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While there St. Venecia sits hemming and frilling her
Holy mouchoir o'er the door of some milliner ;-
Saint Austin's the "outward and visible sign

Of an inward" cheap dinner, and pint of small wine;
While St. Denys hangs out o'er some hatter of ton,
And possessing, good bishop, no head of his own, +
Takes an interest in Dandies, who've got-next to none !
Then we stare into shops-read the evening's affiches—
Or, if some, who're Lotharios in feeding, should wish
Just to flirt with a luncheon, (a devilish bad trick,
As it takes off the bloom of one's appetite, Dick,)
To the Passage des-what d'ye call't-des Panoramas‡
We quicken our pace, and there heartily cram as
Seducing young pâtés, as ever could cozen

One out of one's appetite, down by the dozen.
We vary, of course-petits pâtés do one day,

The next we've our lunch with the Gauffrier Hollandais,§
That popular artist, who brings out, like Sc-tt,
His delightful productions so quick, hot and hot;
Not the worse for the exquisite comment that follows,-
Divine maresquino, which-Lord, how one swallows!
Once more, then, we saunter forth after our snack, or
Subscribe a few francs for the price of a fiacre,
And drive far away to the old Montagnes Russes,
Where we find a few twirls in the car of much use
To regenerate the hunger and thirst of us sinners,
Who've lapsed into snacks-the perdition of dinners.
And here, Dick-in answer to one of your queries,

About which we, Gourmands, have had much discussion-
I've tried all these mountains, Swiss, French, and Ruggieri's,
And think, for digestion, there's none like the Russian

So equal the motion-so gentle, though fleet

It, in short, such a light and salubrious scamper is,
That take whom you please-take old L-s D-x-h—t,

Veronica, the Saint of the Holy Handkerchief, is also, under the name of Venisse or Venecia, the tutelary saint of milliners.

St. Denys walked three miles after his head was cut off. The mot of a woman of wit upon this legend is well known:-"Je le crois bien; en pareil cas, il n'y a que le premier pas qui coute."

tOff the Boulevards Italiens

"

In the Palais Royal: successor, I believe, to the Flamand, so long celebrated for the moelleux of his Gaufres.

Doctor Cotterel recommends, for this purpose, the Beaujon or French Mountains, and calls them "une médecine aérienne, couleur de rose;" but I own I prefer the authority of Mr. Bob, who seems, from the following note found in his own hand-writing, to have studied all these mountains very carefully :

Memoranda-The Swiss little notice deserves,

While the fall at Ruggieri's is death to weak nerves;
And (whate'er Doctor Cott'rel may write on the question)
The turn at the Beaujon's too sharp for digestion.

I doubt whether Mr. Bob is quite correct in accenting the second syllable of
Ruggieri.

And stuff him-ay, up to the neck-with stewed lampreys,*
So wholesome these Mounts, such a solvent I've found them,
That, let me but rattle the Monarch well down them,
The fiend, Indigestion, would fly far away,

And the regicide lampreys + be foiled of their prey!

Such, Dick, are the classical sports that content us,
Till five o'clock brings on that hour so momentous,

That epoch but woa! my lad-here comes the Schneider,
And, curse him, has made the stays three inches wider-
Too wide by an inch and a half-what a Guy!
But, no matter-'twill all be set right by-and-by-
As we've Massinot's ‡ eloquent carte to eat still up,

An inch and a half's but a trifle to fill up.

So-not to lose time, Dick-here goes for the task;
Au revoir, my old boy-of the Gods I but ask,

That my life, like "the Leap of the German," § may be,
"Du lit à la table, d'la table au lit!"

R. F.

LETTER IX.

FROM PHIL. FUDGE, ESQ., TO THE LORD VISCOUNT C-ST-GH

My Lord, the Instructions, brought to-day,

"I shall in all my best obey."

Your Lordship talks and writes so sensibly!
And-whatsoe'er some wags may say-
Oh! not at all incomprehensibly.

I feel the inquiries in your letter

About my health and French most flattering;
Thank ye, my French, though somewhat better,
Is, on the whole, but weak and smattering:-
Nothing, of course, that can compare

With his who made the Congress stare,

(A certain Lord we need not name)

Who, even in French, would have his trope,
And talk of "batir un systême

Sur l'équilibre de l'Europe!'

Sweet metaphor!—and then the Epistle,
Which bid the Saxon King go whistle,

That tender letter to "Mon Prince," ||

* A dish so indigestible, that a late novelist, at the end of his book, could imagine no more summary mode of getting rid of all his heroes and heroines than by a hearty supper of stewed lampreys.

