As to having the R-g-nt-that show is gone by-
Besides, I've remark'd that (between you and I)
The Marchesa and he, inconvenient in more ways,
Have taken much lately to whispering in door-ways;
Which consid'ring, you know, dear, the size of the two
Makes a block that one's company cannot get through,
And a house such as mine is, with door-ways so small,
Has no room for such cumbersome love-work at all!-
(Apropos, though, of love-work-you've heard it, I hope,
That Napoleon's old mother's to marry the Pope,—
What a comical pair!)-but, to stick to my rout,
"Twill be hard if some novelty can't be struck out.
Is there no Algerine, no Kamschatkan arriv'd?
No Plenipo-Pacha, three-tail'd and ten-wiv'd?
No Russian, whose dissonant consonant name
Almost rattles to fragments the trumpet of Fame?
I remember the time, three or four winters back,
When-provided their wigs were but decently black
A few patriot monsters, from Spain, were a sight
That would people one's house for one, night after night
But whether the Ministers paw'd them too much-
(And you know how they spoil whatsoever they touch)
Or, whether Lord G-rge (the young man about town)
Has, by dint of bad poetry, written them down-
One has certainly lost one's peninsular rage,
And the only stray patriot seen for an age

Has been at such places (think, how the fit cools)

As old Mrs V-n's or Lord L-v-rp-l's!

But, in short, my dear, names like Wintztschitstopschinzou dhoff

Are the only things now make an ev'ning go smooth off--
So, get me a Russian-till death I'm your debtor-

If he brings the whole alphabet, so much the better.
And indeed! if he would but, in character, sup
Off his fish-oil and candles, he'd quite set me up!

Au revoir, my sweet girl-I must leave you in haste--
Little Gunter has brought me the liqueurs to taste.

POSTSCRIPT.

By the bye, have you found any friend that can construe That Latin account, t'other day, of a Monster?*

If we can't get a Russian, and that thing in Latin

Be not too improper, I think I'll bring that in

Alluding, I suppose, to the Latin advertisement of a lusus natura in the newspapers lately.

TRIFLES.

Σχολάζοντος Ασχολίες.

THE INSURRECTION OF THE PAPERS.

A DREAM.

It would be impossible for his Royal Highness to disengage his person from the accumulating pile of papers that encompassed it.-Lord Castle reagh's Speech upon Colonel M'Mahon's appointment.

LAST night I toss'd and turn'd in bed,
But could not sleep-at length I said
"I'll think of Viscount C-stl-r-gh,
And of his speeches-that's the way."
And so it was, for instantly

I slept as sound as sound could be.

And then I dream'd-oh, frightful dream!
Fuseli has no such theme;

never wrote or borrow'd

Any horror, half so horrid !

Methought the P-e, in whisker'd state.
Before me at his breakfast sate;
On one side lay unread petitions,
On t'other, hints from five physicians-
Here tradesmen's bills, official papers,
Notes from my lady, drams for vapours--
There plans of saddles, tea and toast,
Death-warrants and the Morning Post.

When lo! the papers, one and all,
As if at some magician's call,

Began to flutter of themselves

From desk and table, floor and shelves

And, cutting each some different capers,
Advanc'd, oh, jacobinic papers!

As though they said, "Our sole design is
To suffocate his Royal Highness!"
The leader of this vile sedition
Was a huge Catholic petition,
With grievances so full and heavy,
It threaten'd worst of all the bevy.
Then Common-Hall addresses came
In swaggering sheets, and took their aim
Right at the R-g-t's well-dress'd head,
As if determin'd to be read!

Next tradesmen's bills began to fly,

And tradesmen's bills, we know, mount high;
Nay ev'n death-warrants thought they'd best
Be lively too, and join the rest.

But, oh the basest of defections!
His letter about "predilections"-
His own dear letter, void of grace,
Now flew up in its parent's face!
Shock'd with this breach of filial duty,
He just could murmur "et Tu, Brute ?"
Then sunk, subdued upon the floor
At Fox's bust, to rise no more!

