For instance, there's V-s-TT-T's head (« Tam carum1 it may well be said) If by some curious chance it came

To settle on BILL SOAMES's shoulders, 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 zigzag way into one's pocket,

The hands would plunge directly in.

Good Viscount S-DM-H, 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 sign'd Circulars,

The head might lisp out What is trumps?»-
The R-G-T'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 versa, take the pains
To give the P-CE the shopman's brains,
One only change from thence would flow-
Ribbons would not be wasted so!

"T was thus I ponder'd 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.

The only change, if I recollect right, is the substitution of lilies for bees. This war upon the bees is, of course, universal; exitium misere apibas, like the angry nymphs in Virgil:-but may not new swarms arise out of the victims of Legitimacy yet?

I am afraid that Mr Fudge alludes here to a very awkward accident which is well known to have happened to poor Ls le D-s-é, some years since, at one of the R-g-t's Fètes. He was sitting next our gracious Queen at the time.

"

Prodigious!-in, of course, we'd clap them-
Letters, that C-RTW――T'S pen indites,
In which, with logical confusion,
The Major like a Minor writes,

And never comes to a conclusion:—
Lord S-M-RS' 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 C—x H—pp—sly;
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 B-CK-GH-M;
(A book his Lordship means to write,
Entitled Reasons for my Ratting:)
Or, should these prove too small and light,
His --'s a host-we 'll bundle that in!
And, still should all these masses fail
To stir the R-G-r's ponderous scale,
Why then, my Lord, in Heaven's name,
Pitch in, without reserve or stint,
The whole of R-GL-Y's beauteous Dame-
If that won't raise him, devil 's in 't!

The third day of the Feast the King causeth himself to be weighed with great care.-F. BERNIER's Voyage to Surat, etc.

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 pre cious 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.

Consulted MURPHY'S TACITUS

About those famous spies at Rome, Whom certain Whigs-to make a fussDescribe as much resembling us,2

Informing gentlemen, at home.

Aug. 31.

But, bless the fools, they can't be serious,

To Lord S-DM-TH 's like TIBERIUS! say 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 screen'd and hid His rogues from justice3-ditto SID. 'T is true, the Peer is grave and glib At moral speeches-ditto TIB.4 'Tis true, the feats the tyrant did Were in his dotage-ditto SID.

So far, I own, the parallel

Twixt TIB. and SID. goes vastly well
But there are points in T18. 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,5

On matters too where few can bear one;

E. g. a man, cut up, or broke

Upon the wheel-a devilish fair one!
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 funny. In this respect, my Lord, you see The Roman wag and ours agree: Now, as to your resemblance-mumThis parallel we need not follow ;6 Though '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!

The name of the first worthy who set up the trade of informer at Rome (to whom our Olivers and Castleses ought to erect a statue) was Romanus Hispo; qui formam vitæ iniit, quam postea celebrem miseriæ temporum et audaciæ hominum fecerunt.—TACIT. Annal.1, 74.

They certainly possessed the same art of instigating their vic tims, 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 illigaret.s

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

4 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 vita famaque quoad privatus.

5 Ludibria seriis permiscere solitus. »

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

Was thinking, had Lord S-DM-TK Got
Up any decent kind of plot
Against the winter-time-if not,
Alas, alas, our ruin 's fated:

All done up, and spiflicated!
Ministers and all their vassals,
Down from C-TL-GH to CASTLES,-
Unless we can kick up a riot,
Ne'er can hope for peace or quiet!

Sept. 2.

What's to be done?-Spa-fields was clever;
But even that brought gibes and mockings
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 Jacobitic grin,
He felt, from soleing Wellingtons,'
A Wellington's great soul within!
Nor must an old Apothecary

Go take the Tower, for lack of pence,
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.

Heard of the fate of our ambassador

Sept. 6.

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

(Though for their own most gracious King
They would kiss hands, or-any thing)
Can be persuaded to go through
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, Jor could play his part, And if, in diplomatic art,

volto sciolto's meritorious, Let Joɛ but grin, he has it, glorious!

