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Your Lordship talks and writes so sensi

bly! And — whatsoe'er some wags may say Oh! not at all incomprehensibly.

(Enveloping a few laced caps

For Lady C.), delight me greatly. Her flattering speech -“What pretty

things “ One finds in Mr. FUDGE's pages !” Is praise which (as some poet sings)

Would pay one for the toils of ages. Thus flattered, I presume to send A few more extracts by a friend; And I should hope they 'll be no less Approved of than my last MS. The former ones, I fear, were creased, As Biddy round the caps would pin

them; But these will come to hand, at least Unrumpled, for there 's. - nothing in




I feel the inquiries in your letter
About my health and French most

flattering; Thank ye, my French, tho' somewhat

better, Is, on the whole, but weak and smat

tering: Nothing, of course, that can compare With his who made the Congress stare (A certain Lord we need not name), Who even in French, would have his

trope, And talk of batir un systême

“Sur l'équilibre de l'Europe !” Sweet metaphor ! — and then the Epistle, Which bid the Saxon King go whistle, That tender letter to Mon Prince," Which showed alike thy French and

sense;Oh no, my Lord — there's none can do Or say un-English things like you; And, if the schemes that fill thy breast

Could but a vent congenial seek, And use the tongue that suits them best, What charming Turkish wouldst thou

speak! But as for me, a Frenchless grub,

At Congress never born to stammer, Nor learn like thee, my Lord, to snub Fallen Monarchs, out of CHAMBAUD's

grammar Bless you, you do not, can not know How far a little French will go; For all one's stock, one need but draw

On some half-dozen words like theseComme ça par--bas ah ha!

They'll take you all thro’ France with

Extracts from Mr. Fudge's Journal, addressed to Lord C.

August 10. Went to the Mad-house saw the man, Who thinks, poor wretch, that, while

the Fiend Of Discord here full riot ran,

He, like the rest, was guillotined;But that when, under BONEY's reign, (A more discreet, tho’ quite as strong

one,) The heads were all restored again,

He, in the scramble, got a wrong one. Accordingly, he still cries out This strange head fits him most un

pleasantly; And always runs, poor devil, about,

Inquiring for his own incessantly!


While to his case a tear I dropt,
And sauntered home, thought I – ye

Gods !
How many heads might thus be swopt,

And, after all, not make much odds ! For instance, there's VANSITTART'S

head (“Tam carum "3 it may well be said)

Your Lordship's praises of the scraps

I sent you from my Journal lately,

1 The celebrated letter to Prince Hardenburgh (written, however, I believe, originally in English,) in which his Lordship, professing to see no moral or political objection” to the dismemberment of Saxony, denounced the unfortunate King as not only the most devoted, but the most favored of Bonaparte's vassals."

2 This extraordinary madman is, I believe, in the Bicêtre. He imagines, exactly as Mr. Fudge states it, that when the heads of those who had been guillotined were restored, he by mistake got some other person's instead of his own.

3 tam cari capitis. HORAT.

Oh! can we wonder, best of speechers,

When Louis seated thus we see, That France's “ fundamental features”

Are much the same they used to be? However, — God preserve the Throne, And cushion too - and keep them

free From accidents, which have been known

To happen even to Royalty ! 8

If by some curious chance it came
To settle on BILL SOAMES's 1 shoul-

ders, The effect would turn out much the

same On all respectable cash-holders: Except that while, in its new socket, The head was planning schemes to

win A zig-zag way into one's pocket,

The hands would plunge directly in. Good Viscount SIDMOUTH, too, instead Of his own grave, respected head, Might wear (for aught I see that bars)

Old Lady WILHELMINA FRUMP'S So while the hand signed Circulars, The head might lisp out

" What is trumps ? The REGENT's brains could we transfer To some robust man-milliner, The shop,the shears, the lace, and ribbon Would go, I doubt not, quite as glib on; And, vice verså, take the pains To give the PRINCE the shopman's

brains, One only change from thence would

flow, Ribbons would not be wasted so.

