Ah Doll! though I know you've a heart, 'tis in vain By her who has wandered, at evening's decline, O'er the grave of such talents to utter my moans; Four o'clock. Oh Dolly, dear Dolly, I'm ruined for ever- (Ah, little I thought who the shopman would prove) Which, in happier hours, I have sighed for, my love,- It is the brother of the present excellent Restaurateur who lies entombed so magnificently in the Cimetière Montmartre. The inscription on the column at the head of the tomb concludes with the following words-"Toute sa vie fut consacrée aux arts utiles." Oh-Papa, all along, knew the secret, 'tis clear- And, when that too delightful illusion was past, I fell back on Bob-my whole heart seemed to wither- With cruel facetiousness said "curse the Kiddy! Only think, my dear creature, if this should be known What a story 'twill be at Shandangan for ever! What laughs and what quizzing she'll have with the mcn! It will spread through the country-and never, oh, never Can Biddy be seen at Kilrandy again! Farewell I shall do something desperate, I fear-- BIDDY FUDCE. Nota bene-I'm sure you will hear, with delight, 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 dedica tion of it with pleasure, and believe that I am, my dear Lord ver faithfully yours, T. B. PREFACE. 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 Miscel lany, 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 "Transac tions 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 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. THOMAS BROWN. FABLE I. THE DISSOLUTION OF THE HOLY ALLIANCE. A DREAM. I'VE had a dream that bodes no good As far as it is right or lawful * A dome of frost-work, on the plan In this said Palace, furnished all And lighted as the best on land are, Those holy gentlemen, who've shown a At Troppau, Laybach, and Verona. The thought was happy-and designed And all were pleased, and cold, and stately, Admired the superstructure greatly, Nor gave one thought to the foundation. "It is well known that the Empress Anne built a palace of ice on the Neva, in 1740, which was fifty-two feet in length, and when laminated had a surprising effect."-Pinkerton. Much too the Czar himself exulted, To all Plebeian fears a stranger, For, Madame Krudener, when consulted, Thinking himself extremely clever, As if the Frost would last for ever. Just fancy how a bard like me, Who reverence monarchs, must have trembled, To see that goodly company, At such a ticklish sport assembled. Nor were the fears, that thus astounded Could scarce get on for downright stumbling; And Prussia, though to slippery ways So used, was cursedly near tumbling. Yet still 'twas, who could stamp the floor most, This precious brace would, hand in hand, go; Now-while old Louis, from his chair, Intreated them his toes to spare Called loudly out for a Fandango. And a Fandango, 'faith, they had, Never were Kings (though small the expense is So out of all their princely senses. But, ah, that dance-that Spanish dance- Who, bursting into tears, exclaimed, "A thaw, by Jove-we're lost, we're lost! Run, France-a second Waterloo Is come to drown you-sauve qui peut!” Why, why will monarchs caper so Crowns, fiddles, sceptres, decorations- |