A title for him 's easily made;

And, by the by, one Christmas time, If I remember right, he play'd

Lord MORLEY in some pantomime;-3

Short boots, so called.

The open countenance, recommended by Lord Chesterfield. 3 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 H-re-is, npon this vulgar profanation of his spic-and-san-new title, will, I trust, some time or other, be given to the world.

As Earl of M-RL-Y, then, gazette him,
If 't other Earl of M-RL-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 JOE 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 BOB),
Would in the suite be glad to go,
And help his Excellency JOE ;-
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 m'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,-
(The great heiress, you know, of Shandangan, who's

here,

Showing off with such airs and a real Cashmere,2
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,
Whose charms may their price in an honest way fetch,
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,

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!

1

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'cr

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,
As the lock that, Pa says," is to Mussulmen given,
But a glimpse of those whiskers, as sacred, my girl,
For the angel to hold by that lugs them to heaven!"
Alas, there went by me full many a quiz,

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):

Al, Dolly! my spot was that Saturday night,

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 chain.
For this scrap of knowledge Pa was, I suspect, indebted to a

know!

Which is fact, my dear Dolly-we, girls of eighteen,
And so slim-Lord, he 'd think us not fit 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.

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."

cobin's library, and with which Mr Fudge must have been well acquainted at the time when he wrote bis 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;

Still it lingering haunts the greenest s, ot

On Memory's waste!

Where your properest ladies go dine every day, And drink Burgundy out of large tumblers, like beer. 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— ceased with the first glass I My sighs, said he drank you;

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)
Were, to him, «on de top of all ponch in de world.—
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
But, lord,-there 's Papa for the post-I'm so vex'd-
Montmorency must now, love, be kept for my next.

A fashionable café glacier on the Italian Boulevards.

group.

do!.3

You eat your ice at Tortoni's,» says Mr Scott, under a Grecian

3 Not an unusual mistake with foreigners.

That dear Sunday night!—I was charmingly dress'd,
And-so providential-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 camhric, my dear.
Then the flowers in my bonnet-but, la, it's in vain-
So, good bye, my sweet Doll-I shall soon write again.
B. F.

Nota bene-our love to all neighbours aboutYour papa in particular-how is his gout?

P. S.-I've just open'd my letter to say, 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!

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 your chieftain's суе,
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,
Shed war and pestilence) to scourge mankind,
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, 't 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,

'See Elian, lib. v, cap. 29; who tells us that these geese, from a consciousness of their own loquacity, always cross Mount Tanrus with stones in their bills, to prevent any unlucky cackle from betraying them to the eagles διαπετονται σιωπώντες.

N'P'L**ON, NERO-ay, no matter whom—

To snatch my country from that damning doom, That deadliest curse that on the conquer'd waitsA conqueror's satrap, throned within her gates!

True, he was false-despotic-all you please—
Had trampled down man's holiest liberties—
Had, by a genius form'd for nobler things
Than lie within the grasp of vulgar kings,
But raised the hopes of men-as eaglets fly
With tortoises aloft into the sky-

To dash them down again more shatteringly!
All this I own-but still

LETTER XII.

FROM MISS BIDDY FUDGE TO MISS DOROTHY

Ar last, DOLLY,-thanks to a potent emetic
Which BOBBY and Pa, with grimace sympathetic,
Have swallow'd this morning, to balance the bliss
Of an eel matelote and a bisque d'écrevisses—
I've a morning at home to myself, and sit down
To describe you our heavenly trip out of town.
How agog you must be for this letter, my dear!
Lady JANE, in the novel, less languished to hear
If that elegant cornet she met at Lord NEVILLE'S
Was actually dying with love or-blue devils.
But love, DOLLY, love is the theme I pursue;
With blue devils, thank heaven, I've nothing to do-
Except, indeed, dear Colonel CALICOT Spies
Any imps of that colour in certain blue eyes,
Which he stares at till I, DOLL, at his do the same;
Then he simpers-I blush—and would often exclaim,
If I knew but the French for it, Lord, Sir, for shame!

