I'll ne'er forget th' old maid's alarm, When, feeling thus Miss Sukey Flirt, he Said, as he dropp'd her shrivell'd arm, "Damn'd bad this morning-only thirty!" Your dowagers, too, every one, So gen'rous are, when they call him in, That he might now retire upon The rheumatisms of three old women. Then, whatsoe'er your ailments are, He can so learnedly explain ye 'emYour cold, of course, is a catarrh, Your headach is a hemi-cranium : — His skill, too, in young ladies' lungs, The grace with which, most mild of men, He begs them to put out their tongues, Then bids them-put them in again: In short, there's nothing now like JACK! Take all your doctors great and small, Of present times and ages back, Dear Doctor FUDGE is worth them all. So much for physic—then, in law too, Not one of us gives more eclat to Th' immortal name of FUDGE than thou. With which you play'd the patriot's part, The manager's keen eye attracts, To strut in robes, like thee, my TIM!— Or wrong or right-but ten times warmer Thy cases, cited from the Bible- To help in trouncing for a libel; "God knows, I, from my soul, profess 66 My only aim's to-crush the writers." And these, oh TIM-if Law be Law- I blush to see this letter's length But 'twas my wish to prove to thee How full of hope, and wealth, and strength, Are all our precious family. And, should affairs go on as pleasant As, thank the Fates, they do at present Should we but still enjoy the sway Of S-DM-H and of C I hope, ere long, to see the day -GH, When England's wisest statesmen, judges, Good-bye-my paper's out so nearly, Yours sincerely. LETTER VII. FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO BEFORE We sketch the Present-let us cast When he, who had defied all Europe's strength, The cause of Kings, for once, the cause of Right;- And Man was grateful; Patriots of the South And heard, like accents thaw'd in Northern air, Who did not hope, in that triumphant time, Who did not hope the lust of spoil was gone; That that rapacious spirit, which had play'd of Pilnitz o'er so oft, was laid; game The Promises, treaties, charters, all were vain, Let all the human stock that, day by day, Was, at that Royal slave-mart, truck'd away, |