on the immortality of
the soul, there pillars and obelisks, and arches, and pyramids will
awaken the love of glory and of our country. There painters and
statuaries with their chisels and colours, and engravers with their
engraving tools will perpetuate the interesting features of our
revolutionary heroes."

The next extract is called "The Army of England," written by the
ci-devant Bishop of Autun, and represents a French invasion as
imminent:--

"Good republicans all
The Directory's call
Invites you to visit John Bull;
Oppressed by the rod
Of a king and a God
The cup of his misery's full;

"Old Johnny shall see
What makes a man free,
Not parchments, or statutes, or paper;
And stripped of his riches,
Great charter and breeches,
Shall cut a free citizen's caper.

"Then away, let us over
To Deal or to Dover,
We laugh at his talking so big;
He's pampered with feeding,
And wants a sound bleeding,
_Par Dieu_! he shall bleed like a pig.

"John tied to a stake
A grand baiting will make
When worried by mastiffs of France,
What republican fun
To see his blood run
As at Lyons, La Vendee and Nantes.

"With grape-shot discharges,
And plugs in his barges,
With national razors good store,
We'll pepper and shave him
And in the Thames lave him--
How sweetly he'll bellow and roar!

"What the villain likes worse
We'll vomit his purse
And make it the guineas disgorge,
For your Raphaels and Rubens
We would not give twopence;
Stick, stick to the pictures of George."

The following is on "The New Coalition" between Fox and Horne Tooke.

_Fox._ When erst I coalesced with North
And brought my Indian bantling forth
In place--I smiled at faction's storm,
Nor dreamt of radical reform.

_Tooke._ While yet no patriot project pushing
Content I thumped old Brentford's cushion,
I passed my life so free and gaily,
Not dreaming of that d--d Old Bailey.

_Fox._ Well, now my favourite preacher's Nickle,
He keeps for Pitt a rod in pickle;
His gestures fright the astonished gazers,
His sarcasms cut like Packwood's razors.

_Tooke._ Thelwall's my name for state alarm;
I love the rebels of Chalk Farm;
Rogues that no statutes can subdue,
Who'd bring the French, and head them too.

_Fox._ A whisper in your ear John Horne,
For one great end we both were born,
Alike we roar, and rant and bel