And every floor, that night, shall tell
How quick thou daubest, and how well!
Shine as thou may'st in French vermillion,
Thou'rt best-beneath a French cotillion;
And still com'st off, whate'er thy faults,
With flying colours in a waltz!

Nor need'st thou mourn the transient date
To thy best works assign'd by fate-
While some chef-d'œuvres live to weary one,
Thine boast a short life and a merry one;
Their hour of glory past and gone

With "Molly, put the kettle on!"*

But, bless my soul! I've scarce a leaf
Of paper left-so, must be brief.

This festive Fete, in fact, will be
The former Fete's fac-simile;t
The same long masquerade of rooms,
Trick'd in such different, quaint costumes
(These, P-rt-r, are thy glorious works!),
You'd swear Egyptians, Moors, and Turks.
Bearing good-taste some deadly malice
Had clubb'd to raise a pic-nic palace;
And each, to make the olio pleasant,
Had sent a state-room as a present!-
The same fauteuils and girandoles-
The same gold asses, pretty souls!
That, in this rich and classic dome,
Appear so perfectly at home!

The same bright river 'mongst the dishes,
But not-ah! not the same dear fishes-
Late hours and claret kill'd the old ones!-

So, 'stead of silver and of gold ones

(It being rather hard to raise

Fish of that specie now-a-days),

Some Sprats have been, by Y-rm-th's wish,
Promoted into Silver Fish,

And Gudgeons (so V-ns-tt-t told

The R-g-t) are as good as Gold!

So, pr'ythee, come-our Fete will be
But half a Fete, if wanting thee!

A popular country dance.

J. T.

+ C-rl-t-n H-e will exhibit a complete fac-simile, in respect to biterior ornament, to what it did at the last fete. The same splendid draperies, &c., &c.-Morning Post.

The salt-cellars on the P-e's own table were in the form of an ass with panniers.

LETTER VI.

FROM ABDALLAH,* IN LONDON, TO MOHASSAN, IN ISPAHAN.

WHILST thou, Mohassan (happy thou!
Dost daily bend thy loyal brow

Before our King-our Asia's treasure!
Nutmeg of Comfort! Rose of Pleasure !-
And bear'st as many kicks and bruises
As the said Rose and Nutmeg chooses;-
Thy head still near the bowstring's borders,
And but left on till further orders!-
Through London streets, with turban fair,
And caftan, floating to the air,

I saunter on-the admiration

Of this short-coated population

This sew'd-up race-this button'd nation-
Who, while they boast their law so free,
Leave not one limb at liberty,

But live, with all their lordly speeches,
The slaves of buttons and tight breeches!
Yet, though they thus their knee-pans fetter
(They're Christians, and they know no better),†
In some things they're a thinking nation-
And, on religious toleration,

I own I like their notions quite,
They are so Persian and so right!

You know our Sunnites, hateful dogs!
Whom every pious Shiite flogs

Or longs to flogs-'tis true, they pray
To God, but in an ill-bred way;

With neither arms, nor legs, nor faces

* I have made many inquiries about this Persian gentleman, but cannot satisfactorily ascertain who he is. From his notions of religious liberty, however, I conclude that he is an importation of Ministers, and he is arrived just in time to assist the Pe and Mr L-ck-e in their new Driental plan of Reform. (See the second of these Letters.) How Abdallah's epistle to Ispahan found its way into the Twopenny Post-Bag is more than I can pretend to account for.

66

"C'est un honnête homme," said a Turkish governor of De Ruyter; c'est grand dommage qu'il soit Chretien."

Sunnites and Shiites are the two leading sects into which the Mohammedan world is divided; and they have gone on cursing and persecuting each other, without any intermission, for about eleven hundred years. The Sunni is the established sect in Turkey, and the Shia in Persia; and the differences between them turn chiefly upon those important points which our pious friend Abdallah, in the true spirit of Shiite ascendancy, reprobates in this Letter.

§ Les Sunnites, qui etoient comme les Catholiques de Musulmanisme.D'Herbelot.

