hough this last little sketch must not seem from my pen.)
Only think of objecting that Palmerston's name
In a fortnight would set East and West in a flame:
About mere peace or war a commotion to make,
When the Party's existence was plainly at stake!
When office was offer'd, to cast it behind,
And to talk of such trash as the good of mankind!
It is clear, my good friend, such a crotchety prig
Has but little pretence to the title of Whig.

On the part I have played in this luckless transaction,
I confess I look back with unmix'd satisfaction.
From the first I said _this_--and 'tis pleasant to feel
Thus at ease with one's self--"I'm for total repeal.
Stick to that, my Lord John, and all scruples I stifle:
Any office, or none, is to me a mere trifle;"
(Though, of course, my dear Mac, for the purest of ends,
I was willing to help both myself and my friends.)
"Any office I'll take, that can give you relief--
From the Whip of the House to Commander-in-chief."
Oh! If all of the party had acted as I did,
In how noble a band would Lord John have presided!

But--"'tis best as it is:" we may grieve, yet we shouldn't:
Peel can carry the measure--'tis certain we couldn't:
Though we hoped, if our reign was once fairly begun,
It might last till--we did what was not to be done.

I think, (though thus leaving old views in the lurch,)
We should _not_ have establish'd the Catholic Church.
To speak for my colleagues, in me would be vanity:
They might differ; but I should have thought it insanity.

In the hope that our friends in Auld Reeky are "brawly,"
I remain yours, in confidence, T. B. Mac----y.

EAST AND WEST.

Sweet is the song, whose radiant tissue glows
With many a colour of the orient sky;
Rich with a theme to gladden ear and eye--
The love-tale of the Nightingale and Rose.

Nor speeds the lay less surely to the mark
That paints in homely hues two neighbours sweet,
Born on our own bleak fields, companions meet,
The modest Mountain-daisy and the Lark.

The fond attachments of a flower and bird!
That things so fair a mutual bond obey,
And gladly bask in love's delightful ray,
Who would deny, and doubt the poet's word?

Or who would limit love's and fancy's reign?
Their hardy growth here springs as fresh and fair,
Far from the sun and summer gale, as there
Where Gul for Bulbul decks her gay domain.

'Tis