And now, dear—to tell you a secret which, pray
Only trust to such friends as with safety you may-
You know, and indeed the whole county suspects,
(Though the Editor often my best things rejects,)
That the verses signed so, F, which you now
and then see

In our County Gazette (vide last) are by me.
But 'tis dreadful to think what provoking mistakes
The vile country Press in one's prosody makes.
For you know, dear-I may, without vanity, hint-
Though an angel should write, still 'tis devils must
print;

And you can't think what havoc these demons

sometimes

Choose to make of one's sense, and what's worse, of one's rhymes.

Talk'd of Intellect's march-whether right 'twas
or wrong-

And then settled the point in a bold en avant.
In the course of this talk 'twas that, having just
hinted

That I too had Poems which-long'd to be printed,
He protested, kind man! he had seen, at first sight,
I was actually born in the Keepsake to write.
"In the Annals of England let some," he said,
"shine,

"But a place in her Annuals, Lady, be thie.
"Even now future Keepsakes seem brightly to
Through the vista of years, as I gaze on those

66

eyes,

"All letter'd and press'd, and of large-paper size." How unlike that Magan, who my genius would

smother.

But a week or two since, in my Ode upon Spring, Which I meant to have made a most beautiful And how we, true geniuses, find out each other! thing,

Where I talk'd of the "dewdrops from freshly-blown This, and much more he said, with that fine phre roses," sied glance The nasty things made it "from freshly-blown One so rarely now sees, as we slid through the dance;

noses!"

And once when, to please my cross Aunt, I had Till between us 'twas finally fix'd that, next year. tried In this exquisite task I my pen should engage To commemorate some saint of her clique, who'd And, at parting, he stoop'd down and lisp'd in my just died, Having said he "had tak'n up in heaven his po- These mystical words, which I could but just bea "Terms for rhyme-if it's prime-ten sixpence per page."

sition,"

They made it, he'd "taken up to heaven his physician!"

This is very disheartening;—but brighter days shine,

I rejoice, love, to say, both for me and the Nine; For, what do you think?-so delightful! next year,

Oh, prepare, dearest girl, for the grand news

prepare

ear

Think, Kitty, my dear, if I heard his words right,
What a mint of half-guineas this small heat

contains;

If for nothing to write is itself a delight,
Ye Gods, what a bliss to be paid for one's stra

Having dropp'd the dear fellow a court'sy

found,

Off at once, to inquire all about him, I ran; I'm to write the Keepsake-yes, Kitty, my And from what I could learn, do you know, d

dear,

To write in the Keepsake, as sure as you're
there!!

T'other night, at a Ball, 'twas my fortunate chance
With a very nice elderly Dandy to dance,
Who, 'twas plain, from some hints which I now
and then caught,

I've found

That he's quite a new species of literary man One, whose task is-to what will not fashies ** custom us?

To edite live authors, as if they were posthumes
For instance the plan, to be sure, is the oddes
If any young he or she author feels modest

Was the author of something-one couldn't tell In venturing abroad, this kind gentleman-usher

"Tis certain the fashion's but newly invented;

Puff him, ye Journals of the Lord,'

And, quick as the change of all things and all Twin prosers, Watchman and Record!

names is,

Who knows but, as authors, like girls, are presented,
We, girls, may be edited soon at St. James's?

Journals reserved for realms of bliss,
Being much too good to sell in this.
Prepare, ye wealthier Saints, your dinners,
Ye Spinsters, spread your tea and crumpets;

1 must now close my letter-there's Aunt, in full And you, ye countless Tracts for Sinners,
screech,
Blow all your little penny trumpets.
Wants to take me to hear some great Irvingite He comes, the reverend man, to tell
To all who still the Church's part take,

preach.
God forgive me, I'm not much inclined, I must say, Tales of parsonic wo, that well

To go and sit still to be preach'd at, to-day.
And, besides 'twill be all against daneing, no doubt,
Which my poor Aunt abhors, with such hatred
devout,

That, so far from presenting young nymphs with a
head,

For their skill in the dance, as of Herod is said,
She'd wish their own heads in the platter, instead.
There, again-coming, Ma'am!—I'll write more,

if I can,

Before the post goes,

Your affectionate Fan.

Four o'clock.

Might make ev'n grim Dissenter's heart ache:-
Of ten whole Bishops snatch'd away
Forever from the light of day;

(With God knows, too, how many more,
For whom that doom is yet in store)-
Of Rectors, cruelly compell'd

From Bath and Cheltenham to haste home,
Because the tithes, by Pat withheld,

Will not to Bath or Cheltenham come;
Nor will the flocks consent to pay
Their parsons thus to stay away;—
Though, with such parsons, one may doubt
If 'tisn't money well laid out ;-
Of all, in short, and each degree

Such a sermon!-though not about dancing, my Of that once happy Hierarchy,

dear;

"Twas only on th' end of the world being near. Eighteen Hundred and Forty's the year that some

state

As the time for that accident-some Forty-Eight :'
And I own, of the two, I'd prefer much the latter,
As then I shall be an old maid, and 'twon't matter.
Once more, love, good-by-I've to make a new cap;
But am now so dead tired with this horrid mishap
Of the end of the world, that I must take a nap.

LETTER IV.

FROM PATRICK MAGAN, ESQ., TO THE REV.
RICHARD

He comes from Erin's speechful shore
Like fervid kettle, bubbling o'er

With hot effusions-hot and weak,;
Sound, Humbug, all your hollowest drums,
He comes, of Erin's martyrdoms

To Britain's well-fed Church to speak.

