78 Notes of the Month on [JAN. 



threw the other into dungeons, handsomely brought round the convictions 

 of the rest in the usual way of working on political convictions; when he 

 stepped up to the throne, where he now sits, by the grace of Rome, the 

 will of a loving people, the voice of an approving law, the will of a 

 pious hierarchy, and the consent of admiring Europe, king of Portugal. 

 So much for striking while the iron is hot. So much for taking the 

 tide at the full. So much for scorning the folly of being bound by the 

 obsolete nonsense of obligations to sovereigns, constitutions, or the public 

 opinion of honourable mankind. The example is too good to be thrown 

 away. Let it be adopted boldly, broadly, and promptly, and we pledge 

 ourselves for its success in three cases out of four. North America 

 would make a fine kingdom, or two or three. South America is nearly 

 in this condition already ; and we take it for granted that Bolivar would 

 not surrender his hold of the privy purse, his right of hanging, drawing 

 and quartering, and his patronage of collectorships, quarter-master 

 generalships, and expedition money, for the name of half the legiti- 

 mates of Europe. The following effusion, said to have been found in the 

 album of President Jackson, will explain : 



AMBITION. 



Tune " I'd be a Butterfly." 



I'd be no president, up for five years, 



With tailors and jailors, hail fellow, well met ; 

 With tinkers for masters, and negroes for peers, 



Sickened with canvassing, prosing, and debt : 

 I'd put the states and their laws in my fob ; 



I'd send the rum-tippling patriots to jail; 

 I'd teach the robbers the new way to rob ; 



I'd be the head, let who will be the tail. 



I'd be a field-marshal, all epaulette, 



Drilling the patriots with whip and with cane ; 

 I'd make all fish that came into my net ; 



I'd drain their purses, if bayonets could drain ; 

 I'd stop their speeches, or shorten their tongues ; 



I'd teach them reason, or teach them to swing ; 

 I'd give them soldiership, till all their lungs 



Roared for Old Cottonbags, Long live our King ! 



Down with your snuff-box and pipe, Metternich ! 



Turkey must go ; seize a province or two ; 

 Call yourself Viceroy then King ; but be quick 



All must in turn give the devil his due. 

 Wellington, must you be always a duke ? 



Nothing laid by for your lubberly boys ? 

 Plucked of your feathers, the falcon turned rook, 



Come, and I'll make you Cacique Illinois. 



Visions of brandy, for mortals too bright ! 



Still are ye visions : must Yankee-land still 

 Talk nonsense of privilege, freedom, and right? 



Must Cottonbags but for five years have his will ? 

 Shades of my forefathers ! felons of old ! 



Hear, by your handcuffs and chains, when I swear, 

 Sure as a jail was made felons to hold, 



Cottonbags yet shall be diademed here. 



A dreadful account of a death by hydrophobia in the north of Ireland, 

 lately appeared in a Belfast paper, which we wish were posted up in 



