"I care not who," says Lawyer Brougham, "from place or pension budges; What salaries ye lower, so ye leave alone the Judges; Who knows but I, by chance, may be hereafter for the Bench meant, Then _that_ is surely not a proper object for retrenchment." Bow, wow, wow. "'Tis wisely said," George Tierney cries, who to the last had tarried, "Too far by patriotic feelings some of ye are carried; Economy 'tis very well at times to snarl and bite for, But have a care, lest bye-and-bye there's nothing left to fight for." Bow, wow, wow. But, spite of Tierney, they have things and notices in plenty, too, To keep the Mountain pack at work till June or July, Twenty-two; And there's no doubt they'll do as much to serve the grateful nation, As they had done before they parted for the short vacation. Bow, wow, wow. [Music: REMINISCENCES. (_Continued._) When last we left the Mountain Pack enjoying Easter's jolly days, We followed up their sport until it ended with their hol-i-days; And now against their "Privilege," we hope 'twill be no treason, To track their steps throughout the dull remainder of the sea-son. Bow, wow, wow, Fal liddle Fal de riddle, Bow, wow, wow.] George Tierney is a cunning dog, and prudently does think it, The wisest to run mute, and when a question rises, blink it; To bunglers he has left it to "give tongue" and talk prophetics, To Hume in figures, Cam in Greek, and Bennet in pathetics. Bow, wow, wow. Brougham vents a loud complaint, that Royal influence increases, And holds that Members of the House should give up all their places; But, shifting Master Harry, pray which way would int'rest turn you, If George the Fourth forthwith was pleased to make you his Attorney? Bow, wow, wow. Says Jarvy Sefton, "I've a charming little job _in petto_, From Salford's ancient County Court some modern fees to get O! Just help me through with that, and I'll cry aye to all your movements, For war, the plague, economy, or any great improvements." Bow, wow, wow. Sir Francis Burdett next appears, once idol of the people, Who says, the thought of raising rents should never make men sleep ill; For, though so pure a patriot, his gains he would increase, Sir, And does not care if quartern loaves five shillings were a-piece, Sir. Bow, wow, wow.