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With a shocking bad hat, and his credit at Zero,
What a famous thought this is !
I'll go as Ulysses Of old did like him I 'll see manners, and know countries ;* Cut Paris,-and gaming,—and throats in the Low Countries.”
So said, and so done—he arranged his affairs,
Now it happen'd just then
That Field-marshal Turenne,
To fill up the gaps
Which, through sundry mishaps,
Whose valour was such,
That he did not care much If he fought with the French,—or the Spaniards,—or Dutch, A fact which has stamped him a rather “ Cool hand," Being nearly related to Louis le Grand. It had been all the same had that King been his brother ; He fought sometimes with one, and sometimes with another;
For war, so exciting,
He took such delight in,
What a fine thing a battle is !-not one of those
Taking great care their blows
Do not injure their foes,
Where “the sun was low,".
The ground all over snow,
* Qui mores hominum multorum vidit et urbes.
Who view'd men's manners, Londons, Yorks, and Derbys. VOL. VIII.
Which rattled the Bard out of bed in a fright,
'Twas in just such another one,
(Names only bother oneDutch ones, indeed, are sufficient to smother one-) In the Netherlands somewhere-I cannot say where
Suffice it that there
La Fortune de guerre
Yet Fate did not draw
This poetical law
And diverted the shot
From some deadlier spot To a bone which, I think, to the best of my memory, 's Call’d by Professional men the “os femoris;" And the ball being one of those named from its shape, And some fancied resemblance it bears to the grape,
St. Foix went down,
With a groan and a frown,
-Stagger'd a bit
By this “ palpable hit,"
Yes !—a Battle 's a very fine thing while you 're fighting, These same Ups-and-Downs are so very exciting.
But a sombre sight is a Battle-field
To the sad survivor's sorrowing eye,
Is heard no more,
No triumphs flush that haughty brow,—
No proud exulting look is there,
As, earth-ward bent, in anxious care
And this is Glory !–Fame !—But, pshaw !
Miss Muse, you're growing sentimental;
In fact, they ’re merely Continental.
Some widows came for-epaulettes.
A beetle-brow'd hag,
With a knife and a bag, And an old tatter'd bonnet which, thrown back, discloses The ginger complexion, and one of those noses Peculiar to females named Levy and Moses, Such as nervous folks still when they come in their way shun, Old vixen-faced tramps of the Hebrew persuasion.
You remember, I trust,
François Xavier Auguste,
Ugly or pretty,
Stupid or witty,
Arm’d with the blade,
So oft used in her trade,
Now don't make a joke of
That feeling I spoke of;
And his pockets, no doubt,
Being turn'd inside out,
I am not very sure,
But I think 'twas Namur ;
There, too,—as the Frog, when he “ask'd for a song,"
Even so, Mr. Bentley
Now hints to me gently,
(END OF CANTO 1.)
A SAILOR'S TRIP UP THE RHINE.
BY THE AUTHOR OF " THE LIFE OF A SAILOR."
“ There is nothing certain in this world but death and taxation, and I have just lived long enough in it to believe in the truth of the proverb. My father made the remark before me; and my son, if ever I have one, will no doubt follow my example.
“How comfortably,” said I, “ does the world wag now! No wars -no revolutions—all is peace, quietness, and harmony. The Eastern question, with Syria and Mehemet Ali, gives some occupation to the usual idleness of diplomatic life, which would otherwise stagnate from the peaceful current on which it is embarked. “France," said I, as I cut the cards for the last rubber-(it was half past eleven o'clock on Wednesday night, the 5th of this present August)-France has overcome all her enemies, and will shortly bury the animosity of the world with the dust of Napoleon in the Invalides at Paris. How delightful it is,” said I, as I warmed upon the subject, as the slow dealer doled out our thirteen cards, “to weigh our anchors at our pleasure, - to make sail for any port, creek, or harbour, - to run
along the roadstead of the world, and to anchor or heave-to at discretion. For instance, here am I at Boulogne; to-morrow I start for Baden, a trip up the Rhine. What care I which way the wind sets, as long as there is not, as we used to say, a southerly wind in the bread-bag.–Clubs trumps"-(all of us as silent as a set of Tartars at prayers, or Quakers before the spirit is active).
"I think, sir,” said I, addressing my companion, or partner, after the deal was over, “that you might gain considerable knowledge of this game by a careful perusal of the Baron Bon de Vautray's work, called · Le Genie du Whist. It teaches us a good lesson for the married state; for all his doctrine is founded upon the necessity of never deceiving your partner ; and his instructions might well serve for a gourmand, as he inculcates the necessity of keeping your eyes always on the board. If you had followed his advice, you would not have revoked (the opponents never found it out), and I should have been sure of your holding an honour.”
“ Major A- , sir,” he replied, “has a remark, that he who scolds should be cut, and never come again.'”
“Well, then, I shall cut and run now, and certainly not come again.” So saying, I pocketed my winnings, wished my hospitable host good night, and emerged into the Grande Rue.
It was a calm and beautiful night; the stars were forth, but the moon had set, and there was no brilliancy to outdo the glare of the gas-lights in the Rue de l'Ecu. I stood gazing at the quiet scene before me. All those who earned their livelihood by labour were now in repose ; the careful housewife, the tired artisan, the votary of pleasure, the hunter after dissipation, were all at rest. With such thoughts, I wore ship round the corner of the Rue de l'Ecu, and got to my comfortable moorings. I soon feel asleep, for not a sound dis. turbed my repose.
“ Hark!” said I, suddenly leaping from my bed, “what infernal sounds are these?” I rushed to the window, and caught even for a second the enthusiasm with which « Vive l’Empereur” resounded. I soon found that a second Napoleon was in the streets leading on some fifty or sixty men, all shouting and distributing proclamations. As there was evidently a mutiny in the ship of the state, I was soon on the alert. I have often dressed in a minute ; but, as an Emperor was to be seen, I gave myself a privateer wash, a lick and a promise, and putting on a blouse, to be mistaken by either party, as circumstances might occur, away I went. Before I started, however, I desired my servant to get a proclamation, that I might not sail without understanding under whose orders I might be.
The Frenchman came in with a face as white as a Hertfordshire turnip clean washed for market.
“Oh, mon Dieu ! mon Dieu ! voila un affaire bien grave.”
“ Hand it here," said I. “What is it? New naval instructions, or a new set of articles of war?"
He then read aloud, that the dynasty of Louis Philippe had ceased to reign; that M. Thiers was to be Prime Minister ; Marshal Clausel, Commander of the Army; Pajol, Governor of Paris; that the Chambers were dissolved, and the National Assembly convened ; and this notice of revolution was signed “ Napoleon Louis.”
“ Nothing sure," said I, “ in this world but death and taxation. I said so before, my father said so before me, my child shall say so