The Sun.
London, England, 1832-03-01 00:00:00

BLACKW 0 OD'S MAGAZINE.

Full of politics as usual, combustible as
touch-wood, and red-hot as a blacksmith's fur-
nace. In the first article, " Present Balance of
Parties in the State," Christopher literally foams
with passion; he abuses the Whigs, he abuses
the Tories, he abuses all and every thing, hut
himself and' Edmund Burke. But when, from
sheer exhaustion, breath and passion are both ex-
pended, he comes to the following conclusion,
" What are the prospects of the country ? Many
think them gloomy in the extreme—we see
streaks of nascent light dawning in the horizon."
So do we, but through another telescope than
that which Blackwood makes use of. We see it
in the triumph of the Liberals ; he in their utter
discomfiture. " The Belgian Question" is
an able and elaborate article, but dismally
stale, having been bandied about, like a
shuttlecock, in Parliament and the newspapers
for the last six months. " What caused the
Bristol Riots ?" is another savage diatribe,
penned evidently under the influence of a severe
attack of dyspepsia. Of course the cause of
these disgraceful riots is found in the " unparal-
leled licentiousness of the Press; as if there
had been no such " untoward" event as an osten-
tatious public entry of a rank political Judge
into a city convulsed by party spirit ! " The
Executioner" is a powerful tale, but we dislike
the false taste in which it is both conceived and
executed. " Nautical Adventures" is a lively,

graphic article, replete with incident, told in the
frank spirit of a sailor. " Family Poetry" is
one of the cleverest and sprightliest jeux d'esprits
we have met with for a long time. It is light
and sparkling, and penned, every line of it, con
amore, without effort and premeditation. Long
as it is, we cannot, in justice to our readers,
omit it :

THE PLAY.
" Qua que ipse miserrima vide."—Vsau.
Catherine of Cleeves was a lady of rank,
She had lands, and fine houses, and cash in the bank ;
She had jewels and rings,
And a thousand smart things,
Was lovely and young,
With a rather sharp tongue,
And she wedded a Duke of high degree,
With the star of the order of St. Esprit ;
But the Duke de Guise
Was by many degrees
Her senior, and not very easy to please;
He'd a sneer on his lip, and a scowl with his eye,
And a frown on his brow—and he look'd like a Guy—
So she took to intriguing
With Monsieur St. Megrin,
A young man of fashion, and figure, and worth,
But with no great pretensions to fortune or birth ;
He would sing, fence, and dance,
With any man in France,
And took his rappee with genteel nonchalance ;
He smiled, and he flatter'd, and flirted with ease,
And was very superior to Monseigneur de Guise.
Now Monsieur St. Megrin was curious to know
If the lady approved of his passion, or no;
So, without more ado,
He put on his surtout,
And went to a man with a beard like a Jew,
One Signor Ruggieri,
A cunning-man near, he
Could conjure, tell fortunes, and calculate tides
Perform tricks on the cards, and heaven knows what besides,
Bring back a stray'd cow, silver ladle, or spoon,
And was thought to be thick with the man-in-the-moon.
The sage took his stand
With his wand in his hand,
Drew a circle, then gave the dread word of command,
Saying solemnly--"Prato ! -.Hey, quick ! --Cock.a-lorum !"
When the Duchess immediately popp'd up befoie 'em.
Just then a conjunction of Venus and Mars,
Or something peculiar above in the stars,
Attracted the notice of Signor Ruggieri,
Who bolted, and left him alone with his deary.—
Monsieur St. Megrin went down on his knees,
And the Duchess shed tears large as marrowfat peas,
When—fancy the shock :
A loud double-knock
Made the lady cry, " Get up, you fool!—there's De Guise!"
'Twas his Grace sure enough;
So Monsieur, looking bluff,
Strutted by, with his hat on, and fingering his ruff;
While, unseen by either, away flew the dame
Through the opposite keyhole, the same way she came ;
But alack ! and alas !
A mishap came to pass,
In her hurry she somehow or other let fall
A new silk bandana she'd worn as a shawl;
She had used it for drying
Her bright eyes while crying,
And blowing her nose as her beau talk'd of " dying !"