August 28. Read, at a stall (for oft one pops On something at these stalls and shops, That does to quote and gives one's Book A classical and knowing look. Indeed, I've found, in Latin, lately, A course of stalls improves me greatly) – 'T was thus I read that in the East

A monarch's fat 's a serious matter;
And once in every year, at least,
He 's weighed - to see if he gets fat-

ter: 4
Then, if a pound or two he be
Increased, there 's quite a jubilee !5
Suppose, my Lord — and far from me
To treat such things with levity -
But just suppose the Regent's weight
Were made thus an affair of state;
And, every sessions, at the close,

'Stead of a speech, which, all can

see, is

Heavy and dull enough, God knows

We were to try how heavy he is. Much would it glad all hearts to hear

That, while the Nation's Revenue

'T was thus I pondered on, my Lord;

And, even at night, when laid in bed, I found myself, before I snored, Thus chopping, swopping head for

head. At length I thought, fantastic elf! How such a change would suit myself. 'Twixt sleep and waking, one by one,

With various pericraniums saddled, At last I tried your Lordship's on,

And then I grew completely addled Forgot all other heads, od rot 'em ! And slept, and dreamt that I was — BotTOM.

August 21. Walked out with daughter BID — was

shown The House of Commons and the Throne, Whose velvet cushion 's just the same NAPOLEON sat on -- - what a shame!

1 A celebrated pickpocket. 2 The only change, if I recollect right, is the substitution of lilies for bees. This war upon the

bees is, of course, universal; “exitium misêre apibus,'' like the angry nymphs in Vergil :-- but may not new swarms arise out of the victims of Legitimacy yet?

3 I am afraid that Mr. Fudge alludes here to a very awkward accident, which is well known to have happened to poor Louis le Désiré, some years since, at one of the Regent's Fêtes. He was sitting next our gracious Queen at the time.

4 " The third day of the Feast the King causeth himself to be weighed with great care." F:Bernier's " Voyage to Surat,'' etc. 5 “I remember,"

says Bernier, “that all the Omrahs expressed great joy that the King weighed two pounds more now than the year preceding.”

Another author tells us that “Fatness, as well as a very large head, is considered, throughout India, as one of the most precious gifts of heaven. An enormous skull is absolutely revered, and the happy owner is looked up to as a superior being. To a Prince a joulter head is invaluable.” – Oriental Field Sports.



Loses so many pounds a year,
The Prince, God bless him! gains a


Whom certain Whigs — to make

fuss Describe as much resembling us,3

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! 'T is true, the Tyrant lent an ear to All sorts of spies — so doth the Peer,

too. 'T is true, my Lord's elect tell fibs, And deal in perjury – ditto Tib 's. ’T is true, the Tyrant screened and hid His rogues from justice 4 --- ditto Sid. 'T is true the Peer is grave and glib At moral speeches - ditto TIB.5 'T is true the feats the tyrant did Were in his dotage ditto Sid.

With bales of muslin, chintzes, spices,

I see the Easterns weigh their Kings;But, for the REGENT, my advice is, We should throw in much heavier

things: For instance -'s quarto volumes, Which, tho' not spices, serve to wrap

them; Dominie STODDART's Daily columns,

Prodigious!” – in, of course, we ’d

clap them Letters, that CARTWRIGHT's1 pen in

dites, In which, with logical confusion, The Najor like a Minor writes,

And never comes to a Conclusion: Lord SOMERS'S pamphlet — or his

head (Ah! that were worth its weight in

lead!) Along with which we in may whip, sly, The Speeches of Sir John Cox HIPPISLY; That Baronet of many words, Who loves so, in the House of Lords, To whisper Bishops — and so nigh

Unto their wigs in whispering goes, That you may always know him by

A patch of powder on his nose ! If this won't do, we in must cram The “ Reasons” of Lord BUCKINGHAM; (A Book his Lordship means to write,

Entitled “Reasons for my Ratting:") Or, should these prove too small and

light, His rump 's a host - we'll bundle

that in! And, still should all these masses fail To stir the REGENT's pondrous scale, Why, then, my Lord, in heaven's name,

Pitch in, without reserve or stint, The whole of RAGLEY's beauteous IfDame

that won't raise him, devil 's in it!

