NAPOLEON'S CONFERENCE. Quidimmerentes hospites vexas, Canis? HQR.

NAPOLEON, tho' a pigmy-sprite
Was freakish as a mule;

Th' ambassador was twice as stout,
And more than twice as cool.

With this great little man to talk,

He came from fair Whitehall; But word he put to none, for why? The little man talk'd all.

“The wind is west,”-The Consul cried,
And fierce as flame he grew;
« That cursed wind ne'er blew me good,
And now it blows me you.

Tell your friend Addington, from nie,
If he's a man of Peace,
To clap a muzzle on the Press,
And stop his cackling geese.

Kick out my rascal renegades;
Then let them starve and rot;

For your

John Bull, if he must roar, Let him; I heed him not.

And where is Malta? By my soul,

I hold that place so dear,

Now reason good there is to think

His Lordship here had spoke, If this loud little man his thread Of reason had not broke. "Egypt!" he cried, "I could have seiz'd, That curst ill-omen'd shore; With five and twenty thousand men, Though you were there with four.

But Egypt soon or late is mine;

So take a Prophet's word, And Nile thro' all his sev'n wide mouths. Shall hail me for his Lord. Sebastiani scour'd the coast,

And well I chose my man; For sure, if any can ride post,

Sebastiani can.

If soon the Turkish Empire falls
My portion shall be this;
If still it totters, I'll arrange

With Sultan as with Swiss,

What, tho' a Mussulman I was,

While interest was in view; When I have made the bargain sure,

I'll let him call me Jew.

And now you know my plan, submit! Secrets of State I scorn;

I'd sooner see you here.

Turn to your Treaty!-Here it is-
To section, number ten :—
If rightly you have conn'd it not,

Here, con it o'er again!
Hell and damnation! am I fobb'd

Of this, and Egypt too? What says your Minister to that?

Let's hear it;-What say you?"

As sure as you were born.

One Hundred though it be, to one,

The odds alarm not me; What were the odds that little I, Great Lord of France should be! Tho' army after army sink,

Yet sink or swim I'll do't, Of their pil'd bodies make a bridge, And then march o'er on foot.

They're not my countrymen, but slaves,

Whose blood I freely spill; They're used to slaughter-and if you Won't kill them off, I will."

This said, his little fist he clench'd, And smote the board full sore"Hum!" cried y Lord, then strodę my away,

And word spake never more! JOANNES GILPINUS LONDINENSIS, British Neptune.

HARLEQUIN's INVASION.
LADIES and Gentlemen, to-day
With scenes adapted to th' occasion,
A grand new Pantomime we play,
Entitled-Harlequin's Invasion.

No comic Pantomime before

Could ever boast such tricks surprising;

The Hero capers Europe o'er,

But hush! behold the curtain rising.

And first, that little Isle survey,

Where sleeps a peasant boy so hearty; That little Isle is Corsica,

That peasant boy is Bonaparte. Now lightnings flash, and thunders roar, Dæmons of witchcraft hover o'er him: And rising thro' the stage trap-door,

An evil Genius stands before him.

His arms in solemn state are cross'd,

His voice appals th' amaz'd beholders, His head in circling clouds is lost,

And crimson pinions shade his shoulders.

"Mortal, awake," the phantom cries, "And burst the bands of fear asun

der!

My name is Anarchy :—arise!

Thy future fortunes teem with wonder.

To spread my reign the earth around, Here take this sword, whose magie

pow'r

Shall sense, and right, and wrong, confound,

And work new wonders ev'ry hour. Throw off that peasant garb, begin

T'assume the party-colour'd rover, And, as a sprightly Harlequin,

Trip, lightly trip, all Europe over." He spoke, and instant to the view

Begins the curious transformationHis mask assumes a sable hue,

His dress a pantomimic fashion. Now round the stage in gaudy pride,

Capers the renovated varlet,
Shakes the lath weapon at his side,
And shines in blue, and white, and
scarlet,

High on a rock, his cunning eye
Surveys half Europe at a glance,
Fat Holland, fertile Italy,

Old Spain, and gay, regen'rate
France.

He strikes with wooden sword the earth,
Which heaves with motion necro-

mantic;

The nations own a scecond birth,

And trace his steps with gestures

antic.

The Pope prepares for war, but soon All pow'rful Harlequin disarms him, And changing into Pantaloon,

Each motion frets, each noise alarms him.

With trembling haste he seeks to join,

His daughter Gallia, lovely rover! But she transform'd to Columbine,

Her father scorns, and seeks her lover. The Dutchman next his magic feels,

Chang'd to the Clown, he hobbles

after; Blund❜ting persues the light of heels, Convulsing friends and foes with laughter.

But all their various deeds of sin,

What mortal man has ever reckon'd The mischief plann'd by Harlequin,

Fair Columbine is sure to second. They quickly kill poor Pantaloon,-

And now our drama's plot grows riper, Whene'er they frisk it to some tune,

The clown is forc'd to pay the piper. Each foreign land he dances through, In some new garb behold the hero ; Pagan and Christian, Turk, and Jew, CROMWELL, CALIGULA, and NERO.

A Butcher, Harlequin appears,

The rapid scene to Egypt flying, O'er captive Turks his steel up rears, The stage is strew'd with dead and dying.

Next by the crafty genius taught,

Sportive he tries Sangrado's trick; Presents a bowl with poison fraught, And kills his own unconscious sick; Hey, pass! he's back to Europe flown,

His hostile foll'wers disappointed: Kicks five old women from the throne, And dubs himself the Lord's Anointed In close embrace with Columbine,

Pass, gaily pass, the flying hours; While prostrate at their blood-stained shrine,

Low bow the European pow'rs. Touch'd by his sword, the morals fly, The virtues, into vices dwindling: Courage is turn'd to cruelty,

And public faith, to private swindling.

With Atheist Bishops, Jockey Peers, His hurly-burly Court is graced; Contractors, Brewers, Charioteers, Mad Lords, and Duchesses disgraced.

And now th' Invasion scene comes on; The patch'd and pyeball'd renegado, Hurls at Britannia's lofty throne,

Full many an insolent bravado.

The trembling Clown dissuades in vain,
And finds too late there's no retreat-
ing;
Whatever Harlequin may gain,

The Clown is sure to get a beating.

They tempt the main, the canvas raise,
A storm destroys his valiant legions;
And lo! our closing scene displays
A grand view of th' infernal regions.
Thus have we, gentlefolks to day,

With pains proportion'd to th' occa-
sion,

Our piece perform'd; then further say, How like you Harlequin's Invasion? Morning Post.

THE

GHOST OF ABERCROMBIE. "E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires." GRAY, BRITAIN! exert thy lion might, Thy wonted bravery recall; Hark! honour calls thee to the fight! Arise, and crush the coward Gaul. March on-for Abercrombie's Ghost

To Vict'ry shall lead thy martial host. His guardian spirit hovers round,

Still mindful of his country's weal: Behold his brows with laurel bound! And, hark! he bids thee grasp the steel.

March on-&c.

Commission'd from the gracious skies
To be the saviour of this land;
Downward the angel-hero flies,
The wreath of Conquest in his hand.
March on-&c.

Britain, arouse thy dreadful ire,

And strike the all-tremendous blow; Grasp the red bolts of vengeance dire, Wave high thine arm, and blast the

foe. March on-&c.

Loud