been a hard whipping o' cadgers in the county o' Perth. The Bill, sirs, has put a clean new face on our county. It's new-come-o'er to see ba.. rons and barrow Knechts cap-in-hand to the like o' me, for my vote and interest. No but I was something loath to refuse Sir George the first favour he ever asked o' me; the wife was like to devour me-for he has aye cuitled favour, somehow, among the women. But had you heard how I 'tarrogated him, gentlemen! “So ye are no’ like your friend, Lord Balgray, an enemy to all reform, Sir George ?” quoth I. “Weel, I'm glad to hear that ; better late thrive than never do weel. But when, Sir George, got ye this new light, or found out that ye was a reformer? Was it revealed to you in a dream, or came the revelation in a postletter?” for it was current in our country-side that the Tories, before leaving their rendezvous in London, got like a license or dispensation to pretend to be friends of the cause, if it suited their tactics. Sir George, to believe him, had been a reformer all his life, for what he kenned ; and I must own he has a gift o utterance. My birse got up at this. “For re read con, Sir George,” quoth I; “ye're a conformer—not a reformer.” 'Od, it was put i' the Scotsman and Embro' Chronicle baith, that same saying o' mine.


And well merited such eternal blazon! Replenish, steward. Give me leave, Mr. Snody-a crowned bumper-Here's every true-hearted Scot, from Thurso to Maidenkirk, who is stanch to the cause !

OXONIAN, SNODY, &c. &c. Hip, hip, hip !-Hurra! hurra! hurra! hurra!


Mr. George Sinclair has our good wishes from all the veins of our hearts; for we ken well what is going on now-a-days. But nae fear :

Scotland, our auld respected mither, will do her duty. And if the Caithness men flinch Mr. Sinclair for this Horner, or whatever ye call him


Why, they deserve to be pickled in their own herring tubs, and tumbled into the Pentland Frith, for a whet to the next shoals. But never fear them. Sutherland, too, proves true and trusty; and in Ross-shire, if we have not always enlightened man-feeling, we have stanch clan-feeling for the right man, Seaforth ; so this puny whipster of Novar may take a year or two's grass in the Gruids, if he see no ghosts about these depopulated regions. But fill, sir-so good a reformer must be as good a fellow.

MR. SNODY ( coughing.) Ugh! ugh! where's a' that reek coming from? This is no the liquor I'm just used to; but I am none of your shilpit, wishy-washy sumphs, whase stamach gaes wrang upon the first drap of fremit drink. But be about us, sirs ! where is a' that reek spuing frae? Something o' their tackle wrong, I fear.

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It rushes in, as from a vomitory. Wheatly ?-Steward? what the deuce, Steward-you're looming through the smoke like a Dutch lugger on the Dogger Bank in a November morning. Hark! what the devilYells, and cries of Fire ! fire !-dreadful trampling overhead :-the table

and lights are overturned, and all rush forth.

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MR. SNODY (bawling.) I'm scomfished! the Royal Adelaide is reeking like a creel o' wet peats in a killogie.

(Several Voices.)
Where's the fire? Are we on fire ? Stop the engine! Where's the
fire ? It's BLACKwood's Magazine bales—It's TAJt's Magazine bales !
This way—this way-deep in the hold !

OXONIAN (laughing.)
This might have been foreseen when these two were boated together.
Collision, friction, combustion; or, as probably, spontaneous combustion,
on the part of BLACKWOOD, communicating to Tait,


And so they're both lunting together. But ye are off, Mr. Oxonian. Think o' the danger, sir,—think o' the danger!

OXONIAN ( disappearing with a bucket of salt water.) Here goes! in the grim face of George Buchanan.


Dash this flagon of brown-stout on Brougham's wig! There he peers out, his locks dripping like a river-god. All's safe, auld Auchterarder! Courage man !- Flames just about got under.

MR. SNODY (looking down into the hold.) Lord's sake, but I ha’e gotten a fleg! Take care of yourselves, sirs, down there ; ye're loupin' on the lowin parshels like folk i' the ill place. It's frightsome to look down on them, sirs,-the blue lowe, and then the dark-red light bursting out into lang tongues ; and the tither blash o'water :—and next the fizzing o' the Blackwoods there, and the hissing o' the Tait's yonder.

Enter Seamen, Officers, &c. An old Sailor speaks. Gentlemen! gentlemen ! smother them-choke them-part them; throw this damp sheet over them, Better could not be looked for, in stowing up such spunky gear together. And such a blow-up in the Adelaide! The owners will be mad as March hares. We'll a' be ruined and disposted. It was a mere tempting o’ Providence to let these two boat together. (Roars down.) Pitch the bales overboard, can't ye! It will take the Baltic to sloaken all the combustible stuff that's about BLACKwoon, wherever it comes from. Out with Tait too! if he be not a-fire already, he'll soon be so. Make the vessel rid of them both.


