the mortified _Parodist_ thus mutilated by his printer. “_Et tu, Brute!_” has probably been echoed from each of these worthies to his murderer, in a tone that might melt the hardest heart to pity.

We cordially wish them joy of each other, and we resign the modern _Lesbian lyre_ into their hands without envy or repining.

Our author’s DACTYLICS have produced a second imitation (conveyed to us from an unknown hand), with which we take our leave of this species of poetry also.

THE SOLDIER’S WIFE.[20]

DACTYLICS.

“Wēāry̆ wăy-wāndĕrĕr,” &c. &c.

IMITATION.

DACTYLICS.

_Being the quintessence of all the Dactylics that ever were, or ever will be written._

HUMBLY ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ABOVE.

Wearisome Sonnetteer, feeble and querulous, Painfully dragging out thy demo-cratic lays— Moon-stricken Sonnetteer, “ah! for thy heavy chance!”

Sorely thy Dactylics lag on uneven feet: Slow is the syllable which thou wouldst urge to speed, Lame and o’erburthen’d, and “screaming its wretchedness!”

. . . . . . . . .[21]

Ne’er talk of ears again! look at thy spelling-book; _Dilworth_ and _Dyche_[22] are both mad at thy quantities— DACTYLICS, call’st thou ’em—“God help thee, silly one!”

[The following is the _Sapphic Ode_ alluded to above, which was intended by the poet of the _Morning Chronicle_ as a “retort courteous” to the _Friend of Humanity_. The printer of that paper, unfortunately, being new to “such branches of learning,” and not dreaming it could be intended for _poetry_, printed it as below. The mistake seems to have been immediately discovered, for it re-appeared next day (Dec. 12) in the guise of verse.—ED.]

THE COLLECTOR AND THE HOUSEHOLDER.

_The Hint taken from the Anti-Jacobin, “Needy Knife-Grinders”_

_H._ Greedy Collector, whither are you going, thus with your inkhorn in your buttonhole, and ledger so snugly underneath your coat? Say, greedy Collector.

_C._ Much I rejoice that I have met you here, friend: turn back, I pri’thee, ’tis with you I want to speak; I am come on business of importance—gentle Householder.

_H._ Greedy Collector, well I know your business, ’tis for my taxes you are come to dun me; well! ’tis the last time you will have a right to ask me for money. Buggy, no longer do I drive a smart one; smash went my gig, as long [ago] as Easter; down Highgate hill we tumbled altogether, horse, wife, and I, Sir. One broke his knees, and[23] another broke his collar-bone; there’s an end of pleasuring on Sundays. Take my last payment; there is your two pounds twelve shillings and ninepence.

_C._ Gentle householder, much are you mistaken; Order, Religion, Constitution, Laws, and rational freedom, all demand from you a—triple assessment.

_H._ Triple Assessment! What beside the old tax?

_C._ Certainly: come, deposit, I’m a waiting.

_H._ Wait and be damned. What is it you are after?

_C._ Ten pounds eleven.

_H._ Ten pounds eleven! have I not informed thee gig I have none? I’ve sent it to the hammer; Pay for a gig and not [to] have it!

_C._ But you had one at Easter!

_H._ Easter is past and gone. I’ll never pay thee.

_C._ Gentle Householder, then I must proceed to shew thee a little bit of parchment, called a writ of distringer [for _distringas_].

[_Exit_ Collector to take possession of the Householder’s bed and furniture.

The verses which we here present to the public were written immediately after the Revolution of the 4th of September. We should be much obliged to any of our classical and loyal correspondents for an English translation of them.

LATIN VERSES _Written immediately after the Revolution of the 4th of September._

Ipsa mali Hortatrix scelerumque uberrima Mater In se prima suos vertit lymphata furores, Luctaturque diù secum, et conatibus ægris Fessa cadit, proprioque jacet labefacta veneno.

Mox tamen ipsius rursúm violentia morbi Erigit ardentem furiis, ultróque minantem Spargere bella procul, vastæque incendia cladis, Civilesque agitare faces, totumque per orbem Sceptra super Regum et Populorum subdita colla Ferre pedem, et sanctas Regnorum evertere sedes.

Aspicis! Ipsa sui bacchatur sanguine Regis, Barbaraque ostentans feralis signa triumphi, Mole giganteâ campis prorumpit apertis, Successu scelerum, atque insanis viribus audax.

At quà Pestis atrox rapido se turbine vertit, Cernis ibi, priscâ morum compage solutâ, Procubuisse solo civilis fœdera vitæ, Et quodcunque Fides, quodcunque habet alma verendi Religio, Pietasque et Legum fræna sacrarum.

