LORD RECTOR OF THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW,
LATE ONE OF THE PRESIDENTS OF THE SPECULATIVE,

AND EDITOR OF THE EDINBURGH REVIEW,

&c., &c., &c.,
&c., &c.,
&c.

I.

Your days, Mr Jeffrey, how gaily they sped,
When the Prosers were with you, whatever you said,
Taunting Burke with your eloquence, Swift with your jest,
While the chorus was Constable's chink in your chest!
But opinions stride on, while things linger behind-
What of old pass'd for thunder, now weighs but as wind;
And you, a great man as could possibly be,
Stand diminish'd to modest dimensions by ME.

II.

I am sure, like one waked from a dream, you look back
To the days when you hoisted your flag of attack;
When against THE OLD FORTRESS you open'd your trenches,
With a jig, as the mode of your masters the French is ;
While One PRIEST whistled on with the note of Voltaire,
And the smile of another recalled D'Alembert,

And you seemed A Great Man as could possibly be,

Never dreaming of damnable dampers from ME.

III.

You all seem'd so giddy, so gamesome, so gay,
Paine and Hell shouted "Go it, we're sure of the day."-
Such a confident crowing contemptuous air,

Fill'd the hearts of a thousand good fools with despair;
While there wanted not some of our old pluckless tories,
Who like spoonies would fawn and talk big of your glories,
Calling you a great Man as could possibly be; —
-Lacking heart even to hope for a hero like ME.

IV.

How the fine yellow's dimm'd in its delicate hue !
What a stain has been stamp'd on the beautiful blue !
How each frolicsome face that enliven'd Craig-Crook
Has been changed for a down-looking, dumpish, sour look!
O the heart that of old could like quick-silver bound,
How it sinks! I am sure it weighs more than a pound!
O the biggest small Man that could possibly be,
How he casts up his whites when he thinks upon ME!

4

V.

Geese, their nature is such, cackle loud in one's pond,
But just whistle, and phoo! in a funk they abscond;
Byron christen'd five geese after five worthy souls,
Ugo Fudgiolo, Sheil, Proctor, Maturin, Knowles ;-
But if I had pond-pets, I'm more wise, I should call 'em
After such folks as Macintosh, Brougham, Smith, and Hallam
Not forgetting one smart little cackler-to be

(When its wings were well clipt) yclep't JEFFREY by ME.

VI.

Now, you'll scarcely believe it, for all that's been done,
I had never a harsh thought about you-not one.
For the sake of my Country, my Faith, and my King,
I was forced a few rockets among you to fling;
But even then what I did, if aright understood,
Was not meant for your ill, but your serious good;
And, if you're the least man that can possibly be,
You should thank yourself for it-much rather than ME.

VII.

I protest I'm half sorry to see you so low-
You that were such fine frisky, brisk boys long ago;
You may think as you please, but you'll make me quite sad,
If you all keep so moping while we are so mad !
Mr Jeffrey, cheer up! you're a nice little fellow,
Notwithstanding the sins of your Azure-and-Yellow;
Though you're not the first Wit that can possibly be,
You're a clever old body-there's butter from ME.

VIII.

Were I forced by some dread demoniacal hand,

To change heads (what a fate!) with some Whig in the land,
I don't know but I'd swap with yourself, my old Gander,
(I should then be Diogenes-not Alexander!)
But to shew my good will in a manner more solemn,
I inscribe to your name (Jump for joy!) this whole VOLUME.
Being always your servant, your friend, and so forth-
The humanest of conquerors-

17, PRINCE'S-STREET, EDINBURGH,
31st December, 1821.

Christopher North.

We have found ourselves, dear Subscribers, under the necessity of publishing two Numbers of our Magazine, this month, and we shall be obliged to do this occasionally, when our correspondents become dangerous and personal. We trust that we shall be forgiven by all whose articles are not inserted. We put a printer's devil, blindfolded into our large iron-safe, and told him to throw out at random thirty articles. As he is no relation of the late Miss Macavoy of Liverpool, the blindest impartiality may be depended upon. Another devil was in waiting to carry off the articles to the printing-office; and they are printed just as the blinded devil threw them up, on the principle of fortuitous concussion. That so much and so many of them should have happened to relate to coronations, cannot surprise any person who believes that an accidental jumble of atoms produced the world.

We regret, however, that this mode of selection has been unfortunate in one respect. The paw of the little devil in the chest has not happened to lay hold of any sentimental description of the late august ceremony; although, doubtless, there must be many such, as all the writers for the press appear to have been taken with the most pathetic sensibility in their account of the solemnities; even the London newspapers not only excelled themselves, but some of them performed characters at variance with their wonted habits.

The eyes of "The Morning Chronicle," for example, were suffused with tears of joy and gratitude at beholding the whiglings placed so near his Majesty's seat of honour; "The Examiner" was obliged to confess that "the thing was well got up;" and Cobbet himself bit his lips with vexation to such a degree, that there is some doubt if he will ever be able to wash his mouth again.

Had we not been induced to grant the boon of this impartial selection to our correspondents, in imitation of his Majesty's act of grace to the Radicals, merely to try if we can appease a parcel of discontented rogues, we should have confined ourselves exclusively to works of a tender-hearted kind, such as has hitherto characterised our publication. Perhaps, however, our readers will allow, that for them the fortuitous selection has been fortunate, for certainly we never before issued any Number like to this, whether we regard the abilities of the correspondents, or the topics on which their abilities have been exerted. C. N.