They killed Henry I. of England:-"a food (says Hume, gravely,) which always agreed better with his palate than his constitution."

A famous Restaurateur-now Dupont.

An old French saying ;-" Faire le saut de l'Allemand, du lit à la table et de la table au lit."

The celebrated letter to Prince Hardenburgh (written, however, I believe, originally in English,) in which his Lordship, professing to see no moral or political objection" to the dismemberment of Saxony, denounced the unfortunate King as not only the most devoted, but the most favoured of Bonaparte's vassals."

Which showed alike thy French and sense ;-
Oh no, my Lord-there's none can do
Or say un-English things like you;
And, if the schemes that fill thy breast
Could but a vent congenial seek,

And use the tongue that suits them best,
What charming Turkish would'st thou speak!
But as for me, a Frenchless grub,

At Congress never born to stammer,

Nor learn like thee, my Lord, to snub

Fallen Monarchs, out of Chambaud's grammar—
Bless you, you do not, cannot know

How far a little French will go;

For all one's stock, one need but draw

On some half dozen words like these

Comme ça-par-là-là-bas—ah ha!

They'll take you all through France with ease
Your Lordship's praises of the scraps

I sent you from my Journal lately,

(Enveloping a few laced caps

For Lady C.) delight me greatly.
Her flattering speech-" what pretty things
One finds in Mr. Fudge's pages!
Is praise which (as some poet sings)
Would pay one for the toils of ages.

Thus flattered, I presume to send
A few more extracts by a friend;
And I should hope they'll be no less
Approved of than my last MS.-
The former ones, I fear, were creased,

As Biddy round the caps would pin them;
But these will come to hand, at least

Unrumpled, for-there's nothing in them.

Extracts from Mr. Fudge's Journal, addressed to Lord C.

Went to the Mad-house-saw the man,'

Aug. 10.

Who thinks, poor wretch, that, while the Fiend

Of Discord here full riot ran,

He, like the rest, was guillotined ;

But that when, under Boney's reign,

(A more discreet, though quite as strong one)

The heads were all restored again,

He, in the scramble, got a wrong one.

Accordingly, he still cries out

This strange head fits him most unpleasantly;

This extraordinary madman is, I believe, in the Eicêtre. He imagines, exactly as Mr. Fudge states it, that, when the heads of those who had been guillotined were restored, he by mistake got some other person's instead of his

own.

And always runs, poor devil, about,
Inquiring for his own incessantly!

While to his case a tear I dropt,

And sauntered home, thought I-ye Gods!
How many heads might thus be swopped,
And, after all, not make much odds!
For instance, there's V-s-tt-t's head-
("Tam carum 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 zig-zag 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 signed 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!

'Twas thus I pondered 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.

Walked out with daughter Bid-was shown
The House of Commons, and the Throne.

Aug. 21.

* Tam cari capitis.- HORAT.

† A celebrated pickpocket.

Whose velvet cushion's just the same
Napoleon sat on-what a shame!
Oh, can we wonder, best of speeches !
When Louis seated thus we see,
That France's "fundamental features"
Are much the same they used to be?
However,-God preserve the Throne,
And cushion too-and keep them free
From accidents, which have been known
To happen even to Royalty! +

Read, at a stall, (for oft one pops
On something at these stalls and shops,
That does to quote, and gives one's Book
A classical and 1:nowing look.-
Indeed I've found, in Latin, iately,
A course of stalls improves me greatly.)
'Twas thus I read, that, in the East,
A monarch's fat's a serious matter;
And once in every year, at least,

He's weighed to see if he gets fatter:
Then, if a pound or two he be
Increased, there's quite a jubilee! §
Suppose, my Lord,-and far from me
To treat such things with levity-
But just suppose the R-g-t's weight
Were made thus an affair of state;
And, every sessions, at the close,-
'Stead of a speech, which, all can see, is
Heavy and dull enough, God knows-
We were to try how heavy he is.

Much would it glad all hearts to hear
That, while the Nation's Revenue

Loses so many pounds a year,

The Pe, God bless him! gains a few.

With bales of muslin, chintzes, spices,

I see the Easterns weigh their Kings:

Aug. 28.

The only change, if I recollect right, is the substitution of lilies for bees. This war upon the bees is, of course, universal; "exitium misêre apibus," 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 L-s le D-s-é, some years since, at one of the R-g-t's Fêtes. He was sitting next our gracious Queen at the time.

"The 3rd day of the Feast the King causeth himself to be weighed with great care."-F. Bernier's Voyage to Surat, &c.

§ "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 con sidered, throughout India, as one of the most precious gifts of heaven. 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.

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