VACATION REMINISCENCES; OR, WHIG OPERATIONS UP TO EASTER.

Tune-"Bow, wow, wow."

A pack of Hounds of Whiggish breed, who sought to get their name up,

And all throw off in gallant style whene'er they put the game up,

At Brookes's met to form their plans "In vulgum voces spargere"—

Not Brookes's Club, as heretofore, but Brookes's great Menagerie.

Bow, wow, wow,
Tol de riddle, tol de riddle,
Bow, wow, wow.

When "loaves and fishes" form'd the only object of the chase, Sir,

No dogs had better noses, or could go a better pace, Sir;

And all excell'd in "giving tongue" whene'er they took their station,

To growl about the grievances of this unhappy nation.

Bow, wow, wow.

Small Bennet, Lushington, and Wood, engaged to raise the ghost of

A certain Royal Funeral, already made the most of;

While Wilson, in his grief at being laid upon the shelf, Sir,

Thought the most important subject for discussion was—Himself, Sir.

Bow, wow, wow.

Says Joseph Hume, "Though Croker's cuts have made an alter'd mon o' me,

I'll still be foremost in the throng for preaching up economy;

I'll hunt down all the charges in our armies and our navies"—

"And I will be your whipper-in," cries gallant Colonel Davies.

Bow, wow, wow.

Then Curwen would repeal the tax on tallow, cheese, or leather.

Says Calcraft, "I've a better plan, and let us pull together;

Vansittart means to ease the Malt, so let us work the Salt Tax—

If Salt should be the word with him—why then we'll try the Malt Tax."

Bow, wow, wow.

Young Normanby—surprising change!—the motley party graces,

And wars against his flesh and blood, to prate at useless places;

And Hobhouse swears that every place and placeman he will bark at,

Except the first Commissioner for Nabob's debts at Arcot.

Bow, wow, wow.

There's Joseph Yorke, while he a Lord of Admiralty flourish'd,

No patriotic schemes of close retrenchment ever nourish'd;

But since, O most unlucky day! his "stern was to the board room,"

He sternly vows for idle Lords we cannot now afford room.

Bow, wow, wow.

Then Calvert, who, of course, opposes all unfair monopolies,

Steps forth to regulate the sale of Bread in the metropolis.

"The poor," he says, "shall never have their quartern loaf too dear, Sir,

If they will only hold their tongues about the price of Beer, Sir."

Bow, wow, wow.

Says Creevy, "I must needs confess, when I was at the India Board,

I ne'er did much but read the news, or loll upon the window-board;

But since my hopes of lolling there again are all demolish'd,

I'll prove the whole concern so bad, it ought to be abolish'd."

Bow, wow, wow.

"I care not who," says Lawyer Brougham, "from place or pension budges;

What salaries ye lower, so ye leave alone the Judges;

Who knows but I, by chance, may be hereafter for the Bench meant,

Then that is surely not a proper object for retrenchment."

Bow, wow, wow.

"'Tis wisely said," George Tierney cries, who to the last had tarried,

"Too far by patriotic feelings some of ye are carried;

Economy 'tis very well at times to snarl and bite for,

But have a care, lest bye-and-bye there's nothing left to fight for."

Bow, wow, wow.

But, spite of Tierney, they have things and notices in plenty, too,

To keep the Mountain pack at work till June or July, Twenty-two;

And there's no doubt they'll do as much to serve the grateful nation,

As they had done before they parted for the short vacation.

Bow, wow, wow.

REMINISCENCES.
(Continued.)

When last we left the Mountain Pack enjoying Easter's jolly days, We

followed up their sport until it ended with their hol-i-days; And

now against their "Privilege," we hope 'twill be no treason, To

track their steps throughout the dull remainder of the sea-son.

Bow, wow, wow, Fal liddle Fal de riddle, Bow, wow, wow.

George Tierney is a cunning dog, and prudently does think it,

The wisest to run mute, and when a question rises, blink it;

To bunglers he has left it to "give tongue" and talk prophetics,

To Hume in figures, Cam in Greek, and Bennet in pathetics.

Bow, wow, wow.

Brougham vents a loud complaint, that Royal influence increases,

And holds that Members of the House should give up all their places;

But, shifting Master Harry, pray which way would int'rest turn you,

If George the Fourth forthwith was pleased to make you his Attorney?

Bow, wow, wow.

