Thoughts On Tar Barrels.

(VIDE DESCRIPTION OF A LATE FÊTE.)[1]

1832.


What a pleasing contrivance! how aptly devised
    'Twixt tar and magnolias to puzzle one's noses!
And how the tar-barrels must all be surprised
    To find themselves seated like "Love among roses!"

What a pity we can't, by precautions like these,
    Clear the air of that other still viler infection;
That radical pest, that old whiggish disease,
    Of which cases, true-blue, are in every direction.

Stead of barrels, let's light up an Auto da Fe
    Of a few good combustible Lords of "the Club;"
They would fume in a trice, the Whig cholera away,
    And there's Bucky would burn like a barrel of bub.

How Roden would blaze! and what rubbish throw out!
    A volcano of nonsense in active display;
While Vane, as a butt, amidst laughter, would spout
    The hot nothings he's full of, all night and all day.

And then, for a finish, there's Cumberland's Duke,--
    Good Lord, how his chin-tuft would crackle in air!
Unless (as is shrewdly surmised from his look)
    He's already bespoke for combustion elsewhere.