**** ROTATE **** **** ROTATE **** **** ROTATE **** **** ROTATE ****

Find this Story

Print, a form you can hold

Wireless download to your Amazon Kindle

Look for a summary or analysis of this Poem.

Enjoy this? Share it!

To The Editor Of "The Morning Chronicle"
by [?]

Sir,–In order to explain the following Fragment, it is necessary to refer your readers to a late florid description of the Pavilion at Brighton, in the apartments of which, we are told, “FUM, The Chinese Bird of Royalty,” is a principal ornament. I am, Sir, yours, etc. MUM.


One day the Chinese Bird of Royalty, FUM,
Thus accosted our own Bird of Royalty, HUM,
In that Palace or China-shop (Brighton, which is it?)
Where FUM had just come to pay HUM a short visit.–
Near akin are these Birds, tho’ they differ in nation
(The breed of the HUMS is as old as creation);
Both, full-crawed Legitimates–both, birds of prey,
Both, cackling and ravenous creatures, half way
‘Twixt the goose and the vulture, like Lord Castlereagh.
While FUM deals in Mandarins Bonzes, Bohea,
Peers, Bishops and Punch, HUM.–are sacred to thee
So congenial their tastes, that, when FUM first did light on
The floor of that grand China-warehouse at Brighton,
The lanterns and dragons and things round the dome
Where so like what he left, “Gad,” says FUM, “I’m at home,”–
And when, turning, he saw Bishop L–GE, “Zooks, it is.”
Quoth the Bird, “Yes–I know him–a Bonze, by his phiz-
“And that jolly old idol he kneels to so low
“Can be none but our round-about god-head, fat Fo!”
It chanced at this moment, the Episcopal Prig
Was imploring the Prince to dispense with his wig,[1]
Which the Bird, overhearing, flew high o’er his head,
And some TOBIT-like marks of his patronage shed,
Which so dimmed the poor Dandy’s idolatrous eye,
That, while FUM cried “Oh Fo!” all the court cried “Oh fie!”

But a truce to digression;–these Birds of a feather
Thus talkt, t’other night, on State matters together;
(The PRINCE just in bed, or about to depart for’t,
His legs full of gout, and his arms full of HARTFORD,)
“I say, HUM,” says FUM–FUM, of course, spoke Chinese,
But, bless you! that’s nothing–at Brighton one sees
Foreign lingoes and Bishops translated with ease–
“I say, HUM, how fares it with Royalty now?
“Is it up? is it prime? is it spooney-or how?”
(The Bird had just taken a flash-man’s degree
Under BARRYMORE, YARMOUTH, and young Master L–E,)
“As for us in Pekin”–here, a devil of a din
From the bed-chamber came, where that long Mandarin,
Castlereagh (whom FUM calls the Confucius of Prose),
Was rehearsing a speech upon Europe’s repose
To the deep, double bass of the fat Idol’s nose.

(Nota bene–his Lordship and LIVERPOOL come,
In collateral lines, from the old Mother HUM,
The Speech being finisht, out rusht CASTLEREAGH.
Saddled HUM in a hurry, and, whip, spur, away!
Thro’ the regions of air, like a Snip on his hobby,
Ne’er paused till he lighted in St. Stephen’s lobby.

[1] In consequence of an old promise, that he should be allowed to wear his own hair, whenever he might be elevated to a Bishopric by his Royal Highness.