The English Spy Part 11

2 A writer in "The Morning Post," mentioned by Lord Byron, in his "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers."

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There's my sister Diana my day coach to drive, And I'll send the new Canto to keep you alive.

So my business all settled, and absence supply'd, For an earthly excursion to-morrow I'll ride."

Thus spoke king Apollo; the Muses a.s.sented; And the G.o.d went to bed most bepraised and contented.

'Twas on Sat.u.r.day morning, near half past eleven, When a G.o.d, like a devil,4 came driving from heaven, And with postboys, and footmen, and liveries blazing, Soon set half the country a gaping and gazing.

When the carriage drove into the Christopher yard, How the waiters all bustled, and Garraway stared; And the hostlers and boot-catchers wonder'd, and swore "They'd ne'er seen such a start in their lifetime before!"

I could tell how, as soon as his chariot drew nigh, Every cloud disappear'd from the face of the sky; And the birds in the hedges more tunefully sung, And the bells in St. George's spontaneously rung; And the people, all seized with divine inspiration, Couldn't talk without rhyming and versification.

But such matters, though vastly important, I ween, Are too long for the limits of your magazine.

Now it soon got abroad that Apollo was come, And intended to be, for that evening, "at home;"

And that cards would be issued, and tickets be given, To all scholars and wits, for a dinner at seven.

So he'd scarcely sat clown, when a legion came pouring Of would-be-thought scholars, his favor imploring.

First, Buller stept in, with a lengthy oration About "scandalous usage," and "hard situation:"

And such treatment as never, since Eton was started,

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Had been shown to a genius, like him, "broken-hearted."

He'd " no doubt but his friends in Parna.s.sus must know How his fine declamation was laugh'd at below; And how Keate, like a blockhead ungifted with brains, Had neglected to grant him a prize for his pains.

He was sure, if such conduct continued much longer, The school must grow weaker, and indolence stronger; That the rights of sixth form would be laid in the dust, And the school after that, he thought, tumble it must.

But he knew that Apollo was learned and wise, And he hoped that his G.o.ds.h.i.+p would give him a prize; Or, at least, to make up for his mortification, Would invite him to dinner without hesitation."

Now Apollo, it seems, had some little pretence To a trifling proportion of wisdom and sense: So without ever asking the spark to be seated, He thus cut short his hopes, and his projects defeated.

"After all, Mr. Buller, you've deign'd to repeat, I'm afraid that you'll think me as stupid as Keate: But to wave all disputes on your talents and knowledge, Pray what have you done as the captain of college?

Have you patronized learning, or sapping commended?

Have you e'er to your f.a.gs, or their studies, attended?

To the school have you given of merit a sample, And directed by precept, or led by example?"

What Apollo said more I'm forbidden to say, But Buller dined not at his table that day.

Next, a smart little gentleman march'd with a stare up, A smoothing his neckcloth, and patting his hair up; And with bows and grimaces quadrillers might follow, Said, " he own'd that his face was unknown to Apollo;

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But he held in hand what must be his apology, A short treatise he'd written on _British Geology_; And this journal, he hoped, of his studies last week, In philosophy, chemistry, logic, and Greek, Might appear on perusal: but not to go far In proclaiming his merits--his name was Tom Carr: And for proofs of his talents, deserts, and what not, He appeal'd to Miss Baillie, Lord Byron, and Scott."

Here his speech was cut short by a hubbub below, And in walk'd Messrs. Maturin, Cookesly, and Co., And begg'd leave to present to his majesty's finger-- If he'd please to accept--No. 5 of the Linger.{5} Mr. Maturin "hoped he the columns would view With unprejudiced judgment, and give them their due, Nor believe all the lies, which perhaps he had seen, In that vile publication, that base magazine,{6} Which had dared to impeach his most chaste lucubrations, Of obscenity, nonsense, and such accusations.

Nay, that impudent work had a.s.serted downright, That chalk differ'd from cheese, and that black wasn't white; But he hoped he might meet with his majesty's favor;"

And thus, hemming and hawing, he closed his palaver.

Now the G.o.d condescended to look at the papers, But the first word he found in them gave him the vapours: For the eyes of Apollo, ye G.o.ds! 'twas a word Quite unfit to be written, and more to be heard; 'Twas a word which a bargeman would tremble to utter, And it put his poor majesty all in a flutter; But collecting his courage, his laurels he shook, And around on the company cast such a look, That e'en Turin and Dumpling slank off to the door, And the Lion was far too much frighten'd to roar;

5 An Eton periodical of the time.

6 The College Magazine.

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While poor Carr was attack'd with such qualms at the breast, That he took up his journal, and fled with the rest.

