Informing gentlemen, at home. But, bless the fools, they can't be serious, To say Lord SIDMOUTH'S like TIBERIUS! What! he, the Peer, that injures no man, Like that severe, blood-thirsty Roman!-'Tis true, the Tyrant lent an ear to

All sorts of spies-so doth the Peer, too. 'Tis true my Lord's Elect tell fibs, And deal in perjury--ditto TIB's. "Tis true, the tyrant screen'd and hid His

rogues from justice-ditto SID. "Tis true the Peer is grave and glib At moral speeches-ditto TIB.82 "Tis true, the feats the Tyrant did Were in his dotage-ditto SID.

So far, I own, the parallel
"Twixt TIB and SID goes vastly well;
But there are points in TIB that strike
My humble mind as much more like
Yourself, my dearest Lord, or him,
Of th' India Board-that soul of whim!
Like him, TIBERIUS loved his joke,83

On matters, too, where few can bear one; E. g. a man, cut up, or broke

Upon the wheel-a devilish fair one!
Your common fractures, wounds, and fits,
Are nothing to such wholesale wits;
But, let the suff'rer gasp for life,

The joke is then worth any money
And, if he writhe beneath a knife,-

Aug. 31.

Oh dear, that's something quite too funny. In this respect, my Lord, you see The Roman wag and ours agree:

Now as to your resemblance-mum—

This parallel we need not follow ;84 Though 'tis, in Ireland, said by some

Your Lordship beats TIBERIUS. hollow; Whips, chains-but these are things too serious For me to mention or discuss; Whene'er your Lordship acts TIBERIUS, PHIL. FUDGE'S part is Tacitus!

Was thinking, had Lord SIDMOUTH got
Any good decent sort of Plot
Against the winter-time-if not,
Alas, alas, our ruin's fated;
All done up, and spiflicated!
Ministers and all their vassals,

Down from CASTLEREAGH to CASTLES,-
Unless we can kick up a riot,

Sept. 2.

Ne'er can hope for peace or quiet!
What's to be done?-Spa-Fields was clever;
But even that brought gibes and mockings
Upon our heads-so, mem.-must never
Keep ammunition in old stockings;
For fear some wag should in his cursed head
Take it to say our force was worsted.
Mem. too-when SID an army raises,
It must not be "incog." like Bayes's:
Nor must the General be a hobbling
Professor of the art of cobbling;
Lest men, who perpetrate such puns,

85

Should say, with Jacobinic grin,
He felt, from soleing Wellingtons,
A Wellington's great soul within!
Nor must an old Apothecary

Go take the Tower, for lack of pence, With (what these wags would call, so merry) Physical force and vial-ence!

No-no-our Plot, my Lord, must be
Next time contrived more skilfully.
John Bull, I grieve to say, is growing
So troublesomely sharp and knowing,
So wise-in short, so Jacobin-
"Tis monstrous hard to take him in.

In China, and was sorely nettled;
But think, my Lord, we should not pass it o'e
Till all this matter's fairly settled;
And here's the mode occurs to me :-
As none of our Nobility,

Though for their own most gracious King,
(They would kiss hands, or any thing,)
Can be persuaded to go through
This farce-like trick of the Ko-tou;
And as these Mandarins won't bend,
Without some mumming exhibition,
Suppose, my Lord, you were to send

GRIMALDI to them on a mission:
As Legate, JoE could play his part,
And if, in diplomatic art,

The "volto sciolto" 's meritorious,
Let JOE but grin, he has it, glorious!
A title for him's easily made;

And, by-the-by, one Christmas time,

If I remember right, he play'd

87

Lord MORLEY in some pantomime ;-
As Earl of MORLEY then gazette him,
If fother Earl of MORLEY'll let him.
(And why should not the world be bless'd
With two such stars, for East and West?)
Then, when before the Yellow Screen

He's brought-and, sure, the very essence
Of etiquette would be that scene

Of JOE in the Celestial Presence!-
He thus should say:-" Duke Ho and Soo,
"I'll play what tricks you please for you,
“If you'll, in turn, but do for me
"A few small tricks you now shall see.
"If I consult your Emperor's liking,

* At least you'll do the same for my King."
He then should give them nine such grins,
As would astound ev'n Mandarins;
And throw such somersets before

The picture of King GEORGE (God bless him!) As, should Duke Ho but try them o'er,

Would, by CONFUCIUS, much distress him!

I start this merely as a hint,

But think you'll find some wisdom in't;
And, should you follow up the job,
My son, my Lord, (you know poor BOB,)
Would in the suite be glad to go
And help his Excellency, JOE ;-
At least, like noble AMHERST's son,
The lad will do to practise on.88

LETTER X.

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY

WELL, it isn't the King, after all, my dear creature! But don't you go laugh, now-there's nothing to quiz in't

For grandeur of air and for grimness of feature, He might be a King, DOLL, though, hang him, he isn't.

