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

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?

I have seen nothing yet very wonderful here;
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!

met,

Who disturb one's romance with pecuniary views, Flinging flow'rs in your path, and then-bawling for sous!

And some picturesque beggars, whose multitudes

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,

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

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

laced,

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

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

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 romance?

No, ye gods, would it were!-but his Travels in
France;

At the special desire (he let out t'other day)
Of his great friend and patron, my Lord CASTLE-

REAGH,

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, To expound to the world the new-thingummiescience,

Found out by the-what's-its-name-Holy Alliance, 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 judge,

be

Paris.

Half so fit for this great undertaking as FUDGE!"

The matter's soon settled-Pa flies to the Row, (The first stage your tourists now usually go,) Settles all for his quarto-advertisements, praisesStarts post from the door, with his tablets-French phrases

"SCOTT's Visit," of course-in short, ev'ry thing 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 honors

May think, in their fright, of suppressing poor CON

NOR'S ?

AT length, my Lord, I have the bliss
To date to you a line from this
"Demoralized" 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!*
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 CASTLEReagh,
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, everywhere!
And marv'ling with what powers of breath
Your Lordship, having speech'd to death
Some hundreds of your fellow-men,
Next speech'd to Sov'reigns' ears, and when
All Sov reigns else were dozed, at last
Speech'd down the Sov'reign' of Belfast.
Oh! mid the praises and the trophies
Thou gain'st from Morosophs and Sophis;
Mid all the tributes to thy fame,

There's one thou shouldst be chiefly pleased at That Ireland gives her snuff thy name,

And CASTLEREAGH's the thing now sneezed at!

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 ;)—*
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 labors 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 commanding— Enjoys 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!-'
That Poland, left for Russia's lunch
Upon the sideboard, snug reposes:
While Saxony's as pleased as Punch,
And Norway "on a bed of roses!"

That, as for some few million souls,
Transferr'd by contract, bless the clods!
If half were strangled-Spaniards, Poles,
And Frenchmen-'twouldn't make much odds,
So Europe's goodly Royal ones,
Sit easy on their sacred thrones;
SO FERDINAND embroiders gayly,"
And Louis eats his salmi, daily;
So time is left to Emperor SANDY
To be half Cæsar and half Dandy;
And GEORGE the REGENT (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 noddles!— All this my Quarto 'll prove-much more Than Quarto ever proved before: In reas'ning with the Post I'll vie, My facts the Courier shall supply, My jokes VANSITTART, POLE my sense, And thou, sweet Lord, my eloquence!

My Journal, penn'd by fits and starts,

On BIDDY'S back or BOBBY's shoulder, (My son, my Lord, a youth of parts,

Who longs to be a small place-holder,) Is-though I say't, that shouldn't sayExtremely good; and, by the way, One extract from it-only oneTo show its spirit, and I've done.

“Jul. thirty-first.—Went, after snack,
"To the Cathedral of St. Denny;
"Sigh'd o'er the Kings of ages back,

"And-gave the old Concierge a penny.

“ (Mem.—Must see Rheims, much famed, 'tis said, "For making Kings and gingerbread.)

"Was shown the tomb where lay, so stately, "A little Bourbon, buried lately,

"Thrice high and puissant, we were told,

"Though only twenty-four hours old! "Hear this, thought I, ye

Jacobins :

"Ye Burdetts, tremble in your skins! "If Royalty, but aged a day,

"Can boast such high and puissant sway, "What impious hand its pow'r would fix, "Full fledged and wigg'd" at fifty-six !"

The argument's quite new, you see,
And proves exactly Q. E. D.
So now, with duty to the REGENt,
I am, dear Lord,

Your most obedient,

P. F.

A fine ribbon and cross in his best button-hole;

Just such as our PRINCE, who nor reason nor fun dreads,

Inflicts, without ev'n a court-martial, on hundreds.19
Here trips a grisette, with a fond, roguish eye,
(Rather eatable things these grisettes by the by;)
And there an old demoiselle, almost as fond,

In a silk that has stood since the time of the
Fronde.

There goes a French Dandy-ah, DICK! unlike

some ones

We've seen about WHITE's-the Mounseers are but rum ones;

Ev'n in the fields where free those fathers trod,
I am proscribed, and-like the spot left bare
In Israel's halls, to tell the proud and fair
Amidst their mirth, that Slav'ry had been there"-
On all I love, home, parents, friends, I trace
The mournful mark of bondage and disgrace!
No! let them stay, who in their country's pangs
See naught but food for factions and harangues;
Who yearly kneel before their masters' doors,
And hawk their wrongs, as beggars do their sores:
Still let your22

*

*

*

*

Still hope and suffer, all who can!—but I,
Who durst not hope, and cannot bear, must fly.

Hears maledictions ring from every side
Upon that grasping power, that selfish pride,
Which vaunts its own, and scorns all rights beside;
That low and desp'rate envy, which to blast
A neighbor's blessings, risks the few thou hast;-
That monster, Self, too gross to be conceal'd,
Which ever lurks behind thy proffer'd shield;—
That faithless craft, which, in thy hour of need,
Can court the slave, can swear he shall be freed,
Yet basely spurns him, when thy point is gain'd,
Back to his masters, ready gagg'd and chain'd!
Worthy associate of that band of Kings,
That royal, rav'ning flock, whose vampire wings
O'er sleeping Europe treacherously brood,
And fan her into dreams of promised good,

Of hope, of freedom-but to drain her blood!

If thus to hear thee branded be a bliss

That Vengeance loves, there's yet more sweet than

this,