ng twice before they think of answering it."

* * * * *

A NAVAL BLUNDERBUSS.

We are sorry to notice an anachronism in a popular review. We mean the
review at Spithead. A gun was used in the fleet, called--we cannot say
christened--the "NELSON AVENGER." Now NELSON has been sufficiently
avenged; if insufficiently honoured: whatever account of vengeance may
have been owing to him was settled at the time; though our debt of
gratitude to him may be eternal. Posterity has no revenge to take on
Posterity: and a gun only meant to rake the rigging of our enemies
should not be so named as to rake up animosities with our friends.

* * * * *

FAREWELL TO THE CAMP.

A LYRIC FOR THE 20TH AUGUST, 1853.

(_From_ COWPER.)

[Illustration: T]

The Camp has departed!--farewell the parade,
And the earth-shaking march of the stern Colonnade[3]
The bands play no longer from manuscript leaves,
Nor detectives prowl stealthily watching the thieves.

The City of War, which immense fun we've had in
Is fled like the palace that flew with ALADDIN;
And musketry's crack, and artillery's roar
Astonish the echoes of Chobham no more.

The Lancer in scarlet, the Rifle in green,
And the Horse-guard in blue, have abandoned the scene;
And we've witness'd the last of the blood-stirring frays
Where gallop'd in glory those terrible Greys.

No longer in toothsome libation is spilt
The Dew that is dear to the sons of the kilt;
No longer falls plashing in pleasantness here,
The frothy cascade of the black British beer.

O! Chobham Olympics, your games are all done,
The last close is wrestled, the last race is run,
The stone's "put" away, to the leap-frog there's truce,
And the ultimate caber is pitched to the deuce.

Rejoice in thy stable, thou omnibus steed!
For thee the campaign-times were wiry indeed.
No more shalt thou toil on that villanous road;
With a cargo of snobs for thy heart-breaking load.

Weep, rascally drivers of ramshackle flies,
Adieu your extortions, your sauce, and your lies,
Farewell to that Station, the cheating point where
You've so oft charged a pound for a two shilling fare.

Well, everything passes: a Camp like the rest,
But this ends while its novelty still has a zest;
And we're free to confess that we see with regret
The Flutters Hill's sun, like the Austerlitz, set.

Here's a healt