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'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.2 '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 the India Board-that soul of whim! Like him, TIBERIUS loved his joke,'

E.

On matters too where few can bear one; 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 sufferer gasp for life,

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

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 ;4
Though 't is, 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!

Sept. 2.

Was thinking, had Lord S-DM-TH got

Up any decent kind of plot

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Against the winter-time-if not,

Alas, alas, our ruin's fated;

All done up, and spiflicated!
Ministers and all their vassals,

Down from C-TL-GH to CASTLES,-
Unless we can kick up a riot,
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 curst head,
Take it to say our force was worsted.
Mem. too-when SID. an army raises,
It must not be "incog." like Bayes's;

1 "Neque tamen id Sereno noxæ fuit, quem odium publicum tutiorem faciebat. Nam ut quis districtior accusator velut sacrosanctus erat."-Annal. lib. 4, 36.—Or, as it is translated by Mr. Fudge's friend, Murphy:-"This daring accuser had the curses of the people, and the protection of the Emperor. Informers, in proportion as they rose in guilt, became sacred characters."

Nor must the General be a hobbling
Professor of the art of Cobbling;
Lest men, who perpetrate such puns,
Should say, with Jacobitic grin
He felt, from soleing Wellington's,"
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 phial-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.

Heard of the fate of our ambassador

In China, and was sorely nettled;

Sept. 6.

But think, my Lord, we should not pass it o'er
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"2 '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

Lord MORLEY in some pantomime ;-3
As Earl of M-RL-Y, then, gazette him,
If t'other Earl of M-RL-Y 'll let him.
(And why should not the world be blest
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 even Mandarins;

1 Short boots, so called.

2 The open countenance, recommended by Lord Ches2 Murphy even confers upon one of his speeches the epi- terfield. thet "constitutional." Mr. Fudge might have added to his 3 Mr. Fudge is a little mistaken here. It was not Griparallel, that Tiberius was a good private character:-maldi, but some very inferior performer, who played this egregium vita famique quoad privatus." part of "Lord Morley" in the pantomime, so much to the horror of the distinguished Earl of that name. The expos

3 "Ludibria seriis permiscere solitus."

4 There is one point of resemblance between Tiberius and tulatory letters of the Noble Earl to Mr. H-rr-is, upon this Lord C. which Mr. Fudge might have mentioned-"suspensa semper et obscura verba."

vulgar profanation of his spic-and-span-new title, will, I trust, some time or other, be given to the world.

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 AMH-RST's son,
The lad will do to practise on.'

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

If for no other cause than to vex Miss MALONE,

"Beginning gay, desperate, dashing down-hilly;
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,
Set out with Papa, to see L**** D******

Make his bow to some half-dozen women and boys,
Who get up a small concert of shrill Vive le ****____
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 decorum, And Daphnes, and vases, and many a statue

There staring, with not even 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!"

But what, Dolly, what is the gay orange-grove, her 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

(The great heiress, you know, of Shandangan, who 's At the whiskers, mustachios, and wigs that went past,

here,

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Would be, after all, no such very great catch. If the R-G-T, indeed-" added he, looking sly— (You remember that comical squint of his eye) But I stopp'd him-" La, Pa, how can you say so, When the R-G-T loves none but old women you know!"

Which is fact, my dear Dolly-we, girls of eighteen,
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 't was on Saturday-yes, Dolly, yesFrom that evening I date the first dawn of my bliss; When we both rattled off in that dear little carriage, Whose journey, Bob says, is so like love and marriage,

1 See Mr. Ellis's account of the Embassy.

2 See Lady Morgan's "France" for the anecdote, told her by Madame de Genlis, of the young gentleman whose love was cured by finding that his mistress wore a shawl "peau de lapin.”

To obtain, if I could, but a glance at that curl,
But a glimpse of those whiskers, as sacred, my girl,
As the lock that, Pa says,2 is to Mussulmen given,
For the angel to hold by that "lugs them to heaven!"
Alas, there went by me full many a quiz,

And mustachios in plenty, but nothing like his !
Disappointed, I found myself sighing out "well-a-day,
Thought of the words of T-M M-RE's Irish melody,
Something about the "green spot of delight,"

(Which you know, Captain Macintosh sung to us

one day :)

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

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.

