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first note on what may not be improperly called, The St. Giles's Lyre,-and gave to the world that piquant morceau, entitled, "Tom Crib's Memorial to Congress." This, though avowedly a political squib, as the phrase is, exhibited a happy admixture of wit, flash, learning, imagery, and political bitterness, spiced up with all the varieties of jargon used by bruisers and pickpockets. The force of example was too strong to be resisted; and we have no doubt, that many jeux d'esprits of a like tendency, that appeared soon afterwards, sprung from the desire of treading in steps so tempting, and following the track of a comet in the poetical world so inconceivably captivating.

Then

To" Tom Crib's Memorial," succeeded "Jack Randall's Diary," and then "Jack Randall's Scrap-Book," uniting fun and flash, and parodying many of Mr. Moore's best songs. came "The Fancy," alleged to be from the pen of Peter Corcoran, but, in reality, emanating from the pen of one of the witty authors of "The Rejected Addresses." All these had a success equal to their merits, and were much noticed in the magazines, and other ephemeral publications of their day, though now they

are gone quietly to sleep in the lap of oblivion.

The reader, after this detail, will, doubtless, imagine we are about to present to his notice some specimen of verses of the school in question. We are so; but we are puzzled where to make a selection. The following, however, seems more free from that peculiar slang in which it appears absolutely necessary every thing connected with pugilism should be detailed, and we do not hesitate in presenting it to our readers. We must, in justice to the author, confess, that, throughout, there is both ingenuity and harmony of versification; and sincerely do we regret that his talents were not applied to better purposes. The effusion is extracted from "Jack Randall's Scrap-Book."

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By Crib, I'm sick of sickly songs,

Love I no more delight in ;

Come, Randall, leave the boxing throngs,

And sing the charm that still belongs
To sparring and to fighting.

Oh! sing those days of triumph, when

Great Johnson stood his legs on,

With Ryan fam'd, and giant Ben,
And chaunt in glowing numbers then

Of Gulley and of Gregson.

Laud high the god-like Belcher race,

Mendoza, also, stick in,

Dick Humphries,-he who fought with grace, And every mill correctly trace

Of Harry Pearce, The Chicken.

Sing Crib, who fought the giant black,
Who Champion is distinguish'd;
Then Richmond and the negro pack,
And he who, scarce a fortnight back,
The hardy Gas extinguish'd.

Come, Nonpareil, now gaily sing,
But first wet well your whistle-

Here's health to those who grace the Ring,
Whether for them a Rose may spring,

Or Shamrock, Leek, or Thistle."

[graphic]

LORD BYRON'S "MAZEPPA."

THE dreadful punishment inflicted upon the hero of Lord Byron's poem, has an example in "Mercurius Politicus,"

a newspaper, called printed in the year 1655.

dated from Hamburgh.

The narrative is

"This last week, several waggoners coming from Breslaw to Silesia, upon their way into the Duke of Saxonie's country, perceived a stag, with a man upon his back, running with all his might coming near the waggons, he suddenly fell down: the poor man, sitting on his back, made a pitiful complaint, how that he was, the day before, by the Duke of Saxonie, for killing a deer, condemned to be bound with chains upon that stag, his feet bound fast under the stag's belly with an iron chain soldered, and his hands chained to the horns. The miserable man begged earnestly that they would shoot him, to put him out of pain; but they durst not, fearing the Duke. Whilst they were talking with him, the stag got up, and ran away with all his might, The waggoners computed that he had run, in 16 hours, 25 Dutch miles in the least; which

VOL. III.

makes near 100 of our English miles, in a direct line. The miseries which that poor creature did and must undergo, especially if the stag killed him not in running, cannot be expressed, hardly imagined."

DRYDEN'S "MEDAL."

"IT was King Charles II. who gave Dryden the hint for writing his poem, called The Medal.'

"One day, as the King walked in the Mall, and was talking with Dryden, he said, 'If I was a poet, and I think I am poor enough to be one, I would write a poem on such a subject, in the following manner;' and then gave him the plan of it. Dryden took the hint, carried the poem, as soon as it was finished, to the King, and had a present of a hundred broad pieces for it. This was said by a Priest that I often met at Mr. Pope's; and he seemed to confirm it, adding, that King Charles obliged Dryden to put his Oxford Speech into verse, and to insert it towards the close of his Absalom and Achitophel.'"

SPENCE.

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