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“Down with all sinecures oppressors madeRemove restrictions—let us have free trade."

You see how well this bump has operated

I wonder how he made so fine a close.
A man whose talents never yet were rated

Above a blockhead's, everybody knows;
No doubt the bumping had his powers elated,

When such high patriotic feelings rose.
Hail, Mesmerism ! nothing thee surpasses,
Which wreathes with laurels e'en the heads of

asses.

But for a change-I hope it is no crime

We'll touch on Veneration by the way, And gently scan it at the present time,

See how it tickles one and all to pray, How fluently they mount the true sublime;

While those around a wondering tribute pay, When thus they see such mystic reformation Wrought on all classes, every rank and station.

One instance shall I cite, but pass the name,

As personalities are rather glaring. All know my hero has an honest fame; Tho' charged with scoffing, and the crime of

swearing, Good neighbourhood with truth can scarcely

claimHeaven knows if this would not be rather daring.

But Veneration being put in motion,
Then followed strains of rapturous devotion

Enough to melt the adamantine heart

That would repel the shocks of triple steel, And to it glowing sympathy impart;

And make it for the woes of others feel,
Besiege its citadel with conscience dart,

And to itself its turpitude reveal.
Woe to the man still callous to conversion !
Such stiff-necked Pagans are my real aversion.

Another feature of this noble science,

Unparalleled and far outruuning praise,
Is Time and Tune, which bid to all defiance,

And well might any drooping spirit raise;
But press him gently, and a prompt compliance

The patient yields in soul-transporting lays,
In melody reminding one of heaven:
I really wonder how such powers were given.

We'll add another to this chosen sample,

I mean the bump the wise call Self-Esteem; All must acknowledge that its powers are ample,

And of its exhibitions few could dream. Though sceptics sneer, and wits may on it trample,

And sunshine truths as gross delusion deem; Yet truth's omnipotent, and demonstration Steps kindly in, to prove my asseveration.

Therefore, believe me, or believe me not,

Just as you will—I little for it care; But this I know, that lately many sought

To see the proofs, who living witness bear, And testify a rustic first was brought,

With sluggish step, and many a vacant stare, High in this bump, though all as false esteeming, The grand mesmeric facts deception deeming.

But being gently operated on,

He held the ploughs and harrows in derision; No more from toil and labour now to groan, But from the slave had made a blessed transi

tion; Disdained the vulgar, plain, blunt name of John,

And smiling, strutted in perspective vision Of honours which would soon his talents crown, Whose lustre tended but to show the clown.

The next that figured spends his time in mending,

Whose only care is all about the sole, And to conditions kindly condescending,

He cut some pretty capers on the whole;
Conscious of powers increasing and extending,

Of energies which nothing could control-
Felt qualified for any occupation
Requiring reason and discrimination.

No matter what—a prodigy self-styled,

And many quirks and quibbles could explain;

In art and science never was beguiled

His cogent, powerful, penetrating brain;
Both Church and State he taunted and reviled,

Anil fixed upon them many a filthy stain.
O Self-Esteem ! what principle is nobler?
To raise this fool so much above the cobbler !

But courteous reader, pardon, should I blunder,

By introducing just another more:
I mean the bump now recognised as Wonder,

As all declare it fully worth a score;
Whose magic power, when any patient's under,

He sees, in fact, what he ne'er saw before-
Events, scenes, objects, past all parallel.
Strange that this bump should operate so well.

I hate a laboured, drawling, dull description,

And, by my Muse, detest the least confusion; Irregularity in truth or fiction,

Is the cursed ignis fatuus to conclusion;
We'll lay Pegasus under due restriction,

And show a little of this damned delusion;
Excuse this crude indelicate expression,
I mean no ill, the patient's real impression.

And let him have it, yes, I him defend,

As well dispute what's seen in dreams or trances, Which all believe, though fools may here con

tend; Then don't exempt your Poet from these fancies. Let this be as it may, disputes to end.

One saw, of late, plays, operas, and dances, Where nobles, heroes, gallants, lovers floated, And twenty stones of royal lumber noted.

His wooden looks, in vain from furies flying,

With garments reeking in the blood of nations; The cotton-spinner's son, for mercy crying

To plundered millions, by unjust taxations,
The sliding-scale was seen in ruins lying,

And failed at last all reconciliations.
This having fled, at last in triumph shone
Great Dan the First upon the Irish throne.

Next in prophetic vision was displayed

A mighty and gigantic spreading tree, Whose golden apples annually betrayed

The fertile soil that round about it be. The care immense its pious keepers paid,

It having cost two millions to the free, Who walked beneath its shady branches bent, Chanting the notes of Freedom as they went.

Whom Truth makes free are Freedom's sons in

deed: Heaven prosper all who are from conscience so! As conscience stamps the value on our creed,

The oracle of God to man below,
Let all maintain its rights, and for them plead,

In spite of all the adverse winds that blow

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