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God bless your heart, Sir, 'tis you will start, Sir,
At that conspicuous thundering shout,
When Ireland's nation, with acclamation,
To hail their Sovereign will turn out.
England shall hear us, though 'tis not near us,
And the Scotch coast shall echo ring,
When we, uproarious, joining in chorus,

Shout to the winds, GOD SAVE THE KING!

These effusions of Hibernian joy may induce some of our readers to inquire how it has happened that we have given them no account of the grand dinner at which, with our contributors, we celebrated the great event of the 19th of July. The fact is, that we had prepared a very full account of it, but, as the devil in the chest had no selecting power over the papers, he only stumbled on the two following songs.


Composed by JAMES SCOTT, Esq. M. D. and Sung by him, with great
Applause, on the Evening of Thursday, 19th July.

THERE are flowers in every window, and garlands round each door,
And whiten'd is the poor man's wall, and sanded is his floor.
From the cottage, to the castle, in unison all sing,—
Hail to Great George the Fourth!-God save the King!!!

The man on this auspicious day one moment that would linger
To whip off his glass, and turn up his little finger,
The rascal disloyal, in a halter may he swing.
Hail to Great George the Fourth!-God save the King!!!

Long brooded o'er this nation the thunder-cloud of war,
But the trumpet's voice is hush'd, and the battle's bloody jar.
The triumph of our warriors and statesmen we will sing,-
Hail to Great George the Fourth !-God save the King!!!

Though blindness fell upon the aged father of his realm,
All steady was the hand that was station'd at the helm;
The advisers of his Father to the Regent's side did cling,-
Hail to Great George the Fourth !-God save the King!!!

Well may the dealers in wine and spirits say,

The happiest of all days is a Coronation day,

For thousands on thousands drain their bumpers, as they sing,
Hail to Great George the Fourth !-God save the King!!!

The nobles of the land to the Monarch all have gone,
The warlike and the wise form a circle round the throne;
The Champion, armed cap-a-pee, hath challenged all the ring-
Hail to Great George the Fourth!-God save the King!!!

Oh, when I look around me, it makes my bosom swell,
On those whose pens have written all so loyally and well,
The Radical and Whig, to their hunkers they will bring-
Hail to Great George the Fourth!-God save the King!!


Sung with great Effect by MORGAN ODOHERTY, Esq. on the Evening of

19th July.

My landlady enter'd my parlour, and said,—

"Bless my stars, gallant Captain, not yet to your bed?
The kettle is drain'd, and the spirits are low,

Then creep to your hammock, Oh go, my love, go!

Derry down, &c.

"Do look at your watch, sir, 'tis in your small pocket,
'Tis three, and the candles are all burn'd to the socket;
Come move, my dear Captain, do take my advice,
Here's Jenny will pull off your boots in a trice.

Derry down," &c.

Jenny pull'd off my boots, and I turn'd into bed,
But scarce had I yawn'd twice, and pillow'd my head,
When I dream'd a strange dream, and what to me befel,
I'll wager a crown you can't guess ere I tell.

Derry down, &c.

Methought that to London, with sword at my side,
On my steed Salamanca in haste I did ride,
That I enter'd the Hall, 'mid a great trepidation,
And saw the whole fuss of the grand Coronation.!
Derry down, &c.

Our Monarch, the King, he was placed on the throne,
'Mid brilliants and gold that most splendidly shone ;
And around were the brave and the wise of his court,
In peace to advise, and in war to support.

Derry down, &c.

First Liverpool moved at his Sovereign's command;
Next Sidmouth stepp'd forth with his hat in his hand;
Then Canning peep'd round with the archness of Munden;
And last, but not least, came the Marquis of London-

derry down, &c.

Then Wellington, hero of heroes, stepp'd forth;
Then brave Graham of Lynedoch, the cock of the north
Then Hopetoun he follow'd, but came not alone,
For Anglesea's leg likewise knelt at the throne.
Derry down, &c.

But the King look'd around him, as fain to survey,
When the warlike departed, the wise of the day,
And he whisper'd the herald to summon in then
The legion of Blackwood, the brightest of men!
Derry down, &c.

Oh noble the sight was, and noble should be
The strain, that proclaims, mighty legion, of thee!
The tongue of an angel the theme would require,
A standish of sunbeams, a goose quill of fire.

Derry down, &c.

Like old Agamemnon resplendent came forth,
In garment embroider'd, great Christopher North;
He knelt at the throne, and then turning his head,-
"These worthies are at the King's service," he said.
Derry down, &c.

