Hence, for other victims hunt,

I dismiss you, thanks to Packwood.

Oft a ragged knife, whose edge
Cut no better than its back would,
On my honor's sacred pledge,

I have strop'd on strop of Packwood.

Every notch and knob I soon

Grind away so smooth and smack would,—
E're you said Jack Robinson,

Synagogues would shave, my Packwood.

Thou hast publish'd odes divine ;
Not the verses of Balzac would
Bear to be compar'd with thine,
Author of the Whim of Packwood.

O that Calcott, since he has
At composing glees a knack, would
Two sopranos and a bass,
Set to poetry of Packwood.

Though his trio, it is true,
Sold by Mr. Cahusac, would
Never please the beardless crew
Of Haymarket squeakers, Packwood.

Village maids who toss the hay,

Village youths who rear the stack, would

Pour to you the jocund lay,

Kiss facilitating Packwood.

Courted and carress'd no more,

Poor George Hanger tread thy track would,

George, self-gibbeted before,*

Tries to cut his throat with Packwood.

George Hanger afterwards Lord Coleraine, in Ireland, a favourite of George IV. whilst Prince of Wales. He published a life of himself, 2 vols. Lond. 1803, 8vo, to which he prefixed his own effigy, hanging from a gibbet,―à pictorial illustration of the family name.

Were the Irish venders here,

How they soundly thump and thwack would;

We have no shilelahs here,

Scots are peaceful people, Packwood.

Brisk and brisker grows the sale
Every day, illustrious Packwood.

Fill a bumper to the brim,

I of Nantz or Cogniac would
Pledge you three times three to him,
Who employs the strop of Packwood.

(To the Editor of the Morning Post.)

Stanzas from a grateful Bard,

Please insert in praise of Packwood.

I am, Sir, with due regard,

Your most obedient servant,-JACK WOOD.

XX.

HELVELLYN,

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.

In the notice prefixed to this poem in Scott's Poetical Works, vol. 6, p. 370, New Edition, 12mo, it is stated, that " in the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talent and amiable disposition, perished, by losing his way in the Mountain Hellvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier bitch, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumber land and Westmoreland." The name of this unfortunate youth is not given; but in a note on a copy in manuscript, it is said to have been Charles Gough.

1

I climb'd the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn,

Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty and wide;
All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling,

And starting around me, the echoes replied.

On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-Tarn was bending, And Catchedicam its left verge was defending,

One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending,

When I mark'd the sad spot where the wanderer had died.

2

Dark green was that spot mid the brown mountain-heather,
Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretch'd in decay,.
Like the corpse of an outcast abandon'd to weather,
Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay.
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended,
For faithful in death, his mute favourite attended
The much-loved remains of her master defended,
And chaced the hill-fox and the raven away.

3

How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber?
When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start?
How many long days and long nights didst thou number,
Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart?

And, oh! was it meet, that, no requiem read o'er him,-
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him ;
And thou, little guardian, alone stretch'd before him,-
Unhonour'd the Pilgrim from life should depart?

4

When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded,
The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall;
With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded,

And pages stand mute by the canopied pall :

Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming; In the proudly-arch'd chapel the banners are beaming;

Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming,

Lamenting a Chief of the people should fall.

5

But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,

To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb,
When, wilder'd, he drops from some cliff huge in stature,
And draws his last sob by the side of his dam.

And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying,

Thy obsequies sung by the grey-plover flying,

With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying,

In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam.

XX.

PARODY ON THE PRECEDING.

This is said to be the joint composition of Francis Jeffrey, now Lord Jeffrey, Henry Cockburn, now Lord Cockburn, Sir John Archibald Murray, Knight, lately Lord Advocate of Scotland, now a Judge of the Court of Session, by the title of Lord Murray, and John Richardson, Esq. Solicitor in London. The two first stanzas are ascribed to Lord Jeffrey and Mr. Richardson.

1

I climb'd the High Street, just as nine was a ringing,
The Macer to three of his roll had got on ;

And eager each Clerk on his Counsel was springing,
Save on thee, luckless lawyer,* who fee had got none.

Otho Herman Wemyss, Esquire, admitted Advocate 17th Dec. 1755,he was the son of Mr. William Wemyss, a respectable writer to the signet; and although a lawyer of no inconsiderable talent, met with little success at the bar. He was a staunch whig, and in old age, obtained the appointment of Sheriffsubstitute of Selkirk; which office, shortly before his death in 1835, he relinquished. While holding this appointment, he paid a visit to Edinburgh, during the excitement occasioned by the outcry against the annuity-tax, and, upon this occasion, got his liberal notions somewhat shaken. It is well known that Mr. Tait the bookseller, who had obtained great popularity as a leading member of the radical party, was, upon his refusal to pay the obnoxious tax, sent to the Calton Jail, and his progress there, partook more of a triumphal procession than an incarceration for non-payment of taxes. Poor Otho was sauntering along Waterloo Place, and had got almost opposite to the Calton Jail, when he was surrounded by the mob assembled on this memorable occasion. A cheer was given for Mr. Tait, and one of the illustrious unwashed, insisted that the sheriff should doff his beaver, and join in the acclamation. Otho, who thought the better part of valour was discretion, did as he was bid, and shouted loudly, "Tait for ever." The stranger, delighted with the enthusiasm displayed, swore eternal friendship, and as embracing amongst men is not relished in this country, insisted on shaking hands with so worthy a citizen. This boon was conceded, and the ancient patriot's fingers received so fervent a pressure, that they tingled for some time afterwards. The mysterious anti-annuitant then beat a retreat, and when the judge had recovered from the thrilling emotions produced by the affectionate squeeze, he discovered that his new friend had removed from one of his digits, a valuable seal ring. This, he undubitably had taken away from no sordid motive but as a memorial of the veneration in which he held his proselyte, and as a pledge of fraternization. Otho, who told the story, was by no means reconciled to this popular manner of testifying respect.