wings,

Not a single new grace to that form could they teach,
Which combines in itself the perfection of each;
While, rapid or slow, as her fairy feet fall,
The mute music of symmetry modulates all.

Ne'er, in short, was there creature more form'd to bewilder

A gay youth like me, who of castles aërial (And only of such) am, God help me! a builder; Still peopling each mansion with lodgers ethereal, And now, to this nymph of the seraph-like eye, Letting out, as you see, my first floor next the sky.'

But, alas! nothing's perfect on earth—even she, This divine little gipsy, does odd things sometimes;

Talks learning-looks wise, (rather painful to see,)
Prints already in two County papers her rhymes;
And raves-the sweet, charming, absurd little dear!
About Amulets, Bijous, and Keepsakes, next year,
In a manner which plainly bad symptoms portends
Of that Annual blue fit, so distressing to friends;
A fit which, though lasting but one short edition,
Leaves the patient long after in sad inanition.

However, let's hope for the best-and, meanwhile, Be it mine still to bask in the niece's warm smile; While you, if you're wise, Dick, will play the gallant (Uphill work, I confess) to her Saint of an Aunt. Think, my boy, for a youngster like you, who've a lack,

Not indeed of rupees, but of all other specie, What 'uck thus to find a kind witch at your back, An od goose with gold eggs, from all debts to release ye;

Never mind, tho' the spinster be reverend and thin,

The Church tumblers irom Exeter Hall for tert

week;

And certainly ne'er did a queerer or rammer set Throw, for th' amusement of Christians, a summer

set.

"Tis fear'd their chief "Merriman," C-ke, cannot come,

Being called off, at present, to play Punch at home;*
And the loss of so practised a wag in divinity
Will grieve much all lovers of jokes on the Trin-
ity;-

His pun on the name Unigenitus, lately
Having pleased Robert Taylor, the Reverett, !
greatly."

"Twill prove a sad drawback, if absent he be,
As a wag Presbyterian's a thing quite to see ;
And, 'mong the Five Points of the Calvinists, none
of 'em

Ever yet reckon'd a point of wit one of 'em
But even though deprived of this comical elf,
We've a host of buffoni in Murtagh himself,
Who of all the whole troop is chief mummer and
mime,

As C-ke takes the Ground Tumbling, he the Sublime;

And of him we're quite certain, so, pray, come time.

LETTER II.

FROM MISS BIDdy fudge to MRS. ELIZABETH

rents,

busy,

him! he

Sings to an old lady's purse "Open, Sesamé."

1 That floor which a facetious garreteer called "le premier en descendant du ciel."

2 See the Dublin Evening Post, of the 9th of this month, (July,) for an account of a scene which lately took place at a meeting of the Synod of Ulster, in which the performance of the above-mentioned part by the personage in question appears to have been worthy of all its former reputation in

that line.

"Twixt heaven and earth, I scarce know what I do.

"All are punsters if they have wit to be so; and there fore when an Irishman has to commence with a Bull, you will naturally pronounce it a bull. (A laugh.) Allow me bring before you the famous Bull that is called Unigeni referring to the only-begotten Son of God."-Report of the Rev. Doctor's speech, June 20, in the Record Newspaper. 4 In the language of the play-bills, "Ground and Lefty Tumbling."

had down.

Sleeves still worn (which I think is wise) à la folle, Charming hats, pou de soie-though the shape rather droll.

say,

Gimp herself grows more godly and good every day;
Hath had sweet experience-yea, even doth begin
To turn from the Gentiles, and put away sin-
And all since her last stock of goods was laid in.
What a blessing one's milliner, careless of pelf,
Should thus "walk in newness" as well as one's self!

So much for the blessings, the comforts of Spirit

In short, dear, this preaching and psalm-singing pair, Chosen "vessels of mercy," as I thought they were,

To whip off as much goods as both vessels could hold

Not forgetting some scores of sweet tracts from my shelves,

Two Family Bibles as large as themselves,

And besides, from the drawer-I neglecting to kak it

My neat "Morning Manna, done up for the pocket."

Poor, sinful, weak creature in every respect;

Liz?

It has made me quite ill-and the worst of it is,

Elect.

But now for the picture's reverse.- -You remember
That footman and cook-maid I hired last December;
He, a Baptist Particular-she, of some sect
Not particular, I fancy, in any respect;
But desirous, poor thing, to be fed with the Word,
And "to wait," as she said, "on Miss Fudge and
the Lord."