When the tumult subsided, and peace 'gan to follow, G.o.ddard enter'd the room, with three cards for Apollo, And some papers which, hardly five minutes before, Three respectable gownsmen had left at the door.

With a smile of good humour the G.o.d look'd at each, For he found that they came from Blunt, Chapman, and Neech.{7} Blunt sent him a treatise of science profound, Showing how rotten eggs were distinguish'd from sound; Some "Remarks on Debates," and some long-winded stories, Of society Whigs, and society Tories; And six sheets and a half of a sage dissertation, On the present most wicked and dull generation.

From Chapman came lectures on Monk, and on piety; On Simeon, and learning, and plays, and sobriety; With most clear ill.u.s.trations, and critical notes, On his own right exclusive of canva.s.sing votes.

From Neech came a medley of prose and of rhyme, Satires, epigrams, sonnets, and sermons sublime; But he'd chosen all customs and rules to reverse, For his satires were prose, and las sermons were verse.

Phoebus look'd at the papers, commended all three, And sent word he'd be happy to see them to tea.

The affairs of the morning thus happily o'er, Phoebus pull'd from his pocket twelve tickets or more, Which the waiters were ordered forthwith to disperse 'Mongst the most approved scribblers in prose and in verse: 'Mongst the gentlemen honor'd with cards, let me see, There was Howard, and Coleridge, and Wood, and Lavie, The society's props; Curzon, major and minor,

7 Princ.i.p.al contributors to the Etonian.

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Bowen, Hennicker, Webbe, were invited to dinner: The theologist Buxton, and Pet.i.t, were seen, And philosopher Jenyns, and Donald Maclean; Bulteel too, and d.y.k.es; but it happen'd (oh shame!) That, though many were ask'd, very few of them came.

As for Coleridge, he "knew not what right Phobus had, d--n me, To set up for a judge in a christian academy; And he'd not condescend to submit his Latinity, Nor his verses, nor Greek, to a heathen divinity.

For his part, he should think his advice an affront, Full as bad as the libels of Chapman and Blunt.

He'd no doubt but his dinner might be very good, But he'd not go and taste it--be d--d if he would."

Dean fear'd that his pupils their minds should defile, And Maclean was engaged to the duke of Argyll; In a deep fit of lethargy Pet.i.t had sunk, And theologist Buxton with _Bishop_ was drunk; Bulteel too, and d.y.k.es, much against their own will, Had been both pre-engaged to a party to mill; And philosopher Jenyns was bent on his knees, To electrify spiders, and galvanize fleas.

But the rest all accepted the G.o.d's invitation, And made haste to prepare for this jollification.

Now the dinner was handsome as dinner could be, But to tell every dish is too tedious for me; Such a task, at the best, would be irksome and long, And, besides, I must haste to the end of my song.

'Tis enough to relate that, the better to dine, Jove sent them some nectar, and Bacchus some wine.

From Minerva came olives to crown the dessert, And from Helicon water was sent most alert, Of which Howard, 'tis said, drank so long and so deep, That he almost fell into poetical sleep.{8}

When the cloth was removed, and the bottle went round,

"Nec fonte labra prolui C'aballino, Nec in bicipiti somma.s.se Parna.s.so."

Persius.

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Wit, glee, and good humour, began to abound, Though Lord Chesterfield would not have call'd them polite, For they all often burst into laughter outright.

But swift flew the moments of rapture and glee, And too early, alas! they were summon'd to tea.

With looks most demure, each prepared with a speech, At the table were seated Blunt, Chapman, and Neech.

Phobus stopt their orations, with dignity free, And with easy politeness shook hands with all three; And the party proceeded, increased to a host, To discuss bread and b.u.t.ter, tea, coffee, and toast.

As their numbers grew larger, more loud grew their mirth, And Apollo from heav'n drew its raptures to earth: With divine inspiration he kindled each mind, Till their wit, like their sugar, grew double refined; And an evening, enliven'd by conviviality, Proved how much they were pleased by the G.o.d's hospitality.

Thalia.{9}

9 This poem is attributed to J. Moultrie, Esq. of Trinity college, Cambridge.

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