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THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS.

Le Leggi della Maschera richiedono che una persona mascherata non sia salutata per nome da uno che la conosce malgrado il suo travestimento. - CASTIGLIONE.

PREFACE.

In what manner the following Epistles came into my hands, it is not necessary for the public to know. It will be seen by Mr. FUDGE's Second Letter, that he is one of those gentlemen whose Secret Services in Ireland, under the mild ministry of my Lord C-GH, have been so amply and gratefully remunerated. Like his friend and associate, THOMAS REYNOLDS, Esq., he had retired upon the reward of his honest industry; but has lately been induced to appear again in active life, and superintend the training of that Delatorian

Cohort, which Lord S-DM-TH, in his wisdom and benevolence, has organized.

Whether Mr. FUDGE, himself, has yet made any discoveries, does not appear from the following pages. But much may be expected from a person of his zeal and sagacity, and, indeed, to him, Lord S-DM-TH, and the Greenland-bound ships, the eyes of all lovers of discoveries are now most anxiously directed.

doubtfully over various persons, has at last settled upon the head of a certain little gentleman, who wears it, I understand, as complacently as if it actually belonged to him; without even the honesty of avowing, with his own favourite author, (he will excuse the pun)

Εγω δ' 'Ο ΜΩΡΟΣ αρας
Εδησαμην μετώπω.

I can only add, that if any lady or gentleman, curious in such matters, will take the trouble of calling at my lodgings, 245. Piccadilly, I shall have the honour of assuring them, in propriâ personâ, that I am — his, or her,

Very obedient

And very humble Servant, THOMAS BROWN, THE YOUNGER. April 17. 1818.

I regret much that I have been obliged to omit THE FUDGE FAMILY IN PARIS. Mr. BOB FUDGE's Third Letter, concluding the

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DEAR DOLL, while the tails of our horses are plaiting,

The trunks tying on, and Papa, at the door, Into very bad French is, as usual, translating

It will not, I hope, be thought presumptuous, if I take this opportunity of complaining of a very serious injustice I have suffered from the public. Dr. KING wrote a treatise to prove that BENTLEY "was not the author of his own book," and a similar absurdity has been asserted of me, in almost all the best-informed literary circles. With the name of the real author staring them in the face, they have yet persisted in attributing my works to other people; and the fame of the Twopenny Post-Bag-such as it is having hovered I have seen nothing yet very wonderful here;

His English resolve not to give a sou more,
I sit down to write you a line-only think!.
A letter from France, with French pens and French
ink,

How delightful! though, would you believe it, my
dear?

No adventure, no sentiment, far as we've come,
But the corn-fields and trees quite as dull as at home;
And but for the post-boy, his boots and his queue,
I might just as well be at Clonkilty with you!
In vain, at DESSEIN's, did I take from my trunk
That divine fellow, STERNE, and fall reading "The
Monk;"

In vain did I think of his charming Dead Ass,
And remember the crust and the wallet - alas!
No monks can be had now for love or for money,
(All owing, Pa says, to that infidel BONEY ;)
And, though one little Neddy we saw in our drive
Out of classical Nampont, the beast was alive!

By the by, though, at Calais, Papa had a touch
Of romance on the pier, which affected me much.
At the sight of that spot, where our darling Dix-

HUIT

Set the first of his own dear legitimate feet, 1
(Modell'd out so exactly, and-God bless the mark!
'Tis a foot, Dolly, worthy so Grand a Monarque),
He exclaim'd, "Oh, mon Roi!" and, with tear-
dropping eye,

Stood to gaze on the spot - while some Jacobin,
nigh,

A thing, you know, whisker'd, great-coated, and lac'd,

Like an hour-glass, exceedingly small in the waist: Quite a new sort of creatures, unknown yet to scholars,

With heads, so immovably stuck in shirt-collars, That seats, like our music-stools, soon must be found them,

To twirl, when the creatures may wish to look
round them.