Says Jarvy Sefton, "I've a charming little job in petto,

From Salford's ancient County Court some modern fees to get O!

Just help me through with that, and I'll cry aye to all your movements,

For war, the plague, economy, or any great improvements."

Bow, wow, wow.

Sir Francis Burdett next appears, once idol of the people,

Who says, the thought of raising rents should never make men sleep ill;

For, though so pure a patriot, his gains he would increase, Sir,

And does not care if quartern loaves five shillings were a-piece, Sir.

Bow, wow, wow.

But what a noble stir he made on Hunt's incarceration,

Because his name he holds in such exalted estimation;

He always, to be sure, has shewn for him favour and affection,

As witness, how he praised him at the Westminster Election.

Bow, wow, wow.

Says Bridegroom Coke, "For speaking in the House I've lost my head, Sir;

But never mind, I'll tell you what I mean to do instead, Sir,

I'll work as hard as I'm allow'd by Anne and the physicians,

And send you once a week, at least, a bag full of petitions."

Bow, wow, wow.

Says Gaffer Western, "Though we once, amongst our many whimsies,

Cried out with all our might for gold, and grumbled at the 'flimsies,'

Since Ministers now pay in cash, and think to cut a caper,

We'll turn about and badger them to pay again in paper."

Bow, wow, wow.

Then Johnny Russell made a speech, and some of it was pointed, too,

About "Reform in Parliament," and "state of things in ninety-two;"

But though 'twas call'd a sharp harangue, and he had clearly read for't,

He never spoke of throwing open Tavistock or Bedford.

Bow, wow, wow.

Dull Joseph Hume, the stupidest of all the northern doctors,

Fell foul, in his good-natured way, of Royal droits and proctors;

And hoped that then five thousand pounds at least disbursed had been, Sir,

To satisfy some Captain's claims who—votes for Aberdeen, Sir.

Bow, wow, wow.

Then Courteney moved, and others thought they could do much better,

Than vote a breach of Privilege, a certain printed letter;

But when they had its writer up, as all reporters teach, Sir,

The House forgot its privilege, and only shew'd its breach, Sir!

Bow, wow, wow.

Then Abercrombie gentle, seized with one of Quixote's frenzies,

Sets off, post haste in chaise and four, to call out Lawyer Menzies;

But when he got to Ferrybridge he long'd to join the pack again,

So after dinner, he and Althorpe—order'd horses back again.

Bow, wow, wow.

Wise Scarlett, who is just your man to browbeat, pose, or plead, Sir,

Produced a poor-bill, which, 'tis said, was very poor indeed, Sir;

And Denman spoke when he'd been made a serjeant in the morning,

And what he said betray'd that he'd been dining at the Horn Inn.

Bow, wow, wow.

While Whitbread, Calvert, Buxton all, kept up the price of beer, Sir,

Young Yellow Lambton seem'd to think the poor were charged too dear, Sir;

But, though he loves his countrymen, he'd not, to save their souls, Sir,

Make any alteration in the present price of coals, Sir.

Bow, wow, wow.

Grey Bennet having got a list of members holding places,

Began to foam of hospitals and of ophthalmic cases;

When "scissors cut as well as knives," when patients should take blue pills,

His oratory—"all my eye"—the dullest he of pupils.

Bow, wow, wow.

Then as for Davies, Lennard, Ellis, Hutchinson, and Creevy,

Ricardo, Williams, Curwen, Smith, or Moses Bernal Levi;

They've done as much as smirking Rice or Thanet's Pat Concannon,

Or gaiter'd Michael Angelo, or stiff-neck'd Lord Dungannon.

Bow, wow, wow.

Then Mackintosh (poor Gerald's friend), who doles out legal knowledge

Three times a week to Guinea-pigs at Haileybury College,

Conceived the penal laws too hard on rogues of all descriptions,

From those who only rob, to those who—carry off subscriptions.

Bow, wow, wow.

Great Matthew Wood, a citizen, who never can be idle,

Brought forward as a mighty hit—the case of Jailor Bridle;

Of several other things he spoke, the brightest he of Members,

But what they were, nor you, nor I, nor any one remembers.

Bow, wow, wow.

At length, then, for the present, there's an end to all their labours,

The Mountain Pack are now let loose to howl it with their neighbours;

And so we bid them thus adieu, until the next campaign, Sir,

When if they bark, or snap, or bite, we'll—whip 'em in again, Sir.

Bow, wow, wow.