THE WESTMINSTER WARBLER, AND BRIDGEWATER BUDGET.

TO JOHN TEMPLE LEADER, ESQ.

SIR, The celebrity of "The Bridgewater Treatises" has induced me to collect, on a similar principle, and under the above title, a few of the songs which seem to have been most popular during the Bridgewater election, and the recent contest for Westminster. To no one surely could this collection be inscribed with greater propriety than to you. The munificence of the late Earl of Bridgewater, in promoting the spirit of research in the various departments of moral and physical science, has long commanded the gratitude of the philosophical world: nor is it fit that the expenditure of a considerable part of your ample fortune in the encouragement of electioneering, and its kindred art of song-writing, should be without its due reward. It may possibly be thought by some that a sufficiently direct acknowledgment of your well-timed liberality is nowhere to be found in any of these effusions. It is hoped, however, that there will at least be discovered throughout them all a commendable desire to do justice to those who, disregarding minor differences of opinion as to the maintenance or subversion of the Throne, the Church, and the Peerage, have so ably co-operated with you in the non-attainment of your main object. For the rest, I need merely add, with Horace,

"Vivas in amore jocisque :

Vive, vale si quid novisti rectius istis
Candidus imperti; si non, HIS utere mecum."

Thus freely rendered by your own Laureate :

"Long live, with love and friendship bless'd—

Long live, as now, a pleasant jest.

Adieu! If Hume or you have writ

Aught for our common end more fit,

Send it, and earn an old man's thanks

(You can't be at a loss for franks)—

If you have really nothing new,

Sing these with me. Once more, adieu!"

SOUTHSIDE, 20th May, 1837.

TIMOTHY TICKLER.

HERE'S TO THE STATESMEN, THE PRIDE of our land.

AIR-Here's to the Maiden of blushing fifteen.

Here's to the statesmen the pride of our land, Who rule with such vigour and

skill, sir; Who daily our praise and our wonder command By their progress

HERE'S to the statesmen, the pride of our land,

Who rule with such vigour and skill, sir;
Who daily our praise and our wonder command,
By their progress in standing stock-still, sir;
Here's to them all, great ones and small,
Who promise so much, and do nothing at all.

Here's to their chief, who still keeps up the show,
Tho' often the show proves a sham, sir,
Who with lords is a bully, with ladies a beau,
Yet is harmless to both as a Lamb, sir.
Here's to them all, great ones and small,
Who aim at so much, and do nothing at all.

Here's to the Watch o'er our colonies set,
Who sleeps while the riot is roaring;
Though roused up a moment to utter a threat,
Again honest Charlie is snoring!

Here's to them all, loud though they bawl,
When needed indeed, they do nothing at all.

Here's to Lord John! whose magnanimous air
Should grace a more dignified form, sir;
Whose swelling harangues I can only compare
To a tea-cup attempting a storm, sir.
Here's to them all, little or tall,

They try to look big, but are nothing at all,

Here's to Lord Protocol! Thanks to his care,
Things now are on such a fine basis,

'Twould puzzle old Grotius himself to declare
If we're under his Belli or Pacis.
Here's to them all, a pretty cabal,

Who meddle so much, yet do nothing at all.

For whether he actively non-intervenes,
Or passively plans mediation,

His proofs of success he may tell the Marines,
Or show by the Cracow Legation.

Here's to them all, from Melbourne to Maule,
Their promises still end in nothing at all.

A snail and a tortoise are not very quick,
A fly in a glue-pot is slow, sir ;

But of all the slow coaches e'er came to a stick,
These Whigs are the slowest I know, sir.
Here's to them all, see how they crawl!

They promise full speed, but can scarce go at all.

Their bills and placards have a flourishing style,
They'll book for Land's-end, or elsewhere, sir;
But the passenger finds, ere he goes the first mile,
All they mean is to pocket the fare, sir.
Here's to them all, how they drivel and drawl,
Their double quick time ends in nothing at all.

They're the dog in the manger, the drone in the hive,
They're powerless for wrong or for right, sir;
They can't do the ill they would gladly contrive,
And won't do the good that they might, sir,
Out with them all, black be their fall,
Who promise too much, and do nothing at all!

JUGGLING JOHNNY.

A NEW THIMBLE-RIG SONG.

Tune-" Jingling Johnny."

Some sing Jim Crow, and jump jis so, And some of the maid that

is blithe and bonny; But pleasanter to me is the thimble and the

pea In the hands of wee wee Juggling Johnny. O my jingling, juggling

Johnny, My juggling, smuggling, jobbing Johnny; Survey the juggling

crew from China to Peru, There's none like you, my juggling Johnny. Some sing Jim Crow, And jump "jis so,"

And some of the maid that is blithe and bonny

But pleasanter to me

Is "the thimble and the pea,"

In the hands of wee, wee JUGGLING JOHNNY.
Oh my jingling, juggling Johnny,

My juggling, smuggling, jobbing Johnny-
Survey the juggling crew,

"From China to Peru,"

There's none like you, my juggling Johnny.