So far, I own, the parallel
'Twixt TiB and Siv 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,
On matters, too, where few can bear

E.g. a man cut up, or broke

Upon the wheel a devilish fair one!

and Castleses ought to erect a statue) was Romanus Hispo; - qui formam vitæ iniit quam postea celebrem miseriæ temporum et audaciæ hominum fecerunt.ТАСІт. “ Annal." i. 74.

3 They certainly possessed the same art of instigating their victims, which the Report of the Secret Committee attributes to Lord Sidmouth's agents: -- socius (says Tacitus of one of them) libidinum et necessitatum, quo pluribus indiciis inligaret."

4.“ Neque tamen id Sereno noxæ fuit, quem odium publicum tutiorem faciebat. Nam ut quis districtior accusator velut sacrosanctus erat."

Annal.lib. iv. 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.”

5 Murphy even confers upon one of his speeches the epithet “constitutional." Mr Fudge might have added to his parallel, that Tiberius was a good private character:

egregium vitâ famâque quoad privatus.”

6 “ Ludibria seriis permiscere solitus."

August 31.

About those famous spies at Rome,?
1 Major Cartwright.

2 The name of the first worthy who set up the rade of informer at Rome (to whom our Olivers

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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

In this respect, my Lord, you see
The Roman wag and ours agree:
Now as to your resemblance

This parallel we need not follow;
Tho''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 !

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 'T is monstrous hard to take him in.



September 6. Heard of the fate of our Ambassador

In China, and was sorely nettled; 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, Tho' for their own most gracious King, (They would kiss hands, or - -arly thing), Can be persuaded to go thro' 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 "3 's meritorious,
Let Joe but grin, he has it, glorious !

- if not,

September 2. Was thinking, had Lord SiDMOUTH got Any good decent sort of Plot Against the winter-time 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 riot, Ne'er can hope for peace or quiet! What's to be done? - Spa-Fields was

clever; But even that brought gibes and mock

ings 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: Nor must the General be a hobbling Professor of the art of cobbling; Lest men, who perpetrate such puns,

Should say, with Jacobinic grin, He felt, from soleing Wellingtons, 2

A IVellington's great soul within ! Nor must an old Apothecary

Go take the Tower, for lack of pence,

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3 The open countenance, recommended by Lord Chesterfield.

4 Mr. Fudge is a little mistaken here. It was not Grimaldi, but some very inferior performer, who played this part of “Lord Morley " in the pantomime, -- so much to the horror of the distinguished Earl of that name. The expostulatory letters of the Noble Earl to Mr. Harris, upon this vulgar profanation of his spick-and-span new title, will, I trust, some time or other, be given to the world.

1 There is one point of resemblance between Tiberius and Lord C. which Mr. Fudge might have mentioned ---suspensa semper et obscura verba."

2 Short boots, so called.

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Well, it is n'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, tho', hang

him, he is n't. At first, I felt hurt, for I wisht it, I own, If for no other cause but to vex Miss

MALONE, (The great heiress, you know, of Shan

dangan, who's here, Showing off with such airs, and a real

Cashmere, 2 While mine 's but a paltry, old rabbit

skin, dear!)

As that Countess of DESMOND, of whom

I've been told That she lived to much more than a hun

dred and ten, And was killed by a fall from a cherry

tree then! What a frisky old girl! but — to com to

my lover, Who, tho' not a King, is a hero I'll

swear, You shall hear all that's happened, just

briefly run over, Since that happy night, when we

whiskt thro' the air !

Let me see -'t was on Saturday

yes, DOLLY, yes From 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,

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