436 The Club Room. [APRIL, 



petual sneers ; and withers down to a tranquil oblivion on a retired 

 allowance of a pun a day. 



Megrim. Has the grand question of the authorship of that pre-emi- 

 nent performance " THE NEWSPAPER" been ever settled between him 

 and Canning's representatives ? If they can but set a pair of hostile 

 bibliopoles in a passion about it, it may bring half a dozen thousand 

 pounds for the copyright of what's not worth sixpence to any man, 

 woman, or child, beneath the stars. Saveall, recite it for us ; you get 

 hold of every thing that can be turned to money. 



Saveall. On one condition that the Club give me an order for a copy 

 for every member on its publication. Now, you are to imagine a vault, 

 grim as a blue-stocking drawing-room on a night of full conversazione. 

 Three little Luciferians, real imps ; not little Oscar Byrnes, or cat- 

 visaged emanations from the Vestris ; but real demons, with regulation 

 tails and claws, dancing and screaming ; in the centre of the room a little 

 steam engine, the machinery of solid fire, the furnace, fed with dried 

 dowagers' tongues, and the boiler bubbling up with a mixture of ink 

 and aquafortis. 



THE NEWSPAPER. 

 ^Dance of Imps, and Grand Chorus, *2 



Black with gall from toe to thumb, 

 Queen of Darkness Scandal ! come ! 



[^The ground opens, and the Queen rises, undressed, in the new Almack's 

 costume. In one hand an opera-glass, and in the other a lady patroness's 

 card. As she rises, a thick vapour ascends, which subsides in a shower 

 of caricatures.^ 



Spirits scarlet, black, and blue ! 



Little liars, ever new ! 



Ye that through the West End wing, 



Giving every tale its sting ; 



Catching whispers from the tongue 



Of moral dames, no longer young ; 



Telling what rich fool is dipt; 



Telling what gay belle has slipt ; 



Small conveyancers of sneers ; 



Setting mankind by the ears ; 



Telling who to France has fled, 



Fearful of a husband's lead ; 



Telling who, in Crockford's hall, 



Lost last night the deuce and all, 



Now your daily mischief spin ! 



Inky imps ! begin, begin ! 



^The imps stir the fire; the boiler throws up a vapour, in which are seen 

 hovering, paragraphs, inuendos, epigrams, and fragments of the Court 

 Circular.^ 



FIRST IMP chaunts. 



Spirits ! tell me, one by one, 



Who are doing who are done. 



SECOND IMP. 



Full five hundred noble youths, 

 With their fingers in their mouths, 

 Twenty guardsmen, twenty lancers, 

 Lords of barbs, and opera-dancers, 

 Folly's destiny fulfilling, 

 Stand this hour without a shilling ! 