At first, I felt hurt, for I wish'd it, I own,

If for no other cause but to vex Miss MALONE,

"As I think for my BIDDY, so gentille and jolie, "Whose charms may their price in an honest way fetch,

"That a Brandenburgh"-(what is a Brandenburgh, DOLLY?)

"Would be, after all, no such very great catch. "If the REGENT indeed," added he, looking sly(You remember that comical squint of his eye)But I stopp'd him with “La, Pa, how can you say so, "When the REGENT loves none but old women, you know!"

Which is fact, my dear DOLLY-we, girls of eigh teen,

And so slim-Lord, he'd think us not fit to be

seen;

And would like us much better as old-ay, as old As that Countess of DESMOND, of whom I've been told

That she lived to much more than a hundred and ten,

And was kill'd by a fall from a cherry-tree then! What a frisky old girl! but-to come to my lover, Who, though not a King, is a hero I'll swear,— You shall hear all that's happen'd, just briefly run

over,

Since that happy night, when we whisk'd through the air!

Let me see 'twas on Saturday-yes, DOLLY, yesFrom that evening I date the first dawn of my bliss, When we both rattled off in that dear little car

riage,

Whose journey, Bов says, is so like Love and Marriage,

"Beginning gay, desperate, dashing, down-hilly,

66

And ending as dull as a six-inside Dilly!"""" Well, scarcely a wink did I sleep the night through; And, next day, having scribbled my letter to you, With a heart full of hope this sweet fellow to meet, I set out with Papa, to see LOUIS DIX-HUIT Make his bow to some half dozen women and boys, Who get up a small concert of Vire le Rois— And how vastly genteeler, my dear, even this is, Than vulgar Pall-Mall's oratorio of hisses! The gardens seem'd full-so, of course, we walk'd o'er 'em,

'Mong orange-trees, clipp'd into town-bred deco.

rum,

King;

There staring, with not ev'n a stitch on them, at you!

The ponds, too, we view'd-stood awhile on the brink

To contemplate the play of those pretty gold fishes

"Live bullion," says merciless BOB," which, I think, "Would, if coin'd, with a little mint sauce, be

delicious!"'91

But what, DOLLY, what, is the gay orange-grove,
Or gold fishes, to her that's in search of her love?
In vain did I wildly explore every chair
Where a thing like a man was-no lover sat there!
In vain my fond eyes did I eagerly cast

At the whiskers, mustachios, and wigs that went past,

To obtain, if I could, but a glance at that curl,-
A glimpse of those whiskers, as sacred, my girl,
As the lock that, Pa says," is to Mussulmen giv'n,
For the angel to hold by that "lugs them to
heav'n !"

Alas, there went by me full many a quiz,

And mustachios in plenty, but nothing like his! Disappointed, I found myself sighing out "well-aday,"

Thought of the words of TOM MOORE's Irish Melody,

Something about the "green spot of delight," (Which, you know, Captain MACKINTOSH sung to

us one day :)

Ah DOLLY, my "spot" was that Saturday night, And its verdure, how fleeting, had wither'd by Sunday!

We dined at a tavern-La, what do I say?

If BOB was to know!-a Restaurateur's, dear; Where your properest ladies go dine every day,

And drink Burgundy out of large tumblers, like beer.

And Pa saying, "God only knows which is worst, "The French Singers or Cooks, but I wish us well over it

"What with old LAïs and VERY, I'm cursed

"If my head or my stomach will ever recover it !"

'Twas dark, when we got to the Boulevards to stroll,

And in vain did I look 'mong the street Macaronis,

When, sudden it struck me-last hope of my soulThat some angel might take the dear man to

TORTONI'S !95

We enter'd—and, scarcely had Boв, with an air,

For a grappe à la jardinière call'd to the waiters When, oh DOLL! I saw him-my hero was there,

(For I knew his white small-clothes and brown leather gaiters.)

A group of fair statues from Greece smiling o'er him,"

And lots of red currant-juice sparkling before him! Oh, DOLLY, these heroes-what creatures they are; In the boudoir the same as in fields full of

slaughter!

As cool in the Beaujon's precipitous car,

As when safe at TORTONI'S, o'er iced currant water!

He join❜d us-imagine, dear creature, my ecstasyJoin'd by the man I'd have broken ten necks to

see!

BOB wish'd to treat him with Punch à la glace,
But the sweet fellow swore that my beauté, my

grace,

And my je-ne-sais-quoi (then his whiskers he twirl'd)

vorld."

And in spite of my grief, love, I own I ate hearty. Indeed, DOLL, I know not how 'tis, but, in grief, I have always found eating a wondrous relief; And BOB, who's in love, said he felt the same, quite

to me.

But, in short, I felt happy as ever fond heart did; And happier still, when 'twas fix'd, ere we parted, That, if the next day should be pastoral weather, We all would set off, in French buggies, together,

I drank you;

"The lamb made me tranquil, the puffs made me light,

Is so famous for cherries and JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU.

well, thank you!"

To my great annoyance, we sat rather late;
For BOBBY and Pa had a furious debate
About singing and cookery-BOBBY, of course,
Standing up for the latter Fine Art in full force;"

least!