Fine Bob (for he 's really grown super-fine)

Condescended, for once, to make one of the party; Of course, though but three, we had dinner for nine, And, in spite of my grief, love, I own I ate hearty.

1 The cars, on the return, are dragged up slowly by a

chain.

2 For this scrap of knowledge "Pa" was, I suspect, indebted to a note upon Volney's Ruins: a book which usually forms part of a Jacobin's library, and with which Mr. Fudge must have been well acquainted at the time when he wrote his "Down with Kings," etc. The note in Volney is as follows:-" It is by this tuft of hair (on the crown of the head,) worn by the majority of Mussulmans, that the Angel of the Tomb is to take the elect and carry them to

Paradise."

3 The young lady, whose memory is not very correct, must allude, I think, to the following lines:

Oh! that fairy form is ne'er forgot,
Which First Love traced;

Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot

On Memory's waste!

Indeed, Doll, I know not how 't is, but in grief, |Such a sweet muslin gown, with a flounce-and my I have always found eating a wondrous relief;

frills,

And Bob, who's in love, said he felt the same quite-You've no notion how rich-(though Pa has by the "My sighs," said he "ceased with the first glass I

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What with old Lais and Véry, I'm curst

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

We enter'd-and scarcely had Bob, with an air,
For a grappe a la jardiniere 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,2
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 ecstasy-
Join'd by the man I'd have broken ten necks to see!
Bob wish'd to treat him with punch a la glace,
But the sweet fellow swore that my beaute, my grace,
And my je-ne-sais-quoi (then his whiskers he twirl'd)
Were, to him, "on de top of all ponch in de vorld.”-
How pretty!--though oft (as, of course, it must be)
Both his French and his English are Greek, Doll, to

me.

bills)

And you'd smile had you seen, when we sat rather

near,

Colonel Calicot eyeing the cambric, my dear.
Then the flowers in my bonnet-but, la, it's in vain-
So, good bye, my sweet Doll-I shall soon write again,
B. F.

Nota bena-our love to all neighbours about—
Your papa in particular-how is his gout?

P. S.--I've just open'd my letter to say,
In your next you must tell me (now do, Dolly, pray,
For I hate to ask Bob, he 's so ready to quiz)
What sort of a thing, dear, a Brandenburgh is.

LETTER XI.

FROM PHELIM CONNOR TO

YES-'t was a cause, as noble and as great
As ever hero died to vindicate-

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 N*p*1**n's single brow;
Such the sublime arbitrement, that pour'd,
In patriot eyes, a light around his sword,
A glory then, which never, since the day
Of his young victories, had illum'd its way!
Oh 't was not then the time for tame debates,
Ye men of Gaul, when chains were at your gates;
When he who fled before 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,
Gather'd around, with hosts from every shore,
Hating N*p*1**n much, but freedom more,
And, in that coming strife, appall'd to see
The world yet left one chance for liberty!—
No, 't was not then the time to weave a net

But, in short, I felt happy as ever fond heart did;
And, happier still, when 't was fix'd, ere we parted,
That, if the next day should be pastoral weather,
We all would set off in French buggies, together,
To see Montmorency—that place which, you know,
Is so famous for cherries and Jean Jacques Rousseau.
His card then he gave us the name, rather creased-Of bondage round your chief; to curb and fret
But 't was Calicot-something-a colonel, at least!
Your veteran war-horse, pawing for the fight,
After which-sure there never was hero so civil-he When every hope was in his speed and might-
Saw us safe home to our door in Rue Rivoli,
To waste the hour of action in dispute,
Where his last words, as, at parting, he threw
And coolly plan how Freedom's boughs should shoot
A soft look o'er his shoulders, were "how do you When your invader's axe was at the root!
do !"'3

No, sacred Liberty! that God, who throws
Thy light around, like his own sunshine, knows

All tyrants, upstart and legitimate-
Yet in that hour, were F***ce my native land,

But, Lord, there's Papa for the post-I'm so vex'd-How well I love thee, and how deeply hate
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;

1 A fashionable café glacier on the Italian Boulevards.

I would have follow'd, with quick heart and hand,

1 See Ælian, lib. 5. cap. 29-who tells us that these geese, from a consciousness of their own loquacity, always cross

2 "You eat your ice at Tortoni's," says Mr. Scott, "un-Mount Taurus with stones in their bills, to prevent any under a Grecian group."

