Thoughts On Tar Barrels.

(VIDE DESCRIPTION OF A LATE FTE.)[1]     1832.     What a pleasing contrivance! how aptly devised         'Twixt tar and magnolias to puzzle one's noses!     And how the tar-barrels must all be surprised         To find themselves seated like "Love among roses!"     What a pity we can't, by precautions like these,         Clear the air of that other still viler infection;     That radical pest, that old whiggish disease,         Of which cases, true-blue, are in every direction.     Stead of barrels, let's light up an Auto da Fe         Of a few good combustible Lords of "the Club;"     They would fume in a trice, the Whig cholera away,         And there's Bucky would burn like a barrel of bub.     How Roden would blaze! and what rubbish throw out!         A volcano of nonsense in active display;     While Vane, as a butt, amidst laughter, would spout         The hot nothings he's full of, all night and all day.     And then, for a finish, there's Cumberland's Duke,--         Good Lord, how his chin-tuft would crackle in air!     Unless (as is shrewdly surmised from his look)         He's already bespoke for combustion elsewhere.