In short, dear, "a Dandy" describes what I mean,
And BoB's far the best of the genus I've seen:
An improving young man, fond of learning, am-
bitious,

And goes now to Paris to study French dishes,
Whose names — think, how quick! he already
knows pat,

A la braise, petits pâtés, and — what d'ye call that
They inflict on potatoes? oh! maitre d'hôtel —
I assure you, dear DOLLY, he knows them as well
As if nothing else all his life he had eat,
Though a bit of them BOBBY has never touch'd yet;
But just knows the names of French dishes and
cooks,

As dear Pa knows the titles of authors and books.

As to Pa, what d'ye think ?-mind, it's all entre nous,
But you know, love, I never keep secrets from you—
Why, he's writing a book what! a tale? a ro-

Mutter'd out with a shrug, (what an insolent thing!)
"Ma foi, he be right - 'tis de Englishman's King;
And dat gros pied de cochon - begar, me vil say
Dat de foot look mosh better, if turn'd toder way."
There's the pillar, too-Lord! I had nearly forgot-
What a charming idea!-rais'd close to the spot; No, ye Gods, would it were! - but his Travels in
The mode being now, (as you've heard, I suppose,)
To build tombs over legs 2, and raise pillars to toes.

This is all that's occurr'd sentimental as yet;
Except, indeed, some little flow'r-nymphs we've met,
Who disturb one's romance with pecuniary views,
Flinging flow'rs in your path, and then - bawling
for sous!

mance?

France;

At the special desire (he let out t'other day)
Of his great friend and patron, my Lord C-STL-R-GH,
Who said, "My dear FUDGE " I forget the

exact words,
And, it's strange, no one ever remembers my Lord's;
But 'twas something to say that, as all must allow
A good orthodox work is much wanting just now,

And some picturesque beggars, whose multitudes To expound to the world the new-thingummie

seem

To recall the good days of the ancien régime,

All as ragged and brisk, you'll be happy to learn,
And as thin as they were in the time of dear
STERNE.

Our party consists (in a neat Calais job)
Of Papa and myself, Mr. CONNOR and BOB.
You remember how sheepish Boв look'd at Kil-
randy,

science,

Found out by the-what's-its-name-Holy Al

liance,

And prove to mankind that their rights are but folly,
Their freedom a joke, (which it is, you know,
DOLLY,)

"There's none," said his Lordship, "if I may be

judge,

Half so fit for this great undertaking as FUDGE!"

Pa flies to the Row (The first stage your tourists now usually go),

But, Lord! he's quite alter'd - they've made him The matter's soon settled a Dandy;

1 To commemorate the landing of Louis le Désiré from England, the impression of his foot is marked out on the pier

at Calais, and a pillar with an inscription raised opposite to
the spot.
2 Ci-git la jambe de, &c. &c.

Settles all for his quarto-advertisements, praises— Starts post from the door, with his tablets-French

phrases

LETTER II.

"SCOTT's Visit," of course in short, ev'ry thing FROM PHIL. Fudge, Esq. to the lord VISCOUNT

he has

An author can want, except words and ideas : — And, lo! the first thing, in the spring of the year, IS PHIL. FUDGE at the front of a Quarto, my dear!

But, bless me, my paper's near out, so I'd better Draw fast to a close: - this exceeding long letter You owe to a déjeûner à la fourchette,

Which BOBBY would have, and is hard at it yet. What's next? oh, the tutor, the last of the party, Young CONNOR :-they say he's so like BONAPARTE, His nose and his chin - which Papa rather dreads,

As the Bourbons, you know, are suppressing all

heads

That resemble old NAP's, and who knows but their honours

May think, in their fright, of suppressing poor CONNOR'S ?

Au reste (as we say), the young lad's well enough, Only talks much of Athens, Rome, virtue, and stuff;

A third cousin of ours, by the way-poor as Job (Though of royal descent by the side of Mamma), And for charity made private tutor to BOB; Entre nous, too, a Papist-how lib'ral of Pa!

This is all, dear,-forgive me for breaking off thus,
But Bob's déjeûner's done, and Papa's in a fuss.
B. F.

P. S.
How provoking of Pa! he will not let me stop
Just to run in and rummage some milliner's shop;
And my début in Paris, I blush to think on it,
Must now, DOLL, be made in a hideous low bonnet.
But Paris, dear Paris!-oh, there will be joy,
And romance, and high bonnets, and Madame Le

Roi !!

1A celebrated mantua-maker in Paris.

