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the arguments and statements of Dr. Duigenan,—not at all the less vivacious or less serviceable to their fabricators, for having been refuted and disproved a thousand times over. They are brought forward again, as good as new, whenever malice or stupidity may be in want of them; and are quite as useful as the old broken lantern, in Fielding's Amelia, which the watchman always keeps ready by him, to produce, in proof of riotous conduct, against his victims. I shall therefore give up the fruitless toil of vindication, and would even draw my pen over what I have already written, had I not promised to furnish my publisher with a Preface, and know not how else I could contrive to eke it out.

I have added two or three more trifles to this edition, which I found in the Morning Chronicle, and knew to be from the pen of my friend. The rest of the volume remains * in its original state.

April 20, 1814.

LETTER I.
FROM THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES TO THE LADY BARBARA ASHLEY.

My dear Lady Bab, you'll be shocked, I'm afraid,
When you hear the sad rumpus your Ponies have made;
Since the time of horse-consuls (now long out of date),
No nags ever made such a stir in the State !
Lord Eldon first heard and as instantly prayed he
To God and his King—that a Popish young lady
(For though you've bright eyes and twelve thousand a year,
It is still but too true you're a Papist, my dear)
Had insidiously sent, by. a tall Irish groom,
Two priest-ridden Ponies, just landed from Rome,
And so full, little rogues, of pontifical tricks,
That the dome of St. Paul's was scarce safe from their kicks,

Off at once to Papa, in a flurry, he flies
For Papa always does what these statesmen advise,
On condition that they'll be, in turn, so polite
As, in no case whate'er, to advise him too right-

Pretty doings are here, sir,” he angrily cries,
While by dint of dark eyebrows he strives to look wise,
"''Tis a scheme of the Romanists, so help me God !
To ride over your most Royal Highness rough-shod—
Excuse, sir, my tears—they're from loyalty's

source-
Bad enough 'twas for Troy to be sacked by a Horse,
But for us to be ruined by Ponies still worse!”

* A new reading has been suggested in the original of the Ode of Horace, freely translated by Lord Eldon, page 570. In the line “Sive per Syrteis iter æstuosas,"

it is proposed, by a very trifling alteration, to read “Surtees," instead of “Syrteis," which brings the Ode, it is said, more home to the noble translator, and gives a peculiar force and aptness to the epithet æstuosas." I merely throw out this emendation for the learned, being unable myself to decide upon its merits.

| This young lady, who is a Roman Cathoạc, has lately made a present of some beautiful Ponies to the Princess,

Quick a Council is called—the whole Cabinet sits-
The Archbishops declare, frightened out of their wits,
That if vile Popish Ponies should eat at my manger,
From that awful moment the Church is in danger!
As, give them but stabling, and shortly no stalls
Will suit their proud stomachs but those at St. Paul's.
The Doctor and he, the devout Man of Leather,
Vansittart, now laying their Saint-heads together,
Declare that these skittish young a-bominations
Are clearly foretold in Chap. vi. Revelations
Nay, they verily think they could point out the one
Which the Doctor's friend Death was to canter upon!
Lord Harrowby, hoping that no one imputes
To the Court any fancy to persecute brutes,
Protests, on the word of himself and his cronies,
That had these said creatures been Asses, not Ponies,
The Court would have started no sort of objection,
As Asses were, there, always sure of protection.
"If the Princess will keep them," says Lord Castlereagh,
“To make them quite harmless the only true way
Is (as certain Chief-Justices do with their wives)
To Aog them within half an inch of their lives-
If they've any bad Irish blood lurking about,
This (he knew by experience) would soon draw it out."
Or—if this be thought cruel – his Lordship proposes
“The new Veto snaffle to bind down their noses-
A pretty contrivance, made out of old chains,
Which appears to indulge, while it doubly restrains ;
Which, however high-mettled, their gamesomeness checks,"
Adds his Lordship, humanely, or else break their necks!'
This proposal received pretty general applause
From the Statesmen around—and the neck-breaking clause
Had a vigour about it, which soon reconciled
Even Eldon himself to a measure so mild.
So the snaffles, my dear, were agreed to, nem. con.
And my Lord Castlereagh, having so often shone
In the fettering line, is to buckle them on.
I shall drive to your door in these Vetos some day;
But, at present, adieu !--I must hurry away
To go see my Mamma, as I'm suffered to meet her
For just half an hour by the Queen's best repeater.

CHARLOTTE.

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LETTER II.
FROM COLONEL M'MAHON TO G. FRANCIS LECKIE, ESQ.

DEAR sir, I've just had time to look
Into your very learned book,

* See the last number of the Edinburgh Revicw.

