University of Virginia Library

Of all the joys that sweeten life,
The joy that charms me most,
Is to sit at one's ease,
With the fire at one's knees,
And read the Morning Post.
And hark! two taps—'tis the postman raps!
Away, away, away!
Bring the muffins and the urn
And the rest of the concern,
With the milk, eggs, and sugar, on the tray;
Oh! brightly burns the fire as the paper thus I roast,
Like me, eager to devour the steaming Morning Post!

What's here?—Oh dear!
“A certain Noble Peer
Fought a duel with Sir John and was wounded in the rear.”
“The match 'twixt Mr. Hayne
And Miss Foote is off again,
And Col. B. has thrashed a man and put him in great pain.”
—“Effect of Catholic zeal,
Last Sunday Mr. Shiel,
Ate an Orangeman for breakfast, with all the pips and peel!!”
Oh horrible! Oh shocking! Oh how lucky 'tis we boast,
Such an orthodox defender in the Morning Post.

“Ever charming, ever new,
When will the paper tire the view?”
“On Monday Mrs. Coutts's plate
Was removed to Piccadilly—
And a hundred rats, for want of cats,
Were devoured by Cribb's dog Billy.
On Tuesday, Lady Mary
Gave a gala at ‘the Dairy,’
And Miss Laroche, her maid, a fête champêtre in the are.’”
Then we've “Lines”—“Poor little Fly!
In my tea-cup here you lie!
You tumbled in and drowned yourself because you were so dry!”
Oh charming! How pathetic! Neither Hamlet nor his Ghost
Can raise the tear of sympathy like the tender Morning Post.

“The world of fashion's wond'rous hot
For Michael Kelly's life;—”
“A noble Lord (an excellent shot)
Has gone off with a Commoner's wife.”
“The King, at Drury Lane,
Has heard Der Freischutz o'er again,
And Elliston has made a speech, and spoke it pretty plain!”
“Last week a poor woman was brought to bed,
And hundreds have been to view her,
For her baby was born with a pin in its head,
And its arm sewn up with a needle and thread;
And its lips fastened down with a skewer.”
How delightful to sit thus and read what the news is,
And what wonderful creatures Dame Nature produces!
So I take a sip of tea and a little piece of toast,
And sigh to think how near I'm through the charming Morning Post.
But stay—“the Argyle Rooms last night
Had a brilliant masquerade;
The champagne of course was supplied by Wright,
Of the Opera Colonnade;
We need not say the wine
Was pronounced ‘uncommon’ fine,
While the ladies swore the ice-creams and the jellies were divine.”
“Our Ambassador's new coat,
Is all gold from skirt to throat,
And the tailor's bill will form a pretty ‘Percy Anecdote;’
For the waiscoat and the breeches
Bespeak the wearer's riches;
And nothing but gold-thread is used in sewing all the stitches.
But this the Noble Lord
Can very well afford,
So he only asks Lord Liverpool to settle for his sword;
To-morrow morn he sallies
In the Comet on to Calais.
And so to Rheims, where now it seems,
His Grace has hired a palace.”
Why zooks! I wouldn't give a crown to see him sailing from the coast,
Since I'm reading all about it in the clever Morning Post.

So talk not to me of your musty old volumes,
Your tomes that grave sages and sophists enjoy;
Oh what can compare with these elegant columns,
Whose contents ever charm us and never can cloy?

Hail, pride of the Press! 'tis thy glory I sing of,
Long, long may'st thou flourish, thy Laureate I—
Bob Southey himself could not make anything of
The rest, with thy fame should they venture to vie.

Through the Strand though thy horns be no longer resounding,
Ah! silenc'd by “old father antic, the Law,”
Yet each boudoir of taste still thy pages are found in,
From Burlington Gardens to Bermondsey Spa!

Yet thy merits shall Fame go on still advertising,
And her trumpet proclaim to each far distant coast,
That for all that's delightful, grave, gay, or surprising,
The world cannot equal the dear Morning Post.