After which-sure there never was hero so civil-he Saw us safe home to our door in Rue Rivoli, Where his last words, as, at parting, he threw

A soft look o'er his shoulders, were "How do you do!"97

But, Lord,—there's Papa for the post-I'm so vex'd

Montmorency must now, love, be kept for my next. That dear Sunday night!—I was charmingly dress'd, And-so providential!—was looking my best; Such a sweet muslin gown, with a flounce-and my frills,

Gather'd around, with hosts from every shore,
Hating NAPOLEON much, but Freedom more,
And, in that coming strife, appall'd to see
The world yet left one chance for liberty !—-
No, 'twas not then the time to weave a net
Of bondage around your Chief; to curb and fret
Your veteran war-horse, pawing for the fight,

1

A Nation's right to speak a Nation's voice,
And own no power but of the Nation's choice!
Such was the grand, the glorious cause that now
Hung trembling on NAPOLEON'S single brow;
Such the sublime arbitrament, that pour'd,
In patriot eyes, a light around his sword,

A hallowing light, which never, since the day
Of his young victories, had illumed its way!

Oh, 'twas not then the time for tame debates,
Ye men of Gaul, when chains were at your gates;
When he, who late had fled your Chieftain's eye,
As geese from eagles on Mount Taurus fly,"
Denounced against the land, that spurn'd his chain,
Myriads of swords to bind it fast again-
Myriads of fierce invading swords, to track
Through your best blood his path of vengeance
back;

When Europe's Kings, that never yet combined
But (like those upper Stars, that, when conjoin'd,
Shed war and pestilence) to scourge mankind,

LETTER XII.

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY

AT last, DOLLY,-thanks to a potent emetic,
Which BOBBY and Pa, with grimace sympathetic,
Have swallow'd this morning to balance the bliss,
Of an eel matelote and a bisque d'écrevisses--
I've a morning at home to myself, and sit down
To describe you our heavenly trip out of town.
How agog you must be for this letter, my dear
Lady JANE, in the novel, less languish'd to hear
If that elegant cornet she met at Lord NEVILLE'S
Was actually dying with love or-blue devils.
But Love, DOLLY, Love is the theme I pursue;
With Blue Devils, thank heav'n, I have nothing to
do-

Except, indeed, dear Colonel CALICOT spies

Any imps of that color in certain blue eyes,

Which he stares at till I, DOLL, at his do the same; Then he simpers-I blush-and would often exclaim,

And how perfectly well he appear'd, DOLL, to know All the life and adventures of JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU!

Well, the morning was lovely-the trees in full dress

For the happy occasion-the sunshine express-
Had we order'd it, dear, of the best poet going,
It scarce could be furnish'd more golden and glow-
ing,

Though late when we started, the scent of the air Was like GATTIE's rose-water,-and, bright, here and there,

On the grass an odd dew-drop was glittering yet Like my aunt's diamond pin on her green tabbinet! While the birds seem'd to warble as bless'd on the boughs,

As if each a plumed Calicot had for her spouse; And the grapes were all blushing and kissing in

rows,

And-in short, need I tell you, wherever one goes
With the creature one loves, 'tis all couleur de rose;
And, ah, I shall ne'er, lived I ever so long, see
A day such as that at divine Montmorency!

There was but one drawback-at first when we started,

The Colonel and I were inhumanly parted;
How cruel-young hearts of such moments to rob;
He went in Pa's buggy, and I went with BOB;
And, I own, I felt spitefully happy to know
That Papa and his comrade agreed but so-so.
For the Colonel, it seems, is a stickler of BONEY'S-
Served with him of course-nay, I'm sure they were

cronies.

So martial his features! dear DOLL, you can trace Ulm, Austerlitz, Lodi, as plain in his face

As
you do on that pillar of glory and brass,10
Which the poor DUC DE BERRI must hate so to
pass!

It appears, too, he made-as most foreigners do-
About English affairs an odd blunder or two,
For example-misled by the names, I dare say—
He confounded JACK CASTLES with Lord CASTLE-

REAGH;

And sure such a blunder no mortal hit ever onFancied the present Lord CAMDEN the clever one!

But politics ne'er were the sweet fellow's trade; 'Twas for war and the ladies my Colonel was made. And, oh, had you heard, as together we walk'd Through that beautiful forest, how sweetly he talk'd;

state

103

· (Who call'd him so sweetly her Bear," every day,)
"That dear flannel petticoat, pull'd off to form
"A waistcoat to keep the enthusiast warm!"105

Such, DOLL, were the sweet recollections we ponder'd,
As, full of romance, through that valley we wander'd.
The flannel (one's train of ideas, how odd it is!)
Led us to talk about other commodities,
Cambric, and silk, and-I ne'er shall forget,
For the sun was then hast'ning in pomp to its set,
And full on the Colonel's dark whiskers shone down,
When he ask'd me, with eagerness,-who made my
gown?

The question confused me-for, DOLL, you must know,