This wee, wee man,
Of the conjuring clan,

In our reign of KING DAN is the pride and wonder;
His implements are small,

But yet they are his all

And small as they are, not so the plunder.
Oh my jobbing, juggling Johnny,

My jinking, slinking, sly-boots Johnny,
For a wee, wee man

You're a great charlatan

My jinking, jingling, juggling Johnny.

It's an edifying sight,

To see him night by night-la

A sketch deserving HB.'s pencil;

With all his tools of trade

Around him array'd,

And he himself the Whig U

Oh! my Whig utensil Johnny,
My nameless Whig utensil Johnny-
A handle not unfit

Even for a sort of wit,

Affords my Whig utensil Johnny.

But the thimbles and the peasYou may laugh as you please— It's clearly on these his fame is founded; Beating Stepney fair to sticks

For the sharpness of his tricks,

As the public pouch he picks " with applause unbounded. '
Oh! my nimming, trimming Johnny,

My smirking, quirking, jerking Johnny-
Stepney or Bow

Has no such show,

As my jingling, jabbering, juggling Johnny.

First he takes a single pea,
And lets every body see

It fairly put beneath the thimble;

You think you're looking on,
When lo! the pea is gone-

You are so blind, or he so nimble.
Oh my nimble-fingered Johnny-

My prince of all the jugglers, Johnny;
The black HINDOO

Would look quite blue

Compared with you, my juggling Johnny.

Next he puts the thimble down,
And wagers you a crown

That the self same pea will be found below it:
And there, quite secure,

He has it, as sure

As he's a witch, or as I'm a poet.

Oh! my cogging, cozening Johnny,
My shifting, shirking, shuffling Johnny-
If the Peers produce

Their great card DE Roos,

We trump him with our Juggling Johnny,

Next he takes thimbles twain,
And shows the pea so plain

Beneath the one, that who can doubt it?
Yet you better had beware,

For its vanish'd into air,

Or gone to that which you saw without it.
Oh! my nibbling, quibbling, Johnny,
My silppery, slimy, sliddery Johnny,
You may hold an eel,

But you plainly feel

It's vain to think of holding Johnny.

You may button up your fob

Against the swell-mob,

But not against a job of my juggling Johnny.

If for fair-play you should call,
He takes thimbles, peas, and all,

And opening his mouth with a huge hiatus,
He makes you his bow,

And, as conjurors know how,

Swallows the whole of his own apparatus.
Oh, my gulping, gaping Johnny,

My wriggling, sniggling Whigling Johnny—
Survey the juggling clan,

From St Stephens to Japan,

And find me a man like my juggling Johnny!

A HEALTH TO OLD ENGLAND, AND WESTMINSTER'S PRIDE,
Air-" Argyll is my name."

YE friends of your country, still true to her cause,
Who honour her landmarks, who cherish her laws,
Again, at my bidding, a bumper you'll drain,
Again, as I lead ye, you'll join in the strain.

To Church and to King has the goblet been crowned-
To Peel and the Duke has the chorus gone round:
Now pour out the wine in a full flowing tide,

For a health to Old England and Westminster's pride!

A foe we had found him in days that are past,
But a foe with whom bitterness never could last :
No poisoned or treacherous weapons had he;
Frank, manly, sincere, independent, and free.
His honour unsullied, his courage still bright,
His head often wrong, but his heart always right;
The love e'en of liberty's likeness-his guide,
Such then and such ever was Westminster's pride.

When faction prevailed, and the hunger of place
Deemed nought that could aid it too vile or too base;
When restless encroachment, the more it had gained,
Still faster advanced to destroy what remained;
When the Altar, the Peerage, respected before
As the bulwarks of freedom, were sacred no more ;
Then true to his aim, though by calumny tried,
We found a staunch comrade in Westminster's pride.

Then speed the good cause! and ere long may we view
Another fit champion the conflict renew!

On his brow see the oak and the olive entwined!
The soldier, the statesman, the scholar combined.
And as Murray still triumphed, where Evans was beat,
May the omen prove true when at home they shall meet ;
With the friends of fair freedom all ranged on their side,
May Murray with Burdett be Westminster's pride!

A CHANT FOR MANY VOICES.

TUNE-" The Old English Gentleman."

COME, strike again the good old strain, and let the welkin ring For BURDETT bold, who fast doth hold by country and by king;