Stuck in their right, canonic places !*
'Tis true, they worship Ali's namet-
Their Heaven and ours are just the same-
(A Persian's Heav'n is eas'ly made,
"Tis but-black eyes and lemonade).
Yet-though we've tried for centuries back-
We can't persuade the stubborn pack,
By bastinadoes, screws, or nippers,
To wear th' establish'd pea-green slippers !+
Then-only think-the libertines!

They wash their toes-they comb their chins$
With many more such deadly sins!

And (what's the worst, though last I rank it)
Believe the Chapter of the Blanket!

Yet, spite of tenets so flagitious
(Which must, at bottom, be seditious;
As no man living would refuse

Green slippers, but from treasonous views;
Nor wash his toes, but with intent
To overturn the Government!),
Such is our mild and tolerant way,
We only curse them twice a day
(According to a form that's set),
And, far from torturing, only let
All orthodox believers beat 'em,

And twitch their beards, where'er they meet 'em.

As to the rest, they're free to do

Whate'er their fancy prompts them to,
Provided they make nothing of it

Tow'rds rank or honour, power or profit;
Which things, we nat'rally expect,
Belong to us, the establish'd sect,
Who disbelieve (the Lord be thanked!)
Th' aforesaid Chapter of the Blanket.
The same mild views of toleration
Inspire, I find, this button'd nation,
Whose Papists (full as giv'n to rogue,
And only Sunnites with a brogue)

* In contradistinction to the Sounis, who, in their prayers, cross their
hands on the lower part of the breast, the Schiahs drop their arms in
straight lines; and as the Sounis, at certain periods of the prayer, press
their foreheads on the ground or carpet, the Schiahs, &c.-Forster's Voyage.
† Les Turcs ne detestent pas Ali reciproquement; au contraire ils le
reconnoissent, &c., &c.-Chardin.

The Shiites wear green slippers, which the Sunnites consider as a great abomination.-Mariti.

For these points of difference, as well as for the Chapter of the Blanket I must refer the reader to Picart's Account of the Mohammedan Sects.

I repeat it" New Friends"-for I cannot describe
The delight I am in with this P-rc-v-l tribe.

Such capering!-Such vapouring!-Such rigour!-Such vigour !

North, South, East, and West, they have cut such a figure,
That soon they will bring the whole world round our ears,
And leave us no friends-but Old Nick and Algiers.
When I think of the glory they've beam'd on my chains.
'Tis enough quite to turn my illustrious brains!

It is true we are bankrupts in commerce and riches,
But think how we furnish our Allies with breeches!
We've lost the warm hearts of the Irish, 'tis granted,
But then we've got Java, an island much wanted,
To put the last lingering few who remain,

Of the Walcheren warriors, out of their pain.

Then how Wellington fights! and how squabbles his brother For Papists the one, and with Papists the other;

One crushing Napoleon by taking a city,

While t'other lays waste a whole Cath'lic Committee !
Oh deeds of renown!-shall I boggle or flinch,
With such prospects before me? by Jove, not an inch
No-let England's affairs go to rack, if they will,
We'll look after th' affairs of the Continent still,
And, with nothing at home but starvation and riot
Find Lisbon in bread, and keep Sicily quiet.
I am proud to declare I have no predilections,
My heart is a sieve, where some scatter'd affections
Are just danc'd about for a moment or two,

And the finer they are, the more sure to run through:
Neither have I resentments, nor wish there should come ill
To mortal-except (now I think on't) Beau Br-mm-ll,
Who threaten'd, last year, in a superfine passion,
To cut me, and bring the old K-ng into fashion.
This is all I can lay to my conscience at present,
When such is my temper, so neutral, so pleasant,
So royally free from all troublesome feelings,
So little encumber'd by faith in my dealings
(And that I'm consistent the world will allow,
What I was at Newmarket, the same I am now).
When such are my merits (you know I hate cracking),
I hope, like the vender of best patent blacking,
"To meet with the gen'rous and kind approbation
Of a candid, enlighten'd, and liberal nation."

By the bye, ere I close this magnificent Letter (No man, except Pole, could have writ you a better), Twould please me if those, whom I've humbug'd so long