3 Not an unusual mistake with foreigners.

lucky cackle from betraying them to the eagles-SINTETOUTHI

σιωπώντες.

N*P*L**ON, NERO-ay, no matter whom-
To snatch my country from that damning doom,
That deadliest curse that on the conquered waits—
A conqueror's satrap, throned within her gates!
True, he was false-despotic-all you please-
Had trampled down man's holiest liberties-
Had, by a genius form'd for nobler things
Than lie within the grasp of vulgar kings,
But raised the hopes of men-as eaglets fly
With tortoises aloft into the sky-

To dash them down again more shatteringly
All this I own-but still1

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*

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 swallowed this morning, to balance the bliss
Of an eel matelote and a bisque d'ecrevisses—
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 heaven, I've nothing to
Except, indeed, dear Colonel CALICOT spies
Any imps of that colour 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,
If I knew but the French for it, "Lord, Sir, for
shame!"

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 brass1
Which the poor Duc de B**RI 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 C-GH;
And-such a mistake as no mortal hit ever on-
Fancied the present Lord C-MD-N the clever one!
But politics ne'er were the sweet fellow's trade;
'T was 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;
And how perfectly well he appear'd, DOLL, to know
All the life and adventures of JEAN JACQUES ROUS-
SEAU!-

""Twas there," said he-not that his words I can
state-

'Twas a gibberish that Cupid alone could translate;But "there," said he (pointing where, small and remote,

The dear Hermitage rose,) "there his JULIE he wrote,

Upon paper gilt-edged, without blot or erasure; Then sanded it over with silver and azure, do-And-oh, what will genius and fancy not do ?-

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

Tied the leaves up together with nomparielle blue !"'2
What a trait of Rousseau! what a crowd of emotions
From sand and blue ribbons are conjured up here!
Alas, that a man of such exquisite3 notions

Should send his poor brats to the Foundling, my

dear!

""Twas here, too, perhaps," Colonel CALICOT said—
As down the small garden he pensively led-
(Though once I could see his sublime forehead wrinkle
With rage not to find there the loved periwinkle)*
""T was here he received from the fair D'EPINAY,
(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!"
Such, DOLL, were the sweet recollections we ponder'd,
As, full of romance, through that valley we wander'd,

5

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

1 Somebody (Fontenelle, I believe,) has said, that if he had his hand full of truths, he would open but one finger at a time; and I find it necessary to use the same sort of reserve with respect to Mr. Phelim Connor's very plainspoken letters. The remainder of this Epistle is so full of unsafe matter-of-fact, that it must, for the present at least, be withheld from the public.

1 The column in the Place Vendôme.

2" Employant pour cela la plus beau papier doré, séchant l'écriture avec de la poudre d'azur et d'argent, et cousant mes cahiers avec de la nompareille bleue."-Les Confessions, Part 2. liv. 9.

3 This word, "exquisite," is evidently a favourite of Miss Fudge's and I understand she was not a little angry when her brother Bob committed a pun on the last two syllables of it in the following couplet:

"I'd fain praise your poem-but tell me, how is it, When I cry out "Exquisite," Echo cries "quiz it!"

4 The flower which Rousseau brought into such fashion among the Parisians, by exclaiming one day, "Ah, voila de la pervenche!"

5" Mon ours, voilà votre asyle-et vous, mon ours ne viendrezvous pas aussi ?"-etc. etc.

6 "Un jour, qu'il gelait trés-fort, en ouvrant un paquet qu'elle m'envoyait, je trouvai un petit jupon de flanelle d'Angleterre, qu'elle me marquait avoir porté, et dont elle voulait que je me fisse faire un gilet. Ce soin, plus qu'amical, me parut si tendre, comme si elle se fût dépouillé pour me vêtir, que, dans mon émotion, je baisai vingt fois, er. pleurant, le billet et le jupon."

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 hastening 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,

He insists upon my going with him--how teazing!
This letter, however, dear DOLLY, shall lie
Unseal'd in my drawer, that, if any thing pleasing
Occurs while I'm out, I may tell you-Good bye.
B. F.

Four o'clock.

Oh DOLLY, dear DOLLY, I'm ruin'd for ever-
I ne'er shall be happy again, DOLLY, never!
To think of the wretch-what a victim was I!

