What a trait of Rousseau! what a crowd of emotions
From sand and blue ribbons are conjur'd up here!
Alas, that a man of such exquisite1 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 lov'd periwinkle) *
'Twas here he receiv'd 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!'

2

Such, DOLL, were the sweet recollections we ponder'd,
As, full of romance, through that valley we wander'd.
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 hast'ning 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 confus'd 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 couturière, Madame LE ROI;

But am forc'd now 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 Bonapartist."

Think, DOLL, how confounded I look'd-
-so well knowing

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

I stammer'd out something-nay, even half nam'd

The legitimate sempstress, when, loud, he exclaim'd,

Yes, yes, by the stitching 'tis plain to be seen

It was made by that Bourbonite 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 '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,

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 ?'

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

Mon ours, voilà votre asyle-et vous, mon ours, ne viendrez-vous pas aussi ? '—&c. &c.

'Un jour, qu'il geloìt très-fort, en ouvrant

un paquet qu'elle m'envoyoit, je trouvai un petit jupon de flanelle d'Angleterre, qu'elle me marquoit avoir porté, et dont elle vouloit que je me fisse faire un gilet. Ce soin, plus qu'amical, me parut si tendre, comme si elle se fût dépouillée pour me vêtir, que, dans mon émotion, je baisai vingt fois en pleurant le billet et le jupon.'

5 Miss Biddy's notions of French pronunciashe always selects for 'Le Roi.' tion may be perceived in the rhymes which

LE ROI, who was the Couturière of the Empress Maria Louisa, is at present, of course, out of fashion, and is succeeded in her station by the Royalist mantua-maker, VICTORINE.

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 BOB calls the 'Twopenny-post of the Eyes'-
Ah, DOLL! though I know you've a heart, 'tis in vain
To a heart so unpractis'd 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 Bов, my dear DOLLY,
Whom physic, I find, always makes melancholy,
Is seiz'd with a fancy for church-yard reflections;
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 VÉRYS!1
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 VÉRYS-I'll visit their bones!'
He insists upon my going with him-how teasing!
This letter, however, dear DOLLY, shall lie
Unseal'd in my draw'r, that, if any thing pleasing
Occurs while I'm out, I may tell you-good-bye.

B. F.

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!
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-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 BOB to a shop kindly order'd the coach,

Four o'clock.

(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 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 uprais'd in his hand!

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140

150

1 It is the brother of the present excellent | inscription on the column at the head of the Restaurateur who lies entombed so magni- tomb concludes with the following words :ficently in the Cimetière Montmartre. The 'Toute sa vie fut consacrée aux arts utiles.'

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 believe,
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 BOв, 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 'twill 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 desp'rate, 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 am 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.

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170

180

DEAR LORD BYRON,

THOUGH this Volume should possess no other merit in your eyes, than that of reminding you of the short time we passed together at Venice, when some of the trifles which it contains were written, you will, I am sure, receive the dedication of it with pleasure, and believe that I am,

My dear Lord,
Ever faithfully yours,

PREFACE

T. B.

THOUGH it was the wish of the Members of the Poco-curante Society (who have lately done me the honour of electing me their Secretary) that I should prefix my name to the following Miscellany, it is but fair to them and to myself to state, that, except in the painful pre-eminence' of being employed to transcribe their lucubrations, my claim to such a distinction in the title-page is not greater than that of any other gentleman, who has contributed his share to the contents of the volume.

I had originally intended to take this opportunity of giving some account of the origin and objects of our Institution, the names and characters of the different members, &c. &c.-but, as I am at present preparing for the press the First Volume of the Transactions of the Poco-curante Society,' I shall reserve for that occasion all further details upon the subject; and content myself here with referring, for a general insight into our tenets, to a Song which will be found at the end of this work, and which is sung to us on the first day of every month, by one of our oldest members, to the tune of (as far as I can recollect, being no musician,) either 'Nancy Dawson' or 'He stole away the Bacon.'

It may be as well also to state for the information of those critics, who attack with the hope of being answered, and of being, thereby, brought into notice, that it is the rule of this Society to return no other answer to such assailants, than is contained in the three words Non curat Hippoclides,' (meaning in English, Hippoclides does not care a fig,') which were spoken two thousand years ago by the first founder of Poco-curantism, and have ever since been adopted as the leading dictum of the sect.

FABLE I

THE DISSOLUTION OF THE
HOLY ALLIANCE

A DREAM

I'VE had a dream that bodes no good
Unto the Holy Brotherhood.
I may be wrong, but I confess-

As far as it is right or lawful
For one, no conjurer, to guess-

It seems to me extremely awful.

THOMAS BROWN.

Who reverence monarchs, must have Those Eagles, handsomely provided