As Earl of M-RL-Y, then, gazette him,
If t other Earl of M-AL-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 Jog 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;
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 Bos),
Would in the suite be glad to go,
And help his Excellency Joɛ;-
At least, like noble AMH-RST's son,
The lad will do to practise on.'

LETTER X.

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY

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, though, hang him, he is n't.
At first I felt hurt, for I wish'd it, I own,

If for no other cause than to vex Miss Malone,—

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, 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,
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
'ein,

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 tishes-
« 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,
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,
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!»

The great heiress, you know, of Shandangan, who's Alas, there went by me full many a quiz,

here,

Showing off with such airs and a real Cashmere,1
While mine's but a paltry old rabbit-skin, dear !)
But says Pa, after deeply considering the thing,

« I am just as well pleased it should not be the King;
As I think for my BIDDY, so gentille and jolie,

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,» 3
(Which you know, Captain Macintosh sung to us one
day):

Whose charms may their price in an honest way fetch, Ah, Dolly! my «spot» was that Saturday night,

That a Brandenburg-(what is a Brandenburg, DOLLY?) —

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 it 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

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.»

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;

The cars, on the return, are dragged up slowly by a chaia. For this scrap of knowledge «Pa was, I suspect, indebted to a note upon Volney's Ruins, a bock 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..

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;

Sull it Lingering haunts the greenest spot

On Memory's waste!

Where your properest ladies go dine every day,
And drink Burgundy out of large tumblers, like beer. | And-so providential -
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.
Indeed, Doll, I know not how 't is, but in grief,
I have always found eating a wondrous relief;
And Bob, who 's in love, said he felt the same quite-
«My sighs,» said he « ceased with the first glass I
drank you;

The lamb made me tranquil, the puffs made me light,
And now that's all o'er-why, I'm-pretty 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;
And Pa saying, «God only knows which is worst,
The French singers or cooks, but I wish us well over

it

What with old Lais and Very, 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 soul-
That some angel might take the dear man to Tor-
toni's!!

We enter'd-and scarcely had Bob, 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 ecstasy-
Join'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)

That dear Sunday night!-I was charmingly dress'd,
-was looking my best;
Such a sweet muslin gown, with a flounce-and my frills,
You've no notion how rich-(though Pa has by the
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, iny sweet Doll-I shall soon write again.

Nota bene—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,

B. F.

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'l'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 illumed its way!

cye,

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 chieftain's
your
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,

Were, to him, «on de top of all ponch in de vorld.»Shed war and pestilence) to scourge mankind,

་་

How pretty!-though oft (as, of course, it must be)
Both his French and his English are Greek, Doll, to me.
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-
But 't was Calicot-something-a colonel, at 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!» 3

But, lord, there's Papa for the post-I'm so vex'd-
Montmorency must now, love, be kept for my next.

A fashionable cafe glacier on the Italian Boulevards.

2. You eat your ice at Lortoni's, says Mr Scott, under a Grecian Group .

Not an unusual mistake with foreigners.

Gather'd around, with hosts from every shore,
Hating N'p'l'n much, but freedom more,
And, in that coming strife, appall'd to see
The world yet left one chance for liberty!-
No, it was not then the time to weave a net
Of bondage round your chief; to curb and fret
Your veteran war-horse, pawing for the fight,
When every hope was in his speed and might-
To waste the hour of action in dispute,
And coolly plan how Freedom's boughs should shoot
When
your invader's axe was at the root!
No, sacred Liberty! that God, who throws
Thy light around, like his own sunshine, knows
How well I love thee, and how deeply hate
All tyrants, upstart and legitimate-
Yet in that hour, were F ́ ́ce my native land,
I would have follow'd, with quick heart and hand,

1 See Flan, lib. 5. cap. 29-who tells us that these geese, fr.wm consciousness of their own loquacity, always cross Mount Taurus wom stones in their bills, to prevent any unlucky cackle from betraying them to the eagles- diaTETONTAL DICETTANTES.

There was but one drawback-at first when we started, mitted 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, Ab, voila de la pervenche!
5. Mon ours, voilà votre asyle--et vous, mon ours ne viendrez-
vous pas aussi!■——etc. etc.

Un jour, qu'il gelait très-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 fât dépouillé pour me vêtir, que, dans mon émotion, je baisai vingt fois, en pleurant, le billet et le jupon..

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,
And I ought to have told my best friend long ago,
That, by Pa's strict command, I no longer employ
That enchanting couturiere, Madame LE ROI,
But am forced, dear, to have VICTORINE, who-deuce
take her!-

It seems is, at present, the King's mantua-maker-
I mean of his party-and, though much the smartest,
LE ROI is condemn'd 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 exclaim'd,
Yes, yes, by the stitching 't is plain to be seen

་་

It was made by that B'rb'n't' b--h, VICTORINE!»
What a word for a hero! 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 't is 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 Box calls the << Twopenny-Post of the Eyes-
Ah DOLL! though I know you 've a heart, 't is in vain
To a heart so unpractised these things to explain.
They can only be felt in their fullness 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 reflexious;
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!»
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!
'Tis too much to endure-I shall die, I shall die-
My brain's in a fever-my pulses beat quick—

I shall die, or, at least, be exceedingly sick!

↑ Miss Biddy's notions of French pronunciation may be perceived in

the rhymes which she always selects for = Le Rei.

↑ Le Ror, who was the Couturière of the Empress María Louisa,

at present, of course, out of fashion, and is succeeded in her station ly the Rovalist mantua-inaker, VICTORINE.

1 Its the brother of the prescat excellent Restaurateur who lies entombed so magnificently in the Cimetière Montmartre.

The inscrip

Oh what do you think? after all my romancing,
My visions of glory, my sighing, my glancing,
This Colonel-I scarce can commit it to paper-
This Colonel's no more than a vile linen-draper!!
'Tis true as I live-1 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 BoB to a shop kindly order'd the coach

(Ah, little I thought 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 priceAnd one's name in the corner embroider'd so nice!) Well, with heart full of pleasure, I euter'd the shop, But-ye Gods, what a phautom!-I thought I should drop

There he stood, my dear DOLLY-no room for a doubi-
There, behind the vile counter, these eyes saw him

stand,

Brandenburgh,

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
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-
My head swam around—the wretch smiled, I believe,
To turn out but a low linen-draper at last!
But his smiling, alas! could no longer deceive-

I fell back on BOB-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
To that saucy, satirical thing, Miss MALONE!
What a story 't will be at Shandangan for ever!
What laughs and what quizzing she'll have with the

men!

It will spread through the country-and never, oh never
Can BIDDY be seen at Kilrandy again!
Farewell-I shall do something desperate, I fear—
And, ah! if my fate ever reaches your ear,
One tear of compassion my DOLL will not grudge
To her poor-broken-hearted-young friend,

BIDDY FUDGE.

Nota Bene.-I'm sure you will hear, with delight,
That we're going, all three, to see BRUNET to-night.
A laugh will revive me-and kind Mr. Cox
Do

you know him?) has got us the Governor's box!

SO FERDINAND embroiders gaily.

tion on the column at the head of the tomb concludes with the follow-I would be an edifying thing to write a history of

ing words Foute sa vie fat consacrée aux arts utiles..

the private amusements of sovereigns, tracing t