And I ought to have told my best friend long ago,
That, by Pa's strict command, I no longer employ1'Tis too much to endure—I shall die, I shall die—
That enchanting couturiere, Madame LE ROI,

My brain 's in a fever-my pulses beat quick

But am forc'd, dear, to have VICTORINE, who-deuce I shall die, or, at least, be exceedingly sick!

take her!

It seems is, at present, the King's mantua-maker

Oh what do you think? after all my romancing,
My visions of glory, my sighing, my glancing,

I mean of his party-and, though much the smartest,This Colonel-I scarce can commit it to paper

LE ROI is condemned as a rank B*n*pa*t*st.2
'Think, DOLL, how confounded I look'd-so well
knowing

The Colonel's opinions-my cheeks were quite
glowing;

I stammer'd out something-nay, even half named
The legitimate sempstress, when, loud, he exclaimed,
"Yes, yes, by the stitching 'tis plain to be seen
It was made by that B**rb*n**t b- -h, VICTORINE!"
What a word for a here. but heroes will err,
And I thought, dear, I'd tell you things just as they

were.

Besides, though the word on good manners intrench,
I assure you 'tis not half so shocking in French.
But this cloud, though embarrassing, soon pass'd

away,

And the bliss altogether, the dreams of that day,
The thoughts that arise when such dear fellows woo

us,

The nothings that then, love, are every thing to us—
That quick correspondence of glances and sighs,
And what Boв calls the "Twopenny-Post of the
Eyes" -

Ah DOLL, though I know you 've a heart, 'tis in vain
To a heart so unpractised these things to explain.
They can only be felt in their fulness divine
By her who has wander'd, at evening's decline,
Through a valley like that, with a Colonel like mine!
But here I must finish-for BOB, my dear DOLLY,
Whom physic, I find, always makes melancholy,
Is seized with a fancy for church-yard reflexions;
And full of all yesterday's rich recollections,
Is just setting off for Montmartre-" for there is,"
Said he, looking solemn, "the tomb of the VERYS !3
Long, long have I wish'd, as a votary true,

O'er the grave of such talents to utter my moans;
And to-day-as my stomach is not in good cue
For the flesh of the VERYS-I'll visit their bones!"

1 Miss Biddy's notions of French pronunciation may be perceived in the rhymes which she always selects for "Le

This Colonel's no more than a vile linen-draper!!
'Tis true as I live--I had coax'd brother BOB SO
(You'll hardly make out what I'm writing, I sob so,)
For some little gift on my birth-day-September
The thirtieth, dear, I'm eighteen, you remember-
That Boв to a shop kindly order'd the coach

(Ah, little thought I who the shopman would
prove,)

To bespeak me a few of those mouchoirs de poche,
Which, in happier hours, I have sigh'd for, my

love

(The most beautiful things-two Napoleons the
price-

And one's name in the corner embroider'd so nice!)
Well, with heart full of pleasure, I enter'd the shop,
But-ye gods, what a phantom!-I thought I should
drop-

There he stood, my dear DoLLY-no room for a
doubt-

There, behind the vile counter, these eyes saw him

stand,

With a piece of French cambric before him roll'd

out,

And that horrid yard-measure upraised in his hand! Oh-Papa, all along knew the secret, 'tis clear'Twas a shopman he meant by a "Brandenburgh,' dear!

The man, whom I fondly had fancied a King,

And, when that too delightful illusion was past,
As a hero had worshipp'd-vile treacherous thing→
To turn out but a low linen-draper at last!
My head swam around-the wretch smil'd, I be-
lieve,

But his smiling, alas! could no longer deceive-
I fell back on ВоB-my whole heart seem'd to
wither-

And, pale as a ghost, I was carried back hither!
I only remember that BOB, as I caught him,

With cruel facetiousness said-"Curse the Kiddy! A staunch Revolutionist always I've thought him, But now I find out he's a Counter one, BIDDY!" Only think, my dear creature, if this should be known 2 Le Roi, who was the Couturière of the Empress Maria To that saucy, satirical thing, Miss MALONE! Louisa, is at present, of course, out of fashion, and is suc- What a story 't will be at Shandangan for ever! ceeded in her station by the Royalist mantua-maker, Victo- What laughs and what quizzing she'll have with the

Roi."

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