I wak'd-and pray'd, with lifted hand,
"Oh! never may this dream prove true;
Though paper overwhelms the land,

Let it not crush the Sovereign too!"

PARODY OF A CELEBRATED LETTER

Ar length, dearest Freddy, the moment is nigh,
When, with P-rc-v-l's leave, I may throw my chains by;
And, as time now is precious, the first thing I do,
Is to sit down and write a wise letter to you.

I meant before now to have sent you this letter,

But Y-rm-th and I thought perhaps 'twould be better
To wait till the Irish affairs were decided-

That is, till both Houses had prosed and divided,
With all due appearance of thought and digestion—

For, though H-rtf-d House had long settled the question,

I thought it but decent, between me and you,
That the two other Houses should settle it too.

Fare just as well, with all their fuss,
As rascal Sunnites do with us.

The tender Gazel I inclose

Is for my love, my Syrian Rose-
Take it, when night begins to fall,
And throw it o'er her mother's wall.

GAZEL.

Rememberest thou the hour we past,
That hour, the happiest and the last!-
Oh! not so sweet the Siha thorn
To summer bees, at break of morn,
Not half so sweet, through dale and dell,
To camel's ears the tinkling bell,
As is the soothing memory

Of that one precious hour to me!
How can we live, so far apart?
Oh! why not rather, heart to heart,
United live and die-

Like those sweet birds, that fly together,
With feather always touching feather,
Link'd by a hook and eye!*

LETTER VII.

FROM MESSRS L-CK-GT-N AND CO. TO

ESQ.

PER post, Sir, we send your MS.-look'd it thro'-
Very sorry-but can't undertake-'twouldn't do.
Clever work, Sir!-would get up prodigiously well—
Its only defect is-it never would sell!

And though Statesmen may glory in being unbought,
In an Author, we think, Sir, that's rather a fault.

Hard times, Sir,-most books are too dear to be read

Though the gold of Good-sense and Wit's small-change are fled,

Yet the paper we Publishers pass, in their stead,

Rises higher each day, and ('tis frightful to think it)

Not even such names as F-tzg-r-d's can sink it!

However, Sir-if your for trying again,

And at somewhat that's vendible-we are your men.
Since the Chevalier Carr took to marrying lately,

The trade is in want of a traveller greatly—

*This will appear strange to an English reader, but it is literally translated from Abdallah's Persian, and the curious bird to which he alludes is the Juftak, of which I find an account in Richardson.

+ From motives of delicacy, and, indeed, of fellow-feeling, I suppress the name of the author whose rejected manuscript was inclosed in this letter.

No job, Sir, more easy-your country once plann'd,
A month aboard ship and a fortnight on land

Puts your quarto of travellers, Sir, clean out of hand.

An East-India pamphlet's a thing that would tell—
And a lick at the Papists is sure to sell well.
Or-supposing you've nothing original in you-
Write parodies, Sir, and such fame it will win you,
You'll get to the blue-stocking routs of Alb-n-a!*
(Mind-not to her dinners-a second-hand Muse
Must'nt think of aspiring to mess with the Blues.)
Or-in case nothing else in this world you can do-
You surely are fit, Sir, at least to review!

Should you feel any touch of poetical glow,
We've a scheme to suggest-Mr Sc-tt, you must know
(Who, we're sorry to say it, now works for the Row),†
Having quitted the Borders, to seek new renown,
Is coming, by long quarto stages, to town;

And beginning with Rokeby (the job's sure to pay)
Means to do all the gentlemen's seats on the way.

Now, the scheme is (though none of our hackneys can beat him)
To start a fresh Poet through Highgate to meet him;
Who, by means of quick proofs-no revises-long coaches-
May do a few villas, before Sc-tt approaches-
Indeed, if our pegasus be not very shabby,

He'll reach, without found'ring, at least Woburn-Abbey.

Such, Sir, is our plan-if you're up to the freak,

'Tis a match! and we'll put you in training next week-
At present, no more-in reply to this letter, a
Line will oblige very much