Well, my dear, of all men, that Particular Baptist At preaching a sermon, off hand, was the aptest; And, long as he stay'd, do him justice, more rich in Sweet savors of doctrine, there never was kitchen. He preach'd in the parlor, he preach'd in the hall, He preach'd to the chambermaids, scullions, and all.

All heard with delight his reprovings of sin, But above all, the cook-maid ;-oh, ne'er would she tire

Though, in learning to save sinful souls from the fire, She would oft let the soles she was frying fall in.

1 "Morning Manna, or British Verse-book, neatly done up for the pocket," and chiefly intended to assist the members of the British Verse Association, whose design is, we are told," to induce the inhabitants of Great Britain and Ireland to commit one and the same verse of Scripture to memory every morning. Already, it is known, several thousand persons in Scotland, besides tens of thousands in America and Africa, are every morning learning the same verse."

The Evangelical Magazine.-A few specimens taken at random from the wrapper of this highly esteemed periodical will fully justify the character which Miss Fudge has here

Which rogues are the reprobate, which the elect. This man" had a call," he said-impudent mockery! What call had he to my linen and crockery ?

I'm now, and have been for this week past, in chase Of some godly young couple this pair to replace. The enclosed two announcements have just met my eyes,

In that venerable Monthly where Saints advertise For such temporal comforts as this world supplies;2 And the fruits of the Spirit are properly made An essential in every craft, calling, and trade. Where th' attorney requires for his 'prentice some "outh [truth;" Whe has learn'd to fear God, and to walk in the Where the sempstress, in search of employment, declares,

That pay is no object, so she can have prayers; And th' Establish'd Wine Company proudly gives

out,

That the whole of the firm, Co. and all, are devout.

given of it. "Wanted, in a pious pawnbroker's family, an active lad as an apprentice." "Wanted, as housemaid, a young female who has been brought to a saving know edge of the truth." "Wanted immediately, a man of decided piety, to assist in the baking business." "A gentleman who understands the Wine Trade is desirons of entering into partnership, &c., &c. He is not desirous of being connected with any one whose system of business is not of the strict est integrity as in the sight of God, and seeks connection only with a truly pious man, either Churchman or Dissenter."

Have mislaid the two paragraphs-can't stop to look,

But both describe charming-both Footman and Cook,

She, "decidedly pious"-with pathos deplores

Th' increase of French cookery and sin on our shores;

And adds-(while for further accounts she refers
To a great Gospel preacher, a cousin of hers,)
That "though some make their Sabbaths mere
matter-of-fun days,

She asks but for tea and the Gospel, on Sundays."
The footman, too, full of the true saving knowl-

1 According to the late Mr. Irving, there is even a peculiar form of theology got up expressly for the money-market. "I know how far wide," he says, "of the mark my views of Christ's work in the flesh will be viewed by those who are working with the stock-jobbing theology of the religious | world." "Let these preachers," he adds, ("for I will not call them theologians,) cry up, broker-like, their article." Morning Watch.-No. iii., 442, 443. From the statement of another writer, in the same publieation, it would appear that the stock-brokers have even set

EXTRACTS FROM MY DIARY.

Monday.

TRIED a new Châlé gown on-pretty.
No one to see me in it-pity!
Flew in a passion with Friz, my maid;-
The Lord forgive me!—she look'd dismay'd:
But got her to sing the 100th Psalm,
While she curl'd my hair, which made me calm
Nothing so sooths a Christian heart
As sacred music-heavenly art!

Tuesday

At two, a visit from Mr. Magan-
A remarkably handsome, nice young man;
And, all Hibernian though he be,
As civilized, strange to say, as we!

I own this young man's spiritual state
Hath much engross'd my thoughts of late;
And I mean, as soon as my niece is gone
To have some talk with him thereupon.
At present, I naught can do or say,
But that troublesome child is in the way
Nor is there, I think, a doubt that he
Would also her absence much prefer,
As oft, while list'ning intent to me,

He's forced, from politeness, to look at her

Heigho! what a blessing should Mr. Magan
Turn out, after all, a "renew'd" young man;
And to me should fall the task, on earth,
To assist at the dear youth's second birth.
Blest thought! and, ah, more blest the tie,
Were it heaven's high will, that he and I—
But I blush to write the nuptial word-
Should wed, as St. Paul says, "in the Lord;"
Not this world's wedlock-gross, gallant,
But pure-as when Amram married his aunt.