1 With regard to the exact time of this event, there appears to be a difference only of about two or three years among the respective alculators. M. Alphonse Nicole, Docteur en Droit, et Avocat, merely doubts whether it is to be in 1846

Which used to roll in wealth so pleasantly; But now, alas, is doom'd to see

Its surplus brought to nonplus presently!

Such are the themes this man of pathos,
Priest of prose and Lord of bathos,

Will preach and preach t'ye, till you're dull

again;

Then, hail him, Saints, with joint acclaim,
Shout to the stars his tuneful name,
Which Murtagh was, ere known to fame,
But now is Mortimer O'Mulligan!

All true, Dick, true as you're alive-
I've seen him, some hours since, arrive.
Murtagh is come, the great Itinerant-
And Tuesday, in the market-place,
Intends, to every saint and sinner in't,

To state what he calls Ireland's Case;
Meaning thereby the case of his shop,—
Of curate, vicar, rector, bishop,
And all those other grades seraphic,
That make men's souls their special traffic,
Though caring not a pin which way
Th' erratic souls go, so they pay.—

or 1847. "A cette époque," he says, "les fidèles peuvent espérer de voir s'effectuer la purification du Sanctuaire."

2 "Our anxious desire is to be found on the side of the Lord."-Record Newspaper.

The six childher with you, my dear Judy, ochone!
And poor I wid myself, left condolin' alone.

But it was, after all-for, by spellin' quite slow, First I made out "Rev. Mortimer"-then a great "0;"

again,

How I came to this England, o'er say and o'er And, at last, by hard readin' and rackin' my skull
lands,
And what cruel hard walkin' I've had on my hands, Out it came, nate as imported, "O'Mulligan!"
Is, at this present writin', too tadious to speak,
So I'll mintion it all in a postscript, next week:-
Only starved I was, surely, as thin as a lath,
Till I came to an up-and-down place they call Bath,
Where, as luck was, I managed to make a meal's
meat,

By dhraggin' owld ladies all day through the street-
Which their docthors (who pocket, like fun, the
pound starlins)

Have brought into fashion to plase the owld darlins.
Div'l a boy in all Bath, though I say it, could carry
The grannies up hill half so handy as Larry;
And the higher they lived, like owld crows, in the air,
The more I was wanted to lug them up there.

But luck has two handles, dear Judy, they say,
And mine has both handles put on the wrong way.
For, pondherin', one morn, on a drame I'd just had
Of yourself and the babbies, at Mullinafad,

Och, there came o'er my sinses so plasin' a flutther,
That I spilt an owld Countess right clane in the
gutther,

Up I jump'd, like a sky-lark, my jewel, at that

name,

Div'l a doubt on my mind, but it must be the same. "Masther Murthagh, himself," says I, "all the world over!

Muff, feathers and all-the descint was most But now, Judy, comes the quare part of the case;
awful,
And, in throth, it's the only drawback on my place,
And-what was still worse, faith-I knew 'twas "Twas Murthagh's ill luck to be cross'd, as you

unlawful:

For, though, with mere women, no very great evil,
T" upset an owld Countess in Bath is the divil!
So, liftin' the chair, with herself safe upon it,
(For nothin' aboɩ her was kilt, but her bonnet,)
Without even mentionin'" By your lave, ma'am,"
I tuk to my heels d-here, Judy, I am!

What's the name of this town I can't say very well,
But your heart sure will jump when you hear what
befell

Your own beautiful Larry, the very first day,
(And a Sunday it was, shinin' out mighty gay,)
When his brogues to this city of luck found their

way.

Bein' hungry, God help me, and happenin' to stop,
Just to dine on the shmell of a pasthry-cook's shop,
I saw, in the window, a large printed paper,
And read there a name, och! that made my heart
caper-

Though printed it was in some quare A B C,
That might bother a schoolmasther, let alone me.
By gor, you'd have laugh'd, Judy, could you've but
listen'd,

As, doubtin', I cried, "why it is!-no, it isn't:"

know,

With an awkward mishfortune some short time ago;
That's to say, he turn'd Protestant-why, I can't

larn;

But, of coorse, he knew best, an' it's not my consarn.
All I know is, we both were good Cath❜lics, at nurse,
And myself am so still-nayther betther nor worse.
Well, our bargain was all right and tight in a jiffey,
And lads more contint never yet left the Liffey,
When Murthagh-or Morthimer, as he's now
chrishen'd,

His name being convarted, at laist, if he isn't-
Lookin' sly at me (faith, 'twas divartin' to see)
"Of coorse, you're a Protestant, Larry," says he,
Upon which says myself, wid a wink just as shly,
"Is't a Protestant ?-oh yes, I am, sir,” says I ;—
And there the chat ended, and div❜l a more word
Controvarsial between us has since then occurr'd.

What Murthagh could mane, and, in troth, Judy
dear,

What I myself meant, doesn't seem mighty clear;
But the thruth is, though still for the Owld Light a

stickler,

I was just then too shtarved to be over partic'lar :

Next Tuesday (as towld in the play-bills I min- | And which (if it takes as it ought) must arouse

And sorra a word more will this shmall paper And granting such accident, think, what a shame,

How I grieve you're not with us!-pray, come, if People cannot or will not their cogency see;