Now the Duke, who had seen it so lately adorn her,
And knew the great C with the Crown in the corner,
The instant he spied it smoked something amiss,
And said, with some energy, " D—n it ! what's this ?"
He went home in a fume,
And bounced into her room,
Crying " So, ma'am, I find I've some cause to feel jealous.
Look here!—here's a proof you run after the fellows!—
Now take up that pen—if it's bad, choose a better—
And write as I dictate this moment a letber

To Monsieur—you know who !"
The lady look'd blue;
But replied, with much firmness, " Curse me if I do !"
Then De Guise grasp'd her wrist
With his great mutton fist,
And pinch'd it, and gave it so painful a twist,
That his hard iron gauntlet the flesh went an inch in ;
She did't mind death, but she could not bear pinching;
So she sat down and wrote
This polite little note;
" Dear Mister St. Megrin,
The Chiefs of the League in
Our house come to dine
This evening at nine;
I shall soon after ten
Slip away from the men,
And you'll find me up stairs in the drawing-room then.
Come up the back way, or these impudent thieves,
The servants, will see you ;
Your's,
Catherine of Cleves."
She directed, and sealed it, all pale as a ghost,
And De Guise put it into the twopenny post.
St. Megrin had almost jump'd out of his skin
For joy that day when the post came in;
He read the note through,
Then began it anew,
And thought it almost too good news to be true.
He clapped on his hat,
And a hood over that,
With a cloak to disguise him and make him look fat;
So great his impatience, from half after four
He was waiting till ten at De Guise's backdoor.
When he heard the great clock of St. Genevieve chime,
He ran up the back-staircase six steps at a time,
But had scarce made his bow
He hardly knew how,
When, alas and alack !

There was no getting back,
For the drawing-room door was bang'd to with a whack.—
In vain he applied
To the handle, and tried,

Somebody or otheihad lock'd it outside!
And the Duchess in agony sobbed, .. My poor chap,
We are cotch like a couple of rats in a trap !"

Now the Duchess's page,
About twelve years of age,
For so little a boy was uncommonly sage ;
And, just in the nick, to their joy and amazement,
Popp'd the gas-lighter's ladder close under the casement ;
But all would not do—.
Though St. Megrin got through
The window,—below stood De Guise and his crew,
And though never man was more brave than St. Megrin,
Yet fighting a score is extremely fatiguing ;
He thrust carte and tierce
Remarkably fierce,
But not Beelzebub's self could their cuirasses pierce,
While his doublet and hose,
Being holiday clothes,
Were soon cut through and through from his knees to his nose;
Still an old crooked sixpence the Conjurer gave him,
From " pistol and sword" was sufficient to save him,
But, when beat on his knees,
That confounded De Guise
Came behind with the /ogle that caused all this breeze,
Whipp'd it tight round his neck, and, when backwards he
jerk'd him,
The rest of the rascals jump'd on him and Burk'd him.
The poor little page too himself got no quarter, but
Was served the same way,
And was found, the next day,
With his heels in the air and his head in the water-butt.
Catherine of Cleves
Roar'd " Murder !" and " Thieves ! !"
From the window above
While they murder'd her love,
Till finding the rogues had accomplish'd his slaughter,
She drank Prussic acid without any water,
And died like a Duke-and-a-Duchess's daughter!

MORAL.
Take warning, ve fair, from this play of the Bard's,
And don't go where fortunes arc told on the cards!
But steer clear of conjurors !—never put query
To " wise Mrs. Williams," or folks like Ruggieri :
When alone in your room shut your door to, and lock it!
Above all, keep your handkerchief safe in your pocket !
Lest you too should stumble, and Lord Leveson Gower, he
lle call'd on,—sad poet !—to tell your sad story!