you see you can’t say I didn’t tell ye. Come, I’ll give ye a Toast: Here’s Hard Breezes and Foul Weather to ye, my Boy, in your Passage; here’s _May you be Sea Sick_; we’ll soon make ye _Sick of the Sea_; Here’s, May you never have a Friend here, or a Bottle to give him. And to conclude: Here’s the French Flag where it ought to be, under the ENGLISH. his Bob + Rousem. mark P.S. You see as I coudn’t write, our Captain’s Clerk put the Lingo into black and white for me, and says _he’ll charge it to you_. Woodward (August 13, 1803) illustrated a very amusing little ballad. The picture is simple. Napoleon, as usual, with an enormous cocked hat and sword. John Bull, of ample rotundity, with his oaken cudgel. It is called ‘John Bull and Bonaparte!! to the tune of the Blue Bells of Scotland. When, and O when, does this little Boney come? Perhaps he’ll come in August, perhaps he’ll stay at home; But it’s O in my heart, how I’ll hide him should he come. Where, and O where, does this little Boney dwell? His birth-place is in Corsica--but France he likes so well, That it’s O the poor French, how they crouch beneath his spell. What cloathes, and what cloathes, does this little Boney wear? He wears a large cock’d hat, for to make the people stare; But it’s O my oak stick! I’d advise him to take care! What shall be done, should this little Boney die? Nine cats shall squall his dirge, in sweet melodious cry; And it’s O in my heart, if a tear shall dim my eye! Yet still he boldly brags, with consequence full cramm’d, On England’s happy island his legions he will land; But it’s O in my heart, if he does, may I be d--d.’ In June of this year, Bonaparte, and Josephine, took a tour into Belgium, and the Côtes du Nord. What it was like, cannot better be told than in the words of De Bourrienne. ‘Bonaparte left Paris on June 3: and, although it was not for upwards of a year afterwards, that his brow was encircled with the imperial diadem, everything connected with the journey, had an imperial air. It was formerly the custom, when the kings of France entered the ancient capital of Picardy, for the town of Amiens to offer them, in homage, some beautiful swans. Care was taken to revive this custom, which pleased Bonaparte greatly, because it was treating him like a king. The swans were accepted, and sent to Paris, to be placed in the basin of the Tuileries, in order to show the Parisians, the royal homage which the First Consul received, when absent from the Capital.’ So it was all through his progress. The caricature here described is, of course, exaggerated, but it shows the feeling which animated the popular breast on this particular journey.