Wherein- -as plain as man can speak
Whose English is half-modern Greek-
You prove that we can ne'er intrench
Our happy isles against the French,
Till Royalty in England's made
A much more independent trade-
In short, until the House of Guelph
Lays Lords and Commons on the shelf,
And boldly sets up for itself!
All that can well be understood
In this said book is vastly good ;
And, as to what's incomprehensible,
I dare be sworn 'tis full as sensible.
But- to your work's immortal credit-
The Prince, good sir, the Prince has read it;
(The only book, himself remarks,
Which he has read since Mrs. Clarke's.)
Last Levee-morn he looked it through,
During that awful hour or two
Of grave tonsorial preparation,
Which, to a fond, admiring nation,
Sends forth, announced by trump and drum,
The best-wigged Prince in Christendom!
He thinks with you, the imagination
Of partnership in legislation
Could only enter in the noddles
Of dull and ledger-keeping twaddles,
Whose heads on firms are running so
They e'en must have a King and Co.;
And hence, too, eloquently show forth
On checks and balances, and so forth.
But now, he trusts, we're coming near a
Better and more royal era ;
When England's monarch need but say,

Whip me those scoundrels, Castlereagh!”
Or-"Hang me up those Papists, Eldon!”
And 'twill be done-aye, faith, and well done.
With view to which I've his command
To beg, sir, from your travelled hand
(Round which the foreign graces swarm)
A plan of radical Reform ;
Compiled and chosen, as best you can,
In Turkey or at Ispahan,
And quite upturning, branch and root,
Lords, Commons, and Burdett to boot!
But, pray, whate'er you may impart, write
Somewhat more brief than Major Cartwright.
Else, though the Prince be long in rigging,
'Twould take, at least, a fortnight's wigging,
Two wigs to every paragraph—,
Before he well could get through half.
You'll send it also speedily-
As, truth to say, 'twixt you and me,
His Highness, heated by your work,
Already thinks himself Grand Turk!
And you'd have laughed, had you seen how
He scared the Chancellor just now,
When (on his Lordship’s entering puffed) he
Slapped his back and called him "Mufti!"
The tailors, too, have got commands
To put directly into hands
All sorts of dulimans and pouches,
With sashes, turbans, and paboutches
(While Yarmouth's sketching out a plan
Of new Moustaches à l'Ottomane),
And all things fitting and expedient
To turkify our gracious Regent“
You, therefore, have no time to waste-
So, send your System.-

Yours, in haste.

POSTSCRIPT. Before I send this scrawl away, I seize a moment, just to say There's some parts of the Turkish system So vulgar 'twere as well you missed 'em. For instance—in Seraglio matters— Your Turk, whom girlish fondness flatters, Would fill his haram (tasteless fool!) With tittering, red-cheeked things from school : But here (as in that fairy land Where Love and Age went hand in hand ;* Where lips, till sixty, shed no honey, And grandams were worth any money) Our Sultan has much riper notions; So, let your list of she-promotions Include those only, plump and sage, Who've reached the regulation-age ; That is-as near as one can fix From Peerage dates—full fifty-six.

* The learned Colonel must allude here to a description of the Mysterious Isle, in the History of Abdalla, son of Hanif, where such inversions of the order of nature are said to have taken place :-"A score of old women and the same number of old men played here and there in the court, some at chuck-farthing, others at tip-cat, or at cockles.” And again :-“There is nothing, believe me, more engaging than those lovely wrinkles," &c., &a-See Tales of the East, vol. iii. pp. 607, 608.

This rule's for favourites-nothing more-
For, as to wives, a Grand Signor,
Though not decidedly without them,
Need never care one curse about them !

LETTER III. FROM GEORGE PRINCE REGENT TO THE EARL OF YARMOUTH.* We missed you last night at the “hoary old sinner's," Who gave us, as usual, the cream of good dinnersHis soups scientific-his fishes quite primeHis patés superb-and his cutlets sublime ! In short, 'twas the snug sort of dinner to stir a Stomachic orgasm in my Lord Ellenborough, Who set to, to be sure, with miraculous force, And exclaimed, between mouthfuls, “a He-Cook of course! While you live-(What's there under that cover, pray, look) While you live-(I'll just taste it)-ne'er keep a She-Cook. 'Tis a sound Salic Law—(a small bit of that toast)— Which ordains that a female shall ne'er rule the roast; For Cookery's a secret—(this turtle's uncommon)Like Masonry, never found out by a woman!” The dinner, you know, was in gay

celebration Of my brilliant triumph and Hunt's condemnation ; A compliment, too, to his Lordship the Judge For his speech to the Jury—and zounds! who would grudge Turtle-soup, though it came to five guineas a bowl, To reward such a loyal and complaisant soul? We were all in high gig--Roman punch and Tokay Travelled round, till our heads travelled just the same way; And we cared not for juries or libels—no-damme! nor E’en for the threats of last Sunday's Examiner ! More good things were eaten than said—but Tom Tyrrhić In quoting Joe Miller, you know, has some merit, And, hearing the sturdy Justiciary Chief Say-sated with turtle-"I'll now try the beef”– Tommy whispered him (giving his Lordship a sly hit) “I fear 'twill be hung-beef, my Lord, if you try it!” And Camden was there, who, that morning, had gone To fit his new Marquis's coronet on; And the dish set before him-oh, dish well-devised ! Was, what old Mother Glasse calls, “a calf's-head surprised !” The brains were near Sherry ; and once they'd been fine; But, of late, they had lain so long soaking in wine That, however, we still might, in courtesy, call Them a fine dish of brains, they were no brains at all. When the dinner was over, we drank, every one In a bumper, “the venial delights of Crim. Con."

• This letter, as the reader will perceive, was written the day after a dinner given by the Marquis of H-d

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