A SECOND ODE TO BERNARD BLACKMANTLE, ESQ.

"Iterumque, iterumque vocabo."—Ancient Classics. "'Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do goods on't." —Winter's Tale. "Ours is the skie, Where at what fowle we please our hawks shall flie." —Anon. Ay, here I come once more, great sir, Out of pure love to minister Some golden truths to thee; Faustus ye're not, nor Frankenstein, Yet, being up to trap, I ween You'll need a sprite like me. Eve watch'd you closely, my young squire, Since at vol. two I cool'd the ire That left a little stain; And therefore wonder not, sweet Spy, Since both of us at follies fly, Your "Tonson comes again."

This is the day of Michaelmas. Many would say, ay, "let that pass" As a forgotten thing. Not so with us, our rent we pay, And do we not, on quarter-day, Our taxes to the king? Since, then, "our withers are unwrung," And we need wish no blister'd tongue To creditors and duns, Let's carve the goose, and quaff the wine, And toast September twenty-nine, Nor mark how fast time runs. We've clone the same; that is, we've quaffd, And sung, and danced, and drunk, and laugh'd, When we were half seas over; I don't mean tipsy, bless you, no! But when we pass'd, like dart from bow, Cowes Roads on board the Rover. So pipe all hands; for though no gale From sea-wash'd shores distend our sail, We'll man a vessel here. This room's our ship; this wine's our tide; And the good friends we sit beside, The messmates of our cheer. Ay, this looks well; now till the glass To king, to country, and our lass, And all of pluck and feather; That done around, and nothing loth, Since we are "learned Thebans" both, We'll have some talk together. You've been to Cheltenham, I find, And, zounds! you really ride the wind, To Bath and Worcester too; To South'ton and the Isle of Wight, As if increase of appetite With every new dish grew.

But it was really infra dig. Spite of your old horse and new gig, You did not, some fine morn, Drive up to Malcolm Ghur, d'ye see,{4} And leave two pretty cards for me And Sir John Barleycorn. We would have been your chorus, sir, Or, an' you pleased, your trumpeter, And lioned you about; Have shown you every pretty girl, And every nouvelle quadrille twirl, And every crowded rout. At eight o' morns have call'd you down, (What would they say of that in town?) To swallow pump-room water; At eight o' nights have call'd you up, (Our grandams used just then to sup), To 'gin the dinner slaughter. Have whisk'd you o'er to Colonel B's, Or drove you up to Captain P's, Dons unto Cheltenham steady. But I forget the world, good lack, Have play'd enough with such a pack Of great court-cards already. 4 Malcolm Ghur, one of the very prettiest of the many pretty newly-erected mansions that give a character to the environs of Cheltenham. To its proprietor do I owe much for hospitality; a merrier man, withal, dwells not in my remembrance; he is of your first-rate whist players, though he rarely now joins in the game. As the chaplain of the county-lodge of F. M. he is much distinguished; and, at the dinners of the Friendly Brothers—which are luxurious indeed, and all for the "immortal memory" of William, king of that name, and whose portrait ornaments their reading- room—who better than he can "set the table in a roar"?

Have set you down at ten pound whist With A———-y, and the au fait list,{5} Turning your nights to days; Or, somewhat wiser, bid you mix Where less expensive are odd tricks, And where friend R———-n plays.{6} Have made you try a double trade, By clapping you in masquerade, To jaunt at fancy-balls; You would have seen some merry sights On two or three particular nights, In good Miss—————-'s halls.{7} You could have gone as harlequin, Or clad yourself in Zamiel's skin, Your tending spirits we; Or "Peeping Tom" may be more apt, Since all are in your record clapp'd We send to Coventry. 5 Colonel A———y, certainly tho first whist player of the rooms. If he ever drilled a company of raw recruits half as well as he manages a handful of bad cards, he must have been the very admirable Crichton of soldiership. 6 Mr. R———n, a facetious and good-humoured son of Erin; true as clock-work to the board of green cloth, though he has been an age making a fortune from it. 7 Among the most fashionable amusements of Cheltenham are the fancy-balls, given by two or three of the principal sojourners in that place, of card-playing, scandal, freemasonry, and hot water—God knows how many are in the latter ingredient! The most splendid I recollect was given by Colonel————-, or rather Miss————-, whose protégé he married; touching which alliance, there is a story of some interest and much romance. Of that, as Pierce Egan says very wittily in every critique, "of that anon." There certainly was some fun and humour displayed by a few of the characters on the particular evening I mention; the two best performers were a reverend gentleman as one of Russell's waggoners, inimitably portrayed, and Captain B. A——-e, not the author of "To Day," but his brother, as an Indian prince. The dress, appearance, and language to the life.

Yet still you've shown us, my smart beau, Things that we should and should not know, Vide the Oakland cots. Bernard Blackmantle, learned Spy, Don't you think hundreds will cry fie, If you expose such plots? You should have told them as I do, And yet I love your hunters too, That nothing is so vile As strutting up and down a street,8 Dirt-spatter'd o'er from head to feet, In the horse-jockey style. Ne sutor ultra crep, should tell These red-coats 'tis a paltry swell, Such careless customs backing; If they must strut in spurs and boots, For once I'd join the chalk recruits, And shout, "Use Turner's Blacking." Howe'er, push on—there are of all, Good, bad, high, low, and short, and tall, That seek from you decrees. Fear not, strike strong—you must not fly— We will have shots enough—I'm by, A Mephistopheles. 8 There surely is much and offensive vanity in the practice adopted by many members of the B. H. of appearing on the pro-menades and in the rooms of Cheltenham, bespattered o'er with the slush and foam of the hunting field. Every situation has its decent appropriations, and one would suppose comfort would have taught these Nimrods a better lesson. It is pardonable for children to wear their Valentines on the 14th of February, or for a young ensign to strut about armed cap à pie for the first week of his appointment; but the fashion of showing off in a red jerkin, soiled smalls, mudded boots, and blooded spurs, is not imitable: there is nothing of the old manhood of sport in it; foppery and fox-hunting are not synonymous. Members of the B. H. look to it; follow no leader in this respect. Or, if you must needs persevere, turn your next fox out in the ball-room, and let the huntsman's horn and the view halloo supersede the necessity of harps and fiddle-strings.

9 Dr. S————-e, a very singular, but a very hearty kind of Caleb Quotem. He has been soldier, and sailor, doctor, and, I believe, divine. He is as well known at the best parties as the Wells and the Market-house. He gives feasts fit for the gods at home, and invariably credits his neighbours' viands as being Jove's nectar or the fruits of Paradise, so as to him they be not forbidden. Short commons could not upset his politeness. His anecdotes have a spice of the old courtier about them; but the line old chanson à boire, from Gammar Gurton's Needle, "Back and side go bare, go bare, Both foot and hand go cold; But belly, God send good ale enough, Whether it be new or old;" he really gives beautifully, and with a spice of the olden time quite delightful. 10 Mr. Naylor, of the Plough hotel; an excellent Boniface, a good friend, and a merry companion. As a boy, I recollect him keeping the Castle at Marlborough; at "frisky eighteen," I have contributed to his success at the Crown at Portsmouth; and I now, older, and it may be, a little wiser grown, patronize him occasionally at Cheltenham. 11 Vide Hogg's Brownie of Bodsbeck.