Well, the morning was lovely-the trees in full dress For the happy occasion-the sunshine express— Had we order'd it, dear, of the best poet going,

It scarce could be furnish'd more golden and glowing. Though late when we started, the scent of the air

For the colonel, it seems, is a stickler of BONEY'SServed with him, of course-nay, I 'm sure they were cronies

So martial his features! dear DOLL, you can trace
Ulm, Austerlitz, Lodi, as plain in his face

As you do on that pillar of glory and brass1
Which the poor Duc de B**RI must hate so to pass!
It appears, too, he made-as most foreigners do-
About English affairs an odd blunder or two.
For example-misled by the names, I dare say-
He confounded JACK CASTLES with Lord C———GH ;
And-such a mistake as no mortal hit ever on-
Fancied the present Lord C-MD-N the clever one!

But politics ne'er were the sweet fellow's trade; 'T was for war and the ladies my Colonel was made. And, oh, had you heard, as together we walk'd Through that beautiful forest, how sweetly he talked; And how perfectly well he appear'd, DOLL, to know All the life and adventures of JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU!'Twas there," said he-not that his words I can state"T was a gibberish that Cupid alone could translate;But there, said he (pointing where, small and remote, The dear Hermitage rose), there his JULIE he wrote,

Upon paper gilt-edged, without blot or erasure;
Then sanded it over with silver and azure,

And-oh, what will genius and fancy not do?-
Tied the leaves up together with nompareille blue!*
What a trait of Rousseau! what a crowd of emotions

From sand and blue ribbons are conjured up here!
Alas, that a man of such exquisite3 notions
Should send his poor brats to the Foundling, my dear!

'T was here, too, perhaps, Colonel CALICOT saidAs down the small garden he pensively led(Though once I could see his sublime forehead wrinkle With rage not to find there the loved periwinkle)4 "T was here he received 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!,6

there,

On the grass an odd dew-drop was glittering yet,
Like my aunt's diamond pin on her green tabbinet!
And the birds seemed to warble as blest, on the boughs,
As if each a plumed CALICOT had for her spouse,
And the grapes were all blushing and kissing in rows,
And--in short, need I tell you, wherever one goes
With the creature one loves, 't is all couleur de rose;
And ah, I shall ne'er, lived I ever so long, see
A day such as that at divine Montmorency!

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 hastening in pomp to its set,

The column in the Place Vendome.

2. Employant pour cela le plus beau papier doré, séchant l'écriture avec de la poudre d'azur et d'argent, et cousant mes cahiers avec de la nompareille bleue."-Les Confessions, Part 2, liv. 9.

This word exquisite is evidently a favourite of Miss Fudge's ; and I understand she was not a little angry when her brother Bob

The Colonel and I were inhumanly parted;
How cruel-young hearts of such moments to rob!
He went in Pa's buggy, and I went with Boв;
And, I own, I felt spitefully happy to know
That Papa and his comrade agreed but so-so.

Somebody (Fontenelle, I believe) has said, that if he had his band full of truths, he would open but one finger at a time; and I And it necessary to use the same sort of reserve with respect to Mr Phelim Connor's very plain-spoken letters. The remainder of this Epistle is so full of unsafe matter-of-fact, that it must, for the present at least, be withheld from the public.

plet:

I'd fain praise your poem-but tell me, bow 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 asyleet vous, mon ours, ne viendrezvous pas aussi?-etc. etc.

Un jour, qu'il gelait très-fort, en ouvrant un paquet qu'elle m'envoy⚫it, je trouvai un petit jupon de flanelle d'Angleterre, qu'elle me marquait avoir porté, et dont elle voulait que je me tisse faire un gilet. Ce soin, plus qu'amical, me parut si tendre, come si elle se fut dépouillé pour me vétir, que, dans mon émotion, je baisai vingt fois, en pleurant, le billet et le jupon..