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"Oh, Sire! though your will were as hard to attain,
As Gibraltar of old to the efforts of Spain,
The men who surround you will stand, and have stood,
To the last dearest drop of their ink and their blood.

Derry down, &c.

"From the Land's End to far Johnny Groat's, if a man
From Cornwall's rude boors to MacAllister's clan,
Dare raise up his voice 'gainst the church or the state,
We have blisters by dozens to tickle his pate.
Derry down, &c.

"We have Morris, the potent physician of Wales,
And Tickler, whose right-handed blow never fails,
And him, who from loyalty's path never wander'd,
Himself, swate Odoherty, knight of the standard.
Derry down, &c.

"We have sage Kempferhausen, the grave and serene;
And Eremus Marischall from far Aberdeen;
Hugh Mullion, the Grass-market merchant so sly,
With his brethern Malachi and Mordecai.

Derry down, &c.

"We have also James Hogg, the great shepherd Chaldean,
As sweetly who sings as Anacreon the Teian;

We have Delta, whose verses as smooth are as silk;
With bold William Wastle, the laird of that ilk.
Derry down, &c.

"We have Dr Pendragon, the D. D. from York,
Who sports in our ring his huge canvas of cork;
And General Izzard, the strong and the gruff,
Who despatches his foes with a kick and a cuff.
Derry down, &c.


and with gown,

“We have Seward of Christchurch, with
A prizeman, a wrangler, and clerk of renown;
And Buller of Brazen-nose, potent to seek
A blinker for fools, from the mines of the Greek.
Derry down, &c.

“Nicol Jarvie from Glasgow, the last, and the best
Of the race, who have worn a gold chain at their breast;
And Scott, Jamie Scott, Dr Scott, a true blue,

Like the steel of his forceps as tough and as true.

Derry down, &c.

"We have Ciecro Dowden, who sports by the hour,
Of all the tongue-waggers the pink and the flower;
And Jennings the bold, who has challenged so long
All the nation for brisk soda-water, and song.

Derry down," &c.

Methought that the King look'd around him, and smiled;
Every phantom of fear from his breast was exiled,
For he saw those whose might would the demagogue chain,
And would shield from disturbance the peace of his reign.
Derry down, &c.

But the best came the last, for with duke and with lord,
Methought that we feasted, and drank at the board,
Till a something the bliss of my sweet vision broke-
"Twas the watchman a-bawling, "'Tis past ten o'clock.”
Derry down, &c.

But before I conclude, may each man at this board
Be as glad as a king, and as drunk as a lord;
There is nothing so decent, and nothing so neat,
As, when rising is past, to sit still on our seat.
Derry down, &c.


GENTLE READER, TIME makes a few changes, not only n kingdoms and manners, but also in eriodicals. We have now got before us the lucubrations of Sylvanus Urban, Gent. for the year 1761, and have much amused ourselves with contrastng them with the magazine labours of he present day, and more especially with our own. What an alteration as the interval between two coronaions produced!-Sylvanus Urban and Christopher North. The one is an ntithesis of the other. The latter is Il life, buoyancy, and fire, while the ormer is the personification of homeness and heaviness. The tendency f the one is continually upwards, hile the other is carried downwards y supernatural force of gravitation. We never say or write a dull or stupid hing, while our worthy predecessor roses and doses to eternity. We are, However, mindful of the ties of relaonship which subsist between us, and herefore do not scorn the humbler, but qually necessary pages, of that ancient attern of urbanity. He was to us hat the frugal shopkeeper, the founder f his family, is to the dashing young eir his grandson, who inherits the ccumulated products of his industry. The one, mindful of pounds, shillings, nd pence, keeps to his dirty shop in Threadneedle Street, or Mincing Aly, and jogs along the "even tenor of is way," without ever emerging into he airy regions of gaiety and fashion. o him all the world is contained ithin the limits of his daily occupaion; he has no idea of further extendng his researches. Bond Street and Berkeley Square are no more to him han the Giants' Causeway or the Orkney Islands-he is satisfied in his wn sphere. His successor, on the ther hand, looks not to the east, but o the west. Full of the spirit of youth nd life, he scatters around him his ncome with generous prodigality of

soul, and the very Antipodes of narrowness and regularity, he breaks through all humdrum restraints, and follows wherever the irrepressible and inexhaustible elasticity of his mind impels him.

