Old Bill shewed his face, dashed the thong all around
From each lurking spot he sure brought up his hound.

"Yoicks, Bathurst - Dundas, halloo ! - Squeakum, ho! Wynn -
Hark to Old Billy Sligo, who's whipping you in.

Ho! whelps out of Ireland - Ho, hounds North of Tweed!
High, close to the cover-or else no more feed.

Hollo, Croker

Ho! Murr-Mangy Georgebob, Twiss, haw!
Bloody Jem, Scruffy Franky, whelp Tommy Macaw;
Keep up, keep ye up, steady there, Sturdy Bourne !"
Songs Old Bill Sligo to each in his turn.

When at last shall ill luck put him out of his sate,

O, think of him, lads, on the night of Debate;

Think how well he his whip, my dear bastes, had applied,
How so long he had kept you from running all wide;
And his place in the writ as the Speaker shall fill,
Give three hearty view hollows for poor Sligo Bill.

"I say dittho, dittho, to Mistha Awms," said the Right Honorable John Wilson Croker; "tha pwensapul of gawvawmunt appaws to me to consist sawly in raising the wind faw peep in paublic aufises. The young youths in Thwinity, Twinity I mane, meen, waw going to thaws me in a blanket, which show'd their bad teest."

"Why, then," here interrupted Mr. Holmes, "can't you say taysth, as I do; but your clipping the King's English will be the death of you."

Here the musicians in the gallery struck up, and the remainder of the oration was lost.

The Chairman then arose and said: "Gentlemen-charge your glasses. Although we are honored by the presence of his Majesty's Ministers, let us not forgot that we have amongst us a dignitary of the Church of England, who has shifted and veered about, in a manner unprecedented in her annals; but who, in all his choppings, changings, turnings, and shufflings, has only had in view the furtherance and prosperity of our Protestant faith. I give you the health of Dr. Philpotts! (Cheers.) Every man has a right of shewing his integrity and his worth in his own peculiar way. The way assumed by the Dean of Chester, was novel, but it was his own; and may the credit which he has thereby acquired never be forgotten by every true-hearted Protestant!

Dr. Philpotts, gentlemen, and may his name be handed down to posterity*- as it deserves!" (The toast was received with loud acclamations, and some laughter.)

Song.

Oh! 'tis sweet to think that RATTING will thrive,
And that we may leave old friends in the lurch;
That the Duke to his brother-apostates will give
High station and rank in our Protestant church!

Dean Philpotts, perchance, had been always a dean,
Had he stuck by his High Church and old Tory pals;
So a traitor he turned, and a RAT he has been,
In the hope of obtaining the pontificals.

Then, ho to apostates!-'tis pleasant to think

That your only wise men are apostates and knaves;
Though their names in posterity's nostrils should stink,

Will a trifle like this disturb them in their graves?

The Song upon so prolific a subject as the Dean was not sufficient, wherefore Mr. Theodore Hook requested permission to favor the company with one of his extemporaneous effusions. The Chair having consented, Mr. Hook broke out into the following rhapsody:

Tune- The Vicar of Bray.

In Liverpool's good easy times,

When church and king no harm meant,
I stuck to old Shute Barrington,†
And so I got preferment.

By Scarlett's help, the radicals

O' the Durham press I stampt on,
And on the hustings, day-by-day,
I bearded yellow Lambton.‡

And this is law I shall maintain,
And sure it is no vain hope,

* Dr. Philpotts, raised soon after this to the Bishopric of Exeter, had long pamphleteered against Catholic Emancipation, but suspiciously changed his views when Wellington and Peel determined to carry that question.-M. † Shute Barrington, for many years Bishop of Durham.-M.

J. G. Lambton, (son-in-law of Earl Grey,) afterward Earl of Durham and Viceroy of Canada. His complexion was of the color of the mustard for which his name-county is famous.-M.

That if I stick by powers that be,
I'll be the vicar o' Stanhope.

I wrote a letter very fine,

Frank Jeffrey all defying;

I knew the fellow would not fight,
And so I called him lying.
I published, too, a book so smart,
That all the Papists flouted;
Which sweet Jack Copley got by heart,
And in the Commons spouted.*
And, &c.

But under good Duke Wellington
The times are altered fairly;
His Grace has eaten all his words-
Belied himself most rarely.
And so Old Nick take Barrington,
To whom I owed my station;
Ascendancy the de'il may sweep
Huzza for 'mancipation!
And, &c.

O'Connell is a pretty youth

Jack Doyle a lively scholar

Old Eldon's creed, since lost his place,

I prize not half a dollar.

Gulph down-gulph down, old thoughts, old oaths,

Curse on each ancient bias;

And if 'twould get a bishoprick,

God save our Lord Pope Pius!

And, &c.

Mr. William Ainsworth here volunteered the following, accompanying himself on the hurdy-gurdy:

The Wind and the Wave.

We go wherever the wind and the wave

May chance in their pleasure to bear us;

They may waft us to home, they may find us a grave –
From all that we loved they may tear us:

* The year before Catholic Emancipation was granted, Sir John Copley (now Lord Lyndhurst) had made a speech against it, the main argnments of which were taken, in a wholesale manner, from one of Dr. Philpotts' pamphlets.-M.

But where'er the winds blow, and where'er the waves flow,
We cheerily, merrily, sing as we go,

The wind and the wave for ever!

Alike we're ready to frolic or fight,

For pleasure no boys are more ready —
And we out with our guns if the foe come in sight,
Then "fire away, Lads, and stand steady!"
And spite of the number and force of the foe,
We pour in our shot, and we sing as we go,
The wave of Old England for ever!

When back returned we are safe on the shore,
Then smack go the lips of the lasses;

And the number of blessings this earth has in store
We count by the number of glasses-

Then sail off again, and where'er the winds blow,

We cheerily, merrily, sing as we go,

The wind and the wave for ever!

The last song had a prodigious somniferous effect upon the auditory whereupon Mr. Samuel Rogers, feeling an internal movement of merriment, volunteered to sing the following delightful Latin ditty:

THE SHERIDAN FAMILY.

THE transmission of talent from generation to generation in the Sheridan family is really wonderful.* There was the Doctor, the friend of Swift, a joking,† smoking, drinking, jolly pedagogue, a Jacobite who lost his living for a jest; a maker of those whimsical verses and crotchets in which schoolmasters, and es

pecially schoolmaster parsons, rejoice. It would require an essay

of far more elaborate research, and more ample dimensions than we can at present afford, to discuss the causes of the universal bibacity of the tribe of pedagogues, (we never knew one who was not addicted to what Charles Lamb, in a rhyme, more riche than suffisante, calls

—and another essay, more learned, but less laborious, would be requisite to explain why the grinders of gerunds, the sweaters of supines, the long and short men ex officio, the discussors of aorists and paulo-post-futurums, of dialects, and dochmaics, should, as it were of necessity, when they write (which of course is but seldom), fall toward quibbles and clenches, macaronic verses, whimsical parodies, odd rhymes, mock poetry of all kinds; and that

*This article, professed to be a review of "The Undying One," one of the Hon. Mrs. Norton's earliest poems, published in the autumn of 1830.-M. See, among a thousand similar testimonia, that of Mary the cookmaid "Saunders the man says you are always jesting and mocking; Mary, said he (one day as I was mending my master's stocking,) My master is so fond of that minister that keeps the school

I thought my master a wise man, but that man makes him a fool," &c.