2 This excellent imitation of the noble Lord's style shows how deeply Mr. Fudge must have studied his great original. Irish oratory, indeed, abounds with such startling peculiarities. Thus the eloquent Counsellor B, in describing some hypocritical pretender to charity, said, "He put his hand in his breeches-pocket, like a crocodile, and," &c. &c.

C-ST-R-GH.

Ar length, my Lord, I have the bliss
To date to you a line from this
"Demoraliz'd" metropolis;
Where, by plebeians low and scurvy,
The throne was turn'd quite topsy-turvy,
And Kingship, tumbled from its seat,
"Stood prostrate" at the people's feet;
Where (still to use your Lordship's tropes)
The level of obedience slopes
Upward and downward, as the stream
Of hydra faction kicks the beam! 2
Where the poor Palace changes masters
Quicker than a snake its skin,
And Louis is roll'd out on castors,

While BONEY's borne on shoulders in :-
But where, in every change, no doubt,
One special good your Lordship traces, -
That 'tis the Kings alone turn out,

The Ministers still keep their places.

How oft, dear Viscount C—————GH,
I've thought of thee upon the way,
As in my job (what place could be
More apt to wake a thought of thee?)—
Or, oftener far, when gravely sitting
Upon my dicky, (as is fitting
For him who writes a Tour, that he
May more of men and manners see,)
I've thought of thee and of thy glories,
Thou guest of Kings, and King of Tories!
Reflecting how thy fame has grown

And spread, beyond man's usual share, At home, abroad, till thou art known,

Like Major SEMPLE, every where! And marv'lling with what powers of breath Your Lordship, having speech'd to death Some hundreds of your fellow-men,

Paris.

Next speech'd to Sov'reigns' ears, and when

All Sov'reigns else were doz'd, at last
Speech'd down the Sov'reign of Belfast.
Oh! mid the praises and the trophies
Thou gain'st from Morosophs and Sophis;

3 The title of the chief magistrate of Belfast, before whom his Lordship (with the "studium immane loquendi " attributed by Ovid to that chattering and rapacious class of birds, the pies) delivered sundry long and self-gratulatory orations, on his return from the Continent. It was at one of these Irish dinners that his gallant brother, Lord S., proposed the health of "The best cavalry officer in Europe - the Regent !"

Mid all the tributes to thy fame,

So time is left to Emperor SANDY

There's one thou should'st be chiefly pleas'd at- To be half Cæsar and half Dandy; That Ireland gives her snuff thy name, -GH's the thing now sneez'd at!

And C

But hold, my pen!-a truce to praising-
Though ev'n your Lordship will allow
The theme's temptations are amazing;

But time and ink run short, and now,
(As thou wouldst say, my guide and teacher
In these gay metaphoric fringes,

I must embark into the feature

On which this letter chiefly hinges ;) — 1
My Book, the Book that is to prove —
And will, (so help ye Sprites above,
That sit on clouds, as grave as judges,
Watching the labours of the FUDGES!)
Will prove that all the world, at present,
Is in a state extremely pleasant;
That Europe-thanks to royal swords

And bay'nets, and the Duke commandingEnjoys a peace which, like the Lord's,

Passeth all human understanding:
That France prefers her go-cart King
To such a coward scamp as BONEY;
Though round, with each a leading-string,
There standeth many a Royal crony,
For fear the chubby, tott'ring thing

Should fall, if left there loney-poney;—
That England, too, the more her debts,
The more she spends, the richer gets;
And that the Irish, grateful nation!

Remember when by thee reign'd over,
And bless thee for their flagellation,
As HELOISA did her lover!-2
That Poland, left for Russia's lunch

Upon the side-board, snug reposes:
While Saxony's as pleas'd as Punch,
And Norway on a bed of roses!"
That, as for some few million souls,

66

Transferr'd by contract, bless the clods!

If half were strangled-Spaniards, Poles,

And G GE the R-G-T (who'd forget
That doughtiest chieftain of the set?)
Hath wherewithal for trinkets new,

For dragons, after Chinese models, And chambers where Duke Ho and Soo,

Might come and nine times knock their

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And Frenchmen - 'twouldn't make much odds, And proves exactly Q. E. D.

So Europe's goodly Royal ones,

Sit easy on their sacred thrones ;

So FERDINAND embroiders gaily, 3

And Louis eats his sulmi 4, daily;

1 Verbatim from one of the noble Viscount's Speeches "And now, Sir, I must embark into the feature on which this question chiefly hinges."

2 See her Letters.

3 It would be an edifying thing to write a history of the private amusements of sovereigns, tracing them down from the fly-sticking of Domitian, the mole-catching of Artabanus, the hog-mimicking of Parmenides, the horse-currying of Aretas, to the petticoat-embroidering of Ferdinand, and the patience-playing of the Pe R—t

So now, with duty to the R-G-T, I am, dear Lord,

Your most obedient,

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After dreaming some hours of the land of Cocaigne, 4

That Elysium of all that is friand and nice, Where for hail they have bon-bons, and claret for rain,

And the skaiters in winter show off on creamice;

Where so ready all nature its cookery yields,

Your Logic and Greek, but there's nothing like Macaroni au parmesan grows in the fields;

feeding;

And this is the place for it, DICKY, you dog,
Of all places on earth- the head-quarters of Prog!
Talk of England- her fam'd Magna Charta, I
swear, is

A humbug, a flam, to the Carte 2 at old VERY'S;
And as for your Juries-who would not set o'er

'em

A Jury of Tasters 3, with woodcocks before 'em? Give CARTWRIGHT his Parliaments, fresh every year;

But those friends of short Commons would never do here;

And, let ROMILLY speak as he will on the question, No Digest of Law's like the laws of digestion !

By the by, DICK, I fatten—but n'importe for that, "Tis the mode- your Legitimates always get fat. There's the R—G—T, there's LOUIS-and BONEY tried too,

Little birds fly about with the true pheasant taint, And the geese are all born with a liver complaint! 5 I rise-put on neck-cloth-stiff, tight, as can be For a lad who goes into the world, DICK, like me, Should have his neck tied up, you know-there's no doubt of it

Almost as tight as some lads who go out of it. With whiskers well oil'd, and with boots that "hold up

"The mirror to nature" '—so bright you could sup Off the leather like china; with coat, too, that draws

On the tailor, who suffers, a martyr's applause!
With head bridled up, like a four-in-hand leader,
And stays-devil's in them-too tight for a
feeder,

I strut to the old Café Hardy, which yet
Beats the field at a déjeûner à la fourchette.
There, DICK, what a breakfast! oh, not like your
ghost

But, though somewhat imperial in paunch, Of a breakfast in England, your curst tea and

'twouldn't do:

See the Quarterly Review for May, 1816, where Mr. Hobhouse is accused of having written his book “in a back street of the French capital."

2 The Bill of Fare. Véry, a well-known Restaurateur. 3 Mr. Bob alludes particularly, I presume, to the famous Jury Dégustateur, which used to assemble at the Hôtel of M. Grimod de la Reynière, and of which this modern Archestratus has given an account in his Almanach des Gourmands, cinquième année, p. 78.

4 The fairy-land of cookery and gourmandise: “Pays, où le ciel offre les viandes toutes cuites, et où, comme on parle, les alouettes tombent toutes roties. Du Latin, coquère."Duchat.

The process by which the liver of the unfortunate goose is enlarged, in order to produce that richest of all dainties,

toast; 6

the foie gras, of which such renowned pâtés are made at Strasbourg and Toulouse, is thus described in the Cours Gastronomique: " On déplume l'estomac des oies; on attache ensuite ces animaux aux chenets d'une cheminée, et on les nourrit devant le feu. La captivité et la chaleur donnent à ces volatiles une maladie hépatique, qui fait gonfler leur foie," &c. p. 206.

6 Is Mr. Bob aware that his contempt for tea renders him liable to a charge of atheism? Such, at least, is the opinion cited in Christian. Falster. Amanitat. Philog, "Atheum interpretabatur hominem ad herba The aversum." He would not, I think, have been so irreverent to this beverage of scholars, if he had read Peter Petit's Poem in praise of Tea, addressed to the learned Huet-or the Epigraphe which Pechlinus wrote for an altar he meant to dedicate to this herb

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