Will ye? My faith there will be twa words to that bargain. I'll stand by the Chancellor, and see him safe to Lon'on too, since we happen to have ta'en shipping together : and let me see wha’ll dare singe ae hair of his wig.–And its a gaucy ane; and a power of guid is below it for this poor country, baith there in paper, and yonder in horse hair; now that the flames are quenched, I

may say that much.

OXONIAN ( calls from below.)
Bravo, Auchterarder! stand by Brougham's head and the good cause.
He lay, I assure you, quiet as a lamb, till the flames of the other caught

him up.

(The Captain and many Passengers reappear in the Great Cabin.)


Happy to assure you, ladies and gentlemen, that the flames are completely subdued. Make yourselves quite comfortable. We must, however, run into Aldborough, to wait the return of daylight ; but, except that, no delay.

LADY PASSENGER (interrupting.) And how could this fire have broken out ? Can any sparks have been smouldering among the bales since we left Leith ?

MR. SNODY (as WHEATLY enters.) It's gey an' queer that, too. Ye're welcome back from yon burning regions, Mr. Wheatly! My conscience ! ye lent a ready hand in the brulzie ; but what can ha'e set the Magazines a-lunting ? it's a mystery o' mysteries.





Especially as it's their game to set everybody a-lunting, and keep out of the conflagration themselves. This catastrophe might, however, have been easily predicted. In the case of George Buchanan, it was certainly the phenomenon called SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION; which, though not a common occurrence, is yet by no means an unexampled instance of what is superinduced by a long course of excess in the abuse of ardent spirits.

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Or may not “ the hoary fiend, Cobbett,” have slipt some of his Swing combustibles among Mr. Blackwood's bales. Depend upon it, this is one of the “ incendiary fires which the hoary fiend, Cobbett, still boasts of.” There is an intrepidity of ruffianism

SNODY (interrupting.) Na, na, mem,-ye're clean out o' your latitude there-Mr. Cobbett, and Mr. Blackwood and all his friends, were on the best terms preacher and hearers can be. I was eyewitness to that. They ne'er could put the like of that stuff in their books ; no a ten days after. 'Od! I thought he might convert them.—But ye needna look sae angry about




Tush, good Auchterarder! I tell you it is an undeniable case of spontaneous combustion. I intend to communicate it to the Medical Journal. Luckily, we got it out by smothering; for, though the burning, in such cases, generally consumes inwardly, it might have spread to dry, hot, neighbouring objects.


Na, sir ! ye are makin' game o’us now. that gait o' their ain natures.

Books are no bodies, to lunt


Bodies, ay, and souls too, a very few of them. Look here-Blackwood, page 842—yes, books are bodies, and spirits, bitter, black, malignant. You have heard of some of them being burnt by the hands of the common hangman. What, pray, is to prevent others anticipating justice, and taking the hangman's office upon themselves.


I'm sure l’se never object to so just a judgment, whether by rope or faggot. But I daresay, gentlemen, ye'll be none the worse for a sklish of yon round o’ beef-it was gey an' sappy-after squenching the Magazines. Conscience ! they should gie ye a premium : ye wrought like firemen. If it had not been for your four quarters, Mr. Wheatly, there would have been a clean blow up between them, Royal Adelaide and a'thegither.



And long faces on Magazine day, if neither Brougham nor yet Black George made his appearance in the Row. The other lads might have

shut up shop, I guess. But give us the last new song you have, Wheatly. “ No fear that supper cool," --something with a touch of the pathetic, after our hairbreadth 'scapes i’ this imminent deadly breach, off Ald. borough.

WHEATLY singsAir, Isabel.

Wake! Bobby, wake from your dream of delusion!
The Bishops are quaking with fear;
The march of reform you may deem an intrusion,
But, pray, can you stop its career ?
Or say, would you plunge the whole land in confusion,
Old systems because you revere ?
Bobby P-11 Bobby P-l! Bobby P-1!
Believe me, sincere is the sorrow
That for your condition I feel !
Oh, think what new dangers to-morrow
May reveal, may reveal !

Your name might have been, but for Dad's spinning-jennies,
In some village council enroll'd ;
The chief of a tap-room's political ninnies,
Still ready to blow hot and cold :
E'en now all your genius not equals your guineas-
Your talents are talents of gold !
Bobby P-1! Bobby P-11 Bobby P-1!
Believe me, sincere is the sorrow
That for your condition I feel :
Oh, think what new dangers to-morrow
May reveal, may reveal!

