THE CRABSTICK.

Air-The Green Immortal Shamrock.

Through Britain's isle as Hymen stray'd,
Upon his ambling pony,

With Buller sage, in wig array'd,
To act as cicerone;

To them full many a spouse forlorn
Complain'd of guineas squander'd,
Of visage torn, and breeches worn,
And thus his godship ponder'd—

Oh, the Crabstick! the green immortal Crabstick!
I'll insure

A lasting cure

In Russia's native Crabstick!

With magic wand he struck the earth,

And straight his conjuration

Gave that same wholesome sapling birth,
The husband's consolation;

Dispense, quoth he, thou legal man,
This new-discover'd treasure,
And let thy thumb's capacious span
Henceforward fix its measure.

Oh, the Crabstick! the green immortal Crabstick!
Long essay'd

On jilt and jade

Be Buller's magic Crabstick!

The olive branch, Minerva's boon,
Betokens peace and quiet,

But 'tis sage Hymen's gift alone
Can quell domestic riot;
For 'tis a maxim long maintain'd

By doctors and logicians,

That peace is most securely gain'd

By armed politicians.

Oh, the Crabstick! the green immortal Crabstick!
Its vigorous shoot
Quells all dispute,

The wonder-working Crabstick!

In idleness and youthful hours,

When graver thoughts seem stupid,
Men fly to rose and myrtle bowers
To worship tiny Cupid;

But spliced for life, and wiser grown,
Dog-sick of sighs and rhyming,
They haunt the crab-tree bower alone,

The leafy shrine of Hymen.

Oh, the Crabstick! the green immortal Crabstick!

Love bestows

The useless rose,

But Hymen gives the Crabstick!

5th-1807.

SIR BOYLE ROCHE, so distinguished in the Irish Senate for his whimsical blunders, died.

In Parliament, though his eloquence was not of the most polished or forcible cast, the richness of his national brogue, the humorous oddity of his rhetoric, and a supernatural propensity to that species of figure called the Bull, which might induce an astrologer to suppose him born under the influence of Taurus, rarely failed to excite continued peals of laughter when he spoke in the House; and of those qualifications the ministers of the day, whom he always supported, constantly availed themselves, whenever the temper of the House required to be relieved from the irritating asperities of warm debate; or whenever the speech of a patriot, perhaps too powerful for refutation, was more conveniently to be answered by ridicule. On those occasions, it was rather amusing to see Sir Boyle, after repeated calls from the treasury benches, rising to answer some of the most splendid orations of Mr. Grattan, Mr. Ponsonby, or Mr. Curran, by observing upon them in his own way. The "display" made at many of those opportunities by the worthy baronet, though it excited perpetual laughter, from the oddity of his language and the happy tropes which usually distinguished his style of argument, sometimes surprised, by its order of arrangement and apposite point, those who were not in the secret of the worthy baronet's previous arrangement for the discussion. The truth was, that whatever might have

been his pitch of intellect, he was gifted with a most extraordinary memory; and could get off by rote, at one or two readings, any written production of very considerable length. This faculty of his was well known to the ministers whom he supported; and there was rarely a fixed debate on any national subject, in which a part was not previously cast for Sir Boyle to act and a speech written for him, by some of the grave wags of the treasury benches; which speech was furnished to him in due time for study, and which he contrived to translate into a version of his own. He acted as a sort of buffo in the political opera. The late Mr. Edward Cooke, who, in various departments, still acted as a political engineer to the ruling party in Ireland, during the successive administrations of Lord Westmoreland, Lord Camden, and Lord Cornwallis, was known to have composed many of those orations for Sir Boyle. The author knew the whim both of the orator and the audience, and could skilfully anticipate where a peal of laughter would tend to damp the fire of debate, and restore good humour to the disputants; and Sir Boyle was selected as the fittest engine for this purpose. There were some occasions where the worthy baronet's eloquence was not previously thought necessary, and of course no speech was prepared for him. But he was an old soldier, and too full of the esprit de corps, to look calmly on the conflict without a zeal for taking his share of

the battle. He sometimes, therefore, ventured to volunteer an extempore philippic of his own; and then it was that his native genius shone with all its genuine splendour, pure from the mine, and unmarred by the technical touches of any treasury artist;-then it was, that all the figures of national rhetoric, to use the phrase of Junius, "danced the hays through his speech in all the mazes of metaphorical confusion."

Upon one occasion of this kind, the worthy baronet was doomed to sit dumb, while he anxiously longed to distinguish himself in the contest. He felt his mind pregnant with ardour to shine forth. He endeavoured to collect his scattered sentiments and combine them into some shape for delivery; but in vain. He retired to the coffee-room

to reconnoitre his notions, and endeavour to marshal them into some form for operation, but without effect,-all was "confusion worse confounded." A lucky expedient crossed his fancy, and he was determined to seize the opportunity.

There was a ministerial member in the house, a learned Serjeant Stanley, who was usually in the habit of rising towards the end of a long protracted debate, and about three or four in the morning, amusing the House with an important speech of an hour or more, ingeniously compiled from the fragments of other speeches which he had previously heard in the course of the discussion: but,