We have often smiled within ourselves at the thought of the consternation which a Number of our Work would have caused about sixty years since, were it possible for one to have appeared, even but in a vision, to our forefathers. The venerable Sylvanus would instaneously have been petrified with surprise, and, like old Eli, would have fallen down in his chair at the news and broke his back. The whole tribe of allegory and essay writers would have been compelled to use the exclamation of Othello, and mourn over their departed vocation. After one smack of the high-flavoured and exciting viands of our table, the public taste would have become too fastidious to relish the homeliness of their ordinary repasts. Nothing plain or unseasoned would have served; our literary cookery would have tickled them too much to allow them to bear with less skilful and scientific provisions. What a pity that "My Grandmother,”* respectable old woman as she is, did not take to writing in those days! then, undoubtedly, was her time. Why she would have been considered as a very prodigy amongst her kind for clever writing. Even her lumbering heaviness, which renders her rather a dangerous article on shipboard, might in those happy days have been considered as volatility itself. Such is the misfortune of not paying sufficient attention to times and seasons in our enterprizes, and of being born either too soon or too late. But we were speaking of ourselves. We can picture the astonishment which would have pervaded the world of literature had one of our Numbers, for instance the present, been able to anticipate its

See Don Juan.

existence by about sixty years, and to figure away at the coronation of George the Third, instead of that of his worthy successor, whom God long preserve. Ossian himself, that apocryphal personage, and the Boy of Bristol, would have created less controversy and contention. It would have given a kind of St Vitus's dance to every limb of the mighty body of letters, and would have operated like an electrical shock. In short, good reader, you may probably have observed, if you are in the habit of making use of soda powders, the effect which is produced by the infusion of cold water on the particles as they lie scattered at the bottom of the glass. The cold and translucid lymph, late so calm and motionless, effervesces instantaneously, and boils upwards in foaming agitation, moved as if by a spirit. Such and so potent would have been the effect of one Number of our astonishing Miscellany. The names of O'Doherty, Kempferhausen, Wastle, Timothy Tickler, and Lauerwinckel, must certainly ever preclude imitators; yet there were unquestionably many men of that period to which we have alluded, whom we think we could have made something of in the way of contributors. There was Johnson, for instance. To be sure his style is not of the fittest for our airy and etherial pages, and his wit is rather too clumsy for us, who delight more to use the razor than the hatchet. Properly trained, however, we think the old fellow might have been made to do great things. We have a notion he could have written a very forcible letter, though a Cockney himself, on Cockneys and Cockneyism, and occasionally we might have suffered him to take up, in conjunction with our friend, Timothy Tickler, the reviewing department of our work, provided the subject was not poetry; his Rasselas, after being entirely rewritten by ourselves, we might probably have inserted, but his Ramblers we should have taken the liberty of declining. As for Goldsmith, he would have just done for us. All our readers, we dare say, remember his account of the Common Council-man's visit to see the coronation of George the Third. In what an admirable spirit is it written! We should actually not have been ashamed of inserting it in our Magazine. Hear but Mr Grograms consultations with his wife.

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"Grizzle," said I to her, " Grizzle, my dear, consider that you are but weakly, always ailing, and will never bear sitting out all night upon the scaffold. You remember what a cold you caught the last fast day, by rising but half an before your time to go to church, and how I was scolded as the cause of it. Besides, my dear, our daughter, Anna Amelia Wilhelmina Carolina will look like a perfect fright if she sits up, and you know the girl's face is something, at her time of life, considering her fortune is but small. 'Mr Grogram,' replied my wife, 'Mr Grogram, this is always the case when you find me in spirits. I don't want to go out, I own, I don't care whether I go at all; it is seldom that I am in spirits, but this is always the case. In short, sir, what will you have on't! -to the coronation we went.' Poo Goldy, he would have written an ex cellent series for our Magazine, an we would have paid him handsomely What a pity he did not live in the day of Blackwood. Burke, too, would hav been of some use to us in any politica department. To be sure he was rathe whiggish at his outset, but we coul have fully satisfied him, we think, & to this point. A letter or two of his certain noble lords, whom we have i view, would have suited us exactl Churchhill, it must be acknowledge was a sad fellow-relentlessly indi criminate in abusive satire; his on excuse is, that he did not live with the period of our publication. He wa however, an engine of power, thou improperly directed, and we could ha turned him, we think, to very con derable use. What a fine character would have drawn of the amia Scotsman! How minutely would have marked the different features this Ursa Major, and how glowingly would have coloured the whole. would have transfixed him in the v act of shedding the venom of his spl over the brightest characters of country. Gray would have done v well for the Diletante Society, and well for our Magazine. He was a 1 of taste, and of habits of thinking writing something like our own, & in spite of his whims and his del cies, we are confident we should h agreed to a tittle. As for the rest, t would all have had their posts, s in the higher and some in the le chambers of our temple of immor

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