University of Virginia Library

ALGIERS AND FRANCE.

The Dey of Algiers, is reported to have been highly tickled at the downfal of Charles X. This proves most conclusively, the assertion of an old Frenchman on a former similar occasion, that there was little or no sympathy among the great. Not that we would, for a moment, disparage in so far the pretension of the latter Ex-Monarch, as to put him upon a footing with the former potentate. Although as great a scoundrel, we can hardly consider Charles so great a man, or one, so likely to satisfy the demands of his subjects, as him of Algiers. But the parallel is otherwise irresistible and we leave our muse to pursue it. The Dey is reported to have said, on hearing of Charles' downfal, “ha! The great man drove me from my throne, yet, was not the master of his own His people have now driven him from his.”

And dost thou boast of this, thou bearded pirate,
Whisker'd, mustachioed, to the very eyes;
And dost thou hold thyself up, at this high rate,
Comparing thyself to their majesties,
The sovereigns of the Christian world—those gentry
Renowned in peace and war, and thro' all ages,
Who over Christendom have long stood sentry,
And fill'd so many of its wondrous pages.
What claim hast thou, thou Turkish raggamuffin,
Chief of some hundred camels and a harem—
From both of which, the French, thy spoils are stuffing,
And all that thou canst do, can never scare 'em.
What claim, I ask, thou dog, hadst thou to offer
To place thyself alongside le longue homme?
Thy bags of mocha, surely, and thy coffer,
Of illy got piastres—stolen from,
Some of thy thousand cruisers, could not warrant
The insolence of spirit, which would dare,
Lift up to Charles' mark, one so abhorrent,
A Turk—though he be monarch at Algier.
Thou hadst but little skill in diplomatic—
Wast not a statesman—had'st not at thy back,
A prince, so very able and pragmatic,
As the tall king possess'd in Polignac.
Thy beard—in this respect I do not flatter—
Was not of the true color—though you seem,
Not to consider this so great a matter—
Believe me, 'tis more weighty than you deem.
Your subjects—and in this you both agree well—
Were made your common implements and tools;
And while the humble creatures fail'd to see well,
There were not many found to break your rules.
In this, sufficient likeness lay between you,
To make your after fortunes parallel—
Your council in both cases fail'd to screen you,
From the just fate you both deserv'd so well.
Thou had'st, 'tis true, thy own worth in partic'lar—
Thou did'st not take the Lord's name to deceive;
Nor wert thou, in Church sacrifice, a stickler,
And had'st no high inducement to believe—
When that thy spirit craved for blood, it had it,
Nor ask'd permission from the Hall of Peers—
When thou did'st lack a subject's head, thou bad it,
Come off, with moustache, whiskers, nose and ears.
Thou sought'st no charter for thy slaves' undoing,
It was enough, thy spirit craved to see
A rich old Jew upon the road to ruin,
His gold first stor'd within thy treasury—
A Greek girl in thy Harem—a Circassian,
Inviting as the vale where she had birth—
And thou would'st have them all, what'er the fashion,
Of human right or law upon the earth;
Or tear thy beard, or sack thy old Sultana,
Or bow-string send, to chief, belov'd the most,
Inviting him, in the most courteous manner,
To send his head back, by return of post.
Thou said'st thy pray'rs, or made thy Emirs say 'em,
A practice which they did not dare refuse—
Mild were thy laws, though did they not obey 'em,
They were not long allow'd to pick and choose;
They never sought to modify, but took 'em,
As men take wives, for better or for worse;
They hugg'd their fates, nor ever yet forsook 'em,
Howe'er the blessing might become a curse.
And Charles was fill'd with joy without reflection,
With that proud sway, that to his kingly view,
Seem'd then, the very acme of perfection,
Best model of a government, he knew—
And sought to build upon a like foundation,
A priestly monarchy in close divan—
But July is too hot for reformation,
And so the monarch melted to the man:
Then sunk into the coward—then departed
With the crown jewels stepping to his carriage,
With his more tory wife, now broken hearted,
In weather of the warmest, since their marriage.
By force of march, the weather sometimes raining,
Unlike the monarch, in resistless force,
They took their private carriage, much complaining,
Preferring chariot driving, to the horse.
They say he shoots his gun without a license,
In merry England, at each random hare,
Nor sees the cutting humor and the sly sense,
With which the sturdy yeomen hail him there.
They recommend, and 'tis a wise suggestion,
That you and Charley, open public house;
Together, you will pass without much question,
Nor suffer for much poaching on the grouse:
You can attend the bar, and Charles the table,
Madame provide the supper and the cheer,
And some of your fresh damsels, young and able,
Make up the beds, and all the chambers air—
Bourmont may be the Ostler, and Ragusa
Would make a clever Boots, without much lacking—
And hear and heed, the ready call, of “you sir,
“Why are my pumps this morning without blacking!”