No tergiversation can tarnish your glories ;
Then why of consistency spout ?
You'll never be trusted again by the Tories;
Then stick not by them, now they're out!
You've oft turn'd your coat, and to turn it once more is
Your wisest proceeding, no doubt.
Bobby P-1! Bobby P-1! Bobby P-1!
Believe me, sincere is the sorrow
That for your condition I feel :
Oh, think what new dangers to-morrow
May reveal, may reveal!

Capital song ! though Oxford own it. What say you, Auchterarder?


Faith, to say sooth, my mind is running on thae twa fiery deevils i’ the hold. If they should yoke again? If Geordie's beard get a-bleeze, the Wig will be sure to catch next time; and we might be scomfished off Aldborough Harbour, in our innocent sleep, and go to feed the fishes.There's a hantle o' the labster creatures hereabout ;-if they should get haud o' a man's taes


To quiet your fears, and let you sup and sleep in peace, I shall reconnoitre and report, though small dread have I. Exit, and re-enters, ere you can say twice Jack Robinson, Tait's Ma

gazine elevated in both hands. Said I not well? Is not the buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance ? Brougham comes out of the embranglement with never a hair turned. Huzza for the Banner of the Buff!

(Sings as he seats himself.)


Come all good-humoured Radicals,—I know that there are such,
Let us make broad our visages, till they outface the Dutch :
Nor hang ye back whom some call Whigs,-though men with pith enough ;-
A nickname's nothing !-pipe a stave-in praise of honest Buff!
And stave a pipe_methinks you say?-With all my heart, my lads !
O! how it would have cheered the souls of some of our old dads,
The gallant men of Ninety-three---the men of the right stuff,
Could they have but in vision seen the “ Raising of the Buff!”
The “ Blue (1) and Yellow" veterans-beneath that once proud flag,
In Freedom's cause have gallantly--at times-done more than brag ;
And in the Chelsea of snug place they now its rags may luff
Our banner fresh defiance flaunts the old—the gallant Buff!

We will not mount the Blue with it---its hue hath been profaned,
And, like the Orange, its deep dye hath deeper yet been stained ;
The Tory Drabs (2) will get look more the hue of rotting stuff:
Shroud Sarum in such mortcloth dun! -WE boast the blooming Buff !
High-hearted youngsters crowd our ranks,-around the standard flocks
The race of Sydney and of Pym; of Marvel, Fletcher, Knox;
And he the God-souled ploughman too---like Scotland bold---not bluff :
And isn't that a gallant corps to hoist and hold the Buff!
But in our van and at each flank--yet always for the Right,
0! we have time-scarred veterans too---inured in many a fight,
The glorious Old Man (3) cheered us on---Hurra! Now for the cuffs !
There's ne'er a soldier of the line but knows the true “ Old Buffs !" (4)
But though our breastplates be of proof, and keen our trenchant blades,
Our plumes are soft as beauty's tress, and silken are our plaids ;
'Tis only Tories, gentle ones, that know our “ sterner stuff,”
We're willing slaves—to you at least-since Charlie (5) wore the Buff!
We love you in the silk attire of many a Souvenir ;
Our Amulets, you are in fight, of all Bijous most dear!
But from Miss M. to L.E.L., with boa or with muff,
The Blues are dearest far to us when they're seen in the Buff!"
Fill up the glass !_'tis Khudesheimer !_we'll drain it deep and dry;
“ The good old cause of Right and Truth !" cheer-till you crack the sky.
Our voices, like our arms, you hear, will not go off in puffs,
And cheerily we'll shake the hand, and heartily give Buffs !
Here's to the Purser of our crew-how gallant was his launch !
There's not a lubber in the craft—the very devils are staunch;
0! nailed on its top-gallant, let the wind blow smooth or rough,
Still will be seen the raking Broom, (6) and still the fearless Buff!

(1) The blue and yellow cover of the Edinburgh Review is probably here meant.

Drab is the appropriate livery of the Quarterly and Blackwood. (3) Perhaps Bentham is here glanced at. (4) « The Third, or Old Buffs," have long been known as the bravest of the brave in our regiments of the line-bear witness Albuera.

(5) The devotion of Charles James Fox to the fair sex was not greater than that of the fairest of them to him. The Duchess of Devonshire, with Buff favours and irresistible smiles, won his election for Westminster.

6) Query-Brougham ?

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