Nec spes Pacis adhuc—necdum exsaturata rapinis Effera Bellatrix, fusove expleta cruore. Crescit inextinctus Furor, atque exæstuat ingens Ambitio, immanisque irâ Vindicta renatâ Reliquias Soliorum et adhuc restantia Regna Flagitat excidio, prædæque incumbit opimæ.

Una etenim in mediis Gens intemerata ruinis Libertate probâ, et justo libramine rerum, Securum faustis degit sub legibus ævum; Antiquosque colit mores, et jura Parentum Ordine firma suo, sanoque intacta vigore, Servat adhuc, hominumque fidem, curamque Deorum. Eheu! quanta odiis avidoque alimenta furori! Quanta profanatas inter spoliabitur aras Victima! si quando versis Victoria fatis Annuerit scelus extremum, terrâque subactâ Impius Oceani sceptrum fædaverit Hostis!

[Illustration]

No. VII.

Dec. 25, 1797.

We have been favoured with a translation of the Latin verses inserted in our last Number. We have little doubt that our readers will agree with us, in hoping that this may not be the last contribution which we shall receive from the same hand.[24]

Parent of countless crimes, in headlong rage, War with herself see frantic _Gallia_ wage, Till worn and wasted by intestine strife, She falls—her languid pulse scarce quick with life. But soon she feels through every trembling vein, New strength collected from convulsive pain: Onward she moves, and sounds the dire alarm, And bids insulted nations haste to arm; Spreads wide the waste of war, and hurls the brand Of civil discord o’er each troubled land, While desolation marks her furious course, And thrones subverted bow beneath her force.

Behold! she pours her Monarch’s guiltless blood, And quaffs with savage joy the crimson flood; Then, proud the deadly trophies to display Of her foul crimes, resistless bursts away, Unaw’d by justice, unappall’d by fear, And runs with giant strength her mad career.

Where’er her banners float in barbarous pride, Where’er her conquest rolls its sanguine tide, There, the fair fabric of establish’d law, There social order, and religious awe, Sink in the general wreck; indignant there Honour and Virtue fly the tainted air; Fly the mild duties of domestic life That cheer the parent, that endear the wife, The lingering pangs of kindred grief assuage, Or soothe the sorrows of declining age.

Nor yet can Hope presage th’ auspicious hour, When Peace shall check the rage of lawless Power; Nor yet th’ insatiate thirst of blood is o’er, Nor yet has Rapine ravaged every shore. Exhaustless Passion feeds th’ augmented flame, And wild Ambition mocks the voice of Shame; Revenge, with haggard look and scowling eyes, Surveys with horrid joy th’ expected prize; Broods o’er each remnant of monarchic sway, And dooms to certain death his fancied prey.

For midst the ruins of each falling state, ONE FAVOUR’D NATION braves the general fate— One favour’d nation, whose impartial laws Of sober Freedom vindicate the cause; Her simple manners, midst surrounding crimes, Proclaim the genuine worth of ancient times; True to herself, unconquerably bold, The rights her valour gain’d she dares uphold; Still with pure faith her promise dares fulfil, Still bows submission to th’ Almighty will.

Just Heav’n! how Envy kindles at the sight! How mad Ambition plans the desperate fight! With what new fury Vengeance hastes to pour Her tribes of rapine from yon crowded shore! Just Heav’n! how fair a victim at the shrine Of injured Freedom shall her life resign, If e’er, propitious to the vows of hate, Unsteady Conquest stamp our mournful fate, If e’er proud France usurp our ancient reign, And ride triumphant o’er th’ insulted main!

· · · · ·

Far hence th’ unmanly thought—the voice of Fame Wafts o’er th’ applauding deep her DUNCAN’S name. What though the Conqueror of th’ Italian plains Deem nothing gain’d, while this fair isle remains; Though his young breast with rash presumption glow, He braves the vengeance of no vulgar foe: Conqueror no more, full soon his laurel’d pride Shall perish—whelm’d in Ocean’s angry tide; His broken bands shall rue the fatal day, And scatter’d fleets proclaim BRITANNIA’S sway.

[Illustration]

No. VIII.

Jan. 1, 1798.

A correspondent has adapted the beautiful poem of the BATTLE OF SABLA, in “Carlyle’s Specimens of Arabian Poetry,” to the circumstances of the present moment. We shall always be happy to see the poetry of other times and nations so successfully engaged in the service of our country, and of the present order of society.

THE CHOICE. (FROM THE BATTLE OF SABLA, BY JAAFER BEN ALBA.)