The Sun.
London, England, 1842-04-01 00:00:00

TUE ARGUMENT.

Smifzer and Smauker, two metropolitan literati, very
expert at disposing of" brandies and water, warm with,'
enter into a friendly contest as to their relative poetical
merits, over a hot tumbler at the " Blue Posts "—the
loser to pay the bill. Ezekiel Smudge, landlord of the
establishment is appointed-umpire, holds the stakes, and
keeps them. The disputants end where they began, and
the bar is closed.

SMIFZER.
Smauker ! while thus our hunger we appease
With—frugal supper !—tripe and toasted cheese ;
Ere yet the alcoholic juice be poured,
And smoking tumblers grace the genial board,
Let not the voice of prudence be forgot,
But let us settle who's to pay the shot.

SMAUKER.
Like Plato, Smifzer, bast thou reason'd well,
But what reply to give, I cannot tell.
Methinks, unless my recollection fail,
Last night I paid for oysters, and for ale ;
Not Dando's self could faster clear the scores,
Than you, my Smifzer, bolted the Pandores.
SMIFZER.
You paid for oysters, Smacker, that is true ;
Nor only paid, for you devoured them too.
But calm oblivion closed your eyes at length,
With twelve hot tumblers, each of extra strength,
And broke from memory's chain one binding link ;-
You stood the vittles,_but I stood the drink.
SMAUKER.
SlA:zer, yOU did then hear what I propose,
To end this strife, and liquidate the goes ;
Let's order in the fluids, stiff and strong,
And straight contend we in alternate song ;
And he who bears the palm of verse away,
Shall calmly drink, and see the other pay.
S3IIFZER.
To that proposal gladly I agree ' •
So—waiter ! bring us pipes and drink for three :
And our good landlord here, Ezekiel Smudge,
Shall of this brothers' contest be the judge.
SMUDGE.
I does not care, as bow sitch trash I hear,
If so be that you covies stands the beer.
SMAUKER.
Smifzer I begin the dithyrambic lay.
SMUDGE.
Mix up your tums, my lads, and fire away
SMIFZER.
Soft is the breeze, when Zephyr nightly fans,
With wistful sweep, the cat-frequented cans ;
Soft are the cries that haunt our early sleep,
When pot-boys wail, and cinder-maidens weep;
But softer still the verse—so virgins tell—
Which Smifzer writes, and minstrel-packmeh sell.
SMAUKER.
I heard, like rain, the pensive tear-drops fall,
In thy resplendent grove, lamp-lit Vauxhall !
When young Squalini, with her silver note,
Wove the long quiver through her tortuous throat,
And Scroggins muttered, as she trilled the ode,
"If that's not Smauker's writing, rll be blowed 1"

DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE,
This Number makes its appearance'under the
auspices of Mr. Lever, author of " Harry Lor-
requer," who, as he tells us in his address, has
gained " the object of his ambition," in being ap-
pointed Editor. We congratulate him on the
extreme moderation of his ambitious views, and
trust that he may long continue to edit, and con-
tribute to, the pages of this clever periodical.
His own story of "Jack Hinton, the Guardsman"
is, as might be expected, the most amusing thing in
the Number, abounding in passages of agreeable,
unforced humour, and describing natural inci-
dents in a natural manner. " Maxwell's Life of
Wellington" is an impartial notice of this careful
piece of biography. "- Our Portrait Gallery"
contains a full-length portrait of Tom Moore,
accompanied by a memoir, wherein the writer
does no more than justice to the inimitable
political squibs of this unquestionable poet. In
his humorous poetry, Moore has left all his pr(
decessors and contemporaries at an immeasur-
able distance behind him. Sir C. Hanbury. Wil-
liams—Sheridan--Frere—and even Canning—
are not for an instant to
Tbeheeyopared to him as
have
produced two
aproelintioctalfsocir
uain b
-or three brilliant joy: d'esprit—he has produced
hundreds. The likeness of him may be easily
recognised, but it conveys the idea of a much
taller man than he is. The " Last Days of
w r i t e rs.
Dundee" is an interesting historiette, 'and the ac-
count of his last famous battle of .illiecrankie
is described with vigour. In the diatribe entitled
" Politics and the Parliament" a very one-sided
view is taken of the state of public affairs. As a
sample of the Editor 'b mode of narration, we
subjoin his account of the well-known knighting
of an Irish peasant, by the Lord Lieutenant, the
Duke of Rutland, in one of his frolicsome,
drunken moods:--

As Lord Dudley had gone to order up the carriages,
his Grace was standing alone at the foot of the stairs,
leaning his back against the bannisters, his eyes opening
y
yovienrcforomnet bof him, but crouching in
and shutting alternately as his head nodded every now
sleep and the wine he
and tdhreniaihf.orNEvaxia•dc,tl
and the only part of his face
-
the attitude of an Indian monster, sat Corny Delany.
To keep himself from the cold, he had wrapped himself
uppercienphtiih3lem:,asstetrh'ise
littleclo ak,wrinkled forehead, and the ma
licions-looking fiery eyes beneath it, firmly fixed on the
Duke's countenance.
" Give lIIQ your sword," said his Grace, turning to
me, in a tone half sleeping, half-emit:Landing ; " give
me your sword, sir."
Drawing it from the scabbard, I presented it respect-
fully.

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