Our ages differ-but who would count
One's natural sinful life's amount,
Or look in the Register's vulgar page
For a regular twice-born Christian's age,
Who, blessed privilege! only then
Begin's to live when he's born again.

up a new Divinity of their own. "This shows," says the writer in question, "that the doctrine of the union between Christ and his members is quite as essential as that of sa→ stitution, by taking which latter alone the Stock-Exchange Divinity has been produced."—No. x., p. 375.

Among the ancients, we know the money-market was pr vided with more than one presiding Deity-"De Fecuti (says an ancient author) commendabantur ut pecuni essent."

And, counting in this way-let me see-
I myself but five years old shall be,

And dear Magan, when th' event takes place,
An actual new-born child of grace-
Should Heaven in mercy so dispose-
A six-foot baby, in swaddling clothes.

Wednesday.

Finding myself, by some good fate,
With Mr. Magan left tête-à-tête,
Had just begun-having stirr'd the fire,
And drawn my chair near his-to inquire
What his notions were of Original Sin,
When that naughty Fanny again bounced in;
And all the sweet things I had got to say
Of the Flesh and the Devil were whisk'd away!

Much grieved to observe that Mr. Magan
Is actually pleased and amused with Fan!
What charms any sensible man can see
In a child so foolishly young as she-
But just eighteen, come next May-day,
With eyes, like herself, full of naught but play—
Is, I own, an exceeding puzzle to me

LETTER III

FROM MISS FANNY FUDGE, TO HER COUSIN, MISS KITTY

STANZAS (ENCLOSED

TO MY SHADOW; OR, WHY?-WHAT?-HOW?

DARK Comrade of my path! while earth and sky Thus wed their charms, in bridal light array'd, Why in this bright hour, walk'st thou ever nigh, Black'ning my footsteps with thy length of

shade

Dark comrade, WHY?

Thou mimic Shape that, 'mid these flowery scenes,
Glidest beside me o'er each sunny spot,
Sadd'ning them as thou goest-say, what means
So dark an adjunct to so bright a lot-
Grim goblin, WHAT?

Still, as to pluck sweet flowers I bend my brow,
Thou bendest, too-then risest when I rise ;-
Say, mute mysterious Thing! how is't that thou
Thus comest between me and those bless'd
skies-
Dim shadow, How?

(ADDITIONAL STANZA, BY ANOTHER HAND)

Thus said I to that Shape, far less in grudge
Than gloom of soul; while, as I eager cried,
Oh, Why? What? How?-a Voice, that one
might judge

To be some Irish echo's, faint replied,

Oh fudge, fudge, fudge!

You have here, dearest Coz, my last lyric effusion; And, with it, that odious "additional stanza," Which Aunt will insist I must keep, as conclusion, And which, you'll at once see, is Mr. Ma

gan's ;-a

Most cruel and dark-design'd extravaganza, And part of that plot in which he and my Aunt are To stifle the flights of my genius by banter.

Just so 'twas with Byron's young eagle-eyed strain,
Just so did they taunt him ;-but vain, critics, vain,
All your efforts to saddle Wit's fire with a chain!
To blot out the splendor of Fancy's young stream,
Or crop, in its cradle, her newly-fledged beam!!!
Thou perceiv'st, dear, that, even while these lines
I indite,

Thoughts burn, brilliant fancies break out, wrong or right,

And I'm all over poet, in Criticism's spite!

That my Aunt, who deals only in Psalms, and regards

Messrs. Sternhold and Co. as the first of all bardsThat she should make light of my works I can't

blame;

But that nice, handsome, odious Magan-what a shame!

Do you know, dear, that, high as on most points I rate him,

I'm really afraid-after all, I—must hate him.
He is so provoking-naught's safe from his tongue;
He spares no one authoress, ancient or young.
Were you Sappho herself, and in Keepsake or Bijou
Once shone as contributor, Lord how he'd quiz you!
He laughs at all Monthlies-I've actually seen
A sneer on his brow at the Court Magazine!-
While of Weeklies, poor things, there's but one he
peruses,

And buys every book which that Weekly abuses.
But I care not how others such sarcasm may fear,
One spirit, at least, will not bend to his sneer;
And though tried by the fire, my young genius
shall burn as

Uninjured as crucified gold in the furnace!
(I suspect the word "crucified" must be made
"crucible,"

Before this fine image of mine is producible.)