The Matron came—within her right hand glow'd
A radiant torch; while from her left a load

Of papers hung-(wipes his eyes)-collected in her veil,
The venal evidence, the slanderous tale,

The wounding hint, the current lies that pass
From Post to Courier, form'd the motley mass;
Which, with disdain, before the throne she throws,
And lights the pile beneath thy princely nose. (Weeps)
Heavens, how it blaz'd!-I'd ask no livelier fire

(With animation) to roast a papist by, my gracious sire !---
But ah! the evidence-(weeps again)-I mourn'd to see,
Cast, as it burn'd, a deadly light on thee!

And tales and hints their random sparkles flung,
And hiss'd and crackled, like an old maid's tongue;
While Post and Courier, faithful to their fame,
Made up in stink for what they lack'd in flame!
When, lo, ye gods !-the fire, ascending brisker,
Now singes one, now lights the other whisker
Ah! where was then the Sylphid that unfurls
Her fairy standard in defence of curls?-

Throne, whiskers, wig soon vanish'd into smoke,
The watchman cried" Past one," and-I awoke!

Here his Lordship weeps more profusely than ever, and the R-g-t (who has been very much agitated during the recital of the dream) by a movement as characteristic as that of Charles XII. when he was shot, claps his hands to his whiskers to feel if all be really safe. A Privy Council is held-all the servants, &c., are examined—and it appears that a tailor, who had come to measure the R-g-t for a dress (which takes three whole pages of the best superfine clinquant in describing) was the only person who had been in the Bourbon chamber during the day. It is accordingly determined to seize the tailor, and the Council breaks up with a unanimous resolution to be vigorous.

The commencement of the second act turns chiefly upon the trial and imprisonment of two brothers; but as this forms the under plot of the drama, I shall content myself with extracting from it the following speech, which is addressed to the two brothers, as they "exeunt severally" to prison :

Go to your prisons-though the air of spring

No mountain coolness to your cheeks shall bring;
Though summer flowers shall pass unseen away,
And all your portion of the glorious day
May be some solitary beam that falls,
At morn or eve, upon your dreary walls—
Some beam that enters, trembling, as if awed,
To tell how gay the young world laughs abroad!
Yet go-for thoughts, as blessed as the air
Of spring or summer flowers, await you there;

Thoughts such as he who feasts his courtly crew
In rich conservatories never knew!

Pure self-esteem-the smiles that light within-
The zeal whose circling charities begin

With the few loved-ones Heaven has placed it near,
Nor cease till all mankind are in its sphere !-—
The pride that suffers without vaunt or plea,
And the fresh spirit that can warble free,
Through prison-bars, its hymn to liberty!

The scene next changes to a tailor's work-shop, and a fancifullyarranged group of these artists is discovered upon the shop-boardtheir task evidently of a royal nature, from the profusion of goldlace, frogs, &c., that lie about. They all rise and come forward, while one of them sings the following stanzas to the tune of "Derry Down:"

My brave brother tailors, come, straiten your knees,
For a moment, like gentlemen, stand up at ease,
While I sing of our P――e (and a fig for his railers)
The shop-board's delight! the Mecænas of tailors!

Derry down, down, down derry down.

Some monarchs take roundabout ways into note,
But his short cut to fame is-the cut of his coat!
Philip's son thought the world was to small for his soul,
While our R-g-t's finds room in a laced button-hole!

Derry down, &c.

Look through all Europe's kings-at least, those who go loose--
Not a king of them all's such a friend to the goose.
So he'll keep him increasing in size and renown,
Still the fattest and best-fitted P- -e about town!

Derry down, &c.

During the "Derry down" of this last verse, a messenger from the S-c-t-y of S-e's office, rushes on, and the singer (who, luckily for the effect of the scene, is the very tailor suspected of the mysterious fragments) is interrupted in the midst of his laudatory exertions, and hurried away, to the no small surprise and consternation of his comrades. The plot now hastens rapidly in its development-the management of the tailor's examination is highly skilful; and the alarm, which he is made to betray, is natural without being ludicrous. The explanation, too, which he finally gives is not more simple than satisfactory. It appears that the said fragments formed part of a self-exculpatory note, which he had intended to send to Colonel M'M—— --n upon subjects purely professional, and the corresponding bits (which still lie luckily in his pocket) being produced, and skilfully laid beside the others, the following billet-doux is the satisfactory result of their juxtaposition :

Honour'd Colonel,-My Wife, who 's the Queen of all slatterns,
Neglected to put up the Book of new patterns;

She sent the wrong Measures too-shamefully wrong-
They're the same used for poor Mr Lambert, when young;
But, bless you! they would'nt go half round the R-g-t-
So hope you'll excuse yours, till death, most obedient.

This fully explains the whole mystery-the R-g-t resumes his wonted smiles, and the drama terminates, as usual, to the satisfaction of all parties.

LETTER VIII.

FROM COLONEL TH-M-S TO

COME to our fete,* and bring with thee
Thy newest, best embroidery !

Come to our fete, and shew again

That pea-green coat, thou pink of men!

ESQ.

Which charm'd all eyes that last survey'd it;
When Br-mm-l's self inquired "Who made it ?"-
When cits came wond'ring, from the East,
And thought the poet Pye at least!

Oh! come-(if haply 'tis thy week
For looking pale)—with paly cheek;
Though more we love thy roseate days,
When the rich rouge-pot pours its blaze
Full o'er thy face, and, amply spread,
Tips even thy whisker-tops with red-
Like the last tints of dying day
That o'er some darkling grove delay!

Bring thy best lace, thou gay Philander!
(That lace, like H-rry Al-x-nd-r,
Too precious to be wash'd!)-thy rings,
Thy seals-in short, thy prettiest things!
Put all thy wardrobe's glories on,
And yield, in frogs and fringe, to none
But the great R-g-t's self alone!
Who-by particular desire-

For that night only, means to hire

A dress from Romeo C-tes, Esquire

Something between ('twere sin to hack it)

The Romeo robe and hobby jacket!

* This letter enclosed a card for the grand fete on the 5th of February

Hail, first of actors! * best of R-g-ts!
Born for each other's fond allegiance !
Both gay Lotharios-both good dressers-
Of serious farce both learn'd professors-
Both circled round, for use or show
With coxcombs whereso'er they go!
Thou knowst the time, thou man of lore,
It takes to chalk a ball-room floor-
Thou knowst the time too, well-a-day!
It takes to dance that chalk away.+
The ball-room opens-far and nigh
Comets and suns beneath us lie;
O'er snowy moons and stars we walk,
And the floor seems a sky of chalk!
But soon shall fade the bright deceit,
When many a maid, with busy feet
That sparkle in the lustre's ray,
O'er the white path shall bound and play
Like nymphs along the Milky Way!—
At every step a star is fled,

And suns grow dim beneath their tread!
So passeth life-(thus Sc-tt would write,
And spinsters read him with delight)—
Hours are not feet, yet hours trip on,
Time is not chalk, yet time's soon gone! +

But hang this long digressive flight!
I meant to say, thou 'lt see that night
What falsehood rankles in their hearts
Who say the P-e neglects the arts-
Neglects the arts!—no S――! no;
Thy cupids answer, "'Tis not so;
And every floor that night shall tell
How quick thou daubest, and how well!
Shine as thou mayst in French vermillion,
Thou 'rt best-beneath a French cotillon;
And still comest off, whate'er thy faults,
With flying colours in a waltz!

Nor needst thou mourn the transient date
To thy best works assign'd by fate-

* "Quem tu, Melpomene, semel

Nascentem placido lumine, videris," &c.-Horat.
The man upon whom thou hast deign'd to look funny,
Thou great Tragic Muse! at the hour of his birth-

Let them say what they will, that's the man for my money

Give others thy tears, but let me have thy mirth!

To those who neither go to balls nor read the Morning Post, it may be necessary to mention that the floors of ball-rooms, in general, are chalked, for safety and for ornament, with various fanciful devices.

"Hearts are not flint, yet flints are rent,

Hearts are not steel, yet stecl is bent."

While some chef-d'œuvres live to weary one,
Thine boast a short life and a merry one;
Their hour of glory past and gone
With "Molly put the kettle on!" *

But, bless my soul! I've scarce a leaf
Of paper left-so must be brief.

This festive fete in fact must be
The former fete's facsimile;+

The same long masquerade of rooms,
Trick'd in such different, quaint costumes,
(These, P-rt-r, are thy glorious works!)
You'd swear Egyptians, Moors, and Turks,
Bearing good taste some deadly malice
Had clubb'd to raise a pic-nic palace;
And each, to make the olio pleasant,
Had sent a state-room as a present !—
The same fauteuils and girandoles-
The same gold asses, + pretty souls!
That in this rich and classic dome
Appear so perfectly at home!

The same bright river 'mongst the dishes,
But not-ah! not the same dear fishes-
Late hours and claret kill'd the old ones!
So, 'stead of silver and of gold ones

(It being rather hard to raise

Fish of that specie now-a-days)

Some sprats have been, by Y--rm-th's wish,
Promoted into silver fish,

And Gudgeons (so V-ns-tt-t told

The R-g-t) are as good as gold!

So, prithee, come-our fete will be
But half a fete if wanting thee!

* A popular country dance.

J. T.

+ "C-rl-t-n He will exhibit a complete facsimile, in respect to interior ornament, to what it did at the last fete. The same splendid draperies," &c.-Morning Post.

The salt-cellars on